Chapter Eight

Scientist Murdered, the headline proclaimed. The subheading added, "Automaton inventor kil ed. Possible link to radical

'Brotherhood.'"

Victoria gasped and grabbed the newspaper from the tray.

Patterson stepped back with a bow. She looked at him sharply, trying to read any expression in his dead eyes, but of course there was none. Her every thought about him was now tainted by Harvey's conspiracy theory.

She looked at the paper and when she read the name of the murdered man, a cold wave swept over her and she couldn't breathe. She felt as if she were drowning as she sat at her breakfast table. Professor Harvey Samuels, her mentor and closest friend, was dead.

Victoria read the article while her kippers and eggs grew cold.

Harvey had been kil ed on a street in a seedy part of town behind a particular gentleman's club where it was rumored men met to find companionship with other men. Even sheltered Victoria had heard whispers of the place's reputation. A light turned on inside her and suddenly she understood why Harvey hadn't been interested in marriage. When he'd said he wasn't inclined toward it, he'd meant he wasn't inclined toward females at al , let alone an institution which would shackle him to one for life.

And now her guide and teacher, the man who had shaped her life, was dead. He had been stabbed multiple times and his body had not been found until the night watchman made his rounds.

Although there was no evidence to attribute the murder to anything other than a common criminal, the suggestion that the Brotherhood had been involved was firmly planted in the article.

The Commission for Animatronic Affairs stated, "We have lost an innovator and a great man. Those who would protest progress by any reprehensible means shal find themselves brought to justice.

Our city is rife with social misfits and criminals cal ing themselves a brotherhood, which must be eradicated in order to usher in a new era of peace and prosperity."

Of course the Commission wanted to point blame at the Brotherhood, but it was possible Harvey real y had been attacked by a footpad. Or, if they knew what Harvey knew about them, maybe the Commission itself had stooped to murder to rid themselves of a perceived threat.

On the other hand, perhaps some members of the Brotherhood had taken their campaign of violence to the next level. To be fair, she must entertain the idea that the Brotherhood was suspect in Harvey's murder.

Victoria thrust the paper aside and pushed away her plate. She rose from the breakfast table so quickly she nearly knocked her chair over. She was beside herself with sorrow for the loss of the one person in her life to whom she could tel anything without fear of judgment. Although clearly they hadn't shared al details about themselves. She'd never guessed at Harvey's secret life nor had she ever talked about her sexual yearnings and longing for someone special to care for her. There were private aspects of oneself a person couldn't reveal to anyone.

It was almost impossible to believe that Harvey no longer existed on this earth. Surely if she went to the laboratory it would al be a mistake and he would be leaning over a circuit board, his spectacles sliding down his nose. When she entered, he would glance up and say "Good morning, Victoria."

The pain of loss was fol owed by a potent chaser of rage.

Someone had got away with murder and she was desperate to know who. Her empathy with Dash's need to know who had kil ed Lizzie increased a hundredfold.

Marching hand in hand with anger was concern for the rest of the team. Were al of the automaton scientists in danger now?

Perhaps she should contact the others and tel them al that Harvey had revealed to her.

Victoria hurried to her room and dressed to go out. She couldn't stay in this house, wondering, worrying and being watched by Patterson. She needed to talk to Dash about this development, whether he wanted to see her or not. He might be able to tel her something about Harvey's death.

But, God, she hoped he couldn't. If members of the Brotherhood had been involved, she could no longer champion their cause. It might even mean Dash had a hand in it and was not the man she'd taken him to be. She real y didn't know him at al .

When she was finished changing, she went downstairs to the foyer, where she col ected her hat and coat.

Patterson, who always seemed to be within earshot, hurried from the servants' quarters to see her out the door. "You should have rung for me, miss. I would've got your outdoor things for you."

"That's al right, Patterson. I'm quite capable." She headed for the door, but he had it open before she could reach for the knob. "I'm visiting a friend. I don't know when I shal return."

"Yes, miss. Good day."

When the door closed behind her, Victoria felt she'd escaped a prison--a feeling no woman should have in her own house. She headed for the underground without taking in the pretty day or the flowers in the park or even the dirigible floating overhead.

She rode the train to Whitechapel and went looking for the Sheep's Head Inn, a place Dash had mentioned in passing.

She'd got the impression he and members of the Brotherhood met there on a regular basis. At any rate it was a starting point in her search for him.

Was she walking into a lions' den by going to see him? Serving herself up to the enemy? But no, she found it impossible to believe Dash had had any hand in Harvey's murder. She'd given the Brotherhood what they claimed to want--a chance to be heard by the Commission. Why would they ruin that chance now?

The streets in this part of the city were grimy, rubbish-strewn and choked with pedestrians, handcart vendors and dray wagons.

Ragged urchins darted in and out of the crowd and passed perilously close to horses' hooves. She'd tucked her purse into the waistband of her skirt beneath her shabbiest coat. She'd also worn a large old felt hat to try to blend in with the locals, but even so, she felt she stood out, an anomaly in a stew of similar organisms.

Victoria asked a vendor sel ing steamed potatoes from her cart if she knew the way to the Sheep's Head and received a convoluted set of directions in an accent so broad she could scarcely understand the woman. Victoria was soon lost in the maze of narrow, il -planned streets. Their layout was nearly as incomprehensible as the warren below ground.

Her nerves were frayed and she was beginning to wish she'd never left home when she saw a familiar face among the ragamuffins. There was no mistaking the ugly boy Rat, who'd come to tel Dash his Lizzie was dead. Victoria hurried over to the child.

"Excuse me, boy, could you point me in the direction of the Sheep's Head Inn? Or tel me where I might find Mr. Dash?"

Rat stared at her from head to toe, before answering. "Who's askin'?"

"A friend. I promise I don't mean him any harm."

"'ow much ya give me?"

"Sixpence if you lead me to him." She knew better than to offer too much. Even a child as young as this could be dangerous if he thought she had a purse ful of money.

He shook his head. "I ain't takin' ya where 'e lives, but I'l show ya to the Sheep's Head and you can wait there. If 'e wants to see ya,

'e'l come."

"Very wel . Sixpence on arrival, and more if you return with Dash."

The lad spit on his hand and reached for hers. Victoria shook on the deal.

Very soon, she was sitting at a corner table in a pub so dark it might've been evening rather than afternoon. She kept her back to the wal and nervously watched the customers, who stared back at her. She was ready to bolt for the door if anyone approached her.

What if she was perilously wrong? One member of the Brotherhood, the short man with the bandy legs, had seemed to be itching for violence. What if the boy, Rat, went to get him instead? Would anyone in this place help her if he dragged her away, fighting and screaming? This was an alien world, a dangerous place where she didn't belong.

And then suddenly a figure came through the doorway, ducking under the low mantel. Before she could make out more than his shadowy form, she recognized the shape of Dash's body and the way he carried himself. Her heart lifted as though borne on helium.

Dash paused for a moment, acclimating to the gloomy interior before sighting Victoria. He strode purposeful y toward her and took a seat across from her.

"What are you doing here? You shouldn't have come. This neighborhood is dangerous." He echoed her thoughts.

Her smile disappeared at his brusque manner. She stung as if he'd slapped her. His coldness on top of her sorrow over Harvey's death was too much to take. "I have some news. It's important and I thought you'd like to know, but clearly I was mistaken."

"What is it?" He regarded her with an adversarial air that made her temper rise.

"Why are you behaving like this? You kidnapped me, remember?

In return I did favors for you. You've no cause to be so rude to me now."

He gazed at her through narrowed eyes. "When you talked to the police, did you tel them about me?"

"Of course not. Why would you think that?"

"Because I was picked up for questioning about her murder."

No wonder he was so angry. And it explained why he'd missed their appointment yesterday. "It must have been awful to be treated as a suspect. I'm so sorry."

His eyes softened a little, but his jaw remained tight. "I've been fol owed since then. I shook my shadow on the way here, but I can't talk to you long. If they draw a connection between us, it would be the worse for your reputation. Now what's your news?"

His coolness hurt, but she maintained a stiff upper lip as she related what Harvey had told her about the Commission and what had happened to him last night.

"I'm sorry. I can tel he was your friend as wel as a col eague."

"More than that. Harvey was to me what Lizzie was to you--a mentor. I could confide in and depend on him. He gave me support when I dared to enter a world reserved for men. I loved Harvey." The admission came tumbling out, surprising her. The need to unburden herself to someone who shared a similar sorrow was too much to resist.

Dash started to reach across the table as if to take her hand, then pul ed his hand back. "I'm very sorry for your loss. Do you believe the Commission had something to do with his death?"

"It's possible. It seems odd that it happened on the very night he told me about this plot."

Dash dipped his head and stared at the scarred table in front of him. "I should tel you my own bit of news. You remember the chap with the bad temper who was part of our committee? He's broken off and plans to fol ow his own plan to rid the world of automatons. I'd expect bombings and wouldn't put murder past him."

Victoria was aghast. Her wild imaginings weren't so wild. Danger threatened from every direction.

Dash stood. "I'l see you home now. I don't want you going alone.

As for your butler, get that machine out of your house. Give it back to the Commission or sel it."

"But I don't want to alert them to the fact I know what he's there for, especial y not after what happened to poor Harvey." Victoria thought for a moment as she looked across the tavern at a table ful of people clearly sodden although it was mid-afternoon. "I'l wait until the meeting on Tuesday and then return Patterson to the Commission as a token of my belief in supporting living workers."

"We should go now." Dash didn't offer to pul out her chair yet somehow she found his lack of manners refreshing. He was anything but a proper gentleman and it was those very rough edges that intrigued her.

Victoria wanted to stay longer and talk about so many other things with him, things of a personal nature, but he seemed determined to get her out of his life as soon as possible. What had happened to the man who couldn't take his eyes, or his hands, off her the other day?

Dash maintained his distance as he led her from the pub. He paused in the doorway and scanned the street before going outside, then took her arm to lead her through the crowded street.

"I don't see that detective but I don't want to take a chance on him spotting you with me."

His concern for her gave Victoria a little thril of pleasure.

Perhaps he wasn't being intentional y brusque, but merely protective of her good name. She must shake him of the delusion that it mattered to her.

They descended the steps of the nearest underground station.

Victoria paid at the turnstile and they waited on the platform for the next train. She watched Dash's chiseled profile as he stared down the track at the approaching locomotive and chose her next words careful y.

"You know I've never fit into my world and I realize I could never fit into yours. But I'd like to see more of you, Dash. I enjoyed our time together in the park. Can't we remain friends and find some common ground in the middle?"

"Not bloody likely," he muttered.

"Why do you say that?"

He glared down at her as the train screeched to a halt and he pul ed her onto the car. But he waited until they were seated to answer.

"Do you know what I think about when I look at you? It's not hand-holding and chitchatting. I can't be your friend, Miss Waters. I want you too much. I wouldn't be content with a few stolen kisses for long, and what I want from you--" he scanned her body with a lascivious stare that made her blood sear her veins, "--you'l never give me."

Victoria swal owed. Her entire body pulsed with energy. What he wanted, she wanted too--something raw and untamed and completely beyond her ken.

"Don't be so certain, Mr. Dash," she replied cool y.

He scowled out the window at the tunnel wal in his seat across from hers. Their knees occasional y bumped, and the trained clicked along for several stops before either of them spoke again. Then Victoria took the plunge.

"You often talk of your position in life as if you were constrained to stay in it forever. If you want something better, why don't you reach for it? Whatever happened to your friend, Mr. Brownlow, the one who helped you out?"

"He died," Dash said shortly, then added, "He'd told me he wanted to leave me the bookstore, but since he left no wil , his family took it. They sold everything and split the profits. I was back on the street with no job and no prospects."

"So lack of money kept you from doing what you wished. If money were no object, what would that be? What would you like to do if the way was open to you to travel, study, own a business, or enter Parliament?"

He shook his head and at first she thought he was going to deny the possibility of any of those things, but at last he answered. "I love books. I wish I could study. If I had my wish, I would go to university."

"What field in particular interests you?"

"Everything. But mostly literature. I should like to own a bookstore, or maybe teach. Can you see me as a professor of literature?" he scoffed.

His face was more open than she'd yet seen it. This was his secret dream, although he pretended to mock himself, and she understood how much it meant for him to share the dream with her.

"Why don't you work toward that? Such a future is not impossible, don't you see?"

He snorted and shutters slammed closed on his hopeful eyes.

"You are naive, Miss Waters. You have no inkling about what it is to be truly skint. You don't know what it is to come into the world with absolutely nothing, not even a name, and have to grab every scrap you can simply to survive from day to day. To climb the ladder out of that cesspool is nearly impossible. The rungs are slippery and people are always trying to push you off."

"I do understand, Dash. But some people manage it with a strong effort of wil . If you can't make your way in London, why not leave here and try your luck somewhere else? Men become sailors or join the army. There's steady pay in either of those occupations."

And now she'd gone a step too far. She could see it in his eyes.

Good Lord, she'd as much as belittled him for not using his wil power. She tried to smooth the sharp edges off her words.

"I'm sorry. You're right. I don't know what your life has been like.

I've had everything given to me. I apologize for speaking out of turn."

He shrugged and looked out the window at the black tunnel they were rushing through. "No matter." After that he remained silent for the rest of the ride.

When they got off the train, Victoria stopped on the platform nearly at the spot where she'd been standing when he'd taken her. "You don't have to walk me home. I'l be fine."

"I'l see you into your house." He didn't give her an opportunity to argue as he moved toward the stairs.

Victoria nearly trotted to keep up with his long stride. She tried to think of anything to say to bridge the chasm yawning between them. His hand swung by his side. How she wished she could simply reach out and hold it.

Dash stopped walking at the edge of the park within sight of her front door. "I'm sure you don't want your neighbors to see me walking you home. I'l watch from here until you get inside."

"Very wel . Thank you for accompanying me."

Victoria began to walk away, then suddenly spun around to face him. "Please, don't think I'm a complete fool. I do know there's a world of difference between us, but I'm wil ing to try to span our differences. We have more in common than you think and I would like to learn more about you, to share books with you and talk about them after, to become friends first and then see where that leads us."

She drew a breath, her cheeks burning at her outburst. "I want to see more of you, Dash. Please, think about it and, if you decide you feel the same way, let me know."

Before propriety could slow her momentum, Victoria rose up on her toes, slipped a hand around Dash's neck and pressed her lips to his. It was a mere peck, as chaste as one might give an old auntie, but the touch of his mouth sent lightning crackling through her.

Victoria turned and walked away feeling triumphant and buoyant.

Let him stew on that.

She didn't look back to check his reaction but did steal a glance to see if he was stil watching when she reached her front door.

His dark-coated figure was like a large crow against the green of the park.

Victoria went inside and sighed as she took off her hat. A flurry of emotions--excitement, fear, sorrow, joy, frustration and anxiety--

swirled inside her like the contents of a shaken snow globe. She shook them off as she removed her coat and formed a plan. She would send Patterson on an errand and in his absence search his room for the missing file or any other clues about his true intentions.

She cal ed his name, but for once the butler wasn't hovering just out of sight.

Instead, Mrs. Rose bustled into the foyer. "I'm sorry, Miss Waters.

I didn't hear you arrive home. Is there anything I may do for you?

Are you ready for tea?"

"Where's Patterson?"

"He's off to run an errand, although what business a machine could possibly have I don't know."

What indeed. Perhaps report to the Commission.

"Thank you, Mrs. Rose. Please don't trouble yourself with the tea.

Go back to whatever you were doing. Have the maids left for the day?"

"As a matter of fact, they have, miss. But if there's something you need, I can do it."

"No. Nothing. Thank you." Victoria dismissed her.

The moment Mrs. Rose returned to the kitchen, or perhaps to her room just off it, Victoria headed for the butler's quarters also in the servants' area but nearer the front of the house.

Her heart raced as she opened the unlocked door and stepped into his room. Victoria reminded herself that Patterson was not a person but a thing and as the owner of the machine she had every right to search his quarters if she wished. The fact that he didn't lock the door suggested there was nothing to find. But then he would consider it outside of protocol for the mistress of the house to venture into his room.

Hastily, Victoria opened each dresser drawer and searched it thoroughly. Neatly folded clothing fil ed the drawers. There were no personal items since a machine had no need of a pipe and tobacco, a deck of cards, a book or any other kind of hobby. In their off time, automatons simply went into a hibernation mode, resting their circuitry.

Victoria checked the bureau where several suits were hung. She lifted the mattress from the bed to look beneath, explored inside the pil owcase, and even searched the windowsil behind the drapes. She found nothing, not even dust beneath the bed.

But kneeling beside the bed, Victoria noticed a floorboard shifting beneath her weight. She pressed on the board and it moved. She couldn't pry her fingernails into the thin crack along the edge of the board so she pushed and prodded along every inch of its length. Suddenly the board lifted slightly at one end.

She'd hit the right spot.

Victoria grabbed hold of the board and pul ed it up, revealing an open space beneath the flooring. Her pulse pounded even faster.

No one had a secret compartment unless he had something to hide in it.

But instead of the expected file folder containing her papers, she beheld a smal black satchel and the gold lids of several mason jars. She grasped one of the jars and lifted it up to see its contents.

Ice water bathed her body and her heart froze. The glass jar contained cloudy liquid and floating in that liquid was a fist-sized lump.

A human heart.

For a moment, she simply stared at the thing, trying to bring the picture into focus and make sense of it. Then she glanced at the other three lids. She didn't need to pick up the jars to know what they contained.

Four hearts. Four victims. One kil er. But what possible motive could an automaton have for kil ing random prostitutes? Had he gone completely berserk or had someone programmed a new directive into him?

"Miss Waters, is there something I may do for you? It is not proper protocol for you to be in my room."

She leaped to her feet, dropping the jar, which shattered on the floor. Glass flew, liquid spattered and the pickled heart slid across the floorboards, ending up by the toe of Patterson's wel -

polished shoe. He stepped back like a finicky cat avoiding the mess of its bloody kil .

Victoria opened her mouth to scream, although the only person who would hear and come running would be Mrs. Rose, but before she could, Patterson crossed the room and grabbed her.

He pressed a cloth to her nose and mouth as she struggled against his unrelenting grip.

When she inhaled, the medicinal smel of chloroform fil ed her senses. In the moment before darkness took her, she stared into his vacant dol -eyes.

Patterson murmured, "I am sorry to have to do this, miss. It cannot be helped."