“Your Grace! How delightful to see you again!”

Griffin stifled a groan as he recognized who had stopped him. He turned to the petite blonde with a forced smile. “Miss Astor-Prynn. Good afternoon. I trust this afternoon finds you well?”

She rolled her bright blue eyes. “You would not believe the day I’ve had, Your Grace. First my maid—” she jerked her head toward the timid-looking little thing standing a few feet behind her “—ruined my favorite hair ribbons, and then Cook served the most dreadful luncheon, and my dressmaker had to cancel my appointment, because she was bitten by a spider and is under the weather. I swear, it is impossible to find good help these days.”

Sweet Hades. Could she honestly be this shallow? Yes, he could see it in her face; she could. “My sympathies. I hate to be rude, but I must ask you to excuse me. I am on my way to meet someone.”

She stopped him with a hand on his arm. The pressure didn’t hurt, but made his wounds itch uncomfortably. She wore a large-brimmed hat decorated with ostrich plumes, and when she leaned in closer to him, the feathers almost brushed his face. He had to blow on them to keep them away.

“I do hope you’re feeling better after that unfortunate … altercation the other night. Why, you don’t even have a bruise!”

Of course he didn’t—the Organites made certain of that. “Yes, well, like I said to the police, I’m fairly certain the girl used chloroform or something similar. She couldn’t have knocked me out otherwise.” Thank God the authorities had agreed with him. That was easier to understand than the fact that Finley was extraordinary—not that he could have told them that, anyway.

“I am very glad to see that you survived the ordeal unscathed. My shoulder still aches where the awful creature ran into me.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Perhaps you should see a doctor.” Perhaps she could do that right now and leave him alone. He was in no mood to flirt and be charming; he wasn’t very skilled at it even on a good day.

The girl waved a dismissive hand. She was a pretty little thing, but something about her got under his skin and annoyed him—like a tick. “It’s nothing serious, and it won’t stop me from attending the theater tomorrow night. Will you be there, Your Grace?”

“Which theater is that?”

She laughed, as if she thought he was trying to be funny. “Why, the Olympia, of course! It’s the only one with a production worth seeing at the moment.”

Could that be the theater where Finley and Dalton would be? It seemed a little too coincidental not to be. “Is that so? I may have to attend, then. I’ve heard the theater in New York is tremendous.”

She shrugged. “Though nothing like the London stage, I’m sure. After all, you have Lillie Langtry.”

“I believe she’s moved to this side of the pond,” he replied with the one bit of information he knew about the aging actress. Kirby still stood by the wall, watching them. He redoubled his efforts to extricate himself. “Miss Astor-Prynn, will you excuse me? I’m supposed to meet someone, and he’s waiting for me.”

The blonde smiled prettily. “Of course. I hope to see you tomorrow evening.” Then she offered her hand, and he was forced to take it in his own and kiss the air above her knuckles. It would have been rude of him not to.

He said goodbye and turned toward his next visitor with a sigh of relief. He felt as though he had just been pulled out of the path of a runaway carriage.

Whip Kirby watched as he approached. Once they were within a few feet of each other, the lawman tipped his hat. “Your Grace, thank you for seeing me without a prior appointment.”

“Of course. Shall we find somewhere a little more private to talk?”

They found a small seating area not far away, which wasn’t currently in use. Griffin made himself as comfortable as he could, but his torso was still a little tender. Having one’s chest perforated would do that.

“I’ll get right to the point,” Kirby said, leaning forward so that his forearms rested on his knees. “Have you had any contact with Jasper Renn?”

Griffin arched a brow. “Who?”

“Come now, Your Grace, don’t play games. I saw you at the Tombs, and I know Renn was seen in your company in London. Your presence in New York is no more a coincidence than mine. Plus, you’ve been asking around ’bout Dalton just as much as I have.”

“If you know this, then you also know that I’m not about to tell you anything that might endanger my friend, or myself.”

The lawman tipped his chair back. “You assume I’m interested in harming the boy.”

“Aren’t you?”

“I’m interested in justice.” Kirby’s eyes were flat—entirely empty of emotion. “I won’t let some well-meaning English dandy stand in my way. I’ll ask again—have you made contact with Renn?”

Griffin could lie, but there was something in the old man’s tone that confused him—a hint of desperation. Could it be that they were on the same side?

“I haven’t been in direct contact, no.”

The older man smiled, causing lines to fan out around his eyes. “So that English girl running with Dalton’s gang is yours. I wondered about her. You know about Dalton, too, right?”

If Finley belonged to anyone it was herself. He was tempted to tell the marshal that. Instead, he nodded. “I do.”

“Then you know what kind of trouble your friend is in.”

“Is that all you wanted to talk to me about, Mr. Kirby?” Griffin was still sore and more than a little cranky, so he was done with this conversation.

The lawman met his gaze with one that was the color of a wolf ’s and just as unnerving. “During your association with Renn, he never once talked about San Francisco or why he left?”

“We might have talked a little about his family but not much else.” Come to think of it, Griffin hadn’t offered up much personal information about himself, but they had managed to become friends, anyway.

“You’re sure? He never once mentioned Venton or Reno Dalton? Not even a girl? I find it hard to believe that young men your age wouldn’t talk about girls.”

Griffin arched a brow. “Not one in particular, no.” What did this man think, that he had nothing better to do than sit around chitchatting about girls all day? “I didn’t learn about Dalton until I arrived in Manhattan.”

“Damnation,” Kirby mumbled, rubbing the stubble along his jaw with the palm of his hand. “I suppose he wouldn’t talk about Venton’s murder, not if that’s what he was runnin’ away from.”

Just what sort of information was he after? And was that concern he heard in the man’s tone? Griffin went ahead with the obvious. “Jasper is not a murderer, Mr. Kirby.” He didn’t care what kind of evidence the lawman had. He refused to believe the young man he knew would kill someone in cold blood.

Kirby regarded him for a moment. “Your faith in your friends is admirable, Your Grace. But regardless of that, I want to talk to Renn myself.”

He wouldn’t be much of a lawman if he simply took Griffin’s word for it, and Griffin respected that. But if Kirby wanted information, then he was going to have to share some. “Tell me, Mr. Kirby, what is it that leads you to believe that Jasper murdered this person?”

Kirby hesitated, as though considering his words. Perhaps he decided to trust Griffin, just as Griffin was prepared to trust him. Sometimes a man had to listen to his gut. “Your Grace, I don’t think Renn murdered Mr. Venton.”

“You don’t?”

“No,” Kirby asserted with a shake of his head. His eyes were serious, his expression unguarded. “I believe Venton was killed by a girl named Mei Xing.”

Chapter 11

Finley didn’t get much of a chance to poke around in Dalton’s business. She managed to sneak into his bedroom but found nothing of any interest—not even a safe—except a book filled with stories and pictures that made her face hot and the rest of her feel twitchy. After looking at it, she had a pretty deep suspicion that this was exactly the sort of book her stepfather, Silas, kept in the locked cupboard at the back of his shop.

Once she was done with his room, she moved on to the parlor but didn’t expect to find anything. Anything important—that wasn’t hidden in his bedroom—would be in his study, and that’s where Dalton was at the moment.

Jasper and the others weren’t back yet, so there was nothing for her to do and no one for her to talk to—unless she went to Dalton. She was pretty certain he had Mei with him, and she’d rather swallow live leeches than spend any more time than she had to with that girl.

There was something of a training room set up in what normally would have been a drawing room, on what some of the people around here referred to as the first floor. This was confusing because she was used to calling it the ground floor, which was followed by the first, second and so on. There was a sparring square and a sandbag for punching, along with other equipment to improve physical health and strength. Dalton shared the modern belief that exertion was good not only for the human body but the mind, as well. It was the perfect place for her to go to burn off some of this nervous energy dancing through her veins.

She was already dressed in loose knee-length trousers with lace trim on the hems and a comfortable shirt with a supple leather corset over the top, so she didn’t need to change. She jogged downstairs, her thick-soled boots quiet, and headed straight for the training room.

She began with some stretches to limber up her muscles, then moved on to climbing the rope suspended from the ceiling. When she reached the top, she turned and went back down the rope headfirst, coiling the rope around one of her legs to keep steady. She reached the bottom and was just about to turn around and go back up again when she heard footsteps. She looked up to see Jasper walking toward her. He didn’t have his Stetson on, and the ends of his hair stuck out a bit from where the hat had set.

“Ain’t you just like a monkey,” he remarked with a grin. Finley smiled back. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” “You do that. Want me to hold that for you?” She had moved on to the sandbag, and the extra weight

would make it more difficult for her to move. “Thanks.”

Jasper put himself flush against the leather bag and anchored himself by wrapping his arms partially around it, using his elbows as added security.

A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed that they were alone in the room. “Where did you go?” she asked, keeping her voice low just in case.

“Forger,” he replied. “Dalton paid him for three copies of an invitation to the Museum of Science and Invention.”

Finley swung at the bag with her left fist and connected with a solid thwap. “What’s going on there?”

“Don’t know. Little Hank grabbed them from me before I could read the whole thing. But I did see something about it being a gala event. There can’t be too many of those going on, can there?”

“Your reckon is as good as mine,” she allowed, taking another swing. “During the Season, the upper class can get dozens of invitations to similar affairs. However, they’re normally at different places, so no, I don’t think there could be too many galas going on at that museum. I’ll send a message to Griffin later.”

Jasper grunted when she hit the bag so hard it actually moved him back a couple of inches. “You need to tell him we’re going to the Olympia tomorrow night, too.”

“How did you manage to hide a piece of the device in a theater?”

“They were still building it at the time. I got a job on the construction crew.” He leaned into the bag, and this time it didn’t move as much when she hit it. She could send a full-grown man flying with a good punch, but there was no point doing that to the bag—it would only break, and then she’d have hundreds of pounds of sand to clean up.

“Clever.” Another punch. “I’ll let Griffin know. He should be recovered enough by then. Bloody fool’s likely to go even if he isn’t.”

“You never did tell me what happened.”

She’d forgotten that. They hadn’t been alone since she’d returned that morning. Lord, had it only been yesterday that Griffin almost died? “He was attacked at Mr. Tesla’s home.”

Jasper looked startled, but he maintained his hold on the sandbag. “Did Tesla attack him?”

“No,” she replied with a chuckle, despite the seriousness of the situation. “Apparently Griffin saw a shadowlike creature in the Aether, and it was attached to this machine that came ‘alive’ on its own. That’s what attacked him. Sam’s convinced it was a ghost—a mean one.”