Gilded Lily Read Free Page B

streets were overlaid by the new. What had seemed straightforward on the map was rendered meaningless by the scale, the bustle and the overwhelming noise of steam cars and horse-drawn conveyances vying for space on old, cobbled roads or wood-block paving. The few times he’d come to the city with friends during his Oxford days, it hadn’t seemed so daunting. Or so cacophonous.
    â€œHaven’t they ever heard of asphalt?”
    â€œThey’ve started it north of the river,” a voice commented from the nearest vehicle, a converted steam-drawn pony trap of a type that was all too familiar from the streets of New York. This one looked slightly down-at-heels, and its driver’s and passenger’s coats were frayed at the cuffs and collars. Tinkers, by the oil stains on their clothing and the assembly of tools in the back of the trap. No expertise with fine clockwork, but they could likely repair an engine or a pump for anyone who couldn’t afford a proper makesmith. Barnabas didn’t begrudge them their living but wondered how the local guilds viewed these independent competitors.
    â€œNot to mention the smell when they lay it down. Nah, here it’ll be cobbles and setts until they die, I’d wager,” the driver finished.
    The trap disappeared like magic as the traffic suddenly picked up its pace, and Barnabas stared dumbly for far too long at the space the little cart had occupied. There was something odd about the trap’s passenger that had diverted his attention from the driver almost instantly. He tried to pin it down but was unable. Something, though. About the eyes and jawline, the fit of the clothing . . .
    A prodding hand jolted Barnabas from his bemused stupor, and he lashed out just in time to catch the wrist of his attempted pickpocket.
    â€œHey! Stop that!”
    The boy dropped Barnabas’s coin purse back into his pocket and escaped with a sharp twist of his hand against his intended victim’s thumb. Obviously not the first time the youth had been in that situation. A cluster of other boys lurked near the next corner, looking too nonchalant.
    More alert, Barnabas transferred all his valuables to safer inside pockets, then returned his mind to the task at hand. He knew from his map he was close to Belgravia, and the rough tinker’s remark about nobs was confirmation. Rutherford Murcheson’s house couldn’t be too far off now. He should be able to find it in time to change and dress before the evening’s festivities. Whether he would actually find it festive, trying to keep a watchful eye on Murcheson’s wayward daughter, remained to be seen. At least it would be a relatively honest evening’s work.
    Rutherford Murcheson hadn’t especially wanted Barnabas for the job of looking after his daughter. Barnabas had suspected as much from their correspondence, and his impression was confirmed by the man’s edgy, dismissive demeanor when Barnabas finally arrived at his tasteful home.
    â€œYou resemble your brother,” the older man said flatly after they’d shaken hands. “Are you going to disappoint me, as he did?”
    Barnabas’s younger brother Phineas had seemed destined to greatness in his military career before he allegedly succumbed to the lure of opium and fell off the map. But that shouldn’t mean anything to Murcheson. “Who was he to you, sir, that you had any expectations of him?”
    Murcheson was an industrialist, a manufacturer of clockwork devices and steam engines. Few knew of his other work, as a spymaster for the Crown. Barnabas himself had only learned this recently, and there was no reason young Lieutenant Phineas Smith-Grenville should have known it at all. But Barnabas had reason to believe there was much more to Phineas’s disappearance than his family had been led to believe. Finding out the truth about his brother and restoring honor to his name was still his primary