The Girl in the Steel Corset - By Kady Cross Page 0,41
does he look like?”
Emily blinked, then smiled. “Sorry. I’d forgotten that you’d only been with us a short time. Sam’s what I term a mandroid—part man, part machine.”
Finley’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped. “How?”
The smaller girl’s smile faded. “I couldn’t let him die. Now he hates me for it.”
What was she supposed to say to that? She couldn’t argue it because she didn’t know Sam, but he had seemed like an angry young man the few times she saw him. If he blamed Emily like she blamed her father for making her what she was, then there was nothing she could say to make the girl feel better.
“I don’t think he hates you,” Finley remarked, thinking back on how Sam had looked at Emily. “But I would think he’s very confused right now. It’s not easy discovering that someone close to you has made you into something…abnormal.”
She and Emily locked gazes. The other girl said nothing, so Finley had no idea if she was upset or not.
“I’ll let you know if your blood looks any different,” Emily said, smiling slightly. She gathered up her gear. “You should go get breakfast.”
Finley stood, feeling like a student being sent away by the headmistress at school. She went to the dining room, hoping she hadn’t offended the girl she looked at as her one chance to have a friend.
The dining room was empty when she walked in, but the serving dishes were still on the sideboard, the top of which was like a radiator, circulating hot steam to keep the food warm. She helped herself to coddled eggs, ham, tomatoes and toast, then poured a cup of coffee and took the mouthwatering bounty back to the table.
She was just finishing her last piece of toast and jam when Mrs. Dodsworth came bustling in, high color in her round cheeks.
“Begging your pardon, miss, but His Grace requests your presence in his study immediately.”
The harried look on the older woman’s face and the nervous twisting of her hands had Finley instantly on her feet. “Did he say why?”
“No, miss. Just that you should come right away.”
Finley stood and followed after the round little woman. She had to hurry to keep up despite the housekeeper’s much shorter legs. When they reached Griffin’s study, Mrs. Dodsworth announced Finley and then walked away, leaving Finley to face the room alone.
Griffin sat behind the massive desk, looking every inch the lord of the manor. His gray-blue gaze flickered briefly to hers, lingering just long enough for her to know that everything was going to be all right.
“Sit down and let Griffin do most of the talking,” whispered a voice in her head. It wasn’t her own, but sounded very much like Lady Marsden, who she noticed was also in the room, along with a tall thin man with thinning brown hair and a pleasant face punctuated by an unfortunate nose.
Obviously it was easier for the lady to put thoughts in her head rather than take them out. Regardless, the man had the look of authority about him, so Finley reckoned she’d take Lady Marsden’s advice, just this once.
“Miss Jayne,” Griffin said, rising to his feet as did the other gentleman. “I’m sorry to have interrupted your breakfast, but Constable Jones would like to speak to you.”
How had he known she was having breakfast? And…constable? Dizziness teased the edges of Finley’s mind and she felt that familiar surge that often precipitated the arrival of her darker side. She pushed it down. The last thing she wanted was to reveal her other nature to Scotland Yard, or worse, throw a police officer across the room.
She moved cautiously closer, enough of her other self coming to the surface that she felt calmer. She even managed a smile for the Peeler. “Good day, Constable Jones. What is it you wish to ask me?”
The officer waited until she’d sat down before returning to his own chair. They sat together in front of Griffin’s desk.
“My apologies, Miss Jayne,” said Constable Jones in a melodic, slightly Liverpudlian accent. “But I understand that you worked for Lord August-Raynes until recently?”
“I did, yes.” She had to bite her tongue not to offer more information.
“You left that household in a bit of a hurry I’m told.”
“Yes.”
“And why was that?”
Do not lie, a voice in her head—her own this time—whispered. More sound advice. Better to omit facts than tell a bold-faced lie. “Because I no longer felt safe under that roof, sir.”