shelves heaped with machinery parts, engines, gauges, equipment, and all the materials seized from the Harter Engine Company, including the working models of their combustion engines. Deep in the whale’s belly, filling three shelves end to end, was Striker’s armory of fantastical weapons—enough firepower to set London alight. The warehouse as a whole could have supplied a revolution.
But every nut, bolt. and cog was untouched. Keating—not one for tears—had nearly wept with relief. Not that he let his men see the slightest hint of either his distress or his relief. He’d simply ordered the locks changed and marched out again. Striker would be getting no more keys.
Keating continued his circuit of the Duchess of Westlake’s room, vaguely conscious of the distant orchestra and the murmur of conversation. It was hot and stuffy, made hotter by his recollection of the cold dockyard wind. And yet, as unpleasant as the warehouse task had been, he’d enjoyed the action more than this elaborate minuet of secret meetings and whispered plans. Out on the docks, things were simple, clear, and brutally quick.
He paused in front of a painting—some pastoral scene involving sheep and a pair of lovers. The sheep looked bored. He looked up almost hopefully when the sitting room door swept open.
The Duchess of Westlake sailed in, closing the door behind her. “Mr. Keating, thank you for meeting me on such short notice, but as you know my needs are most urgent.”
Keating bowed, waiting until she took a seat before settling himself back in his chair. Not for the first time, he wondered why the rest of the Steam Council was so worried about the so-called Baskerville conspiracy. They should take note of the way he handled the duchess, if they were worried about the aristocrats. People with titles were just as vulnerable to bribery and threats as everyone else. And once they were caught, flies—no matter how many fancy titles they had—couldn’t rebel against the spider. “It is my pleasure as always to serve you as best as I am able. However, I’m not sure how much more I can do.”
She lifted her head, the gesture more imperious than pleading. “No, no, and no! You must help me. Surely there is some arrangement we can make.”
“That will be difficult.”
“You are a man of business, are you not? Isn’t making deals what you do?”
“My lady,” said Jasper Keating, utterly irritated. “You are in no position to bargain.”
The Duchess of Westlake glared back at him, her square form reminding him of a crudely carved figurehead that had somehow escaped its ship. “I’ve paid everything I can.” Her voice was harsh. “My personal fortune is not limitless.”
Keating didn’t care, but tried to keep the annoyance from his manner. The woman was bent on saving her cousin’s life, but it was a lost cause. Nellie Reynolds was an actress, of value only when she was the apple of the public’s eye. Once that adoration was finished, she was little better than a drab walking the lowest streets of London. Keating had no use for trash, and wasn’t sure why the duchess bothered.
But he put a look of concern on his face, and carried on. “Barristers are expensive, and Sir Philip Amory is the top man in London. I engaged him as you asked, but I don’t think more money is the answer even if you had it to give. The public has turned against her.”
“Nellie is my cousin. I can’t give up.” The duchess rose, sweeping around the private drawing room in agitation. The fine white and red shot silk of her ball gown glimmered as she moved, the fabric rustling like the surf on a beach. “She might not be my uncle’s legitimate child, but we grew up in the same nursery. I taught her to read and write her name on the same slate I used. She was the prettiest child you could imagine.”
Keating hated sentimentality only one degree less than tales of childhood bliss. Such things were too far removed from his own experience to sound credible. He sat back against the stiff upholstery of the armchair and wished etiquette permitted him to light a cigar.
“Why has the world gone mad?” the woman complained. “Anyone with sense can see Nellie is as unmagical as a lamppost. She wouldn’t even let me drag her to a Gypsy at the fair to have her fortune read. She is as pragmatic as mud.”
And the benefits of the entire business kept on multiplying. Securing Amory put the duchess in his debt, which had come in handy when it came to presenting the detective’s niece—although that piece of business had yet to bear fruit. He would have to follow up on that first thing tomorrow.
The woman was still talking. “Besides, we grew up together. We’ve never lived more than a few miles apart. If she were a witch, I would know of it!”
It was time she heard the truth. It was a kindness, really. “My lady, forgive me for speaking my mind, but the Reynolds woman is an illegitimate relation, an actress, and a magic user. You need to let her go.”
Outrage widened the duchess’s eyes. “She is innocent, sir! Where is the evidence of this magic? A few props from her acting trunk? It’s all poppycock. They say she has a crystal ball for summoning demons. It’s a garden ornament I gave her out of my own yard last March. I know these accusations are baseless.”
Even Keating had to wince at that.
“I can’t just let her burn.” The woman’s voice hitched. She fell back onto the divan, which creaked alarmingly. The duchess was well beyond the day when swooning was a delicate business.
Keating steepled his fingers. “Madam, she is all but convicted. The association will taint this house. You will end up as one of the Disconnected.”
“I am the Duchess of Westlake,” proclaimed the woman. “You cannot turn off my steam.”
This was the moment he had been waiting for. Keating moved in for the kill without emotion. “My lady, I make the steam. I have helped you as a friend and a gentleman. I have kept your confidences, and acted as intermediary on your behalf. I completely understand that some things you could not do yourself as a titled woman. It was not fitting that you personally meet with jailors and police.”
So he had taken on all those distasteful tasks, winning her trust one bit at a time. Waiting with the patience of a cat at the fishbowl and scooping up pieces of business whenever they came his way. Now the Westlakes’ affairs were firmly anchored with Keating Utility—all because the duchess loved her cousin. He supposed he owed Nellie Reynolds something after all. Pity he had no intention of paying that debt.
The duchess pursed her lips, looking a bit like that proverbial fish. “And I appreciate your efforts, Mr. Keating. You have been a friend.”
Keating’s reply was cool. “But first I am a man of business. I will not hesitate to do what is necessary to maintain harmony among my clients. I won’t have the whole upset by the actions of one, however illustrious that one might be.”
Disbelief filled her eyes, then pain, then a resignation thickly veined with hate. Keating felt a pang almost like regret.
Her voice rose in pitch, growing almost shrill. “Are you saying that if Society cuts me for trying to save my cousin from the stake, you will turn off my heat and light?”
“You come quickly to the point, my lady. But rest assured that I would only do so as a last resort. I know your son has a
And there was the foundation of his scheming. The duchess would be pliable where her son’s hand was concerned, if the entire Westlake fortune was in peril—and he would see to that. For Alice, the match would be brilliant, linking fortune to title.
“How comforting,” the duchess’s tone was dry. “No doubt you have brought your daughter up with the expectation of marrying well.”
The comment nettled him. “Alice has nothing to be humble about.”
The woman sniffed with all the hauteur of her title and pedigree. “Indeed, Mr. Keating. I understand she wears Paris fashions with great aplomb.”
Keating narrowed his eyes. It was amazing how an aristocrat could insult without actually saying anything one could point at. Well, he was the one with his hand on the switch. “As you say, my lady.”
Her face turned to stone. “I would appreciate it if you left me now, Mr. Keating.”
