Malcolm looked grim. “That’s what we’re going to find out.”
The carriage pulled up in a neighborhood that was in a state of decay that would be long and agonizing. Malcolm led the way to a door of a row house and knocked loudly on the brass plate. After several attempts, no one answered the summons. Malcolm’s brow furrowed deeper. He stepped back and studied the house. It seemed normal enough. The windows were unbroken. Glancing down the quiet street, Malcolm pulled out a small set of slim tools and bent at the lock.
“What are you doing?” Charlotte leaned over him.
“We’re housebreaking,” Penny informed her.
“Oh!” The girl bounced excitedly on her toes. Imogen, with her veil now in place, turned to keep a lookout in case someone came strolling by.
It took less than a minute and they were inside. The interior was dark. Not a single room was lit. The floor was littered with refuse. Papers. Leaves. Dirt. It was as if the house had not been cleaned for months. There were also empty liquor bottles and open pails that had carried beer.
Charlotte sniffed the air and peered into the empty sitting room off the foyer. “Everything smells rotten.”
Malcolm drew a line with his finger in the thick layer of dust on one of the tables. He turned toward the kitchen in the back of the home. The others trailed after him.
The kitchen was dead. No fire warmed the hearth, not even yesterday’s banked coals. Cooking pots lay about with dried remnants of food. Insects crawled over the counters.
Penny picked up a spoon from the table. “It appears Miss Somerset isn’t here, nor anyone else now.”
“Someone’s been living here.” Malcolm sniffed a pot of moldy food. Some dishes appeared to have been used in the last few days.
“No sign of a fight.” Imogen’s deep voice observed from the other side of the room.
“Look around,” Malcolm said. “We need to see if we can determine where she’s been taken.”
The girls complied and began rooting through the rooms for clues. Malcolm moved toward a pantry. It was unlocked and when he opened it, he gasped in surprise. The housekeeper sat there, her head bowed.
“Mrs. Cummings,” Malcolm said quietly. Perhaps she had taken refuge inside the closet when she had heard intruders enter the house. Or maybe she was injured or worse.
The old woman lifted her head toward the voice and her eyes opened. She rose abruptly to her feet. She wore her service clothes and apron, but they were caked with dirt and old food as if the woman hadn’t bathed or laundered for weeks.
“Do you remember me, Mrs. Cummings? I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m a friend of Miss Somerset’s.”
“She’s not here!”
“I can see that, missus. Might you know where she’s gone?”
The girls heard the commotion and came back into the kitchen. Imogen carried a tattered sheet of paper in her more human hand. A growl started low in Charlotte’s chest.
Malcolm cast her a quick glance. “Charlotte, stop. The woman’s frightened enough.”
“Maybe she’s not.” Charlotte’s voice was a low whisper. “She smells of oil and smoke.”
It took a second before Malcolm understood what the girl meant, which was time enough for Mrs. Cummings to grab him up with her meaty fist. His feet came off the floor. He clutched at the hand around his throat while he pulled a pistol. Mrs. Cummings slapped the gun away with a powerful blow.
Charlotte was in midtransformation when Mrs. Cummings threw Malcolm at her. The two collided and careened over the kitchen table in a tumble of arms and legs.
Imogen yanked up her sleeve. She flexed her forearm and quills flew at the housekeeper. Each one struck the woman’s chest with a faint pinging sound.
“She’s half-machine!” Penny shouted.
“Dismantle her!” Malcolm clambered to his feet over the hairy limbs of Charlotte just as Penny fired a sonic blast from her pistol. The whine blossomed in his ears as everything around them started to shake. Dishes and bric-a-brac fell to the floor and shattered.
Smoke leaked from under Mrs. Cummings’s dress and apron, her metal joints feeling the pressure. Every movement of her limbs sounded like breaking twigs as she came out into the center of the kitchen floor. The housekeeper seized a table in desperation and tossed it like a bag of laundry at Penny. The nimble engineer ducked out into the hall just under the shattering oaken table, but the attack stopped the pulsations.
Imogen thrust another volley of quills. Mrs. Cummings held her right arm up to cover her face. One quill stuck in the housekeeper’s bare hand.