by C. J. Archer
Matt picked up a small gold carriage clock with a mother-of-pearl face. “You’ve been going to all the guilds and advising them how to change their bylaws to exclude magicians.”
Mr. Abercrombie snatched the clock off Matt. “So? They require a service and I am offering it.”
“You were seen at the wool guild’s hall on the day the member went missing.”
“Again, so? That’s merely a coincidence. It doesn’t mean I had a hand in Mr. Pyke’s disappearance.”
Matt’s gaze sharpened. “How do you know it was him? I didn’t mention his name.”
Mr. Abercrombie sniffed. “I heard about it. The master of the wool guild informed me. And anyway, Mr. Pyke is no longer a member of the guild.”
“Mr. Pyke was reported missing only this morning by his wife,” I pointed out. “The guild would not have even been aware of his disappearance.”
His pencil-thin moustache twitched with his indignation. “Someone must have informed them.”
“That may be true.” Matt picked up another timepiece, this time an elaborately engraved watch. He tossed it from one hand to the next, which set off Mr. Abercrombie’s moustache twitching again. “But why would the guild master inform you of Mr. Pyke’s disappearance? As you say, it’s nothing to do with you.”
Mr. Abercrombie grabbed at the watch, but Matt didn’t immediately release it. He eyed Mr. Abercrombie from beneath lowered lashes. Mr. Abercrombie’s throat moved with his hard swallow, and Matt finally let the watch go.
“Did you meet Mr. Pyke?” he asked.
“No.”
“Did you know he was a magician?”
Mr. Abercrombie straightened his shoulders. “I don’t have to answer your questions. You are not the police. I’d like you to leave my premises immediately.” He pointed at the rear door that led to the lane. “The back way so as not to frighten my customers.”
Willie picked up the first clock Matt had set down. It was clearly the most expensive timepiece in the workshop that I could see. She held it up, ready to smash it on the ground. “Answer the question.”
Mr. Abercrombie paled. To be honest, the sight was making me feel somewhat ill too. “Don’t you dare,” he growled at her.
She simply smiled. “Your face is distinctive. It’s got a rat-like quality that’s easy to remember. I reckon if we describe you to Mr. Pyke’s neighbors, they’ll know who we mean.”
Mr. Abercrombie swallowed heavily again.
“You lied,” I said. “You did meet Mr. Pyke. I assume it was after he was revealed as a magician in the newspaper.”
Mr. Abercrombie’s jaw set. “This is harassment.”
“Did you call on him at his shop?” Matt pressed. “Or did you meet him as he walked home alone and coerce him into going with you?”
Mr. Abercrombie bristled. “I am not responsible for that man’s disappearance. Now get out before I summon the constables.” He pointed at the back door leading outside.
Matt opened the main door that led through to the shop. Cyclops led the way and we followed with Willie bringing up the rear. She stopped to inspect a display of watches.
“They look so elegant,” she said loudly. “Shame they don’t keep accurate time.”
I didn’t want Matt to leave until we’d located our carriage, but he didn’t want to stay in the shop.
“It’s fine,” he protested as he followed me outside. “There are too many people about for the shooter to take such a risk.”
“There were lots of people around last time,” Willie pointed out.
A loud noise had us all leaping in Matt’s direction to shield him. My heart jumped into my throat and the too-familiar chill of fear washed over my skin.
“Matt!” Willie cried. “Are you hurt? Did it get you?”
“I’m fine,” he growled.
Duke came sprinting toward us from the side street. “I heard a gunshot!”
“It wasn’t a gunshot.” Cyclops nodded at the intersection where two vehicles had collided. One of the horses stamped the ground while the others looked frightened. The coachmen attempted to calm them while throwing accusations at each other. The occupants of both vehicles had alighted. They seemed dazed but unharmed.
I let out a shuddery breath and clasped Matt’s forearms. “You’re all right. Nobody is harmed. Everything is well.”
“Not for those vehicles,” Duke said.
Woodall brought the carriage around and we quickly clambered inside. As we drove away from the chaotic scene of the accident and Mr. Abercrombie’s shop, I felt the tension finally leave my shoulders. I was able to give Duke my full attention as he informed us of what he’d learned.
“Abercrombie does keep a carriage, so one of his staff told me,” he said. “It wasn’t there today as his wife and mother needed it, but sometimes it’s parked in the lane if he’s going to use it that day. It was there yesterday, but not the entire time.”
“So it could conceivably have been he who called on Pyke at lunchtime,” Matt said.
“We can’t dismiss him as a suspect,” I agreed. Even though we couldn’t come up with a specific motivation for Mr. Abercrombie to kidnap Mr. Pyke—or worse—it didn’t mean he hadn’t done it simply because he disliked magicians.
Woodall had been given instructions earlier and drove us to our next destination. If I’d been dreading confronting Mr. Abercrombie, I was even more worried about entering the lair of Lord and Lady Coyle.
Duke and Cyclops remained in the carriage for this meeting, while Willie insisted on coming inside. “It’s afternoon tea time,” she said when Matt told her he didn’t need an escort. “And Hope’s a good hostess.”
“Her husband isn’t,” I said as the footman opened the door on our knock.
Lord Coyle was not at home. I sent up a silent prayer of thanks for our good fortune. While I disliked Hope, she was not the threat that the earl was. Her danger to me had ended when Matt and I married. Lord Coyle’s danger was ongoing, never far away.
Hope offered us afternoon tea and Willie quickly accepted, rubbing her hands together as she sat. “Ain’t this pleasant. All of us cousins together, enjoying tea.”
The corners of Hope’s eyes tightened. “You and I are not cousins, Miss Johnson.”
“Call me Willie. So, Hope, what sort of cake is your cook serving up?”
“I have no idea.” She turned to Matt and smiled. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“It’s not a social call,” he said.
“Sadly, I know that all too well. I do wish you’d come here occasionally to see me rather than my husband.”
“We have come to see you this time, but it’s still not a social call.”
“Now I am intrigued. Am I a suspect in some investigation or other?”
“What makes you think we’re investigating something?” he asked.
“You always are, and you certainly never come here unless it’s to interrogate my husband.”
A footman entered carrying a tray of tea things and cake. He deposited it on the table and left, closing the door.
Hope poured the tea. “Help yourself to cake, Miss Johnson.”
Willie reached for a plate. “Don’t mind if I do, Cousin Hope.”
Hope passed out teacups and saucers. When she came to Matt, he said, “Are you all right?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” Her tone was challenging, accusatory almost.
“Because you’re married to—”
“One of the wealthiest, most influential peers of the realm?” She sat beside him and touched his knee. “Darling Matt. You’re always so protective of your loved ones.”
He took her hand and removed it from his knee. “He’s not an easy man to manage.”
She picked up her cup. Her eyes were cold as they stared back at him over the rim. “He cannot be managed at all.”
“That must be difficult for you,” I said.
“Don’t pity me, India.”
“I don’t.”
She sipped slowly. “I have much to be thankful for. Even now.”
“Now?” Matt echoed.
She waved a hand, the movement elegantly languid. “With magic out in the open after the release of Mr. Barratt’s book, my husband has been more irritable than usual. He’s angry about it. Very angry indeed.”
“With Barratt?”
“Yes, and with Louisa. In fact, he sees her as the driving force behind the book. He thinks Mr. Barratt would never have finished it if not for her.”
That was true, considering Louisa had cost Oscar his job to allow him more time to complete the book.
“What’s Coyle doing about it?” Matt asked.
“What can he do? The book is released. People are aware of magic. Indeed, the entire city is obsessed with it. He can’t do anything about that obsession except guard his information about magicians even as they come out into the open and announce themselves to the entire world.”
“He must find it frustrating that they don’t appreciate he kept their secret all this time.”
She smiled a nasty little smile into her teacup.
“I worry that he’s taking that frustration out on you,” Matt went on.
She put down the cup and regarded him with fondness. “Thank you, Matt, you’re so thoughtful. But I want to assure you, I may not be able to manage my husband—yet—but I do know when to avoid him. The situation may be stormy now, but I can see a way to calmer waters ahead.”
“How?” Matt asked.
“Patience.” She laughed softly. “It may be my sister’s name, but I think it’s more suited to me these days. She ought to be Hope as it’s all she has left.”
“You must come to me if you need my help.”
“Dearest Matt, thank you. But all will be well, in time. You’ll see.”
She spoke soothingly, as if speaking to children who’d awoken in fright in the middle of the night. There was something unnerving about it, particularly when coupled with her promise that all would be well. Perhaps the madness that touched Charity was a family trait after all, but it had taken longer to manifest in Hope. But where Charity was wild, Hope was calculating.
“Is that why you’ve come here today while my husband is absent?” she asked. “To check up on me?”
“We didn’t know he wouldn’t be here,” Matt pointed out.
“I thought perhaps you’d been waiting for his departure.”
Willie snorted. “We weren’t spying on your house. We ain’t got time for that.” She frowned and tapped her fingertip on the side of the cup. She looked as though she was giving the idea some serious thought.
“We’re here because a magician has gone missing,” I said. “According to his order book, you were one of his customers.”
“No wonder you consider me a suspect, knowing what you do about my husband’s interest in magic. What sort of magician is the missing man? I’ve bought so many new things lately, it could be anyone.” She indicated the drawing room which had taken on a more feminine appearance since she moved in, with delicate furniture, lighter drapes, and prettier colors.
I shifted my feet, wondering if the rug was one of Mr. Pyke’s. If it was, had he infused his magic into it? I would know for sure if I removed my glove and touched it, but I sat as stiff as a board on the chair, and concentrated on Hope.
“Mr. Pyke, the rug maker, is a wool magician,” Matt told her.
“Ah, yes. I did know that. My husband gave me his name when I said I wanted new carpets.”
I sat forward. “Coyle knew he was a magician?”
“Yes.” She pointed at the sofa that Willie and I sat on. “The furniture maker is also a woodwork magician, and the woman who does the piece work on my clothing is a silk magician, so I’m told.”
I removed my glove and bent to touch the wooden leg of the sofa. “There’s no magic in this.”
Her eyes narrowed as she watched me. “I know. Having magic in the items wasn’t important, as it doesn’t last. But the items themselves are exquisitely made anyway, magic or no.”
The carved lion claw feet of the sofa were incredibly lifelike, and the embroidery work on the sleeves of her dress was very fine for a simple day dress.
“What did your husband tell you about Pyke?” Matt asked.
“That he is a wool magician and makes the best rugs in the city. He gave me the address of his shop.”
“Did he say how long he has known Mr. Pyke was a magician?”
“No. Why?”
Had Coyle known Pyke was a magician from before he assisted Fabian and me with the creation of our new spell? Or did Coyle go looking for a wool magician only after he learned we’d made the carpet fly? I tried to remember the dates of her orders, but I couldn’t.
“When did you first call on Mr. Pyke?” I asked.
“It was just after we returned from our honeymoon, some three weeks ago.”
That was before we asked Mr. Pyke to help us. “And what about the final time?”
“I can’t recall. Several days ago, I think. Why all these questions? Do you actually believe I’m the reason that man has gone missing?”
“We must look at all possibilities,” Matt said.
“Perhaps he left his wife.”
“It’s unlikely.”
“Why? Because he’s a good man and they seem happy?” She scoffed. “Come now, Matt, you know that appearances can be deceptive and that good men stray all the time.” She held out the plate with slices of cake to Matt. “Would you like some?”
Matt refused. “I don’t like that flavor.”
I bit back my smile.
Hope was about to return the plate to the table but Willie grabbed it. “I like this flavor. In fact, I like all flavors. I ain’t too partic’lar.”
I had to bite down on my lower lip even harder to keep my smile in check.
Matt had far more composure than me. “One more thing before we go. Have you seen Louisa lately?”
“No. My husband detests her and has forbidden me from becoming friends with her. That’s quite all right with me. She doesn’t seem like someone I’d get along with.”
“Oh?” I asked. “But you’re so similar.”
She blinked at me as if trying to determine if I was being insulting or not.
“Does he let you be friends with other members of the collector’s club?” Matt asked.
“You make him sound like a tyrant, controlling my every move. He may have forbidden me from becoming friends with Louisa, but I am quite free to be friends with whomever else I like. The thing is, nobody in that ridiculous club interests me. They’re either vulgar, dull or foolish. Mrs. Delancey is all three.”
“Aye,” Willie agreed. “She’s even worse when she’s trying to get me to sign that damned temperance agreement.”
“What about your husband?” Matt asked. “Does he invite any of the collector’s club here for dinner or a social evening?” His persistence with this line of questioning was curious, but it only took me a moment to realize what he was trying to find out.
“My husband loathes social events so no, he doesn’t invite anyone here. Nobody calls on us in a social capacity. The only people who do come are here to conduct business. Is there someone in particular you want to ask about or do you want to dance around the name for a little longer?”
She was no fool. For that very reason, I didn’t think we should mention the name.
Matt had no such qualms. “Sir Charles Whittaker.”
“Ah. The debonair public servant. He doesn’t come to the house unless it’s a collector’s club function.”
Matt rose and held out his hand to assist me to my feet.
But Hope hadn’t finished. “My husband does meet him, however.”
Matt sat again. “Go on.”
Hope’s lips lifted in a smug smile. “I saw them together in the garden.” She indicated the window that overlooked the street and private garden of Belgrave Square. The garden was available for the exclusive
use of the occupants of the mansions surrounding it.
“When was the last time you saw them meet there?” Matt asked.
“Three nights ago.”
That was more recently than Whittaker led us to believe. Indeed, he said there’d only been that one meeting, several weeks ago.
“It would have been dark at night,” Matt pointed out. “How did you see them?”
“I saw my husband leave the house, but he did not get into the conveyance. He crossed the street and entered the garden. I thought it odd, so I followed him.”
“You’re spying on your husband?” I asked.
“I was concerned for his health. He isn’t well and the cold night air isn’t good for his chest. I didn’t confront him, however, when I saw him meet Sir Charles. I thought it best to leave them be.” She smoothed her hands slowly over her lap then clasped them, the picture of a demure wife. “Does that help with your investigation, Matt?”
Matt stood. “Thank you for the tea.”
She rang for the butler who saw us out. Once we were inside the carriage, Willie huffed out a breath and adjusted her hat on her head. “That was strange.”
“Ain’t it always?” Duke asked.
“This time was stranger. Hope told us Coyle met Whittaker in the park at night.”
“Whittaker lied to us,” Matt said. “But more importantly, who initiated the meeting? And why?”
“I don’t think that’s the most important question,” I said. “I think we ought to be asking ourselves why Hope told us. She wouldn’t tell us just because we asked. So the question is, what does she gain from it?”
It was a question no one could answer.
Chapter 6
Sir Charles Whittaker’s landlady informed us that he had not yet returned home from work. We waited in the carriage for over thirty minutes until his new conveyance finally drew up outside the row of houses. He alighted with a newspaper in one hand and a walking stick in the other. We were quite sure no one had followed us so I wasn’t too concerned that Sir Charles didn’t immediately invite us inside when we approached. He looked content to have this conversation on the pavement.
