Constantine Capers: The Pennington Perplexity Natalie Brianne (best summer reads of all time .txt) 📖

“Mr. Constantine informed me of the danger. I believe he is right in suggesting that you leave London.”

Mira hesitated. She still needed to put up some sort of resistance even if she knew it wouldn’t get her anywhere.

“And I disagree. I need to come with.”

“Goodness gracious. Has she always been this stubborn?” Byron looked at Landon. He nodded.

“She takes after her mother.”

Byron came over and took her hands in his. “You’re taking the seven o’clock train to Yorkshire and that is that.”

“You’re certain?” She measured her words carefully and pulled her hands away. He nodded.

“I’ll go pack.” She snatched the paper from her skirts and stood.

“I’ll send a telegram as soon as I get this all sorted out. I promise. We’ll arrange for the ticket.”

She hesitated at the door, searching his face. The trust had returned to his eyes. Unfortunately, there was no reason for him to trust her now. She was going with him.

He just didn’t know it yet.

Once upstairs, Mira took a suitcase and placed it on her bed. Opening it, she looked around the room. Nero jumped inside of it and meowed.

“You’re not coming with me, kitty. I’ll just say that you don’t really like trains and that you’re staying here.” She picked him up and placed him on one of her pillows. He jumped back into the suitcase.

“Alright, you can stay there for now.” She looked through what remained of her wardrobe. None of it would work. She needed something lighter. Something easier to move in. Perhaps her riding trousers? No. In broad daylight she would look ridiculous.

She bit her lip and grinned. If Byron could plan disguises, so could she. Mira tiptoed down the stairs to Walker’s room.

She opened her twin’s door to be greeted by the smell of dust and memories. She turned to his closet to look through the clothes he left behind. A pair of sturdy trousers, a shirt, vest, jacket, hat, pocket watch, socks, and shoes. Everything she needed. Hopefully he wouldn’t mind her borrowing them. She could ask forgiveness later. She took several of each article of clothing and brought them back into her room to try them on. She needed to ensure that they fit before she packed them.

She laid each piece on the bed and looked them over. Her brother had quite the fashion sense. She locked the door and smiled to herself as she tried on each article of clothing. The trousers were a bit long and needed to be hemmed, but otherwise they fit fine. The shirt could be tucked into the trousers to hide the length. The vest was a bit snug, but it was nothing like a corset. The jacket needed to be hemmed at the cuffs but fit around her shoulders nicely. The shoes didn’t fit her feet at all, being far too large. But how could she adjust that? Instead, she found the most masculine pair of shoes that she owned and tried them on with the outfit. Adequate. She pulled her hair up into a tight bun and put the hat on. Passable. She couldn’t hide her facial features, but that wasn’t exactly the point. From a distance she looked like a man.

She quickly changed into her own clothes and packed most of Walker’s clothes into the suitcase, grateful that the top hat was collapsible. Then she set to work hemming the trousers and the jacket. It didn’t take long, and they soon joined the rest of the outfit in the suitcase. She closed it, locked it, and sat on the bed, feeling incredibly pleased with herself. She looked at the clock. Quarter to six. Forty-five minutes. The next course of action was to ensure that she survived the night.

She went to her writing desk and pulled out several fresh sheets of paper. Every little detail of the case poured out of her pen. She made a timeline. She mentioned every name connected with the case. She outlined the motives, the events, the clues. Every address that could be of any relevant importance. She made it as clear and succinct as she possibly could. Then she took her sketchbook and tore out the drawings of everyone involved and placed them with the papers. She then worked on two new drawings. One of The Shadow and the other of the man she met in the park. She added them to the stack. Once she felt certain she included everything, she placed the stack of papers into the largest envelope she had, addressed it to Scotland Yard, and stamped it. That way, even if something did happen to her or Byron, the case would still be solved, and perhaps the police would still catch the perpetrators.

She looked up at the clock. Six-fifteen. She would have to leave the house by six-thirty to catch the train. There was only one thing left to do. She tiptoed down the stairs to her uncle’s room and listened. She heard three distinct male voices coming from her uncle’s study below. She hesitated and then creaked open the door to Cyrus’ room and stepped over the threshold. The floor squeaked beneath her, and she prayed that no one heard. She went to his bedside dresser and opened it, taking out a small box from inside and opening it. The dwindling light from the window glistened off the metal barrel of a pistol. She wrapped her fingers around the carved handle and lifted it out of its velvet enclosure.

She turned it over, examining it. It looked like Byron’s. Probably a flintlock or some other term she’d heard her uncle talk about. If she pulled the trigger, it would shoot. Of course, she didn’t know if it was loaded, and didn’t even know how to load it. She took the small package of rounds from the case and a bottle of gunpowder, nonetheless. She closed the box and placed it carefully back in the drawer. Hopefully, her