by C. J. Archer
The Spy Master’s Scheme
Glass and Steele, #12
C.J. Archer
www.cjarcher.com
Copyright © 2021 by C.J. Archer
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
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Chapter 1
London, Winter 1891
It was the moment I’d been dreading. The moment I hoped not to experience for some time yet: the arrival of Lady Rycroft and her middle daughter, Charity Glass.
Thankfully, Matt braved their presence alongside me in the drawing room of our Park Street townhouse. Aunt Letitia was there too, although she said very little after the initial stiff greetings. Aunt Letitia had a fractious relationship with her brother and sister-in-law, having been forced to live with the overbearing couple and their entitled daughters for years before Matt arrived in London and set up house.
Bristow bowed out of the drawing room and closed the doors, leaving me to pour the tea and slice the sponge cake. Lady Rycroft didn’t even wait to be handed a cup before she got in her first cutting remark of the afternoon.
“We’ve been back in the city for five days and you have not called on us, India.”
“I’ve been busy.”
That was rather an understatement. A mere week ago, I’d been investigating the murder of a toymaker magician, researching gypsy curses, stopping an automaton from running amok, and trying to get answers from a government spy. There was also the rather significant occasion of Matt almost dying after being shot. If it hadn’t been for his magical watch, he would not be sitting in the armchair with a frustrated expression on his handsome face. I think the frustration came from being closeted inside the house this past week rather than a result of his aunt and cousin’s presence. For an active man like Matt, being cooped up here was tantamount to being imprisoned.
Lady Rycroft accepted the cup and plate from me. “I know you’re not used to the way things are done in polite society, so I hope you’ll take this as helpful advice, which is how it’s intended. It’s the duty of the junior members of the family to call upon the more superior members when they return to London.” She lifted the cup to her lips and gave her sister-in-law a sideways glare. “I expected Letitia to guide you in this, as in other things.”
“She did,” I assured her before Aunt Letitia retorted that she didn’t want to see her. “I would have called on you before now, but as I said, I’ve been very busy.”
“And what is more important than welcoming family back to the city?” The icy undercurrent of her tone left me in no doubt that she could think of nothing more important.
I sipped and let my gaze drift from her censorial one, hoping my silence would put an end to it.
Matt was in no mood to give in, however. “Murder,” he said simply.
Lady Rycroft gasped.
I threw Matt a sharp look. “He means investigating a murder, not committing one.”
He returned my look with a tight smile, and I could almost hear his unspoken “Yet.”
Charity looked up from her slice of cake, showing some spark for the first time since she’d sat down. “How thrilling. Was it that toymaker? I read about it in the newspaper. Was he really murdered by his own toy, that Medieval knight automaton?”
“His wife killed him,” Matt said.
“But the device did the actual strangling.”
Lady Rycroft made a sound of disgust in the back of her throat and Aunt Letitia went a little pale. Although she sometimes overheard our conversations during an investigation, we tried to keep the worst of the details from her.
Matt ignored Lady Rycroft and focused his attention on his cousin. There was a rigidity in his shoulders and an intensity in his eyes, both signs of his frustration over the misinformation about magic that circulated among the public. “The automaton no more killed him than a knife can stab someone of its own accord. Mrs. Trentham wielded the automaton like a weapon.”
Charity met Matt’s gaze with her own, but where his was dark with simmering anger, hers was bright with enthusiasm. “One could say that magic was the weapon.”
Matt’s jaw hardened. “No, one could not say that.”
Before Charity further stirred the pot she’d inadvertently placed over the coals, I cut her off. “Let’s not get into a philosophical discussion now.”
“Speaking of magic,” Lady Rycroft went on, “India, do you know where I can find a fur magician? My fool of a maid didn’t pack my fox stole properly and the moths got to it. I thought if I have to get another, I might as well get the best.” At my open-mouthed stare, she added, “I’m willing to pay handsomely, of course.”
This must explain the reason for her visit. To have my magic accepted by her was surprising, but to be actively courted for it was astounding. “No, I don’t know any fur magicians.”
“Pity.” She sipped her tea and looked away. The silence stretched thin.
“How is the country at this time of year, Aunt Beatrice?” Matt asked.
“Cold and miserable. The house is drafty, none of my friends live close by, and your uncle is out all day checking on the tenant farms or shooting. With only Charity for company, I couldn’t wait to come back here.”
If Charity felt slighted by her mother’s comment, she didn’t show it. Indeed, I wasn’t even sure she heard a word her mother said. She stared at the door, her eyes dulled again. While I was thankful she no longer wanted to talk about magic or murder, I worried that she was hoping Cyclops would enter. Fortunately he was at work, having been assigned to duty at Shoreditch Police Station after recently becoming a constable.
Lady Rycroft sighed heavily. “How I do miss Hope.”
“Has she not called on you either?” Aunt Letitia asked.
Lady Rycroft lifted the cup to her lips. “She has been busy.”
“We’ve seen her. She calls on Matthew and India from time to time. Matthew and India have called on Hope and Lord Coyle too.”
That wasn’t quite the whole truth. While Hope and her husband, Lord Coyle, had visited us, and we’d visited their house too, it was only as part of the investigation, and our meetings were fraught with tension. Indeed, I’d rather endure a hundred afternoon teas with Lady Rycroft and Charity than a single one with Lord and Lady Coyle.
Lady Rycroft met this news with a pursing of her lips and a flaring of her nostrils. “Clearly Hope is not herself. I blame her husband.”
“You wanted them to marry!” Charity cried, proving she was listening after all.
“And I am proud of her for securing an earl. But he doesn’t realize that a young bride still needs to know that she is as attractive to her husband as she was before they married.” She put up her hand to stay our comments, even though no one was about to offer any
. “She is still a beauty, of course. The prettiest of all my girls, without a doubt, and the most accomplished, the most agreeable.”
Charity pulled a face.
“But he must show her that he appreciates all that she brings to the marriage.”
“What does she bring to the marriage?” Aunt Letitia asked with a sardonic edge.
Lady Rycroft bristled. “Did you not just hear me? Beauty, accomplishments and agreeableness.”
“None of which are important for a successful marriage.”
“What would you know?” Lady Rycroft shot back.
Oh lord, this meeting was deteriorating faster than I anticipated. “Have you heard from Patience?” I asked in an attempt to salvage it.
“No.” The curt reply invited no more conversation on the topic of her eldest daughter whose husband’s title had been stripped from him.
Lady Rycroft set down her teacup, a troubled frown appearing on a forehead pulled tight by the turban wrapped around her hair. The frown was not for her eldest daughter, however, but for her youngest. She didn’t want to leave the topic of the Coyles yet. “I’m afraid marriage is not turning out the way Hope would have liked.”
“Why do you say that?” Aunt Letitia asked.
“Her letters imply he limits her spending, among other things.”
“Other things?” I echoed.
“He doesn’t like her visiting her friends. He says they’re beneath her, now. But he doesn’t allow her to invite new, more appropriate friends to dinner, either. He says they talk too much and he just wants a quiet evening.”
“He is old,” Matt pointed out.
Both of his aunts turned frosty glares onto him. “He’s the same age as us,” Aunt Letitia said.
“Speak for yourself,” Lady Rycroft snipped off.
Matt rarely made such a social misstep and apologized profusely.
I pressed my lips together to hide my smile.
Charity drained her teacup and placed it on the saucer with a loud clatter to gain our attention. “So what if he does control her spending and who comes to dinner? It’s his house and his money. He can do what he wants.”
“I know, dear, but I am disappointed in Hope for not using her wit and wiles to get her way,” Lady Rycroft said. “She should not allow him to manipulate her the way he is. It’s simply not like her.”
“Marriage isn’t about who can manipulate whom,” Matt said.
“Theirs is.” Aunt Letitia said exactly what I was thinking.
Lady Rycroft continued as if she hadn’t heard them. “She used to have him wrapped around her little finger. When they were courting, he gave her whatever she asked for, and more. But now…” She shook her head. “What changed?” She lifted her gaze to Matt’s. “You’ve seen them more than me, these last few weeks, and Lord Coyle is a close acquaintance of yours. What do you think?”
“He’s not an acquaintance whose company we enjoy,” Matt told her.
Aunt Letitia leaned toward her sister-in-law. “Matt and India are not on good terms with the Coyles.”
“He’s not a nice man.” I could have told them Hope wasn’t nice either but refrained. Her mother would leap to her defense, although she was probably the only one in the room who would. Not even Charity liked her sister.
Lady Rycroft stretched her fingers out on her lap and studied them. “Yes. Well. I wrote to her and told her she must learn to control him and not be controlled by him.”
“He won’t be controlled by anyone,” Matt said.
“Pish posh. She must find a way. If there’s something my youngest is very good at, it’s getting others to do what she wants.”
Charity snorted.
Lady Rycroft presented Charity with her shoulder to cut her out of the conversation. “Hope is a clever girl. She’ll learn how to do it.”
“And if she doesn’t, he’s an old man and will likely die before too long.” The smug look on Charity’s face left me in no doubt that she wanted to shock her mother and aunt, both of whom looked at her aghast. “Be honest, Mother. You know that’s why she married him. You say it yourself—Hope is no fool. Coyle might be difficult to manage, but it will all be worth it when she becomes his widow.”
Her mother clicked her tongue. “Honestly, Charity. You do say the oddest things.”
The door opened and Bristow entered. “Lord Farnsworth is here,” he intoned.
Matt glanced at me. His expression said it all—this could either be a disaster or a welcome amusement.
“Show him in,” I said.
Lord Farnsworth must have been lingering outside the door, waiting. He appeared before Bristow had even straightened from his shallow bow. He was like a burst of sunshine on a cloudy day with his red-gold hair, bright smile and exuberance. Sometimes that exuberance was a little too much, but today I welcomed it. I think Matt did too. He certainly shook Lord Farnsworth’s hand heartily.
“Good afternoon, dear friends! How pleasant to see you here, Lady Rycroft, Miss Glass.” He beamed at Charity. “I am fortunate to be in the presence of so many lovely ladies. And you too, Glass, of course, although you’re not lovely. At least, I don’t find you to be so, although I’m sure the ladies do.” He laughed.
Charity shifted aside on the sofa and patted the cushion. “Come and sit with me, my lord.”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
Bristow returned with another cup and saucer, and I poured tea for Lord Farnsworth. “Are you looking for Willie?”
“Not in particular.” Lord Farnsworth accepted the cup from me. “Is she in?”
Matt shook his head. “She went for a walk.”
Willie and Duke had left the house when Lady Rycroft and Charity arrived, not wanting to endure an afternoon tea with them. Indeed, Willie hadn’t been home very much of late. If she wasn’t spending time with Lord Farnsworth or Detective Inspector Brockwell, she was out with Duke or one of her other friends. I suspected she might even have a new lover, but I didn’t ask. There was a limit to how much of Willie’s private life I wanted to know.
I was still reeling from learning she and Lord Farnsworth had been lovers. After the dust had settled from that bombshell, she admitted it had just been once, at the start of their friendship, and hadn’t happened again. They both realized they preferred to simply be friends. I wasn’t sure if Brockwell knew. Indeed, I was never sure what Brockwell knew or how he and Willie felt about one another. Their relationship was best left to either ride the turbulent waves or float on the calm surface as they saw fit. It seemed to work for them.
I think.
“Don’t mind me,” Lord Farnsworth said as he accepted a slice of sponge cake from me. “Please, carry on your conversation as if I weren’t here.”
Lady Rycroft wasn’t going to discuss the marital problems of the Coyles in front of an outsider and quickly changed the subject. “How marvelous to see you again, my lord. Are you well?” She sported an odd smile on her face as she gave him her full attention. Indeed, perhaps it was merely odd because she smiled so rarely and I wasn’t used to seeing it.
I exchanged a glance with Matt and the corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk. Clearly he suspected the same as me—Lady Rycroft wanted to grease the wheels, so to speak, in the hope his lordship would notice Charity. So far, he seemed more intent on the cake than on anyone in the room.
“Well enough for someone who didn’t get the filly he had his eye on. Duke Something-or-other won her instead.”
“How disappointing, but I hear you have a marvelous stable and I’m sure the loss of one horse won’t matter.”
I suppressed my smile, knowing that Lord Farnsworth wasn’t speaking about a horse but a lady he’d hoped to marry. He tended to speak about horses and prospective wives using the same terms.
“True enough,” he said. “I have an excellent prospect for the Gold Cup at Royal Ascot this year.”
I blinked and shook my head to clear it. Matt tried, and failed, to suppress his smile.
&n
bsp; Charity held out her plate and asked me for another slice of cake. Her mother snatched the plate off her and placed it on the table, out of her daughter’s reach. “You’ve had quite enough, my dear.”
Charity sat back with a pout.
“My daughter loves horses and racing.” Lady Rycroft tapped Charity’s knee.
Lord Farnsworth sat up straighter and addressed Charity. “Jumps or flats?”
She hesitated then said, “Both?”
Lord Farnsworth beamed. “Capital!”
“No!” Aunt Letitia cried. “No, this won’t do at all. Charity doesn’t really like horse racing.”
“Of course she does,” Lady Rycroft said. “We attend Royal Ascot every year.”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
They all looked to Matt and me.
“I like to go very fast on horseback,” Charity said. “I don’t mind if it’s over flat or jumps. I find riding invigorating. Don’t you, my lord?”
“Call me Davide.”
Lady Rycroft smiled at Lord Farnsworth then bestowed it upon her daughter. She looked as though her horse had crossed the finish line first.
Aunt Letitia looked like hers had come last, broken a leg, and had to be put down. “Willimena will be back soon. Matthew, go in search of her. Tell her Lord Farnsworth has come to see her.”
“Oh, but I haven’t.” Lord Farnsworth picked up his teacup. “I came to see India.”
Aunt Letitia seemed to deflate a little, but quickly rallied. “But you would like to see Willie.”
“Yes, of course.”
She gave her sister-in-law a triumphant smile.
“But I am so glad I had this opportunity to see Lady Rycroft and Miss Glass. They have quite cheered me, and I’ve been low in spirits lately.”
