Turnkey (The Gaslight Volumes of Will Pocket Book 1) (52 page)

“There’s Quill,” I
said under my breath.

“Where?” Jack asked,
not remotely under his breath.

“I see her,” Gren
added. “Over there.”

“Behind the short
guy?”

“Jack…”

“Oh, oh, right.
She’s the short guy, yeah. Mustache threw me off.”

“But that
doesn’t—“

“Let it go,” I
said flatly.

Quill rejoined us,
her bright eyes darting nervously.

“Hello, hello,
blokes,” she said in her false male voice.

We slid out of the
ballroom and into one of the side halls for privacy.

“All right,” I
said, speaking openly. “What have you learned, Quill?”

“Well, my fellow
men, once I put my male intellect to the task of—“

“Stop that.”

She scrunched her
nose and dropped the gruff tone. “Killjoy.”

“Just get on with
it, please.”

“They’ve put it in
the study,” she said, frowning.

“That’s perfect,”
Gren said.

“Is it?” I asked.

“Jack and I played
a round of billiards in there a bit earlier. Nice set of double windows
inside.”

“Yeah,” Jack
agreed. “We can get the box out easily.”

“Not exactly,”
Quill sighed. “They’ve locked it up.”

“The box?”

“The study.”

“The whole
room?!?” Jack moaned.

“Afraid so,” Quill
responded. “I guess they don’t want anyone getting near the money.”

“Lousy,” Hack-Jack
sneered. “Pretty tasteless move, not trusting their own esteemed guests.”

“So that’s it,
isn’t it?” Gren said. “We’re stuck. It’s not like we can ask them to open up
the room.”

A thought struck
me, and I let out a long, regretful breath.

“Can’t we?” Jack
asked.

“That’d be a
little suspicious, don’t you think?” Gren retorted. “And even if they went for
it, I really doubt they’d just leave us alone and unsupervised in there.”

“You’re right,”
Quill sadly agreed.

I sighed again and
Gren caught notice of it.

“What is it,
Pocket?” he asked, raising a brow. “What’s wrong?”

I sighed a final
time and shook my head.

“I know what we’re
going to do,” I grumbled.

The night rolled
on, and the investors, filled with food and drink, were settling down from
their earlier, excitable states into a more relaxed atmosphere. With careful
steps and an artificial air of confidence, I strolled through the ballroom and
dropped a friendly hand on the shoulder of the cheerful Mister Blue-Eyes. I
hoped to God that this would work.

“Evening treating
you well, sir?” I asked with a smile.

“Ah, William!” he
responded. “Very well, thank you. And you?”

“Can’t complain.”

“Well, I’m glad to
hear it,” he said.

I nodded politely,
straightened my posture, and then, I made my move.

“Incidentally,
sir,” I said, “I was hoping to speak to you regarding your earlier
proposition.”

“You mean,
regarding Helen?”

“Helen?”

“My daughter.”

“Yes, yes, Helen,
of course. About her tutoring—”

“You can save your
breath, son. I know she’s already spoken to your brother and has been informed
of your intentions.”

Intentions. Ug.

Thanks to Gren, I
knew I had to choose my words carefully before I ended up in some stockade.

“My intentions,
yes, to tutor her.
Tutor
her
.
”

“Well, that’s just
fine. I’m glad my girl will be given a proper education.”

“I agree! Which is
why I was hoping to begin her lessons as soon as possible.”

“Enthusiastic,
aren’t you, William? Well then, how about…let me see…next Monday?”

“How about
tonight?”

He looked me over
with great surprise. “Tonight? You mean here?”

“Yes.”

He frowned.
“Hardly seems like a proper environment for such a thing.”

“Oh, with all
respect, sir, I disagree.” I took a deep breath. Had to make this good.
“Tonight is clearly a celebration of modernity! Of progress! Of an enlightened
people sitting on…uh…the, the cusp of tomorrow! Of, um, a rising sun over
Britain! What better setting for your daughter’s entrance into the…uh…scholarly
realm? Or into womanhood?”

He took a moment,
mulling it over. I feared I may have overdone it with the “scholarly realm”
talk.

“Well,” he finally
said, “I suppose that makes sense. Still, it doesn’t seem very private.”

“I’m sure we could
find some unoccupied space. A study or a sitting room or a…study.”

Again he mulled,
but ultimately agreed. I glanced over his shoulder and spotted Quill signaling
to me, as she and the boys were casually posed next to the locked study.

The gentleman sent
for his daughter, who was more than happy to attend an unscheduled session. And
thus I began to escort Helen Blue-Eyes.

“Well, Mister
Falston,” she said as we walked, “or is it Headmaster Falston now?”

“Mister will do
fine, thanks.”

“Mister it is,”
she said, giving me a very strange smile that put me instantly on edge. “So!
What will be the subject of tonight’s discussion?”

As we approached
the study, my cohorts quietly strolled off and blended into the surroundings.

“Literature,” I
said, keeping my eyes fixed on the door.

“Any work or
author in particular?”

“Pocket,” I said
without thinking.

“Who?”

I snapped back to
attention. “Uh, Pocket. Will Pocket.”

“Never heard of
him.”

“Uh…right. I mean,
I’m not surprised. He was an underrated poet of the last century. Seldom read.”

“Interesting. And
I am very fond of poetry.”

“That’s good!
Because I intended to share, um, a selection from Mister Pocket’s collected
works.”

I smiled to myself
as we reached the door.

“I just need to
retrieve a volume from the hall’s study,” I said, clenching the doorknob. “It
will  just take a moment.”

I tried opening
the door, and as Quill had indicated, it was firmly locked. I feigned surprise.

“Huh,” I said to
Helen Blue-Eyes. “That’s strange.”

She gave me
another unsettling smile.

“You seem to be
having some trouble with doors tonight.”

I half-frowned.
“Seems so.”

We stood in
silence for a bit, as I realized that I was going to have to bring the question
up.

“I don’t suppose
you still have your father’s key on you, do you?”

“I do.”

Again I politely
waited, and again she said
nothing.

“Uh…could I use
it…once more?”

“Of course.” She
brought out the skeleton key and moved it towards the hole.

“However,” she
said, pausing, “perhaps we shouldn’t.”

“Uh…what?”

“Well, what I mean
is, certainly they must have had a reason to lock off the study in the first
place.”

“Maybe,” I said,
trying to think, “possibly, yes. Or they may have simply locked it out of
habit.”

“That could be,”
she said, putting the key to the door before again pulling it away. “But maybe,
Mister Falston, this room has been sealed to keep something in or someone out.”

I stared at her,
beginning to become annoyed.

“Well,” I finally
said, fighting to keep my tone even, “whatever the reasoning behind it, I don't
really care. I have no interest in the study itself, only in retrieving my book
of poetry. So, if you would—“

“About this
poetry,” she said, crossing her arms, “what manner is it?”

“Oh, you know.
Typical, old-fashioned, a bit long and rambling.”

“So they are epics
then? Like the old romances?”

“You could call
them that.”

“And tonight's
selection, what is it called?”

My mind raced.
“It's called...’The Girl Behind The Glass.'”

“A charming title.
And what is it about?”

I made a small,
sad smile. “Beauty amongst ugliness.”

Helen Blue-Eyes
chuckled, and then softly unlocked the door.

“Doesn't seem like
a tale to be missed,” she said, pushing the door open with her outstretched
fingers.

“Yes,” I agreed,
watching a line of shadow expand from the darkened room upon its revelation.
“It's my favorite.”

I felt around
inside the study, found a lantern, and lit it with a nearby matchstick. Light
filled the space, and my eyes immediately fell upon the donation box

“So where's your
book?” Helen asked, peering past me. “I don't see one lying out.”

“Oh, well, someone
must've found it, put it away by mistake, probably on that bookshelf,” I said,
alluding to a large one standing opposite of me. “It'll just take me a minute
to track it down.”

“I see,” the young
lady said. “Perhaps I should wait outside, watch the door?”

I couldn't help
grinning. “Good idea. I mean, we don't want to disrupt the party. Better close
the door behind you, too.”

She nodded and
excused herself. As soon as I was alone, I found the set of double windows Gren
had mentioned and checked them out. They popped and swung open easily, neither
locked nor barred. I stuck my head out and found a soft patch of trimmed grass
not far beneath the edge of the windows. I laughed to myself, not believing how
easily this was going.

Then I heard the
doorknob turn. Quickly, I closed the windows and grabbed a bound, unmarked book
off of the shelf. Helen Blue-Eyes re-entered, again with that odd smile, and
shut the door behind her.

“Hey there,” I
said, waving the book at her. “Back so soon?”

“I got to
thinking,” she said, catching me surprised by speaking in a deeper, more
serious tone instead of her usual, flighty manner, “and I decided that I'd
prefer to join you here inside. I take it you've found what you were looking
for?”

“Uh, yeah. Got it
right here.”

“I wasn't
referring to the book.”

“I don't think I
understand.”

“Let’s talk,” she
said, moving to a music box in the room. “And have some music. You like Lady
Jay?”

She sent a
cylinder moving and the sound of the songbird’s voice filled the room.

“Got to watch
your footing, got to keep in check. Got to keep on moving, got to watch your
neck.”

I tried to ignore
the music and set down the book I was holding.

“Fine,” I said,
keeping a cautious and serious eye on the woman in the room. “Let’s talk.”

“Tell me,
Falston,” she continued, “how large of a fool do you take me for?”

“I don’t know,” I
replied. “Should I have thought larger or smaller?”

“Funny.” She put
her finger to a globe and spun it. “So how long have you been planning this?”

“Planning what?”

“This charade.”

“If you’re accusing
me of—“

“How much is in
that box, Falston?”

I scowled, knowing
she had me. “I don’t know,” I finally said. “I honestly don’t. We were just
going to take whatever was there and run.”

“That was your
plan?”

“Not mine, no. I
was sort of thrown into this whole scheme.”

“Mmm…I can tell.
No offense, Falston…or Smith or Jones or whoever you’d like to call yourself,
but you make for a terrible liar.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Granted I was a
little skeptical at first, but that scholarly act of yours fell straight to
pieces the moment you started with that ‘Will Pocket’ talk. Next time spend a
little thought before you conjure up a pseudonym. Choose one that sounds a
little plausible and less fitting for a theater puppet. You know, less Punch
and Judy.”

I had decided,
right there, that I did not like this woman.

“I’ll keep that in
mind,” I flatly stated.

“You’re getting
angry, Falston,” she replied. “I wouldn’t recommend that. Not to the woman who
could tighten your noose rather quickly.”

I took the hint
and faked a calm demeanor. “I’m sure you could.”

“Easily. All I’d
have to do right now is scream, make a little noise, and half of the party
would be in here and at your neck.”

“I imagine so,” I
said evenly, betraying no emotion to the woman. “But what if I told you that
I’m carrying a pistol?”

“Then you’d be
lying.”

Damn.

I took in a few
breaths and assessed the situation. This woman had me pinned, cornered, but
despite my nerves, I was not completely convinced that she would outright turn
me in, especially after she had taken such lengths to get me this close to the
prize. She was watching me for a reaction, and I knew I had to handle myself
carefully.

“All right,” I
said at last. “So where is this heading?”

“Well,” she
replied, “I
could
scream. Or…I could be persuaded to remain more
ladylike.”

“Ladylike?”

“Of course. It
isn’t very becoming for a young woman to raise her tone to such a shrill degree
amongst proper company.”

“Sure…” I
cautiously replied.

“So persuade me.”

“And how do you
suggest I do that?”

“You really are a
terrible gentleman, aren’t you?”

I shrugged.

“Ladies are
fickle,” she continued. “Their favor is won by adoration, praise. I assumed you
would know, given how highly your friend spoke of your ‘talents.’”

“Oh, for God’s
sake, I
told
that idiot that this would—“

“Adoration, if I
may carry on, means providing gestures of your affection. Tokens. Gifts.”

I understood and
began grinding my teeth. These lessons on culture were going to cost me.

“What do you
want?” I asked.

“Half,” she
demanded, pointing at the box.

This surprised me,
and I had to stare at her for a moment to make sure that she was serious.

And she was.

“Blackmail,” I
said with a wry smile. “Classy.”

“I don’t need the
opinions of a thief, thanks. Just open the box.”