She swallowed, hard. “But if I had been more astute. . . if I had been stronger—”
“For such a selfless person, you say ‘I’ a great deal.” Mr. Arthur cupped a hand to her cheek. “Listen well, Miss Stanton. Forrester was the one who blundered. Not you. Forrester was the one who failed. Not you. Forrester was the rat who chose to scamper through the gutter of deceit and back alleys of treachery rather than ask for help. Forrester was the clod who threw away a chance at a family without guile and a woman beyond compare. Just because one malevolent man trods on you, don’t for a second think you deserved it. Heaven knows you’re precious and worth protecting even when men don’t, and heaven will defend you even when men fail.”
Warmth washed over Clara from bonnet to boots. If she wasn’t on her guard, she could easily fall in love with this man.
Pocket watch chimes stilled her dangerous train of thought, and a swat from a yarn tail severed her connection with Mr. Arthur. As the music flitted through the air on metallic wings, they turned to the automaton. The horse flicked its tail as if to ward away flies, and the movement caused something to thud against its metal buttocks. Something hidden amongst the abundance of black threads. Clara blinked. Was that one of the cylindrical satchels Grand used to shelter his notes?
Lifting the horse’s tail, with no small amount of awkwardness, Clara found a leather container tied to the extremity. She freed the rounded satchel and, scrunching her nose, viewed it with incredulity. “Of all places, why would Grand hide it there?”
Mr. Arthur smirked. “Because that’s the one part of a horse’s anatomy no one cares to examine.”
With a snort of billowing steam, the horse took off at a canter and conveyed them through the Grande Île’s winding streets, retracing their previous course. When Gutenberg Square came into view, the number of people around the carousel had doubled, and adults outnumbered the children. Clara pursed her lips. This did not bode well. Huddled around the carousel, people talked over one another in loud voices and pointed at the empty spot where the automaton horse had once stood. A pair of gentlemen in bowler hats appeared to be jotting in notebooks as they conversed with a lady in a fuchsia dress.
Mum!
As the automaton horse and cart neared the carousel, all eyes turned toward them. Children squealed, and murmurs amongst the adults increased in volume as a cacophony of languages collided in midair. Unable to make sense of German, Clara’s mind latched on to the phrases in English and French.
“Is it related to the clockwork owl?”
“Marvel of marvels!”
“Do you think that chap’s the inventor?”
The horse accelerated to a gallop, and the throng scattered, evading its path with gasps and shouts. As the machine’s intentions became clear, the hair on Clara’s neck raised. Muscles seizing, she braced herself against the cart and Mr. Arthur’s arm. The horse leapt through the air and landed on the carousel platform with a clatter before trotting back to its original location and resuming its deep and dreamless slumber.
The pocket watch fell silent.
For a moment, all was still.
Then the crowd erupted in a gaggle of questions, and thereporters fumbled with their notebooks, desperate to capture every detail on paper.
Clara’s stomach clenched. They might’ve given Mr. Forrester the slip, but he’d know exactly where to find them once tomorrow’s paper hit the pavement.
CHAPTER
24
Muscles taut as an overwound clock spring, Theodore rowed their rented boat across the lake, his attention riveted on the grounds of Orangerie Park. His gaze examined the trees hedging the shoreline, which afforded shade for them and possibly concealment for others.
Had he done enough to keep the Stantons safe?
As they’d fled the carousel, he’d lost the reporters by employing the old dodge-and-switch through the winding streets. After retrieving the animals and luggage from the Canopy of Stars, he’d located a new hotel, where they’d regrouped later that evening. The clue Drosselmeyer left on the horse had directed them to Orangerie Park—still in Strasbourg but, thankfully, off the Grande Île. They lay low the following day to avoid the newspaper men, and then under the cover of night, he’d escorted the ladies to an inn near the park.
Today, he’d insisted Mrs. S. and the animals stay at the Plucky Orange Peel rather than venture into the park. He’dwanted Miss Stanton to stay behind as well. Let him assume the risk of locating the next clue. But the woman’s stubbornness and logic had prevailed. Strength and security are found in numbers, she’d said.
Still, he couldn’t shake the nagging thought that all their precautions were for naught. That Forrester was already in Strasbourg. Lurking. Hunting. Every newspaper in Europe had already given them away, printing the story of Drosselmeyer’s runaway carousel horse, so it was only a matter of time before the rat showed his yellow teeth. Somehow, he had to keep the scoundrel away from the Stantons.
After hearing Miss Stanton relate the whole of Forrester’s treachery, he now understood her valid suspicions upon their first meeting. He also understood why the slippery thief in Drosselmeyer’s apartment hadn’t purloined the money box or other valuables. Forrester had sent the boy after that letter, and the letter only. Dastardly fiend. The nerve of him threatening Drosselmeyer. Blackmailing Miss Stanton. It was enough to make his blood boil!
Water splashed against Theodore’s cheek and seemed to sizzle, snapping his attention to the rowboat.
Miss Stanton used a handkerchief to dry her bare hand. “I apologize, but I’d called your name numerous times without effect, so drastic measures seemed warranted.” She slipped on her brown glove. “Are you aware that you’ve been rowing us in circles?”
The allure of her smile rendered Theodore dumbstruck. “Was I?”
“Indeed, and you were beginning to look like the hero of a gothic novel, which is completely unacceptable. I cannot abide any form of brooding.”
Neither could he. That’s why he endeavored to keep his tormented thoughts under control. Theodore reflexively swept the evidence of his foreboding into the mental clock casing,already stuffed full of nightmares and shadows. Gah, but it was becoming hard to shut the door again. And keep it shut.
