Kady Cross: The Strange Case of Finley Jayne

The lighting in the room was mellow, easing the pressure inside her skull. She went to one of the windows and found it controlled by a strange apparatus. Instead of simply flipping the latch and opening the casement, she had to wind the key set into the window frame. Then, she watched as thin brass “arms” attached to the latch pulled it to the open position, and then slowly drew the glass toward her. When the breeze was exactly how she wanted, she merely turned the key back to its starting position and the mechanism came to a halt.

Lord Vincent certainly seemed to like his clockwork and automata. The house was positively crawling with scuttling metal creatures designed to do all manner of tasks. There were human servants, as well, but Finley had never seen such an abundance of brass and steel.

She turned her back to the window so the refreshing spring breeze could cool her nape. She rolled her neck, sighing as it popped and snapped, further easing the tension in her head and shoulders. When she opened her eyes she found herself staring at a portrait of Phoebe and Lord Vincent.

No, wait. That wasn’t Phoebe. Finley didn’t have to move closer to view the portrait in detail, but she did anyway. At this moment she didn’t trust her own eyes—which had become uncannily keen over the past few months. The improvement to her sight had been so gradual that she often forgot she could see much better than the average person. She walked toward the large, gilt-framed canvas, her eyes widening with each step.

It was a portrait of a much younger Lord Vincent—she’d been correct, he had been quite handsome in his youth—and the woman with him must have been his first wife, or at least a betrothed. The woman wore a large sapphire ring on her left hand—the same hand that covered one of Lord Vincent’s.

She looked so much like Phoebe it was eerie.

Of course, on closer examination it was easy to pick out the differences—Phoebe’s eyes were not quite as dark, her hair a bit more red, but the shape of her face was a perfect match, and her features so close they could have been twins, or at least sisters.

It was unsettling. Disturbing. And Finley wondered if Phoebe knew. She was also overwhelmed by the need to find out just what had happened to this woman.

“Robert, I said no!”

The cry came from outside, carried to her keen ears by the breeze through the open window. It was Phoebe’s voice.

Portrait forgotten, Finley quickly crossed to the window. From there she could see into the garden below. Flickering torches cast soft golden light over Phoebe and her companion—a young gentleman. Neither of them looked very pleased.

“I have to go,” Phoebe said. “Mama and Finley will be looking for me.”

The young man grabbed her by the arm. “You can’t leave. Not yet.”

Perhaps it was guilt that she hadn’t been doing her duty that flicked the switch inside Finley, or perhaps it was the way he grabbed Phoebe like he had a right to. Maybe it was a little of both. Regardless, one moment she was watching them from the window and the next she vaulted over the sill and dropped two floors to the grass below.

The two gaped at her as though she had just fallen from the sky—which she supposed she had.

“Let her go,” she told the young gentleman. He was tall and slim with thick dark hair and rosy cheeks.

He scowled, his amazement clearly faded. “This is none of your business.”

“Wrong.” Finley clapped her fingers around the wrist of his hand holding Phoebe. “My friend wants to leave and you won’t let her. Not very mannerly, Robert.” As she spoke she tightened her grip, stopping when his handsome face began to contort in pain. She let go as soon as she felt his fingers release Phoebe.

Robert cradled his arm close to his chest. Phoebe immediately brushed past Finley to stop at his side. Her hands touched him as though he were precious or fragile. “Robert, dearest. Are you all right?”

Dearest? Finley scowled. She’d been this close to giving Robert the thrashing she thought he deserved when he’d let go. She had seen Phoebe try to pull free of his grip, and now the girl was all over him wondering if he was all right?

“What did you do to him?” Phoebe demanded, glaring at her.

Finley raised her brows. “I heard you tell him no and then I saw him grab you. I thought he was trying to do you harm.”

“I would never hurt Phoebe,” Robert informed her indignantly. “I love her.”

“Love her?” Finley repeated dumbly, before pressing a hand to her head—which had started to ache again. This job was beginning to take on more twists and turns than one of those “sensation” novels.

Lips tight, she looked from Robert to Phoebe. “Someone had better explain to me just what exactly is going on here.”

The explanation was truly the stuff worthy of Mr. Dickens—simple, but oddly convoluted. Phoebe loved Robert, and Robert loved Phoebe, but Robert had yet to reach the age of majority so they couldn’t marry without their parents’ consent. Robert’s parents might have been persuaded to allow it, but Lord Vincent had gone to Phoebe’s father and asked Lord Morton for her hand. Her father said yes.

Finley’s gaze slid back and forth between the two as she struggled to regain her composure. Did this young buck know just how close he’d come to having her fist down his throat? The thought of it made her stomach twist and roll. She’d thought he was hurting Phoebe, and in return that dark part of her had wanted to hurt him. It still wanted to hurt him, even if just a very little.

“So why don’t you break the engagement?” she asked Phoebe. “Seems a simple enough solution.”

Phoebe glanced away, and even in the murky darkness Finley could tell that her cheeks were red. “I cannot do that.”

All right. She could accept that weak-arsed explanation for now, but the other girl would have to explain in detail the next time they were alone.

“You could elope,” she suggested.

This time Robert shook his head. “That would bring shame down on both our houses, dishonor me and ruin Phoebe’s reputation.” The look he directed at the girl embarrassed Finley—it was so warm. “I couldn’t do that to her.”

Finley grimaced. “So if I’m to understand you, the two of you are desperate to be together, but are unwilling to make the necessary sacrifices?”

Robert frowned at her. “You mock us with your ignorance.”

She probably should have pleaded the contrary, but Finley didn’t like being called ignorant, especially when she would do whatever necessary to be with the boy she loved—if there was such a creature. “Yes,” she replied honestly. “I do. I would mock anyone who whines about their situation yet can’t summon the bollocks to fight for who and what they want.”

“Finley,” Phoebe began.

Robert cut her off, looking down his nose at Finley. “Of course you would say something so coarse. You know nothing of the ways of our world.”

He made it sound like that was a bad thing. Finley shrugged. “You’re right, and I don’t want to know them if this foolishness is any indication of what your world is like. Now, you have two choices—we return to the ball now before someone starts to wonder where the two of you have made off to, or, I can run inside and tell all the wrong people that I found you together in the garden and the scandal will ensure you have to marry each other. What will it be?”

The hopeful glint in Robert’s eye almost won Finley over—almost. She still thought he was more of a prat than Phoebe deserved. Then Phoebe said, “You can’t do that!”

Poor Robert. He looked as though she’d broken his heart. Of course he had to know rationally that such a scandal would bring about the dishonor he so wished to avoid, but it was nice to know that he truly cared for Phoebe.