The Gaslight Girl: Decisive Devices, #1

By Hargrove Perth

"The richest and most fascinating steampunk retelling of Cinderella I've ever read." Author Kevin C. Davison 


Halloran Frost lives a nearly non-existent life after the death of her beloved father, and her stepmother assumes control of the Willoughby household and estate.Relinquished to living in the summer kitchen of the grand estate that once belonged to her family, Halloran's only happiness in life is the gaslight company her father founded at which is a controlling shareholder. But as time passes, she quickly discovers that her father left her much more than just the gaslight company and that living as a cinderwench to her stepmother and stepsisters is far from what her father would have wanted. Is the key to what Halloran's father wanted her to decipher locked away inside the vault at Carnaby Bank or is it just a final farewell to a daughter greatly adored? Halloran must find the strength to follow her destiny while staying one step ahead of those who would take it from her and destroy her life forever. In a world filled with fantastic machines, steamhorses, and the power of gaslight, Halloran embarks on a dangerous quest that could change not only her life but the lives of all she loves in the process, if she can stay alive long enough to share it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paranormal Pen
• Release date: Nov 13, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386953371

Hargrove Perth

A perpetual night-owl and lover of all things paranormal related, Hargrove spends a great deal of time researching the larger than life characters of history to formulate characters unforgettable and strangely adored. She writes horror, dark romance, fantasy, and paranormal in the Adult, New Adult, and YA categories. When asked why paranormal, she said, "I'm the girl who cries at the end when Frankenstein is misunderstood, who wants Dracula to keep Mina in his arms forever... I see the humanity in them that others cannot." 2014 Author of the Year by Double Decker Books in Historical/Horror Dark Days Remy Broulette. DDBA 2015 Author of the Year YA Fantasy Miss Crabtree's School for Unnaturals, DDBA 2015 Nominee YA Fantasy Chronicle:Dark Sea Triad, and DDBA 2015 Author of the Year Horror (comedic) Coven Wives.

Book preview

THE GASLIGHT GIRL

A DECISIVE DEVICES NOVEL

HARGROVE PERTH

COPYRIGHT March 2017  The Gaslight Girl, A Decisive Devices Novel Hargrove Perth. All Rights Reserved. Edited by Indie Editor Nancy

No portion of this work may be reproduced by any means whatsoever without the explicit written consent of the author and the author's publisher. This work contains people who have been used in a fictionalized setting for the purpose of historical reference. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased is used strictly for the embellishment of the story to lend creditable influence to the fictionalized work. The copyright laws of 1988, namely the Berne Convention Copyright Laws of 1988, and the Digital Millennium Copy Right Act of 1998, enacted by Congress protect this work from piracy and any transmission, trade, or sale through means electronic, printed, shared, or otherwise is strictly prohibited and will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law.

Cover art Design by Dark Water Arts Designs. Published by Dark Desire Publishing.

Dedication

––––––––

For my cousin, Heather McMurray Conrad, my family, and friends.

With special thanks to Indie Editor Nancy for all her help and kindness.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter six

Chapter Seven

ChapteR Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

CHAPTER ONE

Inheritance

The broom handle came up between the boards, jabbing the young woman in the ribs and jarring her from sleep.

Get your lazy arse out of bed, you have work to do.

It was old man Seward, the butler to the Willoughby family, and he treated her no better than the rest of the lot.

Halloran Frost sat forward, pulling the straw from her long red hair, peered through the split in the slats of the floor, and contemplated spitting in her stepmother’s eye the minute she saw her, but knew it would only end in a horrible beating.

Go away, you crotchety old bastard so I can dress, she shouted and heard the door close.

Her room, if it could be called such, was a four foot wide by eight foot long overhang above the summer kitchen behind the Willoughby Estate. Halloran stretched the stiffness from her bones as she sat forward and looked at the old straw stuffed mattress beneath her, complete with holes from where rats had chosen to chew through it.

Holes in the tin roof allowed copious amounts of rain to come through during the rainy season, and when it was upon the land, Halloran slept curled up in the corner of the overhang in the only spot that did not leak. She could have fixed it, of course, but chose not to do so. Her stepmother treated her like a servant as it was, there was no need to let the horrible beast know she knew anything about metal working.

Her father was long dead and cold in his grave; she often wondered if he knew when he married Ellen, thus naming her as a stepmother, that her life would be reduced to the same as a street beggar at his death. She knew the only reason they allowed her to live on the estate was because of the rules of her father’s will, and his money belonged to her, not to the Willoughby family as it was her mother’s inheritance. They did, however, have access to her trust until the age of twenty-three unless some tragedy befell Halloran, then the trust fell to Ellen and her gruesome daughters, Geneve, Lora, and Janessa.

Halloran refused to use the last name of her father after her mother died in childbirth after the birth of her younger brother, who also did not survive the ordeal, and took her mother’s last name of Frost – a prominent name in the circles of London. Now she wished she had not as it only allowed her stepmother and sisters access to a world that should have solely been hers.

Sir Jacob Willoughby was one of the wealthiest men in all of England and was responsible for gaslight coming to the homes of London. Halloran owned three quarters of his company and oversaw the books, as well as maintaining the lines- a task designated to her by her father in his estate, though he left a quarter of the business to Ellen-who felt the need to butt her nose in whenever possible.

The Willoughby Frost Gas Company was Halloran’s only refuge against the life she was forced to endure.

She pulled her shift over her head and tossed it in the corner with the other clothes needing laundering and took a clean, black lace shirt down from the hooks over her head, hooks that were meant to dry salt pork and sides of beef but had become her armoire instead. Rather than wear petticoats and a skirt, as was traditional for ladies of the day, Halloran wore form-fitting leather gaspipes, men’s boots, and a black leather corset every day. It infuriated her stepmother, and that made it all the while worth every second of odd stares and comments.

Once dressed, she donned her corset, fastened the large silver buckles and pulled the leather straps tight until her waist was a perfect twenty inches then slipped on her boots. The last item she donned was a shoulder holster with her Smith and Wesson.

Halloran climbed down the wooden ladder leading to the main floor of the summer kitchen, picked up her wool cloak, and walked to the main house. She threw the door open, placed her hand on the kettle to see if the water was still hot, which it was not, so she picked up two biscuits and dropped them into her pocket before leaving.

The walk to her father’s business was ten blocks, which she gladly did each day to further the distance between herself and her stepmother. She not only oversaw all monetary interests for the family but also the maintenance of the gaslights and the gaslines that ran throughout London.

A mechanical horse skirted by her, steam pouring out its nostrils as its metal horseshoes clinked against the cobblestones. It drew her attention immediately due to its fine copper overlay on the exterior of the beast. The majority of the steamhorses were unimpressive brass that developed a green patina with time, a patina that reminded Halloran of moss or pond slime.

Hally! a voice shouted from behind her but Halloran kept walking. She was not feeling especially amicable and was not interested in idle chitchat.

Frost, he shouted, and Halloran stopped and turned around. There were only a handful of people who called her by her last name of Frost, mostly due to her milky white complexion against her stark red hair, and she trusted them with her life.

Jonathan Pennywise ran to where Halloran had stopped and leaned over, his hands resting on his thighs as he breathed heavily. Haven’t seen you in the Chapel as of late, where have you been?

Halloran pulled her long hair over her shoulder and braided it as she began walking again. I do not have time to chum around, Jonathan, not now that Ellen is in charge of the household.

She is nothing but a money digging strumpet. I will never understand why you do not kick her and the uglies out on their arses.

My father would not have wanted it, Halloran replied coldly as Jonathan quickened his stride to keep up with her long gait.

Pishposh, you are the heir.

Not according to her and her uglies.

Jonathan laughed as Halloran stopped in front of her father’s building and pulled the key to the door from her corset, looking over her shoulder. She had a