Read Online The Clockwork Scarab by Colleen Gleason - Free Book Online

manager, and Florence would be shopping or making social calls. I considered myself fortunate that my sister-in-law hadn’t awakened me to join her. My nephew, Noel, would be at school, and my maidservant, Pepper, was likely off with the cook, Mrs. Bullensham, on their daily errands.
    I anticipated a quiet afternoon wherein I could sharpen some extra stakes and perhaps practice some of my fighting skills in the music room. Even though I wasn’t a cognoggin by any means, I was looking forward to using a new device Bram had found for me. It was designed for gentlemen who liked to spar in a boxing ring and wanted a way to practice at home. Mr. Jackson’s Mechanized-Mentor was a life-sizemachine sporting two “arms” and self-propelling wheels, along with the ability to squat or duck from side to side. With a small adjustment, it also could be used to practice the waltz, which was the excuse Bram had given Florence for acquiring the contraption. Her delight had likely been due to visions of me dancing flawlessly with some eligible duke or viscount.
    When I came downstairs, our housekeeper, Mrs. Gernum, gave me a thick, white folded notecard. Another invitation to a ball or dance or picnic that I had no interest in attending. I would have tucked it away so Florence wouldn’t see it, but I noticed the seal of the British Museum.
    It is necessary to our recent appointment for you and I to attend a f ê te at the home of Lord and Lady Cosgrove-Pitt this evening. I presume you have a carriage at your disposal. I shall be dressed and prepared for you to call for me at eight o’clock this evening, at which time I will give you further details. Please respond soonest.
    —M. Holmes
    My response ranged from vexation at the tone of her letter to exasperation that I’d have to subject myself to the fawning attentions of anemic, boring young men who had no idea how easily I could outdo them   .   .   .   and ended with me rolling my eyes. What possible reason could there be for us to attend a party at the home of Lord Cosgrove-Pitt, the leader of Parliament?
    .   .   .   at which time I will give you further details.
    And was it just my imagination, or was that phrase laden with smugness? Mina Holmes seemed like an insufferable know-it-all who ordered people about and rolled over anyone who disagreed with her   .   .   .   like one of the Refuse-Agitators that moved along the sewage canals and flattened everything into muck.
    Right, then, Miss Holmes . I glanced down at the masculine writing, taking a page from her book and examining it. I sneered. One would have expected Mina Holmes to write with precise, neat characters instead of such a scrawl.
    Then a prickle of guilt trickled over me, and my irritation evaporated like a puff of steam. Had I not promised my services to Princess Alexandra only hours ago? And here I was, grumbling about the next task set before me simply because it was not to my liking.
    Maybe I wasn’t the right sort of person for this assignment. Maybe I didn’t quite fit in Miss Adler’s society. After all, I couldn’t even look at a dead body without turning into a jellied mass of paralysis.
    I sat up straight and glared down at the letter as if it were Miss Holmes herself. No . I was just as able as she. Probably more so.
    I wasn’t going to let that gawky brain-beak show me up.
    As I dashed off a quick response to Miss Holmes, I couldn’t help but smile. I might prefer to be doing something other than having Pepper attend to my hair and then making conversation with a roomful of people I hardly cared toknow, but Mina Holmes was bound to be even less enthusiastic about the idea. From our conversation last night, it was obvious she didn’t know anyone in Society, nor did she seem comfortable with the idea of interacting within it.
    My smile turned into a smirk. At least I had something suitable to wear.

    When Miss Holmes climbed into my carriage at eight o’clock, I goggled at her, and my