His Clockwork Canary Read Free

deeply as his brother limped into the cramped confines of the family
     dining room. “Do not assume to know my mind.”
    “Has grief struck you addle, brother?” Dark brow raised, Jules sat and reached for
     the coffeepot. Like their father, the Darcy twins had always preferred brewed coffee
     over blended teas.
    Simon flashed back on one of his father’s quirky inventions—an electric bean-grinding
     percolator—which might have proved useful, except, as a staunch Old Worlder, their
     mother had refused to allow Ashford to utilize electricity.
    Destitute and living in the Dark Ages.
    Riddled with emotions, he pocketed the blasted scandal sheet and met his twin’s steady
     gaze. But of course Jules would know his mind. The older brother by mere minutes,
     he always seemed to have the jump on Simon. Even so far as guessing or knowing his
     thoughts. Simon was often privy to Jules’s notions as well, and sometimes they even
     had what their little sister referred to as “twin conversations.” Whether spurred
     by intuition or some bizarre version of telepathy, they often finished each other’s
     sentences. It drove Amelia mad.
    “I could’ve been working alongside my mentor on Tower Bridge,” Simon said. “Instead
     I chose to pursue my own
brilliant
idea.”
    “You doubt the merit of a public transportation system high above the congested streets
     of London?”
    “No.” Simon’s monorail system inspired by the Book of Mods would have eased ground
     traffic and air pollution caused by the rising population and number of steam-belching
     and petrol-guzzling automocoaches. It would have provided an affordable mass transit
     alternative to London’s underground rail service.
    It would have afforded Simon the recognition and respect he craved.
    “I regret that I boasted prematurely about my project. Had I not bragged, Papa would
     not have invested the family fortune.” Sickened, Simon dragged his hands though his
     longish hair. “Bloody hell, Jules. What was the old fool thinking?”
    “That he believed in you.”
    “When the project failed, I Teletyped Papa immediately. Railed against the injustice
     of political corruption. Wallowed in self-pity. What was I thinking?”
    “That he would damn the eyes of the narrow-minded and manipulative Old Worlders. That
     he’d side with you. Ease your misery.” Jules looked away. “He excelled at that. Building
     us up. Making us believe we were capable of whatever our hearts and minds desired.”
    For a moment, Simon set aside his own heavy remorse and focused on his brother, who
     had always been darker in coloring and nature than the more fair and frivolous Simon.
     Though presently residing in London, where he worked as an author of science fiction
     novels, Jules Darcy was retired military, a decorated war hero. Details revolving
     around the skirmish that had mangled his legs and left him with a permanent limp were
     classified. The period of rehabilitation had been extensive and also shrouded in secrecy.
     Even Simon was clueless as to those peculiar days of Jules’s mysterious life. Although
     he was often privy to his brother’s moods and inclinations, he’d never been able to
     read Jules’s mind regarding the covert nature of his service to the Crown.
    “Coffee’s bitter,” Jules said, setting aside his cup and reaching for the sugar bowl.
    Everything had tasted bitter to Simon for days, but he knew what his brother meant.
     “Eliza made the coffee. Be warned—she cooked as well.”
    Frowning, Jules glanced toward the sideboard and the steaming porcelain tureens. Though
     an excellent housekeeper, Eliza was famously ill equipped in the kitchen. “What happened
     to Concetta?”
    The skilled though crotchety cook had been in their mother’s employ for months. “Mother
     dismissed her this morning. Said we could no longer afford her services.”
    “Did she not offer the woman a month’s notice?”
    “She did. Along with excellent