Rise of the Arcane Fire (The Secret Order) Read online

  The old woman cackled, which made Lady Strompton pause in her speech, and the assembly turned their pale faces to us. “Gracious, not that Lord Strompton,” she said with a labored breath. “That Lord Strompton.”

  And with her pronouncement she pointed the head of her cane directly at David.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  LADY CHADWICK’S UNEXPECTED REVELATION ABOUT my betrothal consumed all my thoughts as I tried to return my life to some semblance of what it had been before Lord Strompton’s memorial.

  It didn’t work.

  Not a moment seemed to pass when I didn’t tumble from a deep feeling of betrayal and disillusionment on the one hand, and sheer revulsion on the other. Secret affairs, betrothals, scandals, intrigue—I’d had my fill of them.

  The only peace I found was back in my workshop, where I could focus on the Haddock mystery. However, that peace came at a high cost. I found myself burning candles well into the night, scouring Simon Pricket’s writings for any information about the Haddock line, and yet I found nothing.

  The Haddock name had been well and truly blacked out, or carefully not mentioned at all.

  The entire affair put me in a foul mood so severe, it could not even be soothed by the promise of buttered cheese crumpets. I felt tired all the time. My muscles ached with my fatigue. It became difficult to muster the will to move at all. At times I would find myself staring at the mantel, letting my eyes trace over the swirls in the polished wood. I didn’t want to think. My head swam, as if underwater, but out of some heavy sense of duty, I managed to pull myself through each day.

  I feared I would never be cheerful again.

  The family I had held so dear to my heart had only been wooden dolls. I had dressed them in the manner I’d wished to see them, but I knew nothing about who they really were. I could only see them from the outside.

  My mother had been intended to marry Lord Strompton. My soft-spoken mother, who had always been so accommodating, had broken an engagement to an earl and eloped with the son of a man her father had believed guilty of a horrible crime.

  I didn’t remember such spirit in her, and now that she was gone, I felt I’d never truthfully known her. I never would know her. It broke my heart.

  And my grandfather.

  I was still trying to find a way to combine my memories of a kind and gentle man who danced with me and sang me silly songs, with the truth, unless that truth was nothing but vicious old gossip.

  I clasped my hand around the clockwork key. My grandfather had used me and my childhood games to create a fail-safe for his precious master key, a key that people were still trying to murder me for.

  And now I had come to discover that he had been willing to bind my future, my entire life, to whatever family could gain him the most political power. Strompton must have been so eager for the arrangement. He never would have imagined that I would become an apprentice, and his son’s rival. I was to be David’s bride and the final nail in the political scaffolding that would give the Harrington family control over everything.

  What was I to do with such knowledge? I wanted to burn it from my soul, and I couldn’t.

  My grandfather had betrayed me.

  Perhaps it would be better if he were dead.

  I hated that thought most of all.

  Back at the Academy things seemed to go from bad to worse. How I found the strength to keep going was a mystery to me. Yet I managed to attend each of my lessons and performed my tasks as well as I was able, in spite of the nagging doubt that no matter what I did, it would never be good enough.

  The current seating arrangements didn’t help.

  Now that the headmaster suspected sabotage, he kept me under extra scrutiny. I was forced to sit at the very front of the class, and I was not allowed to collaborate with anyone.

  This made it difficult to even speak with Peter. I couldn’t believe he was the saboteur. I had to find a way to prove he wasn’t.

  But that was not the worst of it.

  I glanced at the ceiling as David stood next to me in his perfectly brushed coat. With all the arrogance and self-assuredness of the lord of the manor, he confidently answered Instructor Barnabus’s questions one after another.

  And the praise rained down on his perfect golden head.

  I loathed him.

  Each time he sat, his eyes would dart my way and that vexing half smile would touch his lips.

  He acted as if the entire world should bow before him, without his ever doing anything in my estimation to deserve such adulation. I refused to give it to him, on principle.

  He probably knew about our supposed betrothal. It was no wonder he treated me like a pathetic spaniel puppy that someone had given to him as a gift for his own amusement. He had the greatest cause to sabotage my work, considering I was the only one who could knock him from his gilded throne.

  “Very good, David!” Instructor Barnabus said, clapping his hands together. “Brilliant, as always. If you would, please instruct Miss Whitlock on the finer points of compression, as she seems unable to grasp the intricacies of it.”

  I let out a resigned sigh.

  “Of course, Instructor. It would be my pleasure.”

  David looked at me, something wicked and amused glinting in his pale blue eyes. And there it was, his bloody smirk as he gave a short bow to the instructor and sat.

  I shifted away from him and looked out the window at the aviary. It was still covered with a thick cloth, a monument to the success of my saboteur. Then something else caught my eye.

  Several men seemed busy in the courtyard. Three of them were wearing kilts.

  My heart leapt. I stood, my hands shaking. “Instructor?”

  The commotion outside had caught his attention as well, and he glanced out the window. “Ah! The ship has come in from the Foundry.” The room came to life as the rest of the apprentices suddenly leaned toward the window for a better look. Instructor Barnabus glared at us. “Since it is clear the lot of you will be distracted for the rest of the afternoon, you might as well make yourselves useful. There is much to be done when the shipments from the Foundry arrive. Follow the lighted corridors to the underground dock. Instructor Nigel should be there.”

  With a clatter of moving chairs, everyone pushed for the door at once. I followed the group out into the hall and through the courtyard, finding it difficult to draw breath.

  I didn’t dare to hope, and yet my heart steadily picked up its pace in spite of my efforts to tamp down its enthusiasm. He couldn’t possibly have come.

  Could he?

  I caught my skirts and followed my fellow apprentices down the ramp, across the bay, and down through what had always been a dark tunnel before.

  Today it was lit with torches. We descended a second ramp into the deep heart of the catacombs beneath the city streets. The catacombs were a great maze of dark passages. Several special tunnels had been dug specifically for the Amusementists under the guise of developing the city’s new sewer system, and these tunnels were still quite new, with neat bricks formed into perfect barrel ceilings.

  Along the path several small storage rooms had been closed up by heavy iron gates or solid doors, the mysterious contents languishing in crates or beneath thick cloth covers. The air felt cool and damp on my cheeks as I trotted along, desperately trying not to break into a full run down the torch-lit tunnels.

  Finally I heard something, voices echoing through the narrow halls. The stench of Thames water was oppressive as I came upon a great open chamber. I stared in disbelief at the enormous steamship docked in a narrow water-lock channel. It didn’t seem possible to hold something so large beneath the ground, under the very feet of the people of London, and they had no inkling it was there.

  I had never seen a ship like it. While it was large, there was also a powerful sleekness to it. I couldn’t see a great wheel like on other steamships, though two stacks reached nearly to the ceiling of the chamber. It looked as if it were built for both power and speed, and
seemed to come from another era, one we had not yet witnessed.

  Several men were milling about, and my fellow apprentices melted into the crowd. The dock was filled with boys dressed in the red waistcoats and black coats of the Academy. The Foundry men were wearing kilts of several different patterns, along with uniform white shirtsleeves, black waistcoats with brass buttons, black knee-high stockings, and black tams bearing a white rosette above the left ear.

  I felt pulled forward as I watched, hope flitting in my heart. The burly men carted several large gears and heavy brass plates over a wide gangplank to the men waiting near the walls.

  I found myself searching their faces, looking for any sign of . . .

  “Meg!”

  Will stood near the rail, leaning over it as if he were about to defy the laws of physics and leap the distance to me. He seemed so different. He looked taller, and his chest and arms had filled out from the effort of his labors at the Foundry. His dark red kilt hung to his knees, giving him the air of some wild Highland warrior, and yet in his face, and in his dark eyes, he retained the vestiges of his traveler heritage. No person had ever looked so wonderful to me.

  The elation and relief at simply seeing his face overwhelmed me, and I was flying. It was as if a great phoenix had possessed my soul and come to life in a blaze of wondrous glory as it freed itself of the ash of its former life.

  He pushed down the gangplank, running to me, only to sweep me up into his arms. I clung to him, holding so tightly to his neck, I lost sense of anything else but the heat and strength of his body. His hair smelled like smoke, and the skin of his cheek felt like fire against mine.

  Finally he placed me back on my feet, and I faintly became aware of the jovial cheers and taunts coming from the ship. I didn’t care much what was said, mostly because I could not understand a word of the Foundry workers’ speech.

  Will touched my cheek as he looked at me with such deep longing in his eyes. “I cannot say how much I’ve missed you.”

  His own accent had thickened. It had been hardly a twinge in his speech when he had lived in London. Now it qualified as a true brogue, though he’d only been gone half the summer.

  I smiled, my heart full to bursting. “That’s a lovely kilt,” I teased. If he stood right, I could see the skin of his knees beneath the pleats of the deep red plaid with black patterning. It felt so dangerously forbidden.

  “The MacDonalds of Glencoe have taken me in.” He gathered my hands in his and squeezed them tight, as if he never wanted to let go.

  “Are you related to them?” I asked. It felt so good to simply talk with him again. I had missed him so much.

  “Haven’t the faintest,” he said, and laughed.

  I couldn’t help laughing as well.

  “William! Is this the young lass ye’ve told us about?” A young man with a smartly cut beard and a red-and-blue tartan asked as he strolled toward us flanked by three others from the Foundry. He had a wicked look of mischief in his eye as he crossed his arms and looked me over. “She’s not exactly Fiona from the inn, but I suppose she’ll do.” This pronouncement was followed by a very inappropriate gesture with his hands demonstrating Fiona’s considerable charms. I felt my cheeks burn, while simultaneously feeling a bit sorry for the weight poor Fiona must have been carrying around.

  Will shot me an apologetic look as he tilted his head toward his friends. “That’s MacBain.”

  The Scot looked offended. “What now, I don’t deserve a proper introduction?” He bowed low and took my hand, only to plant a completely inappropriate kiss on the back of it.

  Will kicked him in the leg. “No, you don’t.”

  “Miss Margaret Whitlock,” I said, pulling my hand away and smiling at the rugged Scot. “I’d say it’s my pleasure to meet you, Mr. MacBain, but I fear it may earn you another kick.”

  He chuckled. “I would gladly endure for your pleasure, lass.”

  Will took me by the shoulders and pulled me back. “Duncan, you’d best watch yourself before I throw you in the lock.”

  “As if you could.” He gave us a parting bow before saying, “Go find yerself a quiet corner. We’ll make sure no one comes looking for you.”

  “Thank you,” Will said as he took my hand again and led me back into the catacombs. About halfway to the carriage bay, he pulled me suddenly to the right, down a dark hall and into an alcove.

  Every part of me wanted to kiss him until I had no breath left and I died of it. I wanted to forget myself for a moment in his arms. The pull of my desire met with the chains of my restraint, and every sense felt heightened as I looked at the man I had missed so much.

  “How is Scotland?” I asked, partly wishing he’d say it was horrible and that he wanted to return to me.

  “It’s wonderful,” he said, and I could feel it in his tone, much to my dismay. “The Foundry is astonishing. MacTavish has taken me under his wing, as have the other MacDonalds. Right now I’ve been learning to manage the blast furnace, while Duncan has been teaching me how to create forms. MacTavish says I have a true gift for working metal, a finesse some of the others lack.”

  I smiled weakly. His eyes were so bright and full of life, even in the dim light. “That does sound wonderful.”

  “Then there are the lochs, and the glens. You should see Loch Ness from atop Grant Tower. Sometimes the mist clings to the water in the early dawn . . .”

  His voice trailed off, and I realized it was more than I’d heard him say in quite some time. Will was never one to use flowery speech, and this was nearly poetic.

  I could feel a hot tear gathering as my nose began to burn and I fought the urge to rub it. “I’m glad you’re happy.”

  The wistfulness in his eyes deepened into longing. “It’s not the same without you. Why didn’t you write to me?” There was no mistaking the hurt in his voice now as he brushed the back of his knuckle over my cheek, then smoothed the bit of hair that had come loose at my temple.

  “Will, I’m sorry. I just—”

  “Is there someone else?” He took a step back.

  “No!” I protested quickly. “I’ve been so overwhelmed, I haven’t been able to write to anyone. I barely managed to send a letter out to Peter when he—”

  Will took another step away from me, his shoulders squaring. “Who’s Peter?”

  Dear Father in heaven, why couldn’t I learn to think before I spoke? “He’s a fellow apprentice and a friend,” I said quickly. “Nothing more.”

  “Well, if you’re writing to him . . . ,” Will continued.

  “Enough. Stop this right now. You have no idea how difficult things have been. At every turn I feel like I’m being punished for the choice I’ve made. I have exhausted myself struggling day and night to keep up with my lessons, all while being constantly taunted and sabotaged.” I was on the verge of breaking. Everything I had so carefully shut away threatened to explode like a valve that had been opened too fast. “I don’t have anyone I can truly count on. I didn’t write to you because you sounded so happy, and I couldn’t think of a single cheerful thing to say in return. Perhaps this was all a mistake. Maybe I should just give it up and return to Scotland with you. We can live in a cottage in the glen, and I could just disappear.”

  “Might I remind you, you chose this,” he said.

  A tear slipped over my cheek. “I know,” I whispered. “I don’t think I can do it anymore.”

  Will gathered me in his arms and let me rest my head on his shoulder. The warmth and the comfort of his arms around me broke the last shards of my fragile state. “You don’t mean that,” he whispered into my hair.

  That was the problem. I did.

  “I’m tired, Will. I just can’t do it.”

  He gently pushed me back, holding me at arm’s length so he could look me in the eye. Gently he brushed away my tears. “Aye, you can.”

  I waited for him to continue, to go into a great speech about how I could achieve anything I set my mind to. He didn’t. He just looked at m
e with solid conviction.

  “I know you can.”

  I sniffed, and he pulled me close again so I could cry into the security of his dark waistcoat. “I still love you,” I murmured against his shoulder.

  “I’d better not tell Fiona. She’s the jealous sort,” he said. I let out an inelegant snort. He stroked my hair. “You won’t give in. It’s not in your nature. Which is why I love you.”

  I gazed up into his eyes. My skin began to tingle as a heady rush of pleasure wrapped around me like a soft blanket. “You still love me?” I had to hear it again.

  “You know I do,” he whispered as his lips met mine.

  Will had kissed me many times, but I had never needed it so much as I had at that moment. His lips felt so comforting and thrilling all at once. I thought I knew his kiss, but the time that had parted us had changed us both, and I could feel all of it in the intensity of his lips upon mine.

  It fed my soul with hope and determination. I never wanted to lose Will’s faith in me.

  He broke away with a heavy breath and touched his forehead to mine.

  At that moment someone cleared his throat.

  I pushed back from Will, my heart hammering with mortification that someone had witnessed the kiss. As I turned, my shock became horror.

  David stood only a few feet from us with his arms crossed and a fox-like expression on his face.

  I was ruined.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “WELL, WELL, WHAT HAVE WE here?” David took two careful steps forward into the shadowy alcove. I didn’t like the look on his face. There was something dark there, almost like jealousy.

  “Strompton,” Will said in greeting, stepping in front of me and giving David a half tilt of his head instead of a full bow.

  “William.” David stopped directly in front of Will, and Will pulled himself to his full stature, lifting his chin. While they may have stood eye to eye, Will was clearly the more imposing of the two. That didn’t mean David couldn’t be dangerous.