Legacy of the Clockwork Key Read Online Free Page A

sorts. It was askew somehow. It seemed to me that one of the petals should have pointed toward the latch, but it did not, not by any means.
    Still, it was beautiful.
    I thought about my dear sweet grandfather, and found myself wondering if he had done all the etching himself. Papa had died about three years before the fire. I still mourned him as deeply as I mourned my parents.
    Holding the watch, I settled in for bed. I tucked myself under my worn blanket, but I couldn’t find comfort. Every bone in my body ached with soreness from my work.
    Shifting on the lumpy sack of straw, I tried to find a bitof relief, but something pressed into the small of my back. I turned. It still pressed into my side.
    Blasted lump.
    Climbing out of bed, I lifted the edge of the tick and reached beneath it with some trepidation. It wouldn’t be the first time I found a nest of rodents in my bed. My fingertips brushed something soft, fabric. I pulled the lump of material closer and the warm scent of leather surrounded me.
    Shirts!
    Someone had hidden them where only I would find them.
    With haste, I pulled them from beneath the bed and inspected them. There were six total, worn, handmade, and very old.
    My finger poked through a hole beneath the arm of the one I was holding. Another had a missing button. On another, the seam at the collar had begun to unravel. They all desperately needed repair and laundering.
    I smiled. I couldn’t help it. The tinker had given me a challenge and I accepted it gladly. I couldn’t fetch my sewing kit soon enough. Hope threaded through my heart as I began to stitch the first shirt.
    Perhaps I’d hear the watch tick after all.

CHAPTER THREE
    I STAYED UP AS LATE AS MY EYES WOULD ALLOW AND mended the shirts. Working past the point of exhaustion, I tied off my final knot, then washed the shirts and hung them before the fire. I smiled. It was done. I must have stabbed my poor fingers more than the fabric, but it was worth it. Utterly spent, I fell asleep.
    I didn’t know what woke me, only that I’d started awake with my heart in my throat. Good heavens. It was morning and Agnes would be up at any moment. Something clattered in the corner of the kitchen. The tinker’s shirts hung proudly before the fire, proclaiming my insurrection like a bloody Jolly Roger.
    I leapt to my feet desperate to stash the shirts. In a kitchen filled with nooks for things to hide, I couldn’t settle on a single place to be rid of them.
    There! I grabbed the washtub, threw the shirts underneath, and turned it over.
    I snatched my dress off the peg by the hearth. Thankfully, I was in the habit of sleeping in all my underclothes, even my corset, for warmth. I pulled the stays tight and threw my dress over my head, my fingers flying up the buttons on the front.
    “Have the tea on yet?” Agnes asked, rolling her shoulders and yawning as she emerged from the passage.
    “Not yet.” I dropped to my knees by the fire and jabbed at the embers trying to get them to spark. My eyes drifted to the tub.
    I tried to look away. If I looked at it, Agnes might notice. . . . One of the sleeves peeked out from beneath it!
    The fire flared to life and I jumped away, backing toward the tub, but Agnes beat me to it.
    “Wait.” I held my hand out to stop her. Then I bit my tongue as she turned around and sat on the tub like a great bullfrog on an awkward toadstool.
    “My, you’ve gotten impertinent. Best mind yourself, girl,you don’t wish to lose this position and I’m your superior. I shouldn’t have to wait for my tea.”
    “Yes, missus.” I ducked my head even as I felt the flush of heat in my face. I tried to look submissive, but on the inside my relief and the tickle of absurd laughter nearly choked me.
    She was sitting right atop them.
    How would I ever get them out from beneath her enormous . . .
    “Thank the dear Lord it’s market day today,” Agnes declared as she grabbed a pail and began peeling potatoes.
    “Indeed.” I coughed.