Free A Study in Ashes by Emma Jane Holloway

control. It’s impractical.”
    “For me, certainly. It seems to be working for Keating,” she snapped, her anger hardening to a clear, sharp focus.
    “For now, perhaps, but force is a clumsy weapon. It will fail him in the end.”
    Moriarty’s calm critique amused her even as it made her uneasy. “Why did you involve yourself with the steam barons?”
    Moriarty gave a quiet laugh. “Let us just say that I was in need of a position to get a start in the world. The Blue King opened my eyes to a dazzling array of enterprises that I had only guessed at as a well-bred young man of middling fortunes.”
    “Enterprises?”
    “There are men and women in all walks of life who will do one’s bidding. If there is a want or desire, they will fill it as long as one provides something they want in return. The Blue King is a master weaver of such webs of reciprocal desires. I studied his methods with great interest.”
    She wondered what desire the Blue King had seen in Moriarty. Ambition seemed likely, but there was also the hauteur of one convinced of his own intellectual superiority. In fact, he was a bit like her Uncle Sherlock. “You are very frank.”
    “Only with you, Miss Cooper. You of anyone understand the twin attraction and danger of being close to one of the Steam Council.”
    “True.” And she had been resigned to Keating’s chess game until now—but after what just happened, part of her was screaming to dash the board and all its pieces to the floor.
    Moriarty gave a thin smile. “Evidently Keating wishes you to remain close.”
    “So it seems.” Evelina clenched her teeth at his quip, but then forced herself to remain polite. “And the Blue King let you go so that you could pursue your academic career?”
    “He will recall me if he requires my services.” They hadreached the steps of the women’s residence. Moriarty stopped, his expression serious. “I assume the reason you wished for a newspaper was that you’ve heard about the prince’s illness?”
    Evelina nodded. “We may both be recalled to our respective masters.”
    “I certainly hope not, Miss Cooper. I would not choose you as an adversary. Despite the circumstances, I have enjoyed our conversations.”
    She was about to say she had as well, but then she saw that cold glitter in his eyes that she didn’t trust. He was trying to win her confidence. That worried her almost as much as the damnable bracelets. “Thank you again, Dr. Moriarty.”
    “I still await the list of supplies you need for your studies.”
    “I won’t forget.”
    He gave a slight bow, touching the brim of his hat. “Good afternoon, Miss Cooper. Perhaps we shall yet find a way to be of use to one another.”
    She fingered the silver about her wrists. “Good afternoon, Dr. Moriarty.”
    As she turned and mounted the stairs to her room, instinct made her look over her shoulder. The professor was making his way back to the gate of the college, his cane swinging. And yet, she still felt him lurking behind her, as if some part of his intent remained. He reminded her of a desert serpent with most of its coils still hidden in the sand. The head might look small, innocuous even, but beneath the surface there were yards of deadly muscle coiled to strike.
    The question was when and where to turn that to her advantage.

London, September 20, 1889
HILLIARD HOUSE

8:15 p.m. Friday
    PENELOPE ROTH—BETTER KNOWN AS POPPY—PAUSED OUTSIDE the main drawing room of Hilliard House, feeling hurt and betrayed by her parents. It was a feeling she experienced quite regularly these days—something her mother put down to being fifteen years of age, but any girl with an ounce of true poetic feeling knew better.
    Poppy peered inside the room, not quite committing to the act of stepping over the threshold. The place was crowded, a surf of voices washing over a small orchestra playing Haydn. The room was elegant, with a gilt ceiling and gaslit chandeliers, and white pilasters dividing the