Patting my bonnet to ensure it was still in place, I stepped over the threshold and offered my parasol to the mechanized umbrella stand by resting it on a set of open mechanical claws. A soft groan emitted from the device, as if it were waking. The brass fingers closed over my accessory, then the Brolly-Keeper turned and slipped my parasol into a neat cubbyhole in the wall. Several other small cubicles contained parasols, umbrellas, and walking sticks.
"Good morning, Inspector Luckworth. Kippers and sausage for breakfast I see," I said, noticing the remnants on his collar. "Perhaps you should look into an adjustment on your mech-leg; it'll keep your hip from being so sore. And you should see to replacing the lamp to the left of your mirror as soon as possible."
He gawked at me as I sailed past him down the hallway, following the sound of low voices. They were coming from the parlor, outside which stood the butler I'd expected earlier.
"Miss Holmes," I told him, offering my calling card. "I'm expected."
He nodded and opened the door.
I paused before entering, adjusting my gloves and hat and patting at my hair again. Why was I suddenly nervous? I was dressed and groomed appropriately.
My skirt was a sunny yellow flowered polonaise, pulled back up into a bustle that exposed a cheerful gold, blue, and green ruffled underskirt. The tight-fitting basque bodice I wore over it was pale blue, trimmed with yellow, green, and white ribbons, making the ensemble bright and summer-like and complementing my golden-brown hair and hazel eyes. I would never look as elegant or stylish as Miss Adler or Evaline Stoker (neither of them had to contend with a nose like mine), but at least I was attired in clothing that befitted a visit to a home such as the Cortevilles'. Viscount and Lady Fauntley were of the upper crust of Society, and the latter, as Miss Adler had told us, was an intimate friend of Princess Alexandra.
When I stepped into the chamber, I took in the room and its occupants at a glance.
Miss Stoker sat on a chair nearby. She was dressed in ratty men's clothing, and her black hair hung improperly loose in long curling waves over her shoulders. I noticed the bulge of a pistol as well as a variety of other implements on her person, along with dried mud and offal on the edges of her boots. She appeared annoyed and restless, and when she saw me, she sprang to her feet.
"Ah, you've arrived," she said, hurrying to my side. "Took you long enough. I'll be off now." Before I could respond, she made her excuses and slipped out of the chamber, clearly glad to be leaving.
I turned back to the room.
Lady Fauntley was seated on a settee, speaking with two women. One of them was Lady Cosgrove-Pitt, and the other Lady Veness, the wife of another leading member of Parliament who'd more than once called on my father for assistance. They appeared to be soothing the distraught mother-although why they should be soothing her when her daughter was alive and safely home, I wasn't entirely certain.
Lilly Corteville was indeed home and safe-and by the look of it, she was also being soothed herself by none other than Inspector Ambrose Grayling.
It was a touching tableau: Lilly half-reclined on a small chaise, looking pale and weak, and Grayling had drawn up a chair so close it touched the upholstery of the chaise. He leaned toward her, holding one of her hands in his, speaking earnestly.
Tsk, I thought to myself in disdain. Neither of them wore gloves, and if he were any closer to her, I do believe he would be sitting on her lap.
I sniffed. If the lowly, working-class Inspector Grayling imagined he had a chance with the likes of Miss Lilly Corteville, daughter of a viscount, he would have a rude awakening.
Although . . . My attention slid to Lady Cosgrove-Pitt. He was related by marriage to one of the most powerful men in England. Perhaps his chances weren't utterly hopeless. Lady Cosgrove-Pitt looked up at that moment and gave me a nod of recognition.
"Lady Fauntley," I said to Lilly's mother, with a curtsey. "I'm Miss Mina Holmes. . . ." Just how was I to explain my presence here? After all, my involvement and that of Miss Stoker was meant to be clandestine and covert; I couldn't announce to the room the purpose of my visit.
"Miss Holmes, I'm pleased to meet you," Lady Fauntley said, taking my hand in both of hers. "Thank you for coming. Your presence means a great deal to me and my family at this time. Please, make yourself comfortable."
I blinked at this easy acceptance of my intrusion, but I realized Miss Stoker must have already made some sort of explanation for it. Perhaps even Miss Adler or Princess Alexandra herself had apprised Lord and Lady Fauntley of our involvement, though we'd been warned to keep it a secret.
"Thank you, my lady," I said. "I'm relieved your daughter has arrived home at last." I turned to Lady Veness and was introduced, and finally I faced Lady Cosgrove-Pitt. "I must apologize for retiring from the Roses Ball without taking your leave last week. I intended to say good-bye, but you were engaged at the time, and I didn't wish to interrupt."
The truth was, after returning from the harrowing experience with the Society of Sekhmet, I'd wanted to make a quick exit before anyone noticed my hair was in disarray and my skirt hems were a mess. I had seen Lady Isabella, but she'd been in an intense conversation with another woman on a balcony overlooking the ballroom.
"But of course, Miss Holmes," she said, her grayish eyes sparkling with warmth. "I should be the apologetic one for not being available to bid you farewell. I do hope you enjoyed the ball and that Lord Cosgrove-Pitt and I will see you at more functions."
"I did enjoy myself. Thank you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll say hello to Lilly."
As I approached the reclining girl and her companion, Grayling looked up. "Miss Holmes."
"Inspector Grayling," I said, resisting the urge to comment on the fact that he didn't stand to greet me. "I do hope you aren't getting a cramp in your side, bending over as you are. Hello, Miss Corteville. I'm Miss Mina Holmes. I'm very relieved you're home and safe."
As I looked at the supine girl, I could hardly keep from cringing. Her face-a very pretty one; breathtaking, in fact-was mottled with bruises and embellished with cuts. Her green eyes were veiled with pain and shock. Someone had obviously helped her wash up and brushed and braided her hair, but aside from that superficial attention, it was obvious she was still distraught over her experience.
"Thank you," she said in a low voice, and gestured to an empty chair that wasn't as close to the chaise as the other occupied one.
As I took a seat, I noticed Grayling had released her hand from his and eased back. I hesitated. I needed to speak with Miss Corteville about the Society of Sekhmet, but I didn't want to do so in his presence, and I didn't want the other ladies in the room to hear me.