The Curious Case Of The Clockwork Menace (3 page)

CHAPTER
TWO

“
SOMETHING BOTHERING YOU?” Garrett asked, as they hopped down
from the omnibus, a half-mile from Nelly’s home.

Stormy gray
eyes the color of thunderclouds glanced up at him, but Perry looked
slightly distracted. “What?”

Garrett
shifted the case with Miss Tate’s leg inside it, getting a better
grip on the handle, as they turned toward Nelly’s house. “You seem
distracted.”

A long moody
silence ensued. “No. Just… some things never change, do they?”

“
I’m not certain what you mean.”

Perry finally
looked up from her boots, her strides long and loose-hipped, and
her hands hiding in the pockets of her long leather coat. “I was
just thinking about human nature. It rarely changes, especially on
a case like this.”

He had the
feeling she’d deflected the answer, but he didn’t push her. “So who
do you like for this?”

“
It’s too early to tell,” she replied. “There’s something
going on with Rommell, however. Both Miss Radcliffe and Mr.
Fotherham grew distressed in slightly different ways, when you
brought up his name. Perhaps it’s monetary? Mr. Fotherham certainly
seemed focused on the theatre’s finances.”

“
And Miss Radcliffe?”

She took her
time in answering. “My read on her is… uncertain. But I think she’s
hiding something. She dropped her gaze and glanced away when you
brought up Rommell, so I think there’s something there – but then
that could also have been the fact that you were the one asking
that question. She changed the conversation fairly quickly.”

He digested
this. “Why would I have anything to do with it?”

Perry rolled her eyes. “Good grief, Garrett. She was
practically cooing at you. Though I’d be mightily surprised if you
hadn’t noticed
that
.”

He had
noticed. His eyes narrowed. “Are you complaining about the way I
ran that interview?”

“
Of course not. You had her eating out of your
hand.”

“
I’m not there to be the enemy,” he said. “People respond
better to a more reasonable approach. If they think I suspect them,
then they tend to think they might have something to
hide.”

“
I’m not talking about
people
.”

That riled
him, and he stopped in his tracks. “You think I stepped over the
line with her?”

Perry took
another two steps before realizing he’d stopped. “Let’s not discuss
this here.”

It would
hardly be the done thing for two Nighthawks to be caught arguing in
the streets. Who knew what the press could get their hands on?
“We’ll discuss it later, back at the Guild.”

Just so that
she knew this wasn’t finished between them.

Still, the
idea that she even considered his approach today to be less than
professional irritated him. He never let his emotions or his
flirtations get in the way of a case anymore, particularly not with
a potential suspect.

He had once, a
long time ago, on one of his first handful of cases. He’d let a few
tears sway him away from a potential suspect, when the widow had,
in fact, been a merciless poisoner. The memory still humiliated
him, with the way he’d been so easily manipulated.

Christ, the Guild Master - Lynch - had nearly chewed his head
off over that breach and warned him that it was
never
to happen again.

Garrett knew
it was a weakness of his. He didn’t like to see women cry and more
than once he’d stepped between a woman and her cruel husband or
pimp. Every single time he saw the blank look in his mother’s
sightless eyes when he’d gone searching for her that long ago
morning. He hadn’t saved her then and he couldn’t save them all
now, but sometimes he had to remember that women weren’t always in
need of protection. Sometimes they were just as guilty as men.

The walk to
Nelly’s house was silent and terse.

Nobody
answered the knock. Garrett slipped the lock again and opened the
door. “Hello?” he called. “Is anybody home? Miss Tate?”

The next door
opened and an older woman stuck her head out. “Who are you?” Her
gaze slid over their leathers. “Nighthawks, eh?”

“
Indeed.” Garrett smoothly introduced them both.

“
I’m Mrs. Harroway, Miss Tate’s neighbour. She ain’t at home,
if that’s what you’re here for.”

“
When did you see her last?” Perry asked.

“
This morning,” Mrs. Harroway replied. “When she left for the
theatre, about half-nine. Why? What’s wrong?”

“
Miss Tate is missing,” he replied, jotting down the time
she’d left her home. “She vanished from the theatre just before
rehearsals were due to start. We’re just trying to ascertain her
whereabouts.”

“
Oh.” Mrs. Harroway clapped a hand to her mouth. “Oh, what a
shame. I hope she’s all right. I know it ain’t quite right, what
she does, but she has such wonderful manners. Wouldn’t think she’s
an
actress
.”

“
Does she have many callers?”

“
Not a one,” Mrs. Harroway told him firmly. “I wouldn’t hold
much with that, and I’ve told her too. She said she don’t like
having people in her home. Says it just for her, a space away from
all that madness. A private woman, Miss Tate. Don’t ever see her
much - nor does she say much about herself.”

“
Does she have family?” Perry asked.

Mrs. Harroway
frowned and wiped her hands in her apron. “You know, I’ve ever seen
anyone. As I said, she don’t talk much about herself, so I really
couldn’t say.”

“
Thank you for your help.” He slipped her his card. “If you
remember anything - or see something unusual, could you please let
us know?”

Mrs. Harroway
took the card and nodded.

Garrett held
the door open for Perry. The moment it was closed, he breathed in.
The apartment smelled like rose petals - the kind a woman put in
her drawers.

There was no
sign of Nelly, not that he’d expected to find one.

An hour later,
there was still no sign of anything at all about the woman herself.
A mystery. Usually there were letters to be found, or a diary, or
something to indicate the lifestyle of the person who lived in a
home, but it were as though Nelly were only a mirage. The only hint
to the woman’s personality were the scattering of plays and books
that seemed to litter the parlour.

“
It’s almost as though she doesn’t exist,” Perry murmured,
fingering a well-worn copy of poetry. “As though her entire world
can be found within these pages, but there’s no hint of Nelly
outside of them.” She surveyed the room, as if she could see
something that he couldn’t. “It’s almost as though this was merely
a place of residence for her, not a home. It’s as though Nelly
hasn’t found her home yet, or maybe, she’s still looking for
it?”

Garrett eyed
her. Nelly reminded him a little of Perry. Barely anyone outside of
he - and perhaps one or two others at the Guild - knew anything
about her, and that was the way she preferred it.

He was
starting to gain an impression of the actress. Was Nelly Tate
simply another role the woman played? Did anyone know the woman
beneath the polite, young actress’ facade?

That thought
led directly to another. Was Perry playing a role too? Aloof,
taciturn young Nighthawk?

What was she
hiding? And for the first time, he wasn’t entirely certain if he
referred to Perry or Nelly.

“
Well,” he said, watching Perry with curious eyes as she
glanced at the back of a book. No point asking her. He’d simply
watch and wonder and slowly work his way through the labyrinth that
protected her. “Let’s press on to the enclaves and see if there’s
anything in here–” He gestured to the case with the mechanical leg,
“that can give us a clue about Nelly’s disappearance.”

After all, an
unregistered mech was certainly curious.

As he fell
into step behind her, he couldn’t stop himself from examining the
short, blackened hair that caressed her nape and wondering about
that little speech.

Where’s your home, Perry?
For it
felt, for a moment, as she’d been speaking of herself and not Nelly
Tate.

The guards on
the gates at the King Street enclaves let them through after a
brief examination of their identity cards and they found themselves
ushered into the main offices overlooking the main factory. The
King Street enclaves were mainly responsible for shipping, and the
enormous carcasses of half-finished dreadnoughts lined the bays.
Workers crawled over them, armed with welding rigs, and sparks spat
across the floors.

The overseer
who met them had obviously never worked a day on the floor in his
life, judging by his steam-pressed suit and immaculate tie. Garrett
exchanged a glance with Perry, opening the case on the man’s desk
to display the leg as he introduced himself.

“
Rigby,” the overseer replied, holding out his hand to
Garrett. He shook it with a shark’s flash of a smile, virtually
ignoring Perry, whom he obviously surmised to be Garrett’s
assistant and therefore not worthy of any attention.

“
This is my partner, Detective Lowell,” Garrett said,
directing Rigby’s gaze to her.

Rigby’s smile
slipped as he hastily offered his hand to her.

Then it was
time for business. “I’m aware that your main industry is shipping,
but rumor has it there’s a handful of mechs you employ who do some
finer work. I was wondering if you might have someone who could
have done something like this?”

Rigby looked
perplexed. “Yes, well, I’ll send for Jamison. Mechanical limbs are
outside my realm of expertise, however, he transferred out to the
Southwark Enclaves for a year, and they deal exclusively in
bio-mech and mechanical limbs.”

He strode to
the corner and pulled a lever. A throaty whistle screamed out
through the factory and men lifted their faces to the overseer’s
office. Rigby spoke into the mouthpiece, “Jamison? To my office,
please.”

A man scrubbed
his hands against his overalls and started toward the steps.

Rigby
introduced them to Jamison, and explained what they were there for.
He made as though to hover, but Garrett shot him a look. “Do you
mind if we speak to Mr Jamison in private?”

Mechs were
already second-class citizens; the man was unlikely to inform on
anyone outside the trade, with his supervisor here.

“
Yes, yes, of course.” Rigby looked anything but pleased when
he left, however.

“
There’s only a handful of men I know who could have made
that,” Jamison said, after a moment’s silence. He traced his finger
down over the rose template down the side of the thigh. “But this
here tells me who it were. It’s his signature. Puts a rose on all
his work.”

“
Who?”

“
The Maker,” Jamison replied. “Works out o’ Clerkenwell. Has a
shop there, fixin’ timepieces and the like, though that’s just the
front for his real business. Makes mech parts for people as can’t
afford the enclaves.”

“
And just how does a man have so much skill with mech parts?
It’s strictly forbidden for a mech to continue this line of work
once he leaves the enclaves,” Perry said, tracing the rose with her
finger. “What’s his actual name?”

“
Not that we’re interested in reprimanding him over
unsolicited enclave work.” Garrett offered a smile. “We just wish
to know more about the missing girl’s mech leg. We’re trying to
establish potential motives for her disappearance.”

Had someone
realized that Nelly was a mech? Had they taken offense at it?

It was a weak
line of thought, but all they had at the moment, and someone had to
know something about Nelly’s background - or who her family was. If
there had been an accident, perhaps someone had brought her to the
Maker to be fitted for a new leg? And who had paid for it?

Jamison
considered the pair of them. One of the most difficult aspects of
being a Nighthawk – a blue blood, but not one with any rights – was
the distrust of the people. As far as the human classes thought, a
blue blood was a blue blood, regardless of whether they were of the
aristocratic classes, or simply a rogue who’d caught the virus by
chance.

“
Hobbs,” Jamison said slowly. “James Sterling Hobbs. His da
were a mech, which is how he learned the trade. When the enclaves
refuse an application for a mech limb, he’s someone a man can turn
to. Sometimes does work for those who can afford his fees, that
don’t wish to wind up here.” Jamison gave a tight smile.
“Unfortunately, I didn’t have the money to pay him.”

“
You’re not a mech,” Perry noted. “Unless I’m
mistaken.”

“
No.” Jamison tipped his chin to her. “Me wife caught the
Black Lung. Needed a new chest pump to be able to breathe, but the
cost were twenty years, in this prison.” His voice dropped. “I got
two bairns. Rigby agreed to transfer the debt to me. He ain’t a bad
sort, for all that. He’d prefer a big, strapping lad working his
shifts, and my boys need their mother more than they need
me.”

“
Do you have Hobbs’ direction?” Perry asked.

With a sigh,
Jamison wrote it down, then passed the slip of paper across the
desk toward them. He kept his hand on it. “You promise there won’t
be any trouble come of this? There’s a lot of folk who don’t end up
in this here hell, because of men like Hobbs.”

Sometimes
being a Nighthawk meant balancing the needs of the law. If Garrett
gave a damn about the Echelon, then he might have used this
information, but after his youth on the streets, Garrett knew what
it felt like to be crushed beneath the heel of the Echelon. The
downtrodden human classes needed some sense of hope, or else there
would be more riots and fighting in the streets. “You have my
word.”