The Eidolon Read online

  Both parts would bring Emil great pleasure.

  Dutton pushed aside his mug and pulled a knife from his breast pocket. He ran his finger along the handle. “If I ever meet that Eidolon, I know what I’d do. Gentleman or no.”

  “He’s a gentleman wot steals kids?” Rosseau asked, rubbing his forehead as though baffled by the concept.

  They all nodded. “It’s that Admiral Lord Grillett wot deserves our thanks. ‘Es the angel,” said Carter.

  All three of them finished the last few swallows of their ale and then bid Rosseau and Emil a good evening. They staggered to the door, holding on to each other for support.

  Rosseau smiled at Emil and raised a brow. They’d gotten what they came for.

  Light filtered in through the windows. It was early morning, and nearly closing time. Emil and Rosseau were the only two customers left in the tavern. A large, muscular man approached their table. He wore an apron with several rags hanging out of the pockets. His eyes were bleary, as though just finishing a long work shift. To Emil’s surprise, he took a seat at the table.

  “Names Giles. I’m the proprietor of this fine establishment. You two are new ‘round ‘ere.” He leaned forward, hands clasped in front of him on the table in a friendly manner.

  Rosseau answered for them. “Right nice place you got ‘ere. Good ale. We’ll be back, you can count on that.” He took a long drink, set the mug down and wiped the foam from his face.

  Giles grinned. “Not much else is there, in this ‘ere life we got? Good drink. Good company.”

  Rosseau nodded. “Those fellows wot jus’ left. They was telling some tale about an Eidolon. Never heard of such a thing.”

  The tavern owner rubbed his large chin and leaned back in his chair. “Carter and his lot don’t think much of the Angel. Wot you think of it?” He folded his arms across his chest as though the answer mattered little to him. As though he were simply passing the time with two friendly customers.

  Emil exchanged a glance with Rosseau. Giles was good, but he couldn’t quite hide his sympathies. This was definitely unexpected. A man that believed in the Eidolon’s work. In spite of the anomaly that Giles presented—a member of the working class caring enough to support change—Emil became a little irritated. The Eidolon even had his own fans. Emil had never heard of such a thing, nor encountered the like when he did the same work throughout EurAsia. Sure, Kartal had fans, but only on account of his war heroics. Not his work with the factory children.

  “We think the Eidolon is bleeding brilliant,” said Rosseau with a grin.

  Giles’s whole face lit and he smacked the table. “I knew you seemed like respectable chaps.” He waved at the bar maid, who rolled her eyes and disappeared into the back. “We’ll have a drink to the Eidolon. The only brave man left in London.”

  Emil inwardly sighed. Once he took care of the Duke and Lord Grillett, he needed to find this Eidolon and figure out his secret.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The day after

  Veronica settled her mold-colored dress about her legs as she sat down to the breakfast table. Her head throbbed from nightmares she could not remember, making her movements shaky and slow.

  Alec whistled cheerfully as he entered the room and picked up a plate. “Lovely dress, as usual.”

  She lifted her chin. After his behavior at the masque, she was determined to show him nothing but contempt. “Prettier than your face, to be sure.”

  “So, I hear my little Peanut is to be married off to a man that could make butter out of you.”

  Veronica picked up her knife and began buttering her toast. At least he hadn’t confronted her about it at Almacks. Though would he have even bothered? He hadn’t had any interest in her life since his return. She supposed the novelty of their childhood relationship had faded, withering like autumn leaves, once he’d found brighter pastures at Eton.

  She almost didn’t answer but he prodded her with his walking stick. “Butter? Me? When have you ever seen me swoon over a man? You’re being ridiculous.”

  “Sources tell me the prince is,” his hands fluttered to his face, “sooo dreamy. Tee-hee.”

  Veronica scowled. “He was extremely cordial.”

  Alec swaggered over to her chair and patted her arm. “Cordial? For my darling little sister to use any kind word about a man, this is the dawn of a new age! No longer are you running around in leading strings, you are finally a woman, taking an interest in men! Aye, me, how the years have flown.” He dabbed a fictional tear.

  She snapped her napkin at him. “You know this is all your fault. If he could have found anyone willing to take you on, you’d be engaged, not me.”

  “I cannot help it if I’m simply too much for any one woman to handle. The prospect would be daunting for any person, royal or no.”

  “Daunting is not the word I’d use.”

  “Come, Peanut, it seems to have turned out smashing in the end, has it not? At the very least you are simply doomed to look at your handsome prince’s striking visage for the rest of your long days.” He pretended to swoon. “How terribly wonderful!”

  “Are you implying that any part of me finds this situation desirable?”

  Alec laughed. “You find nothing desirable but your fencing lessons and books. I wasn’t even aware until now that you knew you were a woman.”

  She patted her purposely frizzy hair. “Let me be clear, dear brother, cordial prince or no, I am determined to find a way out of this arrangement. I will not be tied to any man, least of all one selected by papá.”

  Alec shrugged. “If the idea bothers you so much, then don’t do it. Don’t marry the dream boat.”

  That comment made her drop her toast. “B…but what about papá? And the Queen?” And Bridges?

  He plopped down beside her. “I didn’t say there wouldn’t be consequences. You’d lose the title most likely. Since papá passed me over for it, I’d say he’d choose one of those horrible cousins of ours. The ones that dress up like airshipmen and attend those steamtech conventions.”

  She felt her shoulders slump. For a moment there, she thought he might have had a solution to all of this. Sometimes, admittedly very little, her brother had surprised her since his return. A glimmer of strength, a hardened resolve, that showed him to be more than a man bent on gaming and women. But these past few weeks, she’d seen it less and less. Like at the masque, when he’d acted more like a libertine than the protective brother she’d grown up with.

  An arm slid across her shoulders. “Is the prospect truly so horrible, Peanut?” Oddly, the question sounded more real than anything else he’d said recently.

  Yet she stiffened and didn’t answer. She didn’t hold him to blame for not looking out for her—who could when faced with the Duke? But Veronica wasn’t daft, and she wouldn’t let herself hope he’d be the brother she needed. Especially now.

  After a moment of awkward silence, Alec sighed. “You know I could fight him for you,” he said in a very non-Alec voice. There it was—the rare glimmer.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, gathered her strength, and opened them again. Even if her brother said nothing but those fictional words, they still meant something to her and lent her courage. He might not be capable of truly protecting her, but he probably meant well. “The prince isn’t so bad, Alec.”

  “Even though he is a man?”

  She nearly smiled but sniffed instead. “But I will miss all this terribly. The dark, stuffy rooms. The constant chill in the air because papá doesn’t order fires to be lit. The depressive silence of it all.” Veronica motioned toward the thick walls that hid the horrors of their childhood. Neither of them had ever felt at home here, the Duke had made sure of that. Except for with each other, when their papá was off at the battlefront.

  Alec grinned. “Must you leave right away? I thought these things took months to arrange. Posting the banns, the parties, the wedding—”

  “I have no idea. I’m sure papá will want it all done properly
.” The idea gave her some hope. The more time she had to devise a way to continue to fund Bridges and escape her papá’s marriage noose, the better.

  Alec popped a grape in his mouth and chewed while he watched her, waiting. He was doing that thing where it seemed as though he saw through her. So she snatched two more pieces of toast off the table and averted her eyes. “You’ll meet him tonight at dinner. Please, Alec, let’s change the subject.”

  “If you wish.” He sauntered over to the sideboard and piled a plate with cake. As though her brother needed any more vices.

  She noticed the morning paper from Lloyds on the table and opened it. The headline read, “Masked man kidnaps children….” She turned so Alec could not see it, her chest constricting as she continued reading silently.

  It couldn’t be. Could it?

  A mysterious gentleman dressed in a black cape, unusual goggles, and a top hat, entered the factory district several nights ago and kidnapped twenty children walking home from their shift. The victim, a Mr. X, said, “His gun shot fire and he had a bleeding giant of a manservant. The bloke wielded two leather whips. He would ‘ave killed me if I ‘ad not got help!”

  Chief Inspector Marwick of Scotland Yard assures this reporter that the kidnapper, who has been identified as the same man known as the Eidolon by residents of the East End, will be caught. Chief Inspector Marwick, backed by an unknown donor, is offering a reward of one thousand pounds for any information leading to the identification of the Eidolon. In the meantime, the Police are implementing tighter security in and out of the factory district.

  Notify the authorities if you hear anything about the whereabouts of the dangerous criminal known as the Eidolon.

  Veronica read the article again and again, not trusting her weary eyes.

  Several horrible words ran through her mind in rapid succession as she considered what this article meant. The Eidolon had never been mentioned in print before. It’d been merely a name whispered on the streets.

  Some part of her thrilled to see her actions reported in Lloyds. Her missions seemed more real to her in this moment, now that her other life crossed into this one—her life as the Eidolon less a dream. Of course her visits to the children were substantial enough but now, now all the world knew who she was and what she’d done.

  Her masked crusader persona had lost any anonymity, which did not bother her—she would much sooner London know that someone was trying to make a difference. What did bother her was the manner in which she was reported—a villain, a child stealer, a thug. The very type of person she’d been trying to fight. As a result of this horrible article, she’d lost any chance people would support her cause.

  It was all some sort of horribly brilliant lie—one interspersed with bits of truth.

  Who was Gentleman X? Who would dare contact Lloyds? Nothing, not in the many months she’d been doing this, had ever been reported. She’d assumed Grillett hadn’t wanted to be exposed like this, with his child-funded operations open for public discussion.

  Gentleman X must be one of the guards from the factory—perhaps the pockmarked one. He had been rougher, meaner than the others. She knew men like him, men that never took the blame for anything. Men that could spin a story any which way so that they ended out on top.

  Grillett would be furious. The man had probably already been identified and disposed of. He wouldn’t want Lloyds or any other paper looking too closely into his affairs.

  The Eidolon must not become a subject on dit in London. On this one and only point, she and Lord Grillett must surely agree.

  She scanned the article again and noticed one other key point. One that would bring fortune hunters to the doors of the factory district.

  One thousand pounds reward for her whereabouts.

  The Eidolon would be hunted, no longer sheltered by those who closed their shutters and dimmed their lights when she and the children rushed past. Veronica knew better than to expect loyalty even from those who bestowed the name of angel upon her. One thousand pounds could change a person’s life, especially when they lived, crowded thirty to one room, in the East End.

  How long would it be before someone found something about the Eidolon? Or worse, before they fabricated a stream of evidence leading to the wrong person?

  “Peanut? You look peaked, darling. Did you make it into Defunct Debutantes again? You know, if you’d just let me help…” he trailed off.

  She turned to look at Alec and blinked.

  His gaze dropped to the paper and he snatched it up before she could stop him. He read for a minute and then said, “Just another article about that pirate who steals from the Russians … Ah, it’s the children, isn’t it?”

  She swallowed her cold tea and asked lightly, “Have you heard of the Eidolon before?”

  He shrugged. “A whisper here and there at the track. No one puts much stock in it. Seemed to me like the Eidolon was a character from one of those Radcliffe novels you women all swoon over, you know, underneath the covers at night. Or like that supposed Kartal. Likely story. Take on a hundred Turkish ships indeed.”

  “And what do you think of the Eidolon now?” She pretended not to watch him closely.

  “Kidnapping twenty children from under Grillett’s nose would be nigh impossible, not with his Enforcers. What would a gentleman want with those scraggly little orphans anyway? Nah, it’s all rubbish.” He tossed an apple in the air, polished it on his sleeve and bit into it, spraying juice into her face.

  She wiped her cheek and pushed his elbows off the table. “Well, Alec, your Refined and Elegant Lordship, don’t you think people might start asking questions about Grillett now? And his child-laborers?”

  “Unfortunately for your sake, Peanut, no. You know he is one of the Untouchables, like Papá. Without Grillett’s airships, England would have long ago lost her lands to Russia, France or the Turks. I don’t know anyone who wouldn’t sacrifice an appendage to be held in his favor.” He reached over and flicked her nose. “Twenty children? It only makes him a more tragic and romantic figure, not a man under suspicion. You know how he sends all those orphans to school and gives them a living. He dotes on them.”

  She forced her mouth shut. They’d had this argument, she and her brother, many times. He believed the photographs of Grillett and a dozen, fat children printed in Lloyds. He didn’t think to question the reports of families with a parent or two killed during wartime, whose remaining sons and daughters sought refuge in Grillett’s orphanages, never to be seen again. He saw what everyone else saw—a man with gold-plated armor, slicked silver hair, fancy goggles swinging round his neck and a confident smile that only nobility seemed to possess.

  “Peanut, honey, quit your worrying. Chief Inspector Marwick is a solid chap. He’ll get the job done. Those children will be back in their beds before the week’s out, just you see.”

  “Back in their beds! Alec, you dolt, I don’t want them back! Praise be to the Eidolon for rescuing those poor souls—”

  “Veronica, lower your voice. The Berkleys will be able to hear you next door by now,” her Papá said as he entered the room. He wore his full, red uniform again today, all his medals polished to high shine, making his shoulder gleam like Lady Ambrose’s décolletage. He sat at the head of the table without looking at either of them.

  Had he heard the discussion of the Eidolon? Or simply her rant about the orphans? If the latter, he would not give it a second thought. If the former … well, it would soon be all over London. And her Papá was about as likely to associate her with the Eidolon as Alec was to stop pouring whisky in his orange juice.

  Veronica froze when the Duke picked up the paper. She watched him out of the corner of her eye but he didn’t seem to be focusing at all on the bold headline.

  Why?

  Did something happen last night … ah.

  “Thank you for the lovely blue dress, Papá,” she said.

  He tossed aside the paper. His mouth tilted upward in an odd sort of half-smile. He di
dn’t seem embarrassed at all by the dress incident. In fact, he looked almost smug.

  It had been a test.

  Veronica’s mind darted from one possibility to another, but nothing clicked into place. The important question remained—had she passed? Oh, if she hadn’t…

  The Duke tilted his head toward her in a kind of odd, mocking acknowledgement. “I wanted to see how far you would go, to honor our agreement.”

  She felt a flush sneak into her cheeks. “The Queen didn’t approve.”

  “I discussed it with her afterwards. She was quite amused.” The Duke laid out his morning ration of pickled meats and fruits. He arranged his napkin and said, “In fact, Victoria and I agreed that the bans are to be read this week for your engagement. You’ll be married one month from now.”

  Veronica masked her panic as she always did—by concentrating on keeping her face completely blank, her movement unhurried as she took a bite of toast that threatened to choke her. “One month?” she asked.

  “You will handle none of the details. Lady Ambrose is taking care of everything. Your sole responsibility is to keep the prince and his party entertained and see to their comfort.” He cut his meat into even pieces, forked one and chewed meticulously.

  “Lady Ambrose?” She kept her voice even. She hated that woman.

  “You will cease repeating me. She’s the obvious choice. A lady not much older than you, experienced with matters relating to weddings and marriage, and quite highly regarded by high society.”

  Alec interjected. “May I propose an alternative?” His tone was lazy but Veronica saw the slight tremor in his hand as he wiped the corner of his mouth.

  Shock must be the only reason the Duke didn’t respond.

  Alec continued. “As you may know, Papá, I am experienced in both spending money and high fashion. I saw Lord Hale married off last year to that sweet little thing, do you remember? Their wedding was the event of the season. All my doing, I assure you.”