The Girl in the Steel Corset

Chapter 17



Sam would rather eat glass than apologize to Finley, especially since the lunatic had almost killed him. But he had started the fight and tried to kill her, so he supposed that made them even.

Regardless, Emily was angry with him, as was Griffin. He was going to have to do a lot of apologizing to make up for this mess, and Finley was only the beginning.

He had to do it today, because apparently there were plans to go into the tunnels beneath the city later and he wasn’t about to let the lot of them go down there without him. It didn’t matter how irrationally afraid he was that an automaton would be waiting there to rip him apart once and for all. Griffin hated being underground or in enclosed spaces, and he was going. Sam wouldn’t be the coward of the group. Besides, Finley would be there, and he wasn’t going to leave his friends alone with her, either. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t the villain he thought her to be, she was still damn dangerous. Anyone who could take him down so easily was worth watching.

The incision on his chest where Emily had cut him open was healed, as though the skin there had never been touched. He pressed the flat of his palm against it, feeling the steady beating below. It felt natural, not like a machine at all.

He’d had what Griff called an epiphany then, when faced with the knowledge that his life could very well end on the floor of the laboratory. At that moment, even though he didn’t like having the metal in him, he realized that it was preferable to death.

Emily had saved his life. Again. How could he ever repay her, especially when he’d been such a total arse to her?

He was fully healed and recovered from the blow Finley delivered. He might not like or trust her, but he had to hand it to her—she could fight. And she was strong. If she proved herself trustworthy, she would prove a valuable person to have around, especially if there was trouble. Emily would be safe with her around, and she could go places with Em that he and Griff and even Jasper couldn’t—or wouldn’t. Emily’s safety meant a lot to him. She was so little and fragile, so delicate.

And yet he seemed to be the one who was always breaking and she was the one putting him back together.

Rubbing his hand absently over his chest, he threw back the covers and climbed out of bed. He bathed and shaved and dressed in a pair of brown trousers, a honey-colored waistcoat and even attempted to tie a decent knot in a cravat, despite that the blasted things made him itch. Finally he gave up, put on his boots and went downstairs to face the others. No point in delaying it any longer.

Clouds had moved in that morning and a light mist filled the afternoon air, making an outdoor meal impossible, so Sam found the three of them in the dining room, about to have luncheon.

There was a place set for him. The sight of it eased his anxiety a little. They couldn’t despise him totally if they would break bread with him.

They hadn’t sat down yet, so they were all gathered around the table, standing by their chairs when he entered the room. Each and every head turned at his entrance and stared at him in silence, waiting.

They certainly weren’t going to make this easy for him, were they? Better to get it over with as quickly as possible then. He walked over to Finley, who looked as uncertain as he felt. At least they had that in common—and the ability to heal quickly given the pallor of the bruises on her face. Griffin, unfortunately, was another story. Sam actually winced when he looked at him.

He offered Finley his hand. “I want to apologize for my behavior yesterday. I had no right to come at you as I did. I may not trust you, but I was wrong and I am sorry.”

She arched a tawny brow. As far as apologies went, she’d no doubt heard better, but at least his was sincere. She accepted his handshake. “And I’m sorry for almost killing you.”

Sam had to smile. He’d heard better apologies himself, but she meant it, he could tell from the effort it took for her to meet his gaze. Neither of them really cared for the other, but at least they were honest with one another.

He turned to Griffin next. He didn’t offer his hand this time, and neither did his friend. “We good?” he asked.

Griffin made him sweat a moment. “I reckon so,” he said finally, with just the hint of a smile. “Though I owe you a good thrashing.”

Were it any other person, Sam would have laughed at the idea. Physically Griffin was no match for him, but Sam had seen some of the things his oldest friend was capable of doing, and he knew better than to underestimate him. “Sounds fair.”

And then there was Emily. Dear, sweet Em. Her arms were crossed over her chest and there was a defiant brightness to her big, pretty eyes that he wasn’t accustomed to, not when she looked at him. He had changed things between them, and not for the better. Her opinion of him had fallen considerably.

“Thank you,” he said to her, so that all of them could hear, “for saving my life. Again. I’ll try to deserve it.”

That softened her up—not much, but it was a start. Her arms dropped to her sides. “You do that, lad.”

They sat down then, Sam in his usual spot beside Emily and across from Finley. It wasn’t the most comfortable of places to be, but he was glad to be there all the same. Griffin filled him in on some of the important discoveries they’d made as of late.

“The Machinist is responsible for your parents’ deaths?” It was all he could do to keep his jaw from dropping to the table. “Are you certain?”

“As certain as I can be,” Griffin replied. “I’ll know more when Aunt Cordelia returns from Devon later this afternoon.”

It seemed too fantastical to believe—like something out of the novels he liked to read about adventurous heroes and diabolical villains.

“We’re going underground later,” Griffin told him. “Back to the spot where we fought the digger. Are you able to do that?”

To be honest, Sam didn’t care if it made him look weak, he’d rather rip the mechanical heart out of his own chest and stomp on it rather than go back to that dark, awful place.

“I can,” he replied determinedly, absently rubbing his hand that was metal beneath the skin as he met his friend’s sharp gaze. “And I will.”

Conversation pretty much ceased after that. No matter that he had apologized and done what he had to, there was still tension in their party and Sam was smart enough to know it wasn’t all because of him. He wondered what was going on between Griffin and Finley that made them look at one another when they thought the other wasn’t looking.

And he wondered if Emily was going to look at him at all. He refused to think they could never be friends again. He would fix this rift between them if it killed him.

He started after lunch by offering to carry any equipment she might need up from the laboratory. She thanked him but told him, “Everything I need is in my satchel.” She patted the leather bag slung across her front.

She wore a plain kerchief over her ropey copper hair, a leather corset over a linen shirt and knee-length trousers trimmed with lace. Her boots were scuffed brown leather and laced up to just beneath her knee. There was nothing unusual about her clothing, it was the way she usually dressed, but sometimes Sam was struck by just how pretty she was, and he felt as though he was seeing her with new eyes. This was one of those moments, and it struck him dumb as a fool.

She glanced away. Had she seen the wonder in his gaze? “You can walk out with me, though,” she said softly. “If you’d like.”

She may as well have called him her hero, he was so buoyed by her words. He didn’t say anything, but when she turned to walk out the door, he fell into step beside her, no matter that he had to shorten his stride considerably to match hers.

They joined the others in the stables—Jasper Renn had arrived and was going to accompany them—and each climbed onto a velocycle. Griffin rode at the front and the others followed like geese. Traffic was heavy—understandable given that it was a jubilee year and they were in the vicinity of Buckingham Palace. It took longer than it should have to reach the entrance to the underground near the north end of Vauxhall Bridge Road. Sam wasn’t sure if he wanted them to get there quickly or never get there at all. He had such violent emotions about returning to that place where his blood had soaked into the ground.

Eventually, however, they reached their destination and Griffin led them down the stairwell into the dark caverns that ran beneath London’s bustling streets.

At the bottom, Griff, Emily, Jasper and Sam took out their “hand torches” that Emily had built for such occasions. They were long cylindrical tubes equipped with a power cell and a bulb behind a bit of glass. They made it so much easier to see into the shadows. Unfortunately, their glow made them much more noticeable, as well.

Jasper, ever the gentleman—blast him—offered his light to Finley, who refused. “It appears that I can see very well in the dark,” she informed him with a wry smile. “I seem to learn something new about myself every day.”

Was there nothing she couldn’t do? Sam wondered a little bitterly. He wouldn’t be surprised if she sprouted wings out of her arse.

They had to squeeze through a makeshift barrier designed to keep the general public out of the work area, which was now considerably farther down the track than it had been six months ago. Somehow, seeing that change made this easier.

Emily glanced over her shoulder at him. “You all right, Sam?” she asked softly.

She referred, of course, to his emotional state, returning to the place that had been the setting for many of his nightmares. Familiar anger threatened to bloom inside him. Maybe next she could ask if he needed his nappy changed. But he knew the question came from genuine concern.

“I’m good,” he said. It wasn’t a total lie. His nerves felt stretched as thin and taut as a pound note being pulled between two bankers, but it wasn’t unbearable. He wasn’t so afraid he couldn’t move, and he didn’t think every shadow was another digger waiting to come for him.

Thinking of the digger made him think of his actions the day before once again. If only they’d left the vault door open, he never would have attacked Finley. He probably would have been too terrified to even think of hurting someone. What a thing to wish for! It was proof just how much he would like to go back and do things differently.

Griffin glanced back at him, as well, but he didn’t speak. Sam knew his friend was checking to make certain he truly was all right, so he nodded sharply, letting him know that he was indeed up to the task at hand. Griff nodded, as well, and Sam noticed the strain around the other young man’s mouth. He didn’t like it down there any more than Sam did.

At last, after almost a quarter hour’s walking, they found the spot. Sam recognized it before the others did. There was nothing special about it—just a small stretch along the length of a tunnel where they were laying track for a new underground train line. But he remembered that small stone section of Roman wall that had been uncovered, darkened by centuries of dirt piled on top of it. He had stared at it as his blood soaked into the ground, and the automaton fell not far away. He remembered wondering if Heaven was as pretty as that little bit of painting on that Roman wall.

He stood there, as they began to search for clues, letting his hand torch drift lazily over the area. He was looking for blood, but there was none there, thank God. It had all been cleaned up, or lost in the daily buildup of dirt. How many workmen had tracked through that crimson stain, spreading little fragments of him wherever their boots walked?

“Keep your eye out for tunnels that don’t look like they should be here,” Griffin told them, “or rubble that might conceal an exit. It won’t be easy to find. The Machinist’s too smart for that.”

The Machinist. Five minutes alone with that bounder would do so much to improve his mood.

Epiphanies seemed to follow him everywhere lately, which was why it struck him as so terribly appropriate that the light of his torch should land upon a large heap of stone piled against the wall closest him. It didn’t feel right. Something about it looked off.

He walked over to the debris, his heart still pounding out its anxious jig. He switched his torch to his left hand and began pulling away stone with his augmented right. Within a few seconds, he’d removed enough of the large pieces to feel a draft. The torch revealed a passage beyond—approximately six feet wide and eight feet high.

“I found it,” he called over his shoulder as he resumed his clearing with renewed vigor. It made him proud to have discovered this before anyone else, made him feel useful again because he hadn’t felt useful in quite some time.

Finley was the first one to his side and between the two of them they had the passage completely cleared by the time the other three joined them. Once again Griffin took point—always the leader, always in charge.

Finley was behind him, followed by Jasper, Emily and then Sam. Emily was farther back so she wouldn’t get hurt if a fight broke out, or be in the way if Jasper needed to take a shot. Sam brought up the rear in case they were attacked from behind. It was the way they’d always done it, except now Griff had Finley to watch his back—or stick a knife in it. He still wasn’t sure which one he thought her most likely to do.

They walked for a long time, single file, through the corridor of stone and dirt. It wasn’t so narrow that he felt confined, but it was still relatively cramped. They were underground, in a secret tunnel with no light and no ready means of escape.

How was Griffin? he wondered. His friend had always been better at mastering his fears than Sam had. Someday Sam would be able to look at an automaton without thinking it might be the one to kill him.

Finally, after what felt like forever, they came to a stop. The passageway was nothing more than a dead end.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Emily remarked, the beam from her hand torch traveling the dirt walls. “Why dig a tunnel to nowhere?”

Griffin pointed his light at the back wall. From where he stood, Sam could see holes in the earth as though something had been driven into it. He lifted his torch at the same time Griffin did, both of them shining light up that wall to the rough ceiling above.

“I think that’s a hatch,” Sam said, noticing a slight incision in the stone. Those punctures in the dirt wall had been from someone—or something—climbing. “Finley, climb up on my shoulders and see if you can lift it.”

The girl looked at him as though she didn’t trust him. He sighed. “Fine, come here and let me climb up on yours. We can’t be sure what’s up there, but I can be fairly certain that, whatever it is, you and I stand the best chance of surviving it.”

“Fair enough,” she replied. She managed to squeeze past Jasper and Emily to get to him. The two of them flattened themselves against the wall so she could get by. There wasn’t enough room for Sam to squat down, so he bent as far as he could and she climbed onto him using the wall for leverage. She was crouched on his shoulders as he slowly stood. The panel made a groaning sound as she lifted it, raining down dirt upon Sam’s head. He coughed.

“I’m beneath a carpet or something,” Finley told them. “I can’t see…”

There was a soft thump—the sound of a rug being tossed back—and then, “Oh, my God.”

“What is it?” Griffin demanded.

Sam tried to look up, but Finley blocked much of his view. He could see part of her face, however, as wherever she had popped up was well lit.

“Griffin King, is that you?” called an imperious female voice.

Griffin swore—very softly. “It is, ma’am.” Then he pushed his way back to where Sam was.

“Come up here this instant,” called the woman. “And, you, girl, get out of that hole.”

“Be right there!” Griffin called back, agitation and mortification raising his voice an octave. “Sam,” he hissed, “I need to get up there.”

“Climb on up,” Sam offered. Finley had done as she was told, so Griffin had a clear path.

Griffin climbed agilely onto Sam’s shoulders and quickly pulled himself up through the hole.

Sam heard him talking, but his voice was low and he couldn’t hear if he called the woman by name or not. He didn’t hear anything at all until Griffin called down to the rest of them. “Sam, Jasper, Emily? Please come up.”

Sam was beginning to feel like a stepstool, but he kept his mouth shut as he helped Emily, then Jasper up to the world above. Then, he managed to climb up a bit using the rocks jutting out of the wall to propel him a few feet up until he could get a hand on either side of the hole and pull himself up.

He emerged in a large sitting room, so richly appointed it made Greythorne House look like a humble cottage. Finley, Jasper and Emily stood huddled together, staring openmouthed at Griffin, who was talking to an elderly woman dressed in black.

Brushing dirt from his coat, Sam ignored the wild-eyed looks the other three gave him. Surely a house like this had enough staff to clean up a little dirt?

“And who is this young man?” the old lady demanded.

Sam opened his mouth to reply, but froze when he saw just who the old woman was.

“May I present Sam Morgan, Your Highness,” Griffin said.

Bloody hell. It was Queen Victoria. They’d just burrowed their way into Buckingham Palace.



“I can’t believe I met the queen!” Emily gushed on the walk from the palace to where they’d left their velocycles.

“I would have liked to meet her when I didn’t have dirt in my hair,” Finley remarked. The horror of popping up into the queen’s parlor like some kind of rodent was a humiliation she would carry with her for the rest of her days.

Still, it had been pretty amazing to meet the woman who ruled the entire British Empire. She had thought Victoria would be taller.

Griffin had been quiet during their walk. Her highness had offered them a carriage, but Griffin declined the generous offer, saying they had already imposed upon the queen enough.

Of course they’d been forced to tell her how they got there. You didn’t discover a secret passage into someone’s palace and not tell them everything you knew about it. Lord, Victoria could have tossed them all in gaol if she’d so chose. So Griffin had told her how they’d found the passage and what they were doing in the tunnels to begin with. The queen was very concerned, to put it lightly, especially when Griffin told her that now that they had found the passage, he was convinced it had been The Machinist who stole her hairbrush from the museum. He also asked the staff to alert him if they discovered anything missing, but in a place that size, who would notice?

By the time they left, workmen had already begun work on closing up the hole and repairing the floor. Finley didn’t doubt that the tunnel would be sealed by tomorrow. That was good—The Machinist would lose his way into the palace.

Now, after talking so much to the queen, Griffin was subdued, his brow furrowed as he walked, hands deep in the pockets of his long, gray greatcoat. It was a little stained from their adventure, but nothing a skilled maid couldn’t conquer. She couldn’t help but wonder what it was that had his mind so occupied.

She fell back to walk with him, leaving the other three talking about the palace. They were so amazed by what had just happened that none of them seemed to remember the tension between them. Sam actually laughed at something Jasper said! And of course, Emily walked between the two of them—a kitten between two toms.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

Griffin glanced at her, as though surprised to see her beside him. “Something I’d rather not contemplate, but has taken hold of my mind and will not let go.”

In their brief acquaintance, she had never heard him speak with such gravity. Whatever plagued him, it also disturbed him very deeply.

She would have pushed further if they hadn’t arrived where they’d left the velocycles. She started hers and followed the rest of them back to Mayfair. The streets were busy with aristocrats heading to Hyde Park as they did every day at five o’clock to see and be seen. They rode horses there, or drove horse-drawn carriages. It was a place to be leisurely. Modern vehicles moved too fast, and the whole point of the outing was to show yourself off.

Griffin never did such things, but then he wasn’t like any other peer of the realm she’d ever met. Why didn’t he go to parties and balls like other young men his age? From what she had heard of him—and seen for herself—he wasn’t much for society at all. Wasn’t he expected to be out and about? Someday he’d marry a woman worthy of becoming his duchess and have a family of his own. And then she, Emily, Sam and Jasper would be out on the street.

Lord, what maudlin thoughts! They served no purpose, so she pushed them to the back of her mind. She’d go off and get married herself eventually, so what did it matter? It didn’t matter at all, and she certainly wasn’t upset about it. It wasn’t like Griffin could ever marry her. That was a joke!

By the time they arrived back at the mansion, she’d put all thoughts of Griffin and marriage out of her head. Lady Marsden had returned from Devon and wanted them all in the study. They went to her immediately, not even bothering to clean up first.

The elegant lady was waiting for them, pacing the length of the carpet, the silver chains running from ear to nose gleaming in the late-afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows. She took one look at the lot of them and her mouth fell open.

“Whatever happened to the lot of you?” she asked. She had a way of always sounding put out, even when she wasn’t.

Griffin explained what had happened. His aunt didn’t seem to know whether to be horrified or amused at their barging in on the queen. It didn’t take long for her expression to turn grim, however, when Griffin told her that he suspected The Machinist had dug the tunnel.

“But why would he take the figure from Tussaud’s?” Sam asked. “He was right there in the palace. He could have taken anything he wanted.”

“It would be difficult to do that without being noticed,” Finley told him. “You can’t just shove a gown under your shirt or in your pocket. He might have been brazen enough to walk right into the palace, but he was careful not to get caught.”

“He would be very careful not to be noticed,” Lady Marsden agreed. “Because if he were, it would be highly likely Victoria would recognize him.”

Griffin’s head jerked up. He stared at his aunt—they all did. “You know who he is?”

“I believe so. Your steward described him to me, and it fits other accounts I’ve heard, but your steward mentioned one thing no else did. The Machinist has a metal hand. He lost his in a professional accident years ago—an accident I believed he blamed on your father, Griffin.”

Griffin’s eyes narrowed. “So he did know my father.”

“He was part of the expedition,” his aunt replied, holding out a photograph to him. “Leonardo Garibaldi. He was one of my brother’s closest friends—and the only member of the expedition to have died whose body was never found. Obviously that was because he never actually died.”

Finley peered at the photograph over Griffin’s shoulder. There were his parents, looking beautiful and happy, along with several other people, one of whom she recognized as her father. Was it foolish of her to feel sad at the sight of him even though she’d never known him?

Her gaze fell upon Garibaldi. Beside her she thought she heard Sam gasp, but before she could turn her attention to him, Lady Marsden began talking again. “Garibaldi was the one who wanted to go public with the Organites. He thought they could change the world. He was furious when Victoria told them to keep it a secret. She thought there was too much potential for evil if mankind got its hands on something so miraculous.”

“She was right,” Griffin agreed. “It would be awful, especially now that we know the Organites are responsible for all of our special abilities. But Garibaldi already knows what they’re capable of, especially their remarkable ability to replicate human tissue.”

Everyone was staring at him now. “What have you discovered?” Lady Marsden demanded.

Griffin glanced at Emily. “It was Emily who discovered it, really. She saw what the Organites could do when she rebuilt Sam’s arm. And recently we saw how the Organites have become part of Sam’s physiology. If Garibaldi had samples of a person’s skin or hair, he could conceivably construct a copy of that person. A doppelganger—at least, in the flesh. He would have to build some kind of skeleton to support it—like an automaton.”

The awful truth of what he was saying finally sunk into Finley’s bewildered mind. The Machinist had stolen the queen’s brush, and other personal items, as well, probably. He had pieces of her, and he had Organites. And there had been caliper marks on the wax Victoria, along with those empty eye sockets.

Her gaze swung to Griffin, and she saw the truth in his expression. Her heart stopped dead in her chest. Emily’s announcement solidified her fears. “He’s going to replace Queen Victoria with an automaton twin.”