Hanging off the foot of the bed was a set of clothes-blue work shirt, black trousers, socks, boots. His airman’s jacket was gone, as were the coins he had saved. Gavin looked at the filthy rags he’d been wearing since the pirates took the Juniper and stripped them off. With a cloth he found near the pitcher, he gave himself a sponge bath. Being clean made him feel amazingly better. The new clothes fit perfectly. A part of him felt he should rebel, refuse gifts from people who had kidnapped him, drugged him, and held him prisoner. But the more practical part of him said it was stupid to wear rags when perfectly good clothes were sitting right there. The window swung outward over a dizzying drop to a cobblestoned courtyard several stories below. Beyond that lay a high wall with gargoyles on it, then green fields scattered with trees. The sun wasn’t visible, but the gathering dusk told Gavin it was near night. He looked down at the smooth tower walls. No ledges or gutters to climb down on. What the hell was he doing here? He tried to remember more about the park. The men-Peterson and White-must have been a distraction for someone sneaking up behind him. But why would someone go through all that trouble for a street musician?
A pang went through him. His fiddle! What had happened to his fiddle? A moment later he found its case under the bed. Inside was the instrument, undamaged, along with a fresh supply of rosin for his bow, and the little silver nightingale. Gavin touched the bird’s head, and it sang. That they hadn’t taken it had made it clear he could keep it.
A clatter brought his head around. A cleverly fitted piece of the door slid upward, allowing just enough room for a mechanical brass spider to click through. It towed a covered tray on wheels behind it. The door piece snapped shut, and the spider tugged the tray around to the foot of the bed, where it whipped off the cover with one spindly leg. Gavin’s mouth watered at the smells of beef, potatoes, bread, and gravy. He snatched up the fork and knife provided and ate quickly while the spider gathered up Gavin’s discarded clothes and vanished out of the little door hole with them. Gavin, still chewing, wondered if he could fit through it. He also remembered the flash of red he had seen while he was half out of his mind from… whatever it was that had happened to him. Was the Red Velvet Lady responsible for all this?
“Hello?” he shouted again. “Can anyone hear me? What do you want?”
No response. He tried the door again. Still locked. He pushed it, then rattled the knob. Frustration poured out of him, and after a moment he realized he was screaming and pounding on the door with his fists, kicking at it with his new boots. He forced himself to stop and backed up, panting. A drop of sweat trickled from his white-blond hair, and the room suddenly felt small and stuffy. He opened the window and perched on the edge with his fiddle. It occurred to him that he had no idea how long he had been here. It could have been hours or days or weeks.
It was time to breathe, take stock. From a certain perspective, he was better off than he had been before. He had good clothes, good food, and a good bed. Whoever had captured him clearly wanted him alive and in good condition. Eventually, the Red Velvet Lady or whoever it was would show up and tell him more, and he would deal with the situation then. In the meantime, he could enjoy comforts such as those he had never known and he could play his fiddle.
He set the nightingale on the windowsill next to him for company and played to the empty night.
Chapter Five
“Miss Michaels? I say, Miss Michaels, are you all right?”
Alice came to herself with a start and shook her head. “Oh my goodness!” she trilled. “My mind went wandering for a moment, Mr. Williamson. How rude! What were you saying?”
“I was observing how the mist seems to both muffle sound and extend it,” said Norbert Williamson. “One can hardly tell if we’re in Hyde Park or on a country estate.”
“True,” Alice observed. “It’s very eerie. I’m glad you’re nearby to keep me safe.”
“Now that was blatant flattery, Miss Michaels,” Norbert pretended to scold, “however much I enjoyed hearing it.”
“You’ve caught me, Mr. Williamson,” she replied with a small smile. “I’m a dreadful person.”
The open-topped carriage moved sedately over the gravel pathways of Hyde Park, currently obscured by thick yellow fog. Norbert had suggested cutting their afternoon drive short, but Alice wouldn’t hear of it. It gave them a chance to enjoy the park with fewer people about, and, with a set of lap robes covering them, they could remain perfectly comfortable. It also gave Norbert the chance to be shockingly daring by pressing his muscular thigh against hers under cover of the robes. Alice made herself blush, but let her leg remain for quite a long moment before shifting away. Norbert’s expression didn’t shift as he changed the subject.
“I hear the Hats-On Committee is proposing more legislation regarding child labor in factories,” he said. “As if I don’t have to deal with enough regulations. I already can’t hire children under the age of ten, and they can’t work more than ten hours per day. Now they want to cut the time back to eight hours and institute a minimum wage.”
This time Alice was ready for him. “Why hire children at all?”
“They work for less than adults. And their hands are smaller, which makes them better at assembling certain machines.”
This time as he talked, Alice was careful to pay attention so she could insert the proper comments in the proper places. It was a bit audacious of them to be out without a chaperone, but they were in public and both of them were older, so Alice found it acceptable. The driverless carriage wound through the park, the automatic horse that drew it clopping with mechanical precision. Steam snorted from the horse’s gleaming muzzle at regular intervals. Then another sound caught Alice’s attention. She laid a hand on Norbert’s arm to interrupt.
“Was that a pistol shot?” she asked.
He cocked his head. “I didn’t hear anything.”
“I’m quite certain I heard a shot.”
“In Hyde Park in broad daylight? You must be mistaken. The mist is playing tricks. But we could leave, if you’re fearful of your safety.”
“Certainly not,” Alice replied. “I won’t-”
The high, sweet sound of a violin slid through the fog, now close, now far away. Unable to help herself, Alice fell silent to listen. The melody was complicated and quick, happy with a hint of something else. Uncertainty? Fear?
“That’s lovely,” Alice breathed, entranced. The music pushed all fear of the phantom pistol from her mind. “Like a spirit asking to be set free.”
“You have a delightful turn of phrase, Miss Michaels,” Norbert was saying. “Truly.”
Alice sighed. “He sounds festive and frightened at the same time. How does he-” The music stopped, and Alice felt crushed. Her face fell. “Oh. How disappointing.”
“We could try to find him, if you like,” Norbert offered gallantly. “I’m sure he’d play if you asked.”
She almost took him up on it-but no. What would she do if she found the musician? Fawn on him with Norbert looking on? “You’re very kind, Mr. Williamson, but we’d never find him in this mist.” She patted his hand. “Best to leave it a fond memory. Still, I’m finding it a bit chilly.”
Norbert took the hint and leaned forward to flip levers and twist dials on a control box set into what would be the backward-facing seat of the carriage. The mechanical horse paused, then set off at a brisk trot. In a short time, the conveyance arrived at the small row house Alice shared with her father. Their little meetings were taking on a regularity. Each one involved a simple activity-a drive through the park, a walk in London, a picnic at the river-and each one lasted no more than two hours. This was exactly the case today.
Norbert helped her down from the carriage, his almost-handsome features brightened considerably by a fashionably cut waistcoat and fine wool jacket and a high hat. His clothes and his outrageously expensive carriage only made Alice’s neighborhood seem even shabbier, but as always, he pretended not to notice, and Alice pretended not to notice he was pretending not to notice.