Mirror Sight
Page 98
“By the way,” the professor added, “try not to break any heads with that bonewood. I should hate to have to answer to the Inspectors, especially when they’ve been so suspicious.” He started to turn away, then paused. “One more thing. Luke will follow behind you with my carriage, should you need to leave early, and to keep an eye on things from the outside of wherever this dinner party is being held should anything untoward happen.” In a louder voice, his joviality back on display, he said, “And you two shall have an enjoyable evening, eh?” He clapped Cade on the shoulder and left them alone in the foyer.
Shortly Grott returned to place Karigan’s matching cloak over her shoulders and to see them to the carriage.
“Huh,” Cade said as they stepped through the front door.
“What is it?” Karigan asked, startled just to hear him speak.
“I guess I should not be surprised, but Dr. Silk hasn’t sent just any cab to pick us up.”
“No, indeed, sir,” Grott said in awe. “This is from the Hastings Livery Company, all the way from the Capital.”
Karigan, of course, did not know the Hastings Livery Company from any other, but she noted that the coats on the matched pair of standardbreds gleamed in the light of the streetlamp, the silver on their harness shimmering. The carriage itself was a spotless lacquered black with a filigreed “H” on the door. Three coachmen in uniform accompanied the carriage, one up front driving, the other two riding the footboard at the rear. One of the attendants stepped down to open the carriage door as Karigan and Cade approached. He expertly handed Karigan up into the carriage, and she found herself in a commodious cab of shining brass, gold burnished oak, and deep red brushed velvet. A crystal lamp cast a warm glow. She sank into one of the luxuriant cushioned seats, as Cade sat opposite. She had never ridden in anything quite this elegant.
“Would the gentleman and the lady care for some refreshment?” the coachman asked.
“No,” Cade said definitively.
Karigan opened her mouth to protest but stopped, remembering she was supposed to be Miss Goodgrave, not Rider G’ladheon.
“Very well, sir,” the coachman said, and he closed the door.
“What if I wanted something?” Karigan demanded.
“Invariably what they’d offer is wine or brandy or something like that. We need to avoid drink.”
When the carriage started forward, Karigan marveled at how distant, almost faint, the hoof beats and the grind of the wheels sounded outside. Little noise seemed to permeate the interior of the cab. “It’s so quiet,” she remarked.
“It’s a hallmark of a Hastings. The cab is almost impervious to noise inside and out. Just as very little sound comes in from outside, conversations inside are not overheard from without. This is why Hastings is the vehicle preferred by those in the Capital seeking discretion. Those who are wealthy enough to hire one, that is.”
“So they cannot hear us?” Karigan asked, vaguely gesturing to indicate the coachmen.
“Not likely, but . . .”
“Dr. Silk sent it,” she said in a low voice.
Cade nodded. “Most likely he just wishes to impress his guests with his wealth.” He leaned toward her and spoke softly. “If word got out that guests were overheard in a Hastings, it would be a tremendous breach of trust, and it would ruin the company’s reputation. Not only that, but it would put Dr. Silk in ill odor among his peers. Still . . .”
“It’s Dr. Silk,” Karigan finished for him in a whisper.
He nodded, and sat back in his seat. He pushed the drape away from the window of frosted glass and squinted, trying to peer through it. “Looks like Luke is following right behind us. I suppose it’s better to be obvious than have him sneaking around and looking suspicious.”
How did one sneak around in a carriage anyway? Karigan wondered.
Not only was the cab quiet, but the carriage itself rode very solidly with no jarring bumps or thuds. No doubt as much attention had been paid to the engineering of its workings as to the luxurious passenger compartment.
The carriage made several turns, and Karigan was entirely disoriented, able to see little through the frosted glass. “Can you tell where we’re going?” she asked.
“I haven’t the faintest,” Cade replied. “I lost track a few turns ago.”
Even though Karigan had known their destination was supposed to be a mystery, and even though she knew Luke followed behind, trepidation of the unknown gnawed at her. She did not like having so little control, and she gripped the handle of the bonewood more firmly. At least she had this weapon, if nothing else.
It further displeased her that Cade continued to avoid looking at her or initiating conversation. It was as if nothing had happened between them that night in the mill. As if—as if she were naught to him.
She thumped him soundly on the leg with her bonewood.
“Ow! What was that for?” He rubbed his calf where she’d struck him.
Karigan smiled beneath her veil. Not only had she roused his attention, but she’d forced him to look at her.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” she said. “I thought—I thought after . . .” Now she found herself at a loss. Why did things never go well for her when it came to men? She shook herself and flipped the annoying veil out of her face so there was no barrier between them. Did Cade actually flinch upon seeing her face bared? “I thought,” she now said with resolve, “that after that night when we . . . well, that you might be a little more . . . that you’d at least talk to me.”
Shortly Grott returned to place Karigan’s matching cloak over her shoulders and to see them to the carriage.
“Huh,” Cade said as they stepped through the front door.
“What is it?” Karigan asked, startled just to hear him speak.
“I guess I should not be surprised, but Dr. Silk hasn’t sent just any cab to pick us up.”
“No, indeed, sir,” Grott said in awe. “This is from the Hastings Livery Company, all the way from the Capital.”
Karigan, of course, did not know the Hastings Livery Company from any other, but she noted that the coats on the matched pair of standardbreds gleamed in the light of the streetlamp, the silver on their harness shimmering. The carriage itself was a spotless lacquered black with a filigreed “H” on the door. Three coachmen in uniform accompanied the carriage, one up front driving, the other two riding the footboard at the rear. One of the attendants stepped down to open the carriage door as Karigan and Cade approached. He expertly handed Karigan up into the carriage, and she found herself in a commodious cab of shining brass, gold burnished oak, and deep red brushed velvet. A crystal lamp cast a warm glow. She sank into one of the luxuriant cushioned seats, as Cade sat opposite. She had never ridden in anything quite this elegant.
“Would the gentleman and the lady care for some refreshment?” the coachman asked.
“No,” Cade said definitively.
Karigan opened her mouth to protest but stopped, remembering she was supposed to be Miss Goodgrave, not Rider G’ladheon.
“Very well, sir,” the coachman said, and he closed the door.
“What if I wanted something?” Karigan demanded.
“Invariably what they’d offer is wine or brandy or something like that. We need to avoid drink.”
When the carriage started forward, Karigan marveled at how distant, almost faint, the hoof beats and the grind of the wheels sounded outside. Little noise seemed to permeate the interior of the cab. “It’s so quiet,” she remarked.
“It’s a hallmark of a Hastings. The cab is almost impervious to noise inside and out. Just as very little sound comes in from outside, conversations inside are not overheard from without. This is why Hastings is the vehicle preferred by those in the Capital seeking discretion. Those who are wealthy enough to hire one, that is.”
“So they cannot hear us?” Karigan asked, vaguely gesturing to indicate the coachmen.
“Not likely, but . . .”
“Dr. Silk sent it,” she said in a low voice.
Cade nodded. “Most likely he just wishes to impress his guests with his wealth.” He leaned toward her and spoke softly. “If word got out that guests were overheard in a Hastings, it would be a tremendous breach of trust, and it would ruin the company’s reputation. Not only that, but it would put Dr. Silk in ill odor among his peers. Still . . .”
“It’s Dr. Silk,” Karigan finished for him in a whisper.
He nodded, and sat back in his seat. He pushed the drape away from the window of frosted glass and squinted, trying to peer through it. “Looks like Luke is following right behind us. I suppose it’s better to be obvious than have him sneaking around and looking suspicious.”
How did one sneak around in a carriage anyway? Karigan wondered.
Not only was the cab quiet, but the carriage itself rode very solidly with no jarring bumps or thuds. No doubt as much attention had been paid to the engineering of its workings as to the luxurious passenger compartment.
The carriage made several turns, and Karigan was entirely disoriented, able to see little through the frosted glass. “Can you tell where we’re going?” she asked.
“I haven’t the faintest,” Cade replied. “I lost track a few turns ago.”
Even though Karigan had known their destination was supposed to be a mystery, and even though she knew Luke followed behind, trepidation of the unknown gnawed at her. She did not like having so little control, and she gripped the handle of the bonewood more firmly. At least she had this weapon, if nothing else.
It further displeased her that Cade continued to avoid looking at her or initiating conversation. It was as if nothing had happened between them that night in the mill. As if—as if she were naught to him.
She thumped him soundly on the leg with her bonewood.
“Ow! What was that for?” He rubbed his calf where she’d struck him.
Karigan smiled beneath her veil. Not only had she roused his attention, but she’d forced him to look at her.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” she said. “I thought—I thought after . . .” Now she found herself at a loss. Why did things never go well for her when it came to men? She shook herself and flipped the annoying veil out of her face so there was no barrier between them. Did Cade actually flinch upon seeing her face bared? “I thought,” she now said with resolve, “that after that night when we . . . well, that you might be a little more . . . that you’d at least talk to me.”
