“Tell him?” The familiar sensation of a sinking ship in Theodore’s gut indicated that he’d once again made a terrible error. “Aren’t you meeting Drosselmeyer at the Globe today?”
Her disdain intensified, curiously enough, still without eyebrow assistance. “I always collect Grand here, every Thursday, at exactly half past eleven. Why should you think I would stray from that routine?”
“Because your grandfather left here not half an hour ago.”
At last, one of the dark eyebrows showed signs of movement in the form of a twitch on the right-hand quadrant. “Nonsense. Grand always awaits my arrival. Therefore, he must still be here.”
If he wasn’t in perilous waters before, he sure as blazes was now. For Miss Stanton had just set his sinking ship aflame and left him with two equally dangerous courses of action. One, to agree with the woman by voicing a lie. Two, to contradict the woman by speaking the truth. Theodore ran a hand over his beard. Gah ... there was no way to get out of this unscathed. Leastways, none that he could see. He’d best take the routeof complete honesty. That way he’d at least be on the high ground when Miss Stanton buried him.
“As much as I loathe to contradict a lady, the facts force me to reiterate that Drosselmeyer is not here. See for yourself, if you must.”
With a scowl, Miss Stanton barreled through the workshop door, leaving the poor scrap of wood swinging wildly in her wake. “Grand?” Stomping boots punctuated her unanswered call and tracked her progression up to the second-floor apartment. Another helpless door slammed against a wall. More stomping of boots, more abusive slamming of doors. “Grand?”
Stomp, stomp, slam. Stomp, stomp, slam.
A wince pinched the corners of Theodore’s eyes. How many times would she pace betwixt the two empty rooms before—
Boots pelted stairs like a hailstorm. Theodore tightened his grip upon the crutch.
The still-swinging door fled before Miss Stanton. He expected the woman to yell. Scream. Plant fists on her shapely hips as she summoned a murder of ravens to make good on their name. Instead, Miss Stanton’s gloved hands remained at her sides and an intense focus anchored her tone. “Tell me—exactly—what Grandfather said.”
Tread carefully,man. Don’t make thisworse.“He said something about seeing the world and not being able to wait and the wind being just right.”
“The wind...” Miss Stanton’s face drained of the meager color it possessed. “He wouldn’t. Surely, he wouldn’t.”
What the deuce was the woman so afraid of? “I apologize, Miss Stanton, for this communication failure on my part. When Drosselmeyer departed this morning, I assumed you’d meet him at the Globe in coordinating fancy dress.”
“Fancy dress? Dear heavens ... tell me Grand wasn’t wearing goggles. Tell me he was dressed as Wellington or—or awastepaper basket—anything other than those blighted goggles.”
He swallowed. “As much as I loathe to contradict a lady—”
Miss Stanton fled. Bounded out the door before he could so much as turn round. What was it with this family and mysterious departures?
Giving chase for the third time that morning, Theodore locked the shop door and hurried after Miss Stanton, who was dashing toward a hansom cab parked down the street. What reason could she have for such haste? Drosselmeyer couldn’t run into any real danger between here and the Globe ... could he? Breaking into a stilted and uncomfortable run, he managed to gain ground and blocked her path with his crutch.
Miss Stanton stabbed a finger at his chest. “Get out of my—”
“You can disregard me all you like, Miss Stanton. Hate me till your blood boils and steam curls out your ears. But I am accompanying you on this errand, so don’t waste time arguing the point. If Drosselmeyer has run into trouble on my account, I aim to set things right.”
Lightning cracked in Miss Stanton’s glare, but she allowed him into the cab without protest. Then she ordered the driver to head for the docks.
Though the cab navigated London’s streets at a teeth-clacking pace, Miss Stanton’s demeanor accused the driver of being a cautious governess afraid to jar her young charge’s pram. Posture steeled and gaze fixed straight ahead, her boot tapped incessantly. She remained thus for the whole drive, despite being jostled and jarred. Even the noxious stench of the nearing Thames failed to make her sway.
The moment the driver brought his horse to a stop, Miss Stanton was off. Theodore asked the driver to await their return and then dashed off in pursuit, crutch tucked under hisarm. Even with the improved mobility provided by his prosthetic boot, he struggled to keep Miss Stanton in his sights. Dodging wooden crates, murky puddles, and sweat-drenched longshoremen, she cut a winding path across the wharf that she seemed to have traversed many times before.
At last, Miss Stanton came to a stop, riveted by a vast warehouse that, by all outward appearances, didn’t warrant such rapt fascination. She heaved a ragged sigh, a hand to her chest. “Thank God, the roof is yet in place.”
Theodore leaned on his crutch and raised an eyebrow. “Does it have a habit of flying—”
A metallic screech rent the air, and Theodore grimaced. Ripping his attention away from the wide-eyed Miss Stanton, he gawked at the warehouse from whence emanated the sounds of machinery. A metallic moan, like rusted gears being forced to turn. A clanking, clinking, creaking racket, like a dilapidated pulley system whose unoiled chains were now on the move, grating against one another as they hoisted a load. But what the deuce was their load?
The roof stirred, or rather hefted, its flat metal surface toward the sky as old hinges accustomed to their rest shrieked in protest.
“No, no, no!” In a flutter of skirts Miss Stanton disappeared into the warehouse before Theodore could so much as blink.
Dash it all! Would the woman ever elucidate? Theodore readied to give chase for the fourth time in one very long morning, only to have a mighty burst of wind set him down with a shove. Careening backward, he landed with a thwunk on his posterior.
In a puddle of rancid Thames.
