Read Online The Watchmaker's Daughter (Glass and Steele Book 1) by C.J. Archer - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: C.J. Archer
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studied Mr. Glass's face closely, then glanced at the long case clock. "You look tired and it ain't quite time to."
"Time to what?" I asked.
"Nothing," they both said.
"Go and fetch Cyclops," Mr. Glass directed his man. "He's waiting for us at Marble Arch."
Duke looked like he would protest, but thought better of it. He plucked a hat off the hat stand then moved past us to the front door.
"When you get back, prepare a room for Miss Steele," Mr. Glass said. "And be sure to dress properly from now on. We have a guest."
"Aye, aye, sir." Duke saluted. "Will there be anything else? Tea, cake, and a watchmaker to go with 'em?"
"Lunch, and stop being an ass. Where's Willie?"
Willie? There were more ruffian servants? God, help me.
"Out," Duke said. "Don't know where." He nodded at the clock. "You better go…rest. I'll see to Cyclops and the room." It was the most sincere he'd sounded since we walked in, like he was genuinely concerned about Mr. Glass getting rest.
He must be ill, or exertion wouldn't have done this to him. He looked even paler now and the shadows under his eyes stood out in bas-relief. Creases had appeared across his forehead and around his mouth where before there'd been none.
"You do look very poorly," I said to him as Duke left. "Please, go and rest. I'll wait in the, er…" I glanced at the door leading off from the entrance hall.
"Drawing room." He gave me a grim smile and indicated the room. "I'll be with you in a few minutes. Make yourself at home, since it will be, for the near future."
I made my way to the drawing room but stopped inside the door. He headed up the stairs, his gait laborious, his head bowed. Once he was out of sight, I followed quietly, looking out for other servants. Mr. Glass stopped at the top of the landing. He seemed out of breath, as if that brief climb had exhausted him. Yet he'd hardly looked like he'd raised a sweat immediately after attacking three thugs. What sort of illness had a delayed onset?
It was all very odd, but it was none of my affair and had nothing to do with my reason for following him. I wanted to find out where his private rooms were located so that I could return another time and look through them for evidence of his occupation in America and his reason for coming to England. There was no better time. He was too ill to notice me and the servants were gone.
I peeked around the corner on the third level and had to dart back quickly. He'd stopped near the end, with his hand pressed against a door and his head lowered. The three flights of stairs had done him in.
When I looked again, I expected to see him gone, having entered, but he was sitting on the floor, his legs stretched out before him, his back to the wall. He held a glowing object in the palm of his hand and a chain dangled from his fingers. It was like he held a small sun and its rays infused his hand with purple light. The light spread along the veins and up into his sleeve, as I'd seen it do in the carriage the day before.
I continued to watch, both fascinated and terrified by the strange phenomenon. Mr. Glass seemed to know what he was doing. He showed no fear. Indeed, he seemed to bask in the object's rays and grow more healthy by the second. Suddenly his chest expanded as he took a huge gasp of air, and the color in his face returned. It no longer looked bloodless, but full of life as the bright glow crept out of his collar and up his neck, to his chin, cheeks and finally his forehead. His face and hands—perhaps his entire body—was a map of fiery, glowing veins.
With another deep breath, he snapped the lid of the object closed, extinguishing the light. He held it up by its chain then tucked it into his inside pocket. Even from a distance, I could see it was an ordinary silver watch.
No; not ordinary. It might look like a simple watch, but there was nothing ordinary about that glow.
Mr. Glass stood and disappeared into the room. He hadn't seen me, thank goodness. I wasn't ready to
"Time to what?" I asked.
"Nothing," they both said.
"Go and fetch Cyclops," Mr. Glass directed his man. "He's waiting for us at Marble Arch."
Duke looked like he would protest, but thought better of it. He plucked a hat off the hat stand then moved past us to the front door.
"When you get back, prepare a room for Miss Steele," Mr. Glass said. "And be sure to dress properly from now on. We have a guest."
"Aye, aye, sir." Duke saluted. "Will there be anything else? Tea, cake, and a watchmaker to go with 'em?"
"Lunch, and stop being an ass. Where's Willie?"
Willie? There were more ruffian servants? God, help me.
"Out," Duke said. "Don't know where." He nodded at the clock. "You better go…rest. I'll see to Cyclops and the room." It was the most sincere he'd sounded since we walked in, like he was genuinely concerned about Mr. Glass getting rest.
He must be ill, or exertion wouldn't have done this to him. He looked even paler now and the shadows under his eyes stood out in bas-relief. Creases had appeared across his forehead and around his mouth where before there'd been none.
"You do look very poorly," I said to him as Duke left. "Please, go and rest. I'll wait in the, er…" I glanced at the door leading off from the entrance hall.
"Drawing room." He gave me a grim smile and indicated the room. "I'll be with you in a few minutes. Make yourself at home, since it will be, for the near future."
I made my way to the drawing room but stopped inside the door. He headed up the stairs, his gait laborious, his head bowed. Once he was out of sight, I followed quietly, looking out for other servants. Mr. Glass stopped at the top of the landing. He seemed out of breath, as if that brief climb had exhausted him. Yet he'd hardly looked like he'd raised a sweat immediately after attacking three thugs. What sort of illness had a delayed onset?
It was all very odd, but it was none of my affair and had nothing to do with my reason for following him. I wanted to find out where his private rooms were located so that I could return another time and look through them for evidence of his occupation in America and his reason for coming to England. There was no better time. He was too ill to notice me and the servants were gone.
I peeked around the corner on the third level and had to dart back quickly. He'd stopped near the end, with his hand pressed against a door and his head lowered. The three flights of stairs had done him in.
When I looked again, I expected to see him gone, having entered, but he was sitting on the floor, his legs stretched out before him, his back to the wall. He held a glowing object in the palm of his hand and a chain dangled from his fingers. It was like he held a small sun and its rays infused his hand with purple light. The light spread along the veins and up into his sleeve, as I'd seen it do in the carriage the day before.
I continued to watch, both fascinated and terrified by the strange phenomenon. Mr. Glass seemed to know what he was doing. He showed no fear. Indeed, he seemed to bask in the object's rays and grow more healthy by the second. Suddenly his chest expanded as he took a huge gasp of air, and the color in his face returned. It no longer looked bloodless, but full of life as the bright glow crept out of his collar and up his neck, to his chin, cheeks and finally his forehead. His face and hands—perhaps his entire body—was a map of fiery, glowing veins.
With another deep breath, he snapped the lid of the object closed, extinguishing the light. He held it up by its chain then tucked it into his inside pocket. Even from a distance, I could see it was an ordinary silver watch.
No; not ordinary. It might look like a simple watch, but there was nothing ordinary about that glow.
Mr. Glass stood and disappeared into the room. He hadn't seen me, thank goodness. I wasn't ready to
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