Matt smiled at Gilmore. Virginia had seen Owen smile a very similar smile. The Sweetwater smile,she thought. It promised that bad things would happen.
“That’s enough, Matt,” she said quietly. “We’re leaving now.”
Matt looked disappointed, but he followed her obediently down the hall to the staircase.
Virginia looked down and saw Adriana Walters coming up the stairs.
“Walk out of this Institute and you can say farewell to your career, Virginia Dean,” Gilmore roared from the doorway of the office. “I’ll destroy your reputation in London. You’ll be lucky to get clients from the gutters before I’ve finished with you.”
She glanced back at him over her shoulder. “Why don’t you go search for the blue door, Mr. Gilmore? Or perhaps listen for the hound at midnight? Better yet, try reading what is written on the stone at the bottom of the pond.”
Gilmore’s face suffused with rage.
Virginia continued down the stairs.
“You know, it would be very easy for Gilmore to break his neck on these stairs,” Matt offered with a hopeful air. “Accidents do happen.”
“That won’t be necessary, thank you,” Virginia said.
“Just a leg, perhaps?” Matt wheedled.
“No, Matt. I do not need the aggravation.”
Adriana swept past, glaring.
“He’s all yours,” Virginia said.
“Bitch,” Adriana hissed.
At the foot of the stairs the porter lurched out of his office to open the door. He handed Virginia her still-dripping umbrella and cloak, and shot a grim look at the top of the staircase.
“Is there a problem, Miss Dean?” he asked.
“No, Mr. Fulton, there is no problem. Not anymore.”
“It’s still raining outside, ma’am,” he said anxiously. “I’ll summon a cab for you.”
“Thank you,” Virginia said.
Outside on the front steps, Matt held the large umbrella for her while Fulton took out a whistle. In response to the piercing sound, a cab materialized out of the driving rain.
“Number Seven Garnet Lane,” Matt said to the driver. He handed Virginia up into the cab and got in behind her. The vehicle rolled forward.
Virginia contemplated the rain through the window and pondered the disastrous turn of events. Her career and the secure, prosperous future that she had been attempting to create for herself now lay in smoking ruins. She was surprised to realize that she felt strangely numb. It would no doubt take a while for the shock to set in, she concluded.
Matt watched her from the opposite seat.
“Uncle Owen won’t like it when he finds out that Leybrook threatened your career, Miss Dean.”
Virginia frowned. “Let me make something very clear. I appreciate your sentiments on my behalf, but what just happened between Mr. Leybrook and me is my problem. I will deal with it. Is that understood?”
“Yes, ma’am, I understand. But I’m not sure Uncle Owen will see things that way.”
“To clarify further, if I hear that Gilmore Leybrook has suffered an unfortunate or fatal accident of any kind in the near future, I will be very annoyed.”
“Yes, ma’am. I was merely pointing out that Uncle Owen won’t be happy.”
“I am not particularly thrilled, myself. But I will not allow your uncle to use me as an excuse to do something dreadful to Leybrook. I was told that Sweetwaters only hunt the monsters.”
“That’s true.”
“Heaven knows Gilmore has his faults, but he is not one of the monsters.”
Matt regarded her with a considering expression. “Are you certain of that, Miss Dean? The monsters are usually well disguised. That is what makes them difficult to hunt. It is why J & J asked for our assistance in this matter of the glass-reader murders.”
She could not think of a response to that. He was right. The monsters of antiquity were easy to identify. They had three heads or snakelike tails and a terrifying, demonic aspect. But human monsters all too often were chameleons who blended into society.
Fifteen minutes later the cab halted at her address on Garnet Lane. Matt took the umbrella and escorted Virginia up the front steps. The Sweetwater men might be assassins for hire, she thought, but they were very well mannered. Gentlemen to their lethal fingertips.
“Something amusing, Miss Dean?” Matt asked.
Virginia realized she was smiling. “No, not really.”
She took out her key and gave it to him. He opened the door and ushered her inside. The house felt dark and empty. There were no footsteps coming down the hall from the kitchen.
“It looks like Mrs. Crofton is not yet home,” Matt said. He planted the umbrella into the wrought-iron stand. “Perhaps she has had some luck locating the Hollister housekeeper.”
“That would certainly be helpful.” Virginia undid her cloak. “The hem of my skirts and my walking boots are soaked from the wet streets. I’m going to dash upstairs and change into some dry clothes. Why don’t you go into the kitchen and put the kettle on the stove? There are some biscuits in the pantry. I’ll join you shortly.”
“An excellent plan,” Matt said.
He assisted her with her cloak and then ambled happily down the hall, a young man in search of food.
Well, it was not his future that had just burned to the ground, Virginia told herself. The Sweetwaters enjoyed a very secure profession. There would always be monsters around to hunt, as well as people and organizations such as J & J who would no doubt be willing to pay well for the service.
She went up the stairs, the weight of her rain-soaked petticoats and skirts as heavy as the anchor of a ship. Or perhaps it was her mood that was weighing her down, she thought. She wanted very badly to talk to Charlotte, who was no doubt happily engaged in the exciting task of locating the mysterious paid companion.
At the top of the stairs, she went down the hall to her bedroom. Inside, she closed the door, unlaced her wet boots and stepped out of her damp clothing. She changed into a fresh petticoat and a simple day gown and secured the little chatelaine purse at her waist.
She crossed the room, went out into the hall and down the stairs. There were no sounds coming from the kitchen. That was curious. By now Matt should have gotten the kettle going and started rummaging around in the pantry for the biscuits.
“Matt? Did you find the tea things?”
She went through the doorway into the kitchen. There was no sign of Matt. The swinging door of the pantry was closed. She pushed it open.
She stopped at the sight of Matt sprawled unconscious on the floor.
“Matt.”
He did not move. But something else did. She heard the ominous clank and thump before the clockwork doll toddled out of the shadows. The automaton was nearly three feet tall, a chillingly lifelike replica of Queen Victoria. Every detail was exquisitely rendered, from the miniature crown set with crystals to the high-button boots and the dark mourning attire that Her Majesty had worn since the death of her beloved Albert.
The Queen’s icy glass eyes rolled in their sockets and fixed on Virginia. Cold energy shivered in the small space. Virginia experienced the now-familiar chill with all of her senses. She fought back, heightening her talent.
The Queen clanked forward in her miniature boots. Desperate, Virginia pushed her talent higher. The clockwork doll stopped as though confused.
Virginia grabbed the nearest heavy object, a large iron skillet, and hurled it at the doll. The pan struck the curiosity full on, knocking the device off its feet. It toppled onto its back. The booted heels drummed relentlessly on the floor. The eyes rattled in the porcelain skull, seeking a target.
Virginia seized Matt’s ankles and tried to haul him across the floor out of range of the doll. The Sweetwater men were not small, and they were evidently constructed of pure muscle and bone. The smooth wooden floor was in her favor, though. She managed to slide Matt’s heavy frame halfway out the pantry door before she had to stop and gather her strength for another tug.