A Study in Silks

with Dr. Magnus on my way in tonight. He asked that I give this to you.”

It was a plain paper box from a bakery, complete with grease stains and string. “What is this?” she asked.

“I have no idea, miss. I suggested that he give it to Lady Bancroft, as that would be more proper when a young lady was involved, but he that said the contents were yours and that he’s merely returning something you lost.”

Evelina took the box and slipped off the string. When she flipped open the lid, there was her bird, laying stiff and flat.

She couldn’t stifle a gasp of surprise. Her hands felt suddenly clumsy, her arms numb and heavy. Instinctively, she closed the lid, hiding the contents.

“You weren’t expecting this, were you, miss?” Lestrade said with a searching look.

“No. I wasn’t sure where this had got to. How clever of him to find it.” Her voice sounded flat in her own ears, but beneath her control was a deal of panic. There was something terrifying about Dr. Magnus, and he had handled her invention. Had he killed it? How did he know it was mine? No one has even introduced us.

Her stomach turned to stone, remembering her first meeting with Magnus in the library. She’d felt magic on him, just like she’d felt it on Grace’s envelope. Had he done the same with her? Was her signature on her creations? She’d never really thought about that particular danger.

She longed to pick up the bird and examine it minutely, but dared not arouse the inspector’s interest. Instead, she forced herself to set the box aside, as if it didn’t matter, but her hand lingered near the table. She couldn’t quite bear to have it outside her reach.

Lestrade rose, and she followed suit, clasping her hands so he would not see her fingers tremble.

“Shall I ring for the footman to see you out, Inspector?” she asked. “Or is there someone else you would like to interview?”

“I can see myself out. I think I’m done for today.” A grim smile played across his lips. “You’ve given me the most complete account so far, miss. Not too many people seem to notice what goes on with the staff, even when they’re dying.”

“Have you found anything out about those poor grooms?” She knew it was unlikely he’d answer a question from a witness, but hoped her uncle’s reputation would loosen his tongue.

It seemed to work. “We’ve recovered the horses and the wagon. They turned up for sale at a fair. We’re questioning the bloke who’s selling them. He claims to have found them abandoned in his farmyard.”

“How odd! Was there any sign of the cargo?”

“Not a jot.” Lestrade’s face darkened. “His Lordship says the trunks are packed with souvenirs of his time in Austria. Seems to want them back most urgently. Do you know anything about what’s inside?”

“No.” She didn’t, really. Not in any way that would help Lestrade.

He met her eyes, and must have been satisfied with what he saw there. “Do you know if those grooms had dealings with the dead girl?”

“Again, I don’t know.”

He was still holding her gaze. “They were killed the same way, throats cut.”

Evelina went ice-cold.

“I’m sorry if that shocked you.” He actually looked contrite. “You seemed to be taking so much of this in stride.”

It wasn’t the manner of death that bothered her, though. It was the connection. “Are you saying the murderer was the same? That he killed Grace—maybe because she surprised him—and then followed the grooms and stole the chests?” Which would explain why the gold had never been taken. That wasn’t what the killer was after. He wanted the automatons Lord Bancroft had made years ago. But why were they significant?

Lestrade blinked. “It’s a possibility. I’m not ruling anything out.”

“No doubt, Inspector. That is of course the correct way to proceed.” She sat down, too overwhelmed to remain standing a moment more.

“Very good then, miss.” Lestrade bowed slightly, and left.

Evelina sat still a moment, her thoughts spinning too fast to pin down a single one. Then she heard a familiar scrabbling. She glanced down to see the mouse poking out from between the sofa cushions. Its fine wire whiskers quivered inquisitively.

Bird has been returned to you?

She swallowed down a lump the size of a croquet ball. “I think he’s broken.”

Let me see.

She scooped up the mouse and placed it on the edge of the table, then lifted the lid of the bakery box again. The mouse placed its front paws on the side of the box, levering itself up to peer over the rim. Oh, my! Look at those wings. You gave him gemstones. Why Bird and not me?

“You’re an indoor spy. I needed you to be stealthy.”

The mouse snorted—a strange mechanical exhalation. Such is my lot, that I am forced to spend my servitude grubbing under furniture while this one floats around the air like a bloody Faberge confection. Well, fat lot of good it did you, Bird.

Evelina reached over to pick up the inert device. The bird lay with its wings outspread and toes in the air, belly exposed. It looked pathetic. “Do you know what I mean by bedside manner?”

Do you know what I mean by malingering?

Bird suddenly righted itself and surged out of the box, darting through the air in half a tick of the mantel clock. At last! I never thought I’d get away from that sorcerer.

“You’re alive?”

Always good to state the obvious. Bird fluttered into her hand.

Pride and excitement exploded inside her as she felt its delicate claws curl around her fingers. “Are you all right?” she murmured, examining the bird all over. There was a slight scratch along one wing, but otherwise it looked unscathed.

Of course. I’m fast.

“No brass cats?”

It opened its beak and gave a disgusted chirp. That was interesting. She hadn’t built in a voice box; that must have been something the deva figured out for itself. Just the sorcerer. He nicked me out of the air right as I landed in the garden this afternoon.

Evelina cursed under her breath. “The sorcerer? Do you mean Dr. Magnus?”

Bird spread its wings in a gesture that looked like unease. He should never have been allowed in this house. The moment he had me I pretended to be dead. I told him nothing.

“And yet he knew you were mine.”

He caught the scent of your power. The metal I’m made of absorbed your magic. Any wood- witch worth their salt knows that much.

Evelina had been right. He’d felt her just as she’d felt him.

Bird chirped again. He’d never learn it from me, anyway. I’m a professional. What’s that mouse doing there?

“Reinforcements.”

The bird and the mouse stared at each other. Perhaps they were silently communicating, perhaps it was just a contest of wills. Evelina couldn’t tell, but she suddenly wished Gran Cooper could see what she’d made with her magic.

Well, Ploughman’s was in town. Involuntarily, her hand slipped into her pocket to feel the newspaper advertisement for the show. If she could sneak away, she could go see them all. But after she’d tried so hard to forge a new life, to give both her and Nick a chance at a fresh start, it would be the height of folly to return, even to visit. She’d made her choice, and circus girls were not presented to the queen … and yet it was a chapter she felt she had to reread before she could close the book on that part of her existence.

Bird broke into her thoughts. You’re going to have to watch yourself. Sorcerers are a bad lot. Their magic doesn’t work with life. They work with death.

Evelina sank back in the chair. “Is Dr. Magnus the murderer?”