Free A Clockwork Fairytale by Helen Scott Taylor Page B

jaw was shadowed with stubble. His elegant, lean hand guided his gold pen across the page, inscribing neat lines and curls. She’d never noticed anyone’s hands before, but watching Master Turk’s lithe fingers dance across the page mesmerized her.
    “Your hand is beautiful,” she said wistfully.
    Master Turk stopped writing, lifted his pen, and examined the page. “One tries to keep one’s penmanship neat.”
    “Not your writing, your hand,” Melba clarified.
    Lines gathered between his eyebrows. He put down his pen and stared at his hand as if he’d never seen it before.
    “Why do gentlemen kiss ladies’ hands,” Melba asked, thinking back over what she’d recorded in her notes.
    “It’s a social convention.” Master Turk folded his hands together on the desk, eyeing them as though they might misbehave. “You’ll need to learn many social conventions before you can spy among the nobs.”
    “Why don’t ladies kiss gentleman’s hands?”
    “That’s another social convention. Anyway, I’m sure ladies would object if they had to kiss gentleman’s hands.”
    Melba stared at his lean fingers curled together. She wanted to press her lips against his hands. She nearly said so, but she sensed he wouldn’t be amused.
    “Have you finished recording you observations?” he asked.
    Melba pushed her notebook across the desk to him. “Can’t think of no more to write.”
    “I cannot think of any more to write.” Master Turk gave her a meaningful look and she huffed. She was getting annoyed with the way he kept correcting her.
    He read through her five-page report in a couple of minutes, a frown crossing his face once or twice. “Very good. You have excellent observational skills, Melba.”
    She grinned with pleasure at his praise and waited for him to say more. Instead, he closed her notebook and checked his pocket watch. “Ain’t we going to discuss it?” she asked.
    “A spy doesn’t need to understand his observations. A spy’s duty is simply to follow his or her master’s instructions and report what is seen.”
    “That ain’t fair! You’ve got to explain what you meant about the Royal Victualler’s charity not being what it seemed.”
    “We will discuss that subject, but I have an appointment in half an hour, so we’ll save the discussion for another day.”
    After waiting three days to talk about it, now she had to wait some more. Melba sat back and crossed her arms with a frustrated grunt.
    “Don’t look so miserable,” he said. “It’s time for your reward.”
    The gilt box containing the dress they’d collected from the market sat on a table by the library door. During the last three days, she’d started to imagine it contained a nag’s collar like the ones the poor workhorses down at the docks wore.
    “Show some enthusiasm, Melba,” Master Turk said, rising from his seat to cross the room. He returned and placed the box on the desk in front of her. “I’ll call Gwinnie to assist you with changing.”
    “No! I don’t want no help from her.” Gwinnie hadn’t softened toward Melba during the weeks she had lived at the palace. The old woman was as obnoxious as ever.
    “You’ll need someone to fasten the back of the dress for you,” Turk explained.
    “Can’t you do it? You got fingers, ain’t you?”
    “I’m a man, Melba.”
    “Does that mean your fingers don’t work on dresses?”
    Master Turk’s breath hissed in between his teeth. “Oh, all right. But be quick about changing. I have to leave in a few minutes.”
    Melba snatched up the box and headed for the library door. “Wait on the chair outside me room and I’ll call you in when I’m ready,” she said.
    “Great Earth Jinn, Melba! Don’t order me around as though I’m your lady’s maid.”
    Melba grinned at the outrage in his voice and scampered up the stairs to her room before he could change his mind. She pulled the lid off the gilt box and tipped the contents on the bed. A blue bundle landed with