Read The Wicked Deeds of Daniel Mackenzie for Free Online

sway again, its facets tinkling.
    Violette looked up, the extraordinary attractiveness of her face softened by the lone candle.
    Daniel could expose her at that moment, call down to those below that he’d discovered how she’d tricked them all. But he knew he never would. Not because Mortimer was a bully, and not because of Mademoiselle’s anger, though she showed plenty of that. And not because of her pleading look, though it was nearly lost under all the anger.
    It was her cheekiness. In the middle of the night, Mademoiselle Violette sat alone in a room of gentlemen, which could spell ruin for any other young woman, and played upon them like a master musician played his piano.
    These bachelors of London’s best families, who cut dead anyone who didn’t fit their extremely rigid rules of behavior, sat like tame puppies while Mademoiselle Violette made fools of the lot of them.
    She ought to look gleeful and revel in her power. But Mademoiselle only looked worriedly upward, frightened that someone was about to end her show, possibly for good.
    The desperation she tried to hide while she looked up through the chandelier—realizing her trusted maid was no longer above her—decided it.
    Daniel gently pulled another lever, and a rap sounded deep inside the dining room wall.
    “What was that?” one young man gasped.
    Daniel pulled the lever again, producing another loud knock. Mademoiselle Violette must have rigged a block of wood or something to bang against a wall or another block, to make a hollow, rapping sound.
    The lever operated smoothly, needing the lightest touch. After a little experimentation, Daniel discovered he could control the pacing and volume of the knocks.
    “Is it trying to send a message?” Ellingham asked.
    Violette took a deep breath and forced her gaze from the chandelier. “It is indeed. Hush now, while I listen.”
    Daniel wondered how many of the club fodder below knew Morse code. Had they ever operated a telegraph machine? Or were telegrams only what they dictated to lackeys to send for them?
    Daniel rapped out . . .
I am the ghost of . . .
No, wait.
    Mortimer is an ass.
    From the expressions below, none of the gentlemen had so much as seen a telegraph machine. They waited patiently for Mademoiselle to tell them what the sounds meant.
    Violette kept her countenance serene. Wonderful woman. “The spirits are unhappy,” she said in her whispery contralto. “They wish us to stop. To leave them alone.”
    Daniel kept knocking in code.
You are lovely, do you know, lass?
    A blush spread over her face. She knew exactly what Daniel was rapping out, which meant she knew Morse code herself. Interesting.
    How did a fine lady like you become a confidence trickster?
    “Enough!” Violette said abruptly, rising to her feet. “Evil spirits, be gone from this place!”
    Daniel left off the knocking and pulled the chandelier again. It swayed and rocked. He tried another lever, which released a cluster of tiny spheres on thin wires. The spheres, painted with phosphorescent paint, swirled and danced like ghost lights. Yet another lever released a groaning sound, probably through bellows or a bag of some kind.
    He also found the lever that controlled whatever machine had blown the cold wind—it not only turned on the machine but regulated the speed. Wonderful. Daniel wanted to get his hands on
this
machine, more sophisticated than the other tricks. He’d take it apart and see how it worked.
    The wind blew out the candle again. Daniel worked levers until the room below was filled with moaning, the chandelier swaying, ghost lights dancing in the wind. Violette plopped down to her chair, giving up.
    Ellingham and the others stared, round-eyed, as the room lost control. When Daniel decided they’d had enough, he slammed all the levers back to their resting places.
    The wind died, the ghost lights vanished, the noise stopped, and the chandelier creaked slowly to a halt. The facets gave one last shiver,