The Girl in the Steel Corset
Page 4
Griff caught her before she hit the floor. “Help me get her back into bed,” he commanded.
Sam gave him a glance, brow raised. “You can’t be serious? That scary little girl needs to go. Now.”
“No,” Griff argued, and he smiled when Emily came forward to help him, just as he knew she would. He placed the girl on the mattress as the little redhead pulled back the sheets and paused just for a moment to study the blood on her face and the dark circles beneath her eyes. “As frightening as we may think her, I believe she finds herself even more so.”
When Finley woke again, she felt more like herself than she had in some time. She felt rested and not nearly as battered as she ought. More important, she felt safe. The why of it was a mystery, because she rarely felt safe anywhere.
She sat up against the great mound of soft down-filled pillows and glanced around the room. It was a large bedroom, decorated in shades of cinnamon and cream. The bed was so big she could lie sideways on it and still her toes would not dangle over the edge. Beside her on the nightstand was a lamp and a small brass box with buttons on it labeled with titles such as kitchen, butler and maid. If she pressed one of them, would someone come? Or would they be too afraid?
Large windows to her right treated her to a view of the most lush and beautiful garden she had ever seen. Were it not for the dirigible marked L’air France high in the surprisingly blue sky, she might have thought herself in the country, it was so peaceful. She had never experienced true silence in London before. A house like this could only stand in Mayfair.
This was what it felt like to be a lady waking up in the morning. Quiet and snug.
On the desk there was one of the new candlestick-style telephones, its brass gleaming. She could call someone to come get her, but who? Her mother? No. She didn’t want to involve her mother or her stepfather in this mess.
Above the desk on the wall was a portrait of a lady from Henry VIII’s time, its frame heavy and gold-gilt. Beside it, a silver candlestick lodged in the plaster. Had she done that? Oh, Lord, she had! The events of the previous evening came rushing back at her with sickening violence. She remembered an all-too-familiar feeling—that someone else had taken over her body, leaving her an observer in her own skin. She could remember all the things she said and did, but she couldn’t begin to find reason or excuse.
Was she going mad? These spells had been coming upon her more often as of late. They’d started right around the same time she’d “become a woman” by biological standards. That had been three years ago, but never had she had an experience like these past few. She’d never lost herself so completely.
And yet…when she was in the midst of madness, it didn’t feel like madness at all. It felt right, like that awful part of her was as natural as breathing. But it could not be natural. It was something dark and wrong and—evil.
Was there anything that could save her? Anything short of death that could stop it from happening again? Felix had deserved the wallop she gave him, but the young man with the striking blue eyes and the thick red-brown hair, he didn’t deserve what she might have done to him when she leaped over the giant one to get to him.
She hadn’t wanted to hurt him, not really. Something had drawn her to him, and when she looked up into those amazing eyes, doing him harm had been the last thing on her mind. She had actually wondered what it might be like to kiss him.
It had to have been some kind of sorcery. What else could it have been? He had drained all of the fight out of her without lifting a hand. One glance had filled her with such peace and lethargy that all she had wanted to do was curl up and sleep. Which she had.
Had he—or any of them—done something to her while she slept? She couldn’t tell, as she was still somewhat tender from the tussle with Lord Felix. She didn’t want to believe the pretty gentleman capable of such violence, but she had learned the hard way that pretty gentlemen were often the worst of the lot.
But now what? She couldn’t stay here forever, and she had no idea if she could trust these people. It was obvious the others didn’t want her around. What if they turned her over to the police? Or worse, what if “Rich Boy” was a friend of Lord Felix?
A knock at the door made her heart jump. The knob turned and the door opened before she could call for whoever it was to enter.
The redheaded girl walked in. Her bright, ropey hair was pinned haphazardly on the back of her head, with thick coils hanging around her pretty face. She wore trousers tucked into high black boots, a white shirt and a tight leather vest. It had become fashionable for young women of independent thought to emulate the masculine fashion, but Finley hadn’t the nerve to do it herself. She much preferred the “Oriental” look that had come over from China. She hadn’t the nerve to copy that, either.
The girl glanced at her with large, intense blue eyes as she entered the room. Finley’s fingers went to her forehead where she’d been injured. The skin there was soft and smooth, not even a lump or slightest scab, even though she remembered tearing at it the night before. In fact, her cheek and lip felt better, as well. But then, she’d always been a fast healer.
“You…fixed me.” She couldn’t keep the awe from her voice.
The young woman’s expression was puzzled as she dipped a cloth in the washbasin on the stand near the dresser. Of course she would be expecting Finley to act as beastly as she had last night. “Yes. I did. I’m glad you left it alone this time.”
Finley smiled, hoping she looked friendly rather than demented. This girl was no threat to her and so that dark part of her was peaceful. “Thank you.”
“I’ve brought you breakfast.” She gestured to the doorway, where the large young man with longish black hair and rugged features stood holding a tray. Her dark self raised its head, but didn’t make a fuss. “And I would like to examine you, if that’s all right.”
So young and a doctor? It was impossible, of course, but that didn’t mean the Irish girl didn’t have a proper knowledge of medicine. After all, she had healed her wound. “Of course. Thank you for breakfast.”
“I’ll clean you up and we can talk while you eat.”
Finley’s smile was stronger now. She kept her attention focused on the girl while watching her companion from the corner of her eye. “I’d like that.” She felt something of a kinship with this girl. Girls didn’t normally like her, and young men tended to like her in ways she didn’t want. She didn’t understand why because it wasn’t as though she was uncommonly beautiful or anything.
The girl didn’t look like she was convinced of her sincerity, but she came closer all the same. “If you try to hurt me, he’ll stop you. Understand?”
The smile melted from Finley’s lips and slipped down her throat to form a hard knot. She nodded, not daring to glance at the grim-looking young man.
She sat still while her companion wiped her forehead and face, trying not to notice how much blood stained the cloth, turning it rusty. She was given another warm, wet length of linen to wash her hands. They were stained, as well.
Finley swallowed. “I must apologize for my behavior last night. I was not myself.”
“No?” A high, red brow arched against the girl’s pale forehead as she took both cloths away. “Who were you, then? A Changeling perhaps?” She had a beautiful, lyrical Irish accent.
“I’m not sure,” Finley replied with a frown, watching her walk away. Was she teasing her, or did she honestly believe she might be a Faerie trying to pass as human?
The girl dropped the soiled cloths back into the basin, turned and walked to the dresser. She rummaged through a small leather kit and pulled out something that looked like a perfume bottle. “I’m going to give you another treatment, just to make sure you continue to heal. I promise it won’t annoy you like it did last night. You can eat, as well.”
Finley blushed, unable to contain a rush of humiliation. “Of course.” She pushed herself up farther on the pillows to be more accommodating and so she would be able to eat. The movement apparently startled the girl because she jerked back and dropped the bottle. It landed on the floor with a loud thump.
“Ah, blast! It went beneath the dresser.”
Before the girl could bend down to stick her hand underneath the piece of furniture, the dark-haired young man was there. He set the tray on the bed and then went to the dresser, bending down. How he expected to find the mechanism with those big hands of his, Finley didn’t know. But then she realized he had only reached underneath to get a good hold. When he straightened, the large, heavy piece came with him, held between his two hands with ease.
No man was that strong. Even in her “altered” state she couldn’t come close to that kind of easy strength.
“Astounding,” Finley whispered, staring at him in open awe.
The other girl smiled then, as though she couldn’t help herself. “This coming from a girl who tossed a footman like a sack of potatoes.” Quickly, she bent down and retrieved the item. “Thank you, Sam.”
He said nothing, merely glanced at her before setting the furniture back in its proper place. The girl made a point of not looking at him, but her pale cheeks turned red.
“My name is Finley,” she said when once again her nursemaid attended her. “Who are you?”
The girl hesitated, her fingers wrapped around the depression bulb of the atomizer. Whatever the reservoir contained, it smelled of rosemary and something earthy—like dirt. She didn’t quite meet Finley’s gaze as she applied a light, cool layer of mist to her forehead. She was still wary of her. “Emily.”
Finley held out her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Emily. Thank you for being kind when I was such a wretch.”
Emily looked down. For a moment, Finley thought maybe she’d reject the offer of friendship and she held her breath. But just when she was about to drop her hand, Emily switched the contraption to her left and accepted the handshake. The Irish girl’s hands weren’t smooth like a lady’s. They had a little roughness to them, like Finley’s own. They were the hands of someone used to working, and it made Finley like her even more.
More so, it made her want to trust this small girl with her strange red hair and old eyes.
“You’re welcome…Finley.” Emily gestured over her shoulder. “That’s Sam.”
Finley managed to smile at the large young man. Him she wasn’t so eager to trust, nor, from the stony expression on his face, was he about to trust her. “Hello, Sam. My apologies for leaping over you as I did last night.”
“You’re fast,” he allowed grudgingly, lifting the breakfast tray and setting it across her lap. “But I caught the footman when you threw him, and next time I’ll catch you.” It wasn’t said in a threatening manner but Finley knew beyond a doubt that he would crush her like a bug if he caught her.
“There won’t be a next time,” she said hoarsely.
The brute actually grinned. He had big, white teeth and he would have been handsome if he wasn’t so bloody frightening. “Good.” Then to Emily, “We should go. Griff will want to see us.”
“Griff?” Finley froze in the middle of reaching for a slice of toast. They spoke of him like he was their leader, and she knew exactly who Griff was. Rich Boy.
Emily nodded. “This is his house. He would like you to come down to the library when you’ve finished breakfast. Just push the maid button and someone will come and help you dress.”
He wanted to see her. Suddenly Finley didn’t have much of an appetite, not when her fate would be so soon decided.
To her surprise, Emily reached out and squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry yourself, lass. All will work out as it ought. Now, eat. You need to put some meat on your bones.”
The backs of Finley’s eyes burned. That sounded just like something her mother would say. Oh, how she wished she had her mother! “Thank you,” she rasped.
Emily gave her another squeeze, and dipped her head to look her in the eye. “I mean it. You needn’t worry.”
Finley nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She might burst into tears and she had already humiliated herself enough in front of these people. She managed to hold out until they had left, closing the door behind them. Only then did she allow a tear to run down her cheek.
She had attacked her employer. She would rather live on the streets than let her mother know how she had shamed herself. She would never work for any decent family again once word got out. She would have to find some other kind of employment without reference and hope that word of her disgrace didn’t spread to the shops. And she was either going mad or was possessed by a demon.
What did she possibly have to worry about?
The brick wall shuddered under the force of Sam’s left fist.
It crumbled under the force of his right.
Bricks broke loose of their mortar. Those that weren’t smashed into dust toppled to pile at his feet. He choked and stumbled backward, coughing, eyes watering. “Bloody hell!”
He was in the ballroom of Greythorne House. Since the death of Griff’s parents, the large space had become less and less for entertaining and more and more of a training ground for the lot of them.
He’d started spending more time in here over the past couple of months. As soon as Emily said he could start training again. Well, maybe a little before. Emily didn’t know everything, even if it seemed like she did.
Once his vision and the cloud of dust cleared, Sam lifted his arms, putting his forearms side by side in front so he could study them. There was no discernable difference between the limbs. They were the same relative size and tone. When he flexed his fingers, he could see tendons moving beneath the skin.
Sam gave him a glance, brow raised. “You can’t be serious? That scary little girl needs to go. Now.”
“No,” Griff argued, and he smiled when Emily came forward to help him, just as he knew she would. He placed the girl on the mattress as the little redhead pulled back the sheets and paused just for a moment to study the blood on her face and the dark circles beneath her eyes. “As frightening as we may think her, I believe she finds herself even more so.”
When Finley woke again, she felt more like herself than she had in some time. She felt rested and not nearly as battered as she ought. More important, she felt safe. The why of it was a mystery, because she rarely felt safe anywhere.
She sat up against the great mound of soft down-filled pillows and glanced around the room. It was a large bedroom, decorated in shades of cinnamon and cream. The bed was so big she could lie sideways on it and still her toes would not dangle over the edge. Beside her on the nightstand was a lamp and a small brass box with buttons on it labeled with titles such as kitchen, butler and maid. If she pressed one of them, would someone come? Or would they be too afraid?
Large windows to her right treated her to a view of the most lush and beautiful garden she had ever seen. Were it not for the dirigible marked L’air France high in the surprisingly blue sky, she might have thought herself in the country, it was so peaceful. She had never experienced true silence in London before. A house like this could only stand in Mayfair.
This was what it felt like to be a lady waking up in the morning. Quiet and snug.
On the desk there was one of the new candlestick-style telephones, its brass gleaming. She could call someone to come get her, but who? Her mother? No. She didn’t want to involve her mother or her stepfather in this mess.
Above the desk on the wall was a portrait of a lady from Henry VIII’s time, its frame heavy and gold-gilt. Beside it, a silver candlestick lodged in the plaster. Had she done that? Oh, Lord, she had! The events of the previous evening came rushing back at her with sickening violence. She remembered an all-too-familiar feeling—that someone else had taken over her body, leaving her an observer in her own skin. She could remember all the things she said and did, but she couldn’t begin to find reason or excuse.
Was she going mad? These spells had been coming upon her more often as of late. They’d started right around the same time she’d “become a woman” by biological standards. That had been three years ago, but never had she had an experience like these past few. She’d never lost herself so completely.
And yet…when she was in the midst of madness, it didn’t feel like madness at all. It felt right, like that awful part of her was as natural as breathing. But it could not be natural. It was something dark and wrong and—evil.
Was there anything that could save her? Anything short of death that could stop it from happening again? Felix had deserved the wallop she gave him, but the young man with the striking blue eyes and the thick red-brown hair, he didn’t deserve what she might have done to him when she leaped over the giant one to get to him.
She hadn’t wanted to hurt him, not really. Something had drawn her to him, and when she looked up into those amazing eyes, doing him harm had been the last thing on her mind. She had actually wondered what it might be like to kiss him.
It had to have been some kind of sorcery. What else could it have been? He had drained all of the fight out of her without lifting a hand. One glance had filled her with such peace and lethargy that all she had wanted to do was curl up and sleep. Which she had.
Had he—or any of them—done something to her while she slept? She couldn’t tell, as she was still somewhat tender from the tussle with Lord Felix. She didn’t want to believe the pretty gentleman capable of such violence, but she had learned the hard way that pretty gentlemen were often the worst of the lot.
But now what? She couldn’t stay here forever, and she had no idea if she could trust these people. It was obvious the others didn’t want her around. What if they turned her over to the police? Or worse, what if “Rich Boy” was a friend of Lord Felix?
A knock at the door made her heart jump. The knob turned and the door opened before she could call for whoever it was to enter.
The redheaded girl walked in. Her bright, ropey hair was pinned haphazardly on the back of her head, with thick coils hanging around her pretty face. She wore trousers tucked into high black boots, a white shirt and a tight leather vest. It had become fashionable for young women of independent thought to emulate the masculine fashion, but Finley hadn’t the nerve to do it herself. She much preferred the “Oriental” look that had come over from China. She hadn’t the nerve to copy that, either.
The girl glanced at her with large, intense blue eyes as she entered the room. Finley’s fingers went to her forehead where she’d been injured. The skin there was soft and smooth, not even a lump or slightest scab, even though she remembered tearing at it the night before. In fact, her cheek and lip felt better, as well. But then, she’d always been a fast healer.
“You…fixed me.” She couldn’t keep the awe from her voice.
The young woman’s expression was puzzled as she dipped a cloth in the washbasin on the stand near the dresser. Of course she would be expecting Finley to act as beastly as she had last night. “Yes. I did. I’m glad you left it alone this time.”
Finley smiled, hoping she looked friendly rather than demented. This girl was no threat to her and so that dark part of her was peaceful. “Thank you.”
“I’ve brought you breakfast.” She gestured to the doorway, where the large young man with longish black hair and rugged features stood holding a tray. Her dark self raised its head, but didn’t make a fuss. “And I would like to examine you, if that’s all right.”
So young and a doctor? It was impossible, of course, but that didn’t mean the Irish girl didn’t have a proper knowledge of medicine. After all, she had healed her wound. “Of course. Thank you for breakfast.”
“I’ll clean you up and we can talk while you eat.”
Finley’s smile was stronger now. She kept her attention focused on the girl while watching her companion from the corner of her eye. “I’d like that.” She felt something of a kinship with this girl. Girls didn’t normally like her, and young men tended to like her in ways she didn’t want. She didn’t understand why because it wasn’t as though she was uncommonly beautiful or anything.
The girl didn’t look like she was convinced of her sincerity, but she came closer all the same. “If you try to hurt me, he’ll stop you. Understand?”
The smile melted from Finley’s lips and slipped down her throat to form a hard knot. She nodded, not daring to glance at the grim-looking young man.
She sat still while her companion wiped her forehead and face, trying not to notice how much blood stained the cloth, turning it rusty. She was given another warm, wet length of linen to wash her hands. They were stained, as well.
Finley swallowed. “I must apologize for my behavior last night. I was not myself.”
“No?” A high, red brow arched against the girl’s pale forehead as she took both cloths away. “Who were you, then? A Changeling perhaps?” She had a beautiful, lyrical Irish accent.
“I’m not sure,” Finley replied with a frown, watching her walk away. Was she teasing her, or did she honestly believe she might be a Faerie trying to pass as human?
The girl dropped the soiled cloths back into the basin, turned and walked to the dresser. She rummaged through a small leather kit and pulled out something that looked like a perfume bottle. “I’m going to give you another treatment, just to make sure you continue to heal. I promise it won’t annoy you like it did last night. You can eat, as well.”
Finley blushed, unable to contain a rush of humiliation. “Of course.” She pushed herself up farther on the pillows to be more accommodating and so she would be able to eat. The movement apparently startled the girl because she jerked back and dropped the bottle. It landed on the floor with a loud thump.
“Ah, blast! It went beneath the dresser.”
Before the girl could bend down to stick her hand underneath the piece of furniture, the dark-haired young man was there. He set the tray on the bed and then went to the dresser, bending down. How he expected to find the mechanism with those big hands of his, Finley didn’t know. But then she realized he had only reached underneath to get a good hold. When he straightened, the large, heavy piece came with him, held between his two hands with ease.
No man was that strong. Even in her “altered” state she couldn’t come close to that kind of easy strength.
“Astounding,” Finley whispered, staring at him in open awe.
The other girl smiled then, as though she couldn’t help herself. “This coming from a girl who tossed a footman like a sack of potatoes.” Quickly, she bent down and retrieved the item. “Thank you, Sam.”
He said nothing, merely glanced at her before setting the furniture back in its proper place. The girl made a point of not looking at him, but her pale cheeks turned red.
“My name is Finley,” she said when once again her nursemaid attended her. “Who are you?”
The girl hesitated, her fingers wrapped around the depression bulb of the atomizer. Whatever the reservoir contained, it smelled of rosemary and something earthy—like dirt. She didn’t quite meet Finley’s gaze as she applied a light, cool layer of mist to her forehead. She was still wary of her. “Emily.”
Finley held out her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Emily. Thank you for being kind when I was such a wretch.”
Emily looked down. For a moment, Finley thought maybe she’d reject the offer of friendship and she held her breath. But just when she was about to drop her hand, Emily switched the contraption to her left and accepted the handshake. The Irish girl’s hands weren’t smooth like a lady’s. They had a little roughness to them, like Finley’s own. They were the hands of someone used to working, and it made Finley like her even more.
More so, it made her want to trust this small girl with her strange red hair and old eyes.
“You’re welcome…Finley.” Emily gestured over her shoulder. “That’s Sam.”
Finley managed to smile at the large young man. Him she wasn’t so eager to trust, nor, from the stony expression on his face, was he about to trust her. “Hello, Sam. My apologies for leaping over you as I did last night.”
“You’re fast,” he allowed grudgingly, lifting the breakfast tray and setting it across her lap. “But I caught the footman when you threw him, and next time I’ll catch you.” It wasn’t said in a threatening manner but Finley knew beyond a doubt that he would crush her like a bug if he caught her.
“There won’t be a next time,” she said hoarsely.
The brute actually grinned. He had big, white teeth and he would have been handsome if he wasn’t so bloody frightening. “Good.” Then to Emily, “We should go. Griff will want to see us.”
“Griff?” Finley froze in the middle of reaching for a slice of toast. They spoke of him like he was their leader, and she knew exactly who Griff was. Rich Boy.
Emily nodded. “This is his house. He would like you to come down to the library when you’ve finished breakfast. Just push the maid button and someone will come and help you dress.”
He wanted to see her. Suddenly Finley didn’t have much of an appetite, not when her fate would be so soon decided.
To her surprise, Emily reached out and squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry yourself, lass. All will work out as it ought. Now, eat. You need to put some meat on your bones.”
The backs of Finley’s eyes burned. That sounded just like something her mother would say. Oh, how she wished she had her mother! “Thank you,” she rasped.
Emily gave her another squeeze, and dipped her head to look her in the eye. “I mean it. You needn’t worry.”
Finley nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She might burst into tears and she had already humiliated herself enough in front of these people. She managed to hold out until they had left, closing the door behind them. Only then did she allow a tear to run down her cheek.
She had attacked her employer. She would rather live on the streets than let her mother know how she had shamed herself. She would never work for any decent family again once word got out. She would have to find some other kind of employment without reference and hope that word of her disgrace didn’t spread to the shops. And she was either going mad or was possessed by a demon.
What did she possibly have to worry about?
The brick wall shuddered under the force of Sam’s left fist.
It crumbled under the force of his right.
Bricks broke loose of their mortar. Those that weren’t smashed into dust toppled to pile at his feet. He choked and stumbled backward, coughing, eyes watering. “Bloody hell!”
He was in the ballroom of Greythorne House. Since the death of Griff’s parents, the large space had become less and less for entertaining and more and more of a training ground for the lot of them.
He’d started spending more time in here over the past couple of months. As soon as Emily said he could start training again. Well, maybe a little before. Emily didn’t know everything, even if it seemed like she did.
Once his vision and the cloud of dust cleared, Sam lifted his arms, putting his forearms side by side in front so he could study them. There was no discernable difference between the limbs. They were the same relative size and tone. When he flexed his fingers, he could see tendons moving beneath the skin.
