Emma Holloway - A Study in Silks

“I’m good at learning. I want to see how far I can go. Maybe I’ll figure out … things.”

“What for?” Nick asked practically. “What don’t you already know?”

How to be whole . In her daydreams, she had fabricated a place where she would finally fit in. There would be women like her who loved a book of chemistry more than a new ball gown, and who didn’t care where she grew up. She could study with the finest scholars. Maybe, with their help, she could crack the code to why magic worked and how it meshed with science. She could finally solve the puzzle of her own nature.

At last, she would know where she belonged. And maybe that mattered more than anything else.

The look on Nick’s face was hard to read, so she changed the subject. “I’m glad you came.”

One corner of his mouth curled up. “Is that the truth?”

“It is.” But she couldn’t tell. She felt suffocated by an emotion that was not guilt or loneliness or irritation, but a painful mix of all three. It’s not my fault that I couldn’t stay with you.

Nick watched her with eyes that missed nothing. His mouth was a flat line, with the deliberate neutrality of someone hiding pain.

Please go . She wanted to say it, but that would sever everything between them. She didn’t want that, either. Instead, she grasped his hand. It was warm and hard with calluses and the slow, languorous pulse of his power. It tingled up her arm, a sensual temptation to throw caution to the wind. It was hard to be the only one with Blood. Falling into Nick’s arms would put an end to isolation—but also an end to both their lives. “We’ll find a way to talk later, but now you should leave before you’re caught. And don’t go through the corridor this time. It’s late, but there’s a maid about.”

Nick had been staring at her hand clasping his, but now he looked up in confusion. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I climbed the wall and came in that window. I wasn’t in the corridor.”

Downstairs, a woman shrieked—a long, chilling wail of terror.

Evelina locked eyes with Nick. “Somebody was, and I think we know which way they went.”

She gave Nick a shove toward the window, but he just leaned into the gesture, grabbing her wrist.

“Go!” she said, exasperation turning the word to a hiss.

“You think I’m leaving?” he growled. “What the blazes is going on out there?”

“Whatever it is won’t improve if you’re found.” Her words came out short and tight, urgency vibrating in her veins. She planted her free hand on his chest and pushed again. “And I’ll be sent packing right along with you.”

He bared his teeth. “Would that be so terrible?”

“Do you wish me ruined?” Her chances for school turned to dust?

They held each other’s glare. Evelina had to know what the scream was about, and there was no time for squabbling. Plus, she was terrified for him—far more than for herself. “It’s the only way we’ll both be safe. Nick, my conscience can’t bear it if you’re arrested when all you did was come to see me for old time’s sake.”

“Old time’s sake.” His lips curled at the last words, and he flicked a hand as if batting them away. “There’s a woman screaming downstairs. You thought someone was creeping around the corridors. I would worry about more than your reputation.”

Pounding shook Evelina’s door, making her jump. Nick pulled a knife from his belt, the blade gleaming in the candlelight. She caught her breath and grabbed his forearm, feeling the play of lean muscle under layers of clothing. “Wait here, then. Get out of sight.”

Nick didn’t budge.

The pounding came again, making the door latch rattle. “Miss Cooper?”

It was Dora.

“Who is that?” Nick whispered.

“One of the upstairs maids. Hide! Quickly!” Evelina was already in motion toward the door. When she cast a glance over her shoulder, Nick had vanished. Only a flutter of bed curtains betrayed his hiding place. Nick in my bed. Spectacular. I’ll never explain that one away. She turned the key in the lock and opened her door.

Dora stood with a candle in one hand. Her face was whey-pale, her lips bloodless. “Miss, you must come. I don’t know what to do.” The maid looked smaller than usual, as if her entire body had retracted in shock.

“What is it?” Evelina stepped into the corridor and pulled the door shut behind her. She wasn’t surprised that she was the first port of call in an emergency. Although she had little authority in the household, she knew the servants relied on her for a cool head and practical advice. That was one advantage of growing up in Ploughman’s Paramount Circus, where sword swallowing was a daily event. It tended to promote strong nerves.

Plus, the odd problem could be dealt with with by one of Gran Cooper’s spells. Not that the servants knew why Miss Imogen’s friend seemed to be able to solve the unsolvable on so many occasions; they were just grateful that she cared about their lot. But, taking her cue from Dora’s expression, Evelina was already having doubts that this situation could be rescued with a bit of herb magic.

“What is it, Dora?” she asked again.

The maid opened her mouth, inhaled, then closed it again. She gave a quick shake of her head, as if to say the words couldn’t come out. Tears were leaking from her eyes, trailing beside her pink-tipped nose.

This wasn’t getting them anywhere. “Show me,” Evelina said, wanting to get away from her bedroom and the man hiding there.

Without another word, Dora led the way toward the stairs. Once on the main floor, instead of going left to the stately drawing rooms, she turned right toward the main entrance and the cloakroom used to hang the outerwear of the ambassador’s many guests. Though now retired from foreign service, Emerson Roth, Lord Bancroft, still moved chess pieces around the board of the Empire’s political scene, and that required lavish parties.

They were almost to the entrance hall with its gold sconces and coffered ceiling. Evelina walked two paces behind Dora, following the silent, hunched form. Shadows dragged at the hem of her skirts, reminding her that someone—not Nick—had passed her in the upstairs corridor. There had been those hideous, dismembered dolls in the attic. And then there had been screams.

Despite her vaunted nerves, a shudder slid down her backbone. Why didn’t I at least bring along some of Nick’s knives?

Evelina hurried to keep up with Dora, who was clearly on the verge of panic. She seemed to be heading directly to the cloakroom. The door stood open, light pooling on the marble floor beyond. Outside, one of the kitchen girls sat on a long upholstered bench, placed there so guests could change their footwear.

The girl, surely no more than fourteen or fifteen, was bowed nearly double, her face in her hands. The housekeeper sat next to her, wrapped in a quilted housecoat. She murmured softly, cradling the youngster in a motherly embrace. Evelina dragged her gaze away, giving them privacy. “What happened?”

“It was Maisie that cried out,” Dora said, the statement jerking out in pieces. “When she saw what was in there.” She pointed to the cloakroom.

It was no wonder that Evelina had heard the cry all the way upstairs. The sound, far from being lost in the high ceilings, would have carried right up the stairwell. But what had the young girl seen?

Evelina realized that her hands were icy and she badly wanted the water closet.

The door to the cloakroom stood open. The moment was so silent, she could hear the faint sibilance of the gaslights that had been laid in throughout the main floor. She took a step toward the doorway when Dora touched her arm. The maid’s brow was knitted in concern. “It’s a terrible sight in there, miss. It’s … it’s …”