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-size machine 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 fête 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 to know, 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 snide thoughts about the contents of her closet evaporated. Her gown was one of the most gorgeous pieces of up-to-the-date, cognoggin-influenced fashion I’d ever seen.
Made of velvet and silk, the fitted bodice and voluminous skirt were panels of rich chocolate brown alternating with a golden rust color. The sleeves were large and puffy near the shoulders, tapering into long fingerless gloves that ended in a point at her middle finger. From the elbow to wrist, brown and rust lace had been appliquéd onto the fabric, and buttons, flowers, and little clockwork gears decorated the backs of the glove-sleeves.
Her brown corset was short and leather, and she wore it over the bodice in a new style that was just coming into fashion. But did she have another corset underneath? Four dangling watch chains and their matching clocks decorated one side of the corset and on the other were two slender pockets. And pinned to the front of her bodice was the most remarkable dragonfly pin, complete with rotating wings that made a soft, pleasant buzzing sound and little whirring gears that made up its body.
Not only was she dressed at the height of Street Fashion, but the gangly, long-nosed girl had done something with her hair that made her look even taller . . . but in a willowy way. And even her blade-like nose seemed balanced by the pile of chestnut-colored hair that had been braided, woven with ribbons, and decorated with clockwork gears in a neat but intricate coiffure.
Not that my own gown was anything to sniff at. At the height of accepted Victorian fashion, my frock consisted of a narrow skirt of frothier, lighter fabric than Miss Holmes’s, with many layers of ice-colored pink caught up by darker rosettes and gathered into a neat bustle at the lower part of my spine. But the most important aspect of the dress was its concealed split skirts. That was Pepper’s inspiration, and practical for someone of my vocation.
“Is something wrong, Miss Stoker?” Miss Holmes asked, patting her head as if to make certain her hair wasn’t about to fall.
We were sitting in the carriage, and Middy, the driver, was waiting for directions from me. “No,” I replied, noticing the set of keys dangling from the edge of Miss Holmes’s corset-vest. Surely they were for decoration rather than practical use, but nevertheless, even a traditionalist handmaker like me found them cunning. I blinked and stuck my head out the small window to give Middy the address and then settled back in my seat.
“Are you quite certain?” My companion glanced down at herself, smoothing her full skirts. Even in the drassy light, I could see a stiff, black lace crinoline peeping from beneath the rustling material and the hint of elegant copper-toed shoes. “Do you think my—I wasn’t certain what to wear.” She lifted her nose and managed to look down at me despite the fact that we were both seated.
Miss Mina Holmes was nervous. That was an eye-opening revelation and eased my . . . whatever it was that made me feel prickly and uncomfortable around her.
“Not at all,” I told her candidly. “Your gown is stunning. I’m certain the gentlemen will be most taken with you.”
“Well, that might be the case, but it’s neither here nor there. We have business afoot tonight.” Despite her brisk words, her fingers, which had been toying with a group of buttons on her glove-sleeve, relaxed in her lap.
“Yes, of course. You could bring me up to date on what you and Miss Adler discovered today.” I kept my voice neutral but felt compelled to add, “My apologies for not joining you at the museum. I was out late patrolling for UnDead and overslept this morning.” I didn’t mention the fact that neither of the ladies had contacted me about a time or place to meet, so Miss Holmes must have taken it upon herself to visit Miss Adler first thing in the morning.
“Oh,” she said, looking surprised. “It must be a rather difficult proposition, being out late and then being required to awaken shortly after dawn. I didn’t think the UnDead were quite a threat any longer.”