Ashes
& Alchemy
The Gaslight Chronicles
Book 6
Cindy Spencer Pape
Cindy Spencer Pape
Genre: steampunk
Publisher: Carina Press
Date of Publication: Jan
6, 2014
ISBN: 978-14268-9771-9
Number of pages: 119
Word Count: 30K
Book Description:
London,
1860
Police
inspector Sebastian Brown served Queen and country in India before
returning to England to investigate supernatural crimes alongside the
Order of the Round Table. If his wifeless, childless life feels a
little empty sometimes, that's not too great a price to pay in the
name of duty.
Minerva
Shaw is desperately seeking a doctor when she mistakenly lands on
Sebastian's doorstep. Her daughter Ivy has fallen gravely ill with a
mysterious illness—the same illness, it seems, that's responsible
for taking the lives of many of Ivy's classmates.
Seb sniffs a case, and taking in Minnie and Ivy seems the only way to protect them while he solves it. But as mother and daughter work their way into his heart and Seb uses every magickal and technological resource he can muster to uncover the source of the deadly plague, it's he who will need protecting—from emotions he'd thought buried long ago.
Police Inspector
Sebastian Brown stirred the coals in his study’s small iron grate.
The clock on the wall chimed quarter past two. Another night with no
sleep, then. Bloody hell, this insomnia was getting to be a habit.
Perhaps he should ask his superior to move him to the graveyard
shift. If he was going to be awake all night, maybe he’d be able to
rest during the day. It was better than what he was doing now,
getting no sleep at all. At forty, he was too old to keep that up
indefinitely. He eyed the half-empty decanter of brandy on his desk
but shook his head. He’d tried that for the last couple of nights,
and all it had earned him was a headache to go along with his
fatigue. That, he could do without. It was bad enough that the
British winter made his hip hurt like hell—except he knew from
experience that hell was hot and dry, not frigid and damp.
An odd thump at the
front door, only a couple of yards from his study window, caught his
attention. There were disadvantages to having excellent hearing—most
would likely have not noticed the small disturbance over the
crackling of the fire, the ticking of the clock and all the other
sounds of a house at night. Outside, the wind howled mightily. Most
likely some debris had been flung up onto his stoop. Still, he had
nothing better with which to occupy himself than to go clear it off.
His housekeeper and majordomo were away for the weekend, leaving Seb
to his own devices. He tightened the belt on his dressing gown and
limped his way through the foyer to the front entrance.
A gust of wind
nearly ripped the heavy wooden door from his hands as he opened it.
Seb looked down to the stoop and confirmed his assumption. A large,
dark bundle of something had been deposited against the door.
“Doctor?” The
bundle stirred and murmured the word so softly, Seb nearly didn’t
hear—and his hearing was above and beyond that of most humans. He
reached down to help the woman to her feet. Before his brain even
registered the action, he’d drawn her slight, shivering form into
the house, out of the wind and fog. Wide blue eyes blinked up at him,
their lashes crusted with frost. Her face was thin, and too drawn
with cold to tell if she was fifteen or forty. Tendrils of wet brown
hair had escaped her sodden hat.
“Are you insane?”
She didn’t even wear a breathing mask. With the coal smoke
polluting the London air, that was tantamount to a death sentence, if
the vampyres or criminals didn’t get to her first. “What are you
doing out on a night like this? It’s suicide.”
She stiffened under
his hands and glared up at him. “Doctor,” she gritted through
chattering teeth. “Are you Dr. Grant?”
Seb cursed himself
mentally. Of course it was a medical emergency—the one rational
reason for being out in the frigid pea-souper. He grabbed his own
cloak off the hall tree where he’d left it. “Next door. Come on,
I’ll walk you over.”
She narrowed her
eyes, likely trying to see if he was trustworthy. Then she sighed and
turned back toward the door. “Th-thank you.”
He nodded curtly at
the back of her head. Once out in the elements, he did his best to
keep her smaller body sheltered by his. About halfway to the next
doorstep, he realized he was still in his house slippers. Fortunately
there wasn’t much ice on the ground yet, so he managed to avoid
falling on his face. He shepherded her up to the doctor’s door and
rang the bell without incident. He hadn’t bothered with a mask, so
he held his breath as best he could.
Moments later, Mrs.
Parrish, the doctor’s housekeeper, answered the door. The usually
immaculate woman was mussed. Blood and filth streaked her white
apron. “Mr. Brown. Come in. Did the Yard send you for something?”
Behind her, a variety of voices sounded, some stern, some moaning.
Rapid footsteps and the normal clinks and clacks of a working clinic
seemed more hurried than usual.
“No. What’s the
matter?” He gently shoved the mystery woman in ahead of him and
closed the door behind them.
“Steam car
accident, two streets over. They brought all three young men here.
Two just need sewing up, but the third will be lucky to make it
through the night.” Mrs. Parrish caught her breath and eyed the
shivering woman still leaning on Seb. “Who have we here, Mr.
Brown?”
Seb sighed.
“Another patient, I’m afraid. She landed on my doorstep in the
fog. Will the doctor be able to spare a moment?”
Mrs. Parrish
shrugged. “You know him. He’ll find a way.” She cast a
concerned eye over the patient. “Meanwhile, dearie, I can at least
help you get warm and dry.”
The woman shook her
head and swallowed a sob. “No. It’s not me who’s sick. It’s
my daughter. She’s only four and she has an awful fever. I’ve
tried half a dozen different doctors and none of them will come see
her, not on a night like this.”
“Son of a—”
Seb broke off the curse at a sharp glance from the housekeeper.
“There’s no way he’ll be free for a house call, is there?”
The idea of a helpless child lying ill—it was the kind of thing Seb
would never be able to forget about Lucknow—the hellhole in India
that still haunted his nightmares.
Mrs. Parrish took
the younger woman’s hands and rubbed them between hers. “No. I’m
sorry. If we could get the little one here…”
The woman sniffled
and sagged into Seb. Now that they stood in the light, he could tell
she was younger than he, but a woman, not a girl. Tiny lines
bracketed her eyes, while her cheeks were smooth. Her face would be
attractive when she smiled, although she looked in need of a hearty
meal and a long night’s sleep. “Is there any other doctor who
might come? I don’t have money for a cab and she’s too big for me
to carry all this way.”
“Where’s the
girl’s father?” Seb growled at the idea of any man who let his
woman out in this weather.
“Dead,” she
said with a sniffle, though she lifted her chin. “It’s just me
and Ivy. There’s no one else. Now, is there another doctor—one
who will take a patient on credit?”
Seb felt like a cad
for barking at a destitute young widow.
“Well, there’s
Doc Witherspoon, around the corner, but he isn’t much for house
calls.” Mrs. Parrish curled her lip. “And he’s not known for
generosity either, like dear Dr. Grant.”
“Never mind.”
Seb cleared his throat. “I’m hale enough to carry a little girl,
and I have a steam car. If we go slowly, the roads should be safe
enough.” He looked down the hall, hearing more groaning from the
surgery rooms.
Mrs. Parrish
snorted. “Especially since you’re not three sheets to the wind,
like those idiots.” She gave the other woman a bracing smile.
“Never you worry, dear. Mr. Brown will have you and your little one
back here before you know it. Though he might want his boots and hat
first.”
About
the Author:
Cindy Spencer Pape firmly
believes in happily-ever-after and brings that to her writing.
Award-winning author of 18 novels and more than 30 shorter works,
Cindy lives in southeast Michigan with her husband, two sons and a
houseful of pets. When not hard at work writing she can be found
dressing up for steampunk parties and Renaissance fairs, or with her
nose buried in a book.
Facebook:
http://on.fb.me/gjbLLC
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