The Girl in the Steel Corset - By Kady Cross Page 0,69
think of her as dangerous, she thought as she saw the damage her own hands had wrought.
The waxwork of Queen Victoria was on the table closest to her, looking so lifelike it sent a chill down Finley’s spine. It looked like a corpse—a poor old woman divested of her clothing, as well as her life. So realistic it was that she felt almost as though she should mourn for it, cover it with a sheet and say a brief prayer over the lifeless form.
But it was little more than a doll, she reminded herself as she came closer. Wax, not flesh, not human at all. Still, her hand hesitated a second over the form before she could actually bring herself to touch it. She poked it in the ribs, the wax was hard and unyielding. She let out a little sigh of relief.
Emily smiled at her from the other side of the table. “Were you thinkin’ she might sit up and bite you?”
Finley chuckled, a little embarrassed, but not so much that she couldn’t laugh at herself. “I didn’t get much past the sitting-up part.”
“She is unsettling. Reminds me a little bit of my nanny O’Brien.”
The fond smile on Emily’s face did more to squelch Finley’s unsettled nerves than the knowledge that she could destroy the figure fairly easily should it do anything odd. She let her gaze roam over the statue, finally seeing it as a harmless thing.
She frowned. The thief had placed enough humanity on the figure to leave it partially dressed—to leave it with some dignity attached. Yet, it had been left in Whitechapel, a place dignity forgot.
“Why did he take the figure’s gown if his only intention was to leave it on Jack’s doorstep?”
“Ooh, Jack, is it?” Emily’s voice was rife with teasing. “Are the two of ye intimate acquaintances now?”
Finley grinned, she couldn’t help it. “You’re a fine one to tease when you have both Sam and that pretty cowboy dancing attendance on you.” Her gaze fell back to the wax figure, and all humor vanished. “Uh, Emily? I think I might know why he took the whole figure.”
The redhead came round the side of the table, and looked where Finley pointed.
“Oh, aye. I noticed those were gone first thing.”
Where the figure’s glass eyes should have been were nothing but empty wax sockets.
“You can see where they were pried out,” Finley said, gesturing along the lash line. God, but it was unsettling to look at. “Now, what would someone want with glass eyes?”
“Any number of things. People wear them, dolls have them. They’re used in sophisticated lifelike automatons, as well.”
Finley’s head whipped toward her. “I’ve heard nasty stories about what those machines are used for.”
Emily made a face. “Don’t believe everything you hear. I know of several machines that are very humanoid that are treated with the greatest respect by their owners.”
“Do you think The Machinist took the figure for its eyes?”
“Possibly—either for his own work or to sell. I’ll send a note ’round to my supplier, ask if he’s heard about anyone trying to sell a pair of Victoria-blue eyes. I would imagine they’d fetch a good price, considering they would have been made to match Her Majesty’s.”
Hand on her hip, Finley gazed at the smaller girl with considerable respect. “You’re a very useful person, Emily O’Brien.”
The Irish girl preened under the praise. “You’re not so shabby yourself. I could never get into a boxing ring with Jasper.”
“Yes, well, I reckon Jasper would have other things in mind if the two of you were in any kind of enclosed space, alone.”
Pink filled Emily’s cheeks. “He just likes to tease me. He doesn’t mean it.”
Finley rolled her eyes. “A girl as intelligent as you cannot possibly be that dense. Has he tried to kiss you?”
“No! Of course not.”
Finley leaned her elbow on the table near the wax Victoria’s shoulder and grinned. “How about Sam, then?”
The blush in the other girl’s cheeks deepened. “Nor him.”
She shook her head. “That’s inexcusable. Two handsome fellows vying for your attention and you haven’t kissed either of them. Of course, were I you, I’d slap that Sam for being such a brute. Kiss Jasper. He’s much more charming.”
“Charming with every girl he meets,” Emily replied none too charitably.
Finley arched a brow. “Jealous?”
She shoved a pale hand against Finley’s shoulder with enough force that Finley’s upper body leaned a little. “What about you? Did you kiss Dandy?”
“No.” She straightened. An image of Jack Dandy’s face filled her mind. “Do you suppose