Read Online Mina Wentworth and the Invisible City by Meljean Brook - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Meljean Brook
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Iron Duke, so Mina wouldn’t stop her.
She continued on to the dining room. Sitting close together, her mother’s pale blond hair against her father’s dark, her parents glanced up from the newssheets as she entered. Mina’s smile faltered.
No place had been set for Anne. Even if the girl had already finished up and excused herself, the servants left the plates until the family had all departed the room.
“Oh, dear.” With mirrored eyes made from mechanical flesh, her mother read her face too easily. “Tell us what has happened.”
Nothing. Please let it be nothing . “Anne hasn’t come down?”
Now her father stilled, carefully watching her face. “Anne?”
“She spent last night with you.”
“No.”
A tight knot formed in her stomach. Fear? Anger? Mina didn’t know. “And the night before?”
“We haven’t seen her since Saturday,” her father said.
Their regular day to visit the Crèche together—three days past. That left two nights unaccounted for.
Why?
Her mother said quietly, “Anne told you otherwise?”
“Yes. She sent me a gram, and I didn’t . . .” Mina hadn’t verified the truth of it. Should she have verified it? She’d expected that Anne might have different ideas about living with a family than Mina did. But this meant Anne had lied . Why? Was she in trouble? “Did she seem all right on Saturday?”
Her father nodded. “Perfectly well.”
With a sick ball of worry in her gut, Mina turned to go. “I need to look for her.”
Her mother called, “And what of Viscount Redditch? His murder is all over the newssheets—along with a tale of a brass wheel that kills men in their gardens.”
Damn those journalists. But Redditch would have to wait. Mina shook her head, but her father said, “I’ll ask at the Crèche, Mina. Most likely she’s there, and simply didn’t want to worry you. I’ll let you know if she’s not.”
“But—”
“Where would you go to find her?”
She looked to her father again. Anne had been due at work today. It was still early, but it was Mina’s best bet. “The Blacksmith’s.”
“Your husband can be there in a quarter of the time it will take you. You are five minutes from headquarters. Send him a wiregram.”
“And if she’s not there?”
“Where would you look next?”
The Crèche. She flattened her lips in frustration.
“If it’s the Crèche, I am already headed there—and the children won’t talk to you. But they won’t think anything of it if I ask after her.”
Why was her father always so reasonable? And worse, he was right. Crèche children might as well have lived in a silent, invisible city. They never saw or heard anything—especially when they were protecting their own.
Blast it all.
“All right,” Mina said. “I’ll be in my examination room for a few hours, then at Portman Square again. Please let me know right away whether she’s there—and let Rhys know, too. I’ll send him a gram as soon as I arrive at headquarters.”
Then try to focus on work. She couldn’t do anything to find Anne that Rhys and her father wouldn’t. That was part of being a family, too—relying on them, trusting them.
And there was no one better to rely on than Rhys or her parents. With both helping her, Mina didn’t have anything to fear.
But she felt it, anyway.
* * *
The gram from Mina had long since crumpled in his hand by the time the two-seater balloon was ready. Throwing the engine to full, Rhys launched into the air and aimed the nose toward the Narrow, trying not to let the worry overwhelm his sense.
He knew the simplest explanation was the most likely: Anne had lied. But he’d lived through too much, had seen too much, and could too easily imagine other possibilities. Like Mina, the girl had Horde blood, and many people who’d lived during the occupation couldn’t look past that fact. She might have been attacked, hurt. Slavers abducted people from London for the skin trade or to work in the
She continued on to the dining room. Sitting close together, her mother’s pale blond hair against her father’s dark, her parents glanced up from the newssheets as she entered. Mina’s smile faltered.
No place had been set for Anne. Even if the girl had already finished up and excused herself, the servants left the plates until the family had all departed the room.
“Oh, dear.” With mirrored eyes made from mechanical flesh, her mother read her face too easily. “Tell us what has happened.”
Nothing. Please let it be nothing . “Anne hasn’t come down?”
Now her father stilled, carefully watching her face. “Anne?”
“She spent last night with you.”
“No.”
A tight knot formed in her stomach. Fear? Anger? Mina didn’t know. “And the night before?”
“We haven’t seen her since Saturday,” her father said.
Their regular day to visit the Crèche together—three days past. That left two nights unaccounted for.
Why?
Her mother said quietly, “Anne told you otherwise?”
“Yes. She sent me a gram, and I didn’t . . .” Mina hadn’t verified the truth of it. Should she have verified it? She’d expected that Anne might have different ideas about living with a family than Mina did. But this meant Anne had lied . Why? Was she in trouble? “Did she seem all right on Saturday?”
Her father nodded. “Perfectly well.”
With a sick ball of worry in her gut, Mina turned to go. “I need to look for her.”
Her mother called, “And what of Viscount Redditch? His murder is all over the newssheets—along with a tale of a brass wheel that kills men in their gardens.”
Damn those journalists. But Redditch would have to wait. Mina shook her head, but her father said, “I’ll ask at the Crèche, Mina. Most likely she’s there, and simply didn’t want to worry you. I’ll let you know if she’s not.”
“But—”
“Where would you go to find her?”
She looked to her father again. Anne had been due at work today. It was still early, but it was Mina’s best bet. “The Blacksmith’s.”
“Your husband can be there in a quarter of the time it will take you. You are five minutes from headquarters. Send him a wiregram.”
“And if she’s not there?”
“Where would you look next?”
The Crèche. She flattened her lips in frustration.
“If it’s the Crèche, I am already headed there—and the children won’t talk to you. But they won’t think anything of it if I ask after her.”
Why was her father always so reasonable? And worse, he was right. Crèche children might as well have lived in a silent, invisible city. They never saw or heard anything—especially when they were protecting their own.
Blast it all.
“All right,” Mina said. “I’ll be in my examination room for a few hours, then at Portman Square again. Please let me know right away whether she’s there—and let Rhys know, too. I’ll send him a gram as soon as I arrive at headquarters.”
Then try to focus on work. She couldn’t do anything to find Anne that Rhys and her father wouldn’t. That was part of being a family, too—relying on them, trusting them.
And there was no one better to rely on than Rhys or her parents. With both helping her, Mina didn’t have anything to fear.
But she felt it, anyway.
* * *
The gram from Mina had long since crumpled in his hand by the time the two-seater balloon was ready. Throwing the engine to full, Rhys launched into the air and aimed the nose toward the Narrow, trying not to let the worry overwhelm his sense.
He knew the simplest explanation was the most likely: Anne had lied. But he’d lived through too much, had seen too much, and could too easily imagine other possibilities. Like Mina, the girl had Horde blood, and many people who’d lived during the occupation couldn’t look past that fact. She might have been attacked, hurt. Slavers abducted people from London for the skin trade or to work in the
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