The Clockwork Wolf by Lynn Viehl Read Free Book Online

could until circumstances and my bank account allowed me to purchase the building. I’d then helped the remaining tenants find new lodgings, adding an incentive for them to move out quickly by offering to pay their first month’s rent if they relocated at once. Since the last had gone I’d been slowly renovating each floor; in a few more years I’d have one of the most spacious homes in the district.
    The goldstone had been built first to serve as a granary, and a faint scent of wheat and barley still permeated its walls. I’d ignored all the current fashions in decor—not that I could afford them anyway—and furnished the first floor with the minimal comforts, most of which I’d taken in trade for my services. Secondhand shops and the thrift market had provided the rest, and what I couldn’t manage to buy I did without.
    Being reminded by Lady Bestly of my wretched days of dwelling in the parks gave me rather a better appreciation of how far I’d come since I’d arrived in Rumsen. Every rug, curtain, and stick of furniture under my roof had come to me through diligence, hard work, and self-sacrifice. My home might be humble by the lady’s standards, but I hadn’t gotten it by charity or marriage. No, I’d earned every damned inch of it myself.
    Revenge by honor, Rina had called it. I liked that quitea bit, I thought as I tossed my reticule on a side table and dropped onto my chaise longue. I might even have it chiseled above my front entry as a personal motto.
    The chime of my doorbell got me back on my feet to look through the street-facing window, which gave me an excellent view of anyone on the stoop. The man standing outside my door wore a plain long coat that almost hid the lines of the pistol harness beneath it. Gaslight caught some of the gilded strands of his fair hair, which badly wanted trimming, and glowed along the hard line of his set jaw.
    Chief Inspector Thomas Doyle didn’t appear happy, either.
    As children, Tommy Doyle and I had been playmates for a time. Twenty years later we’d met again, this time as copper and suspect. Although he’d harassed me, detained me, questioned me, and arrested me (twice), I’d considered him a friend—none of which he remembered now.
    From his view this would be only our second meeting, so I composed myself accordingly before I answered the bell.
    â€œHello, Chief Inspector Doyle.” I didn’t have to fake the smile; I liked Tommy. “What brings the Yard to my door at so late an hour?”
    He removed his bowler. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Miss Kittredge. Might I come in and have a word?”
    â€œI live alone and I don’t keep servants,” I said. “This could irreparably tarnish your reputation on the Hill.”
    His mouth twisted. “I’m a policeman, Miss Kittredge. My official duties take precedence over society, among which I am respected nearly as much as the average footman.”
    â€œButler, I should think.” I opened the door.
    Doyle refused my offer of tea and a comfortable seat, instead taking a position by the window I’d just checked. “Good view of the street here,” he mentioned as I sat down. “Still, you should have a slot or a peek hole installed in your entry. You living alone here and all.”
    The man noticed everything. He also smelled very nice; a bit like the sea on a clear day. “I will take that under advisement.” I sat down and watched him extract a notebook from his coat pocket. “But you didn’t come here to inspect my vantage points.”
    â€œWe received a complaint from a tenant in your office building.” He flipped through some pages. “This morning you were observed carrying a bucket down into the basement level. Is that correct?”
    Not the damned bucket. “Yes.”
    â€œFor what purpose?”
    â€œI had to dispose of some undrinkable tea.” And now