that you are a collector of art, as is the man in question.”
“ ’Tis true. I admire art. Save, I am but a dilettante.” Alden’s remaining hand lay relaxed against his thigh. “Nor can I think of how I might be of service to you, but ask your questions.”
“Do you know of a Lord Isley? I believe he is old friends with Mrs. Noble.”
Alden’s hard gaze turned inward, a slow rotation that spoke of shock one tried to process quietly. “Well, well,” he said at last, “I’ve not heard that name in a while.” His stiff shoulders eased a touch as he looked down at his artificial limb. “Look here.” He lifted the limb and pushed back his coat sleeve. “Have you ever seen its like?”
Winston inspected the limb. Made of stainless steel and forged in the exact replica of the human skeleton, it actually appeared quite delicate. The only deviation from anatomical correctness was found in the palm of the hand. There, a flat surface made up a palm, upon which a long, undulating snake had been carved out. Thin wires ran from each finger joint, up past the wooden cap that attached the limb to flesh and under the colonel’s coat.
“Never.”
Alden grunted. “Nor will you, I gather. Observe.” His biceps bunched and, to Winston’s shock, the steel fingers curled inward. “The wires,” Alden explained, “are attached to a brace at the muscle.” He lifted his sleeve higher to reveal a rather large and intricate brace made of leather and webbed with wires. “When I flex, the hand reacts.”
“It is brilliant.” Winston wasn’t sure where the colonel was going with this demonstration but trusted that he’d get there eventually. People either answered questions directly, avoided them with belligerence and counter questions, or told him stories.
The colonel let his sleeve drop. “My father was the Marquis of Danville. He wanted me to become a soldier. Go to war like all other good third sons did. After all, the heir had produced his fair brood, and the spare had done the same, leaving our line stocked with plenty of fallbacks. Thus for what use was I if not to fight for England? And if there wasn’t a war, why, we’ve plenty of colonies to keep in line.” He sat back in his seat. “I might have defied him but he held the purse strings.”
How well Winston knew that predicament.
“So a soldier I became, even though I detested the thought. I wanted to be alone with my books, truth be told. Didn’t give a fig for following orders or barking them out, as the case may be.”
Alden extracted a cigarette from the slim gold case on the side table. “Have one?”
The image of a serpent was etched upon the fine gold case. Winston tore his gaze from the case and peered into Alden’s eyes. Nothing stirred, save mild curiosity as to why Winston was staring. Upon the floor, Talent noticed his querying look. His dog brows twitched as he too glanced at Alden then he grunted, not bothering to lift his head from the floor. Presumably, not threatened by the colonel in the least. So not Jones then. Or another demon. Winston centered his attention back on Alden, who waited for an answer. “Thank you, no.”
Alden paused to fiddle with his matches and lit the cigarette, a rather neat trick for a man with an artificial hand. The familiar perfume of fine Turkish tobacco filled the space, a blue cloud of it floating past a rather fine Leighton portrait of a girl. “Do you know what happened upon gaining my commission?”
Winston gave him a small smile. “I could not begin to fathom.”
“I fell in love with the army.” He took a deep draw and let out a trail of smoke. “Loved the order of it. The simplicity. Found it soothed my mind.” He laughed, a rather rattling sound deep within his chest. “Took to it like a duck to water. And then this happened.” He lifted his artificial limb. “Ridiculous thing. A paper cut, if you can believe it. A deuced paper cut that turned gangrenous and had to be chopped off.”
The colonel frowned down at his limb as if remembering the indignity of it.
“Bad luck,” Winston said.
“Cursed luck is what it was!” The steel fingers curled slightly as the colonel rested his arm upon his bent knee. “They sent me home. Where I was useless. Away from my men.” He cleared his throat. “You were an officer of sorts, an inspector