Saving the Scientist Page 10

  No sounds. No odors, beyond the must of disuse. Satisfied, he turned back outside to gather their things.

  “Holy God.” He almost knocked her over.

  Ada had been standing on the back step, hands cupped to the window over the pantry sink, peering inside.

  “We can’t stay here.”

  “Of course we can.”

  “What if the owner returns? The servants? I’d never sleep.”

  “The owner is—" He stopped himself before he could reveal the news of White’s well-deserved imprisonment. He sensed that wouldn’t help his case. “The owner’s out of the country. Quite an extended trip.”

  “He’s not sure he’ll even return.” Which was an out and out lie. White’s crimes were so severe, the man would never leave Newgate. “I heard it from his cousin last week. That’s why he let the servants go.”

  Edison edged past her to return to the hansom. He hefted her device and carried it into the house. If he moved them straight in, she’d have a harder time complaining.

  Ada followed on his heels. She closed the door behind them and waited for him to set the battery down in the butler’s pantry.

  “You’re lying.” She shook her head sadly. “I know you pride yourself on being good at it, but this hasn’t been your best effort.”

  “Only partially.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and waited like a governess intimidating a naughty child into confessing.

  He sighed, assessing his options. “The situation is less than optimal. I see that. But unless you have a better idea, I don’t believe this will be too uncomfortable.” He eyed the cloth-covered furnishings. “There are worse places to spend a night.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Why can’t we find an inn?”

  “How would you suggest we register?” He stepped closer, deliberately crowding her. “I can play the eager bridegroom, if that’s your desire. Or we could pretend we’ve run off for a secret liaison.” He traced a finger down her cheek, his eyes on the swell of her breasts beneath all that gray bombazine. “Just give me the word.”

  Cheeks flushing, Ada gasped and stepped out of reach.

  While he waited for the outrage to dim and her logical brain to assess the situation, he walked about the kitchen. Not a crumb of food.

  Hardly surprising. He was amazed there was a stick of furniture left. White couldn’t have been a pleasant employer. Once word of his fate spread, Edison wouldn’t have blamed the staff from grabbing anything they could rip off of the walls.

  “Yes, fine. I see your point,” Ada acknowledged finally. She stared at the cobwebs tenting the pump over the sink, then eyed the ice-box, its door hanging open to reveal its emptiness. “This will do.”

  It would more than do, but he wasn’t about to start another argument. He rubbed the back of his aching neck. He was used to temperamental women, strong and stubborn women.

  But Ada ran in a gear he didn’t comprehend.

  Which wouldn’t matter much longer. With the resources and the contacts he had at his disposal, it wouldn’t take long to find out who wanted her dead.

  Then her enticing, exciting, exasperating energy would be some other man’s problem.

  Chapter 10

  Even with the dim morning light softening her image, Ada regretted peering into the mirror.

  The tousled mess of hair she could fix, but nothing would erase the dark circles beneath her eyes or the waxen hue to her skin.

  Waking up a dead woman was not conducive to a radiant glow.

  She shivered. None of the lavish decor—not the papered walls nor the gilt furniture—could make the room less dark, less cold, less unappealing. Had anyone ever lived in the room? Ada doubted it. Designed and decorated to within an inch of its life, the boudoir resembled a stage set more than a living, breathing part of a home. The high ceiling dwarfed her, making her look even more vulnerable than she felt, standing before the mirror in nothing but her chemise.

  That at least she could remedy.

  She laid out her things, sparing a moment to regret that she’d never considered spending more time and effort purchasing prettier undergarments.

  Everything down to her drawers was as plain as could be. She fingered the simple lace edging the legs of her drawers. Bold, sensual women had embroidered linens. Embroidered, ruffled, ribboned underthings that made a man want to unwrap them, like Christmas candy.

  As if she had the slightest intention of being any man’s sweet. Although, if she were honest, she wouldn’t mind Edison tasting her, kissing her as thoroughly as he’d done in her lab.

  She grabbed her drawers and pulled them on, forcing herself to think about the relationship of osmotic pressure to temperature. A more thorough understanding would help her regulate the batteries’ energy flow.

  She managed to keep her mind off of men and kissing for at least an entire minute. By now, her fingers were numb with cold, making it hard to fasten the hooks down the front of her corset.

  A small, scratching sound caught her ear, making her stomach clench.

  Too loud, too quick for a mouse. Not loud or rhythmic enough for tree branches scraping the house, she’d heard it intermittently all night. Now it sounded as if it were coming from the room directly below.

  She hurried into her best navy day dress—the only one, really, that didn’t have any chemical burns at the hem. Halfway done buttoning up the front of her bodice, Ada shivered and tried to throw off her anxiety.

  The deserted manse was getting to her. The empty hallways, the forsaken chambers, it was unnatural for a house not to have the beating heart of a home.

  It was probably nothing more than Edison puttering about. He was most likely in the kitchen making a meal for himself from the bread and cheese he’d bought last night. Her stomach growled. She twisted her hair up into a tight bun and headed down the stairs.

  Time to see about turning her life back right side up.

  Edison was indeed munching on bread and cheese, though in contrast to her own appearance, he appeared as fresh and rested as his rumpled clothing would allow. And he’d made toast. From the looks of things, he’d even managed to locate some tea.

  The tangy scent revived her spirits.

  “Good morning.” He filled a mug and slid it across the table. When he finally looked up at her, he gave a start. “You don’t look well.”

  Ada fought the urge to run back upstairs.

  Edison winced. “I put that poorly. I only meant you look done in. Didn’t sleep well?”

  “Of course I didn’t sleep well.” She grabbed the mug and moved to the far end of the table. “It’s not every day a woman wakes up dead. Forgive me if I’m having trouble adjusting.”

  He, naturally, looked wonderful. Caramel-colored eyes bright, hair delightfully tousled, he looked as if he’d had a glorious rest.

  Ada folded her hands around the warm mug. His competent, self-assured countenance grated. His every calm, powerful movement made her want to snarl.

  She took a long gulp of tea. What was happening to her? She was never irritated. She was thoughtful, rational, scientifically-minded. She should be thrilled to have someone so energetic and capable taking on the mess.

  But envy was an odd poison. She ached to feel competent, as if there were nothing she couldn’t fix, as if there were no trouble so big she couldn’t conquer it.

  Eyes on his own food, Edison slid a plate of toast down to her end of the table. She snapped it up, biting into a stale slice as she tried to push through the emotions clouding her reason.

  The cupboard beneath the sink drew her gaze. Edison had hidden her battery in the slop pail beneath a pile of rags. It was as safe as they were.

  The thought brought little comfort.

  Someone wanted her invention so badly they were willing to kill for it. Someone who knew it existed. Someone who could pass it off as their own creation.

  Someone who had intimate knowledge of her movements.

  Ada dropped her toa
st. “Who could have known when the Navy men were to collect me?”

  “Exactly what I was wondering,” Edison replied around a mouthful of bread. “Couldn’t be a long list.”

  She swirled the tea around in her mug. “Admiral Helmsley, of course, and Stanton. They’re of no consequence.”

  “Why not?” Edison frowned. “They’re at the top of my list.”

  “An Admiral? The Director of Naval Construction?” Ada snorted. “I think not. Nor Stanton. He’s been a dear friend of the family for forty years.”

  Edison was shaking his head before she even finished. “There’s no accounting for greed. Your breakthrough’s worth a fortune to the right person.” He looked her in the eye. “A fortune and a mountain of accolades. Money and fame?” He shrugged. “Not many men that wouldn’t tempt.”

  “Men like Stanton and the Admiral.” She clutched her mug. “They already have both.”

  “Some men never have enough.”

  “And some men wish for none. That’s an illogical argument.”

  He nodded, considering. “I’ll concede that, for now.”

  “What about Ravensworth?” she asked. “He’s only a captain. Money might tempt him.”

  Edison gave her a cautious look. “Same for your household staff.”

  Too true.

  Ada set down her toast. “How awful. There’s no one to trust.”

  “Remember that. Suspicion'll keep you safe.”

  She stared down at the dark wood of the tabletop, her mood weighed down by frustration. “Our list is growing by the second. Where do we start?”

  “The cottage. Someone leased it.”

  “Or knew it was unoccupied.”

  “Excellent point. Worth pursuing in either case.” He bit his lip and stared up at the ceiling. “My contact at the Yard should have that information. He can—”

  “Shhh.” Ada interrupted. “Did you hear that?” A muffled thud, followed by lighter, scrabbling sounds.

  “Rats.” Edison shrugged. “Not surprising. Place has been vacant for months.”

  Ada shivered.

  A sharp bang echoed down the hallway. Even Edison froze.

  Ada raised her eyebrows. “Fearsomely large rats.”

  “Could be squirrels.” He brushed crumbs off of his shirtfront, but the casual movement didn’t fool her. He was listening hard now. “This morning we need to see my associate at Scotland Yard. There’s that business of your kidnappers to sort out.”

  “How will we find out about the—?"

  A loud crash, like books thudding to the floor killed off the rest of her thought.

  “Not rats.” Edison jumped up. “Stay here.” He grabbed a good-sized frying pan from the pot rack over the stove and bolted toward the front of the house.

  * * *

  Edison’s quick thinking had her at a disadvantage. Her brain was still thick with lack of sleep, but her heart raced. She couldn’t sit in the empty kitchen waiting for God-knew-what to bolt through the door. The very thought made her skin crawl.

  She needed a weapon.

  He’d taken the largest pan. She scanned the room, dismissing the small pairing knife and the tea mugs. The trim saucier with the filigree handle would have to suffice. Ada grabbed it from the hook and chased after him.

  He was inching silently toward the front parlor. She tiptoed behind him, the only sound now the rustling of her skirts.

  Edison shot her a meaningful glare, which she ignored. The great huff of air he expelled signaled his displeasure with her inability to follow orders.

  They crept down the hallway until they came to the first doorway. Edison waved a hand behind him, signaling for her to stop.

  She raised the delicate pan high overhead. Edison peered into the first room, then straightened and shook his head. He pointed at the room across the hall.

  Nothing in the front parlor, either.

  Frying pan at the ready, Edison appeared to be considering the stairway.

  The air hung thick and still, as if the house itself didn’t dare exhale. He started up toward the second floor. Careful to pick her skirts up high, Ada stayed right on his heels.

  Just as they reached the landing, a dark figure streaked toward the back of the house.

  “Got him.” Edison gave chase.

  Skirts billowing about her ankles, Ada struggled to keep up. By the time she clattered down the servants’ stairs, her lungs were on fire.

  She reached the kitchen just in time to see the dark figure snatch the last of the bread off of the table and sprint out the back door. He was smaller than he seemed upstairs in the dark. And she hadn’t noticed the rucksack slung across his back.

  Before Edison could reach him, the slight figure disappeared over the back wall.

  Edison latched the door, then ambled back into the kitchen. He stared down at crumbs strewn across the empty table. “I wanted that.”

  A weight pressed down on her chest, as if pressing the breath out of her. “Do you think he followed us?”

  “No.” Edison headed toward the hallway. “He’s just a street urchin. Had a warm place to bed down until we showed up.”

  She prayed he was right. The alternative terrified her.

  “If we’d been followed, they would have struck while we were sleeping,” Edison added over his shoulder.

  How comforting.

  He dove into the library. “He’s been staying here. For quite a while.” He pointed to a chaise in the corner, piled high with blankets. Then he turned to frown at her. “Check your purse.”

  “We’ve been here all morning. He wouldn’t be so bold.”

  “Care to wager on that?”

  Ada ran back up to the dank boudoir. Her purse lay open on the floor below the chest where she’d set it last night. When she picked it up, her stomach churned. Empty. Her change purse, her pencil case, even her silver container of calling cards.

  The boy had taken it all.

  Tears pricked at the backs of her eyes. Silly tears, for her silly card container. In the scheme of things, it mattered not a whit, but she loved that thing. Harrison had presented it to her after her induction into the Chemical Scientists’ Society.

  She stared down into the empty bag.

  Edison stepped into the room and set a hand on her shoulder. “Sorry about that. Boys like that’ll do anything to survive.”

  If one could call bedding down in a deserted mansion without heat or food or companionship surviving. The sad little pile of blankets in the library tugged at her heart.

  Suddenly her loss seemed insignificant. “Do you think he’ll return?”

  Edison nodded. “He’ll watch the house. Once he’s convinced we’ve scarpered, he’ll be back.”

  Absurdly, the thought reassured her. He might be a thief, but the slight build and the youthful energy suggested he was young. And he couldn’t have chosen a life on the streets.

  Edison closed in on her. “Are you all right?”

  “Of course,” she answered automatically, although the sharp lump growing in her throat suggested otherwise.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to prevent the tears from falling.

  But then he set his hands on her shoulders, and the dam burst. Ada sucked in a shuddering breath as tears spilled down her cheeks.

  “Don’t believe I am,” she managed to mumble before her shoulders started shaking.

  Edison wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. At first she stiffened, resisting the contact, but something inside her broke, and she sagged against him, nestling into his arms.

  He squeezed her tight and murmured softly at her temple. “We’ll manage this. I’ve been through worse.”

  Ada nodded. The sobs were subsiding. His heart beat strong and steady beneath her cheek. She sighed. “Do you think he’s cold?”

  “Who?”

  “The boy. Do you think he’s got a warm enough coat?”

  His chuckle rumbled through her. “We’ll make certain of it. We need c
lothes anyway. We’ll pick up a few things for the lad, leave them where he’ll be sure to spot them.”

  “Thank you.” Ada pressed her forehead against his chest. Her eyes must be red rimmed now, and swollen. To say nothing of her nose and her tear-stained cheeks.

  She sighed and pulled slowly out of his arms. “It seems I require a handkerchief.”

  With a flourish good enough for a magician, Edison pulled a white square from his pocket and handed it to her. “Milady.”

  Besides drying her tears, the handkerchief provided a good excuse to turn away. Never had she felt so vulnerable. So adrift.

  She had no rulebook for this strange world.

  Edison would be an exceptional guide, if she’d allow him to lead.

  Ada sniffed away the last of her tears. “Well then, Mr. Sweet, what’s our first course of action?”

  Chapter 11

  “Good to see you, Sweet.” Detective Inspector Caleb Burke held out a hand in greeting. “Got your package last night.” He grinned. “Well wrapped.”

  Edison wiped damp palms on the front of his jacket before shaking the detective’s offered hand. He hoped Burke wouldn’t notice the cold sweat trickling down the sides of his face.

  He hadn’t expected the station to affect him so. Hadn’t given it a thought until he and Ada pushed through the swinging doors.

  The old fears bludgeoned him the minute they crossed the threshold of the Met’s headquarters. Stepping through the low half-door that separated the law-abiding public from the officers’ desks made his heart pound as if a peeler were chasing him down.

  Not even the smell had changed.

  A coat or two of paint had been slapped on over the years, but it wasn’t enough to cover the odors. The wool uniforms, the tobacco smoke, and the stink of rancid, fear-induced sweat.

  Two steps beyond the lobby, and he became that boy again, the one who stole for a living. The one who lived with constant fear of the crushers.

  The one who abandoned his mate to the horrors of Newgate.

  It took every bit of concentration he could muster to shove the ugly memories aside and present a confident demeanor.