by C. J. Archer
I followed suit, but I didn’t want to hurt anyone. We didn’t have enough bullets, anyway. There were too many people, and they all wanted to blame someone for their troubles. As a figurehead for the magicians of London, I had a very big target on my back. The moment Mr. Abercrombie remembered he held a speaking trumpet, he would alert the crowd to my presence. The carriage would be set upon, and we would have no choice but to shoot our way free.
Chapter 8
The carriage inched forward at an excruciatingly slow pace. The crowd now completely surrounded us. I didn’t dare lift the curtain to look, but I caught glimpses through the gap as the cabin rocked. Everyone’s attention remained focused on a particular shop, now guarded by a wall of policemen.
Abercrombie’s shout alerting the mob to my presence never came.
The carriage turned into the narrow lane and the crowd thinned. The chanting shouts receded and our pace picked up. The door suddenly opened and Duke stopped short when faced with the barrels of two pistols.
Matt and I lowered them, and Matt helped Duke in before shutting the door.
Duke slumped onto the seat, knocking his hat askew. He removed it and wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve. “You won’t believe who’s leading the mob, getting them all riled up.”
“Abercrombie,” Matt said. “He saw India and was about to tell the crowd, but must have thought better of it.”
Duke smiled as he drew in deep breaths. “That ain’t why he didn’t tell them. It was because someone punched him in the stomach before he could. He collapsed to the pavement, too winded to utter anything more than a wheeze.”
“Did you punch him?” I asked.
His smile widened. “It was Willie.”
“Miss Johnson!” the professor cried. “What was she doing there?”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. I felt light-headed with relief. “Following Abercrombie. I’d forgotten we’d set her that task, and I didn’t see her there.”
“She went in disguise,” Matt said. “She left the house in trousers, not buckskins, and wore a cap instead of her usual hat.”
Professor Nash loosened his grip on the document wallet and lowered it to his lap. “And she punched Abercrombie, you say. What a remarkable woman your cousin is, Mr. Glass. Truly remarkable.”
Duke rolled his eyes and I smiled. It would seem Willie had gained herself another admirer without even trying.
After the excitement of the journey, it was a relief to sit with a good cup of tea on Fabian’s sofa, surrounded by people I knew and trusted. Once my heart resumed its regular rhythm, I was finally able to relax and enjoy the company. Fabian had offered the men a nip of liquor to add to their tea, but only Duke held out his cup.
“Mr. Abercrombie was there, you say,” Fabian said with a shake of his head. “That man is a thorn in your side, India.”
“More than a thorn. He was agitating the artless craftsmen, encouraging them to commit violence. I suspect he also organized the event.”
“You must tell the police.”
“We will,” Matt said. “But Abercrombie himself wasn’t violent. He’ll claim he organized a peaceful protest, but some of the attendees took it upon themselves to damage property. He’ll get away with it.”
Professor Nash shook his head which made his spectacles slip down his nose. He pushed them up. “He’s a disagreeable fellow. I saw him at the wool guild the first time I visited. He was speaking to the master about a particular member who’d admitted to being a magician in the newspaper. He was furious when the master seemed reluctant to revoke the fellow’s membership.”
I sat up straighter. “That’ll be Mr. Pyke.”
Fabian frowned. “Pyke? The wool magician who helped us?”
I nodded. “He’s gone missing.”
“Missing? Has he left of his own accord or been kidnapped?”
“We don’t know. He could even be dead.”
“Mon dieu. This is terrible. Are you investigating? Do the police know?”
“Brockwell is organizing a search,” Matt told him. “And we have been making inquiries, but…”
“But you have no hope.”
“We haven’t got any suspects yet.”
Fabian looked shaken by the news. “Do you think it is because he helped us with the wool spell?”
“We don’t know,” I said. “It could be simply because he spoke about his magic in the newspaper. Perhaps another rug maker became fearful of losing business to him.”
Professor Nash lifted the cup to his lips. “Or perhaps an artless wants to rid the city of as many magicians as possible and Pyke is merely the first.”
We all turned to stare at him, but he failed to notice as he sipped.
I shuddered as a chill crept through me. If he was right, the kidnapper could be anyone. It may not be just another rug maker but any artless craftsman. If that were the case, he’d be almost impossible to find. We had a city full of suspects. The police never caught the killer dubbed Jack the Ripper for that reason.
Professor Nash cleared his throat as he cradled his teacup and saucer on his lap. “I’m afraid this is partly my fault.”
“You had a hand in the disappearance of Mr. Pyke?” Duke asked.
“No! I only meant that I contributed a chapter to Mr. Barratt’s book. If it weren’t for the book, ordinary folk would never know that magicians lived among them.”
“Nobody blames you for the book,” Matt said. “Barratt must bear responsibility for it.”
“And Louisa,” Fabian added darkly.
I studied each of the men in turn, their faces glum and their gazes staring into the distance as they considered what to do next. “Nothing can be done about it,” I told them. “The book is widely available, and everyone knows about magic now. We must continue the search for Mr. Pyke, of course, but we must also look to the future. We must find a way to make sure magicians are safe, and that means allaying the fears of the artless.”
“How do you suggest we do that?” Fabian asked.
“I’m afraid I can see no option except to once again go into hiding. I think the violence and riots will ensure many keep quiet, anyway. We should encourage others to follow suit.”
Fabian clicked his tongue. “I disagree, India.”
Duke grunted. “You can disagree all you like. India’s right.”
“If you see another way out of this, Fabian, then please advise me, because I don’t,” I said. “Now, on another note, I’m glad you’re both here. I wish to ask you to do something for me.” I set down my teacup and smoothed my hand over my skirt. “Can you write up a list of every magician of your acquaintance.”
“My list would be small,” Professor Nash said, somewhat apologetically.
“Why do you want this list?” Fabian asked me.
“I’m going to keep a catalogue of every known magician and their craft. It will be stored safely with the location known only by our household. It’s the only way we can reassure the government that magicians will not be a threat.”
Professor Nash frowned. “A threat? To whom?”
“To national security.” I wasn’t sure how much to tell them, but Matt had no such qualms.
“After recent incidents involving magicians with murderous intent, the government has become nervous. The only way to ensure magicians aren’t rounded up and locked away is to reassure them that a definitive list exists. It will also ensure magicians don’t use their magic for nefarious reasons.”
“Surely it’s unnecessary,” Professor Nash said. “They wouldn’t imprison someone who has done nothing wrong.”
Matt lifted his palm and shrugged. “It makes the government feel better, particularly during this phase of unrest. Hopefully as things calm down, we won’t need to continue maintaining the list. But in the meantime, if you could write down the names for India, that would be helpful.”
Professor Nash sniffed. “It offends my rights as a citizen of a free country, but I’ll do it.”
Fabian nod
ded. “I’ll send you a list soon, India, although I do not like to think of magicians being catalogued like books.”
“Noted.” I looked to Matt, hinting that we should leave, but he didn’t get up.
“Professor, you were about to tell us something in the carriage earlier,” he said. “Something you discovered in the book at the wool guild.”
The professor’s spirits lifted and he sat taller. “Yes! It’s very exciting. The book mentioned two long-lost spells involving wool magic. One was the flying carpet, as I said earlier.”
Fabian glanced at me.
“The other is a spell to make a woolen doll vocalize.”
Duke choked on his tea. “Vocalize? As in…talk?”
Professor Nash looked pleased with our shocked expressions. “In a way.”
“How is that possible?” Matt asked.
Professor Nash pushed his glasses up his nose. “How is any magic possible? With a spell, of course.”
Fabian sat forward, frowning deeply. “What did the doll say?”
“It didn’t speak, as such. It made a noise, like crying. You know how little girls like their dolls to represent babies. Well, this particular spell could render it quite lifelike by having it make a sound like a cry.” He grinned and waited for our reactions. He looked as though he expected applause. “Isn’t it marvelous?”
My thoughts went immediately to the negative ways the spell could be used. A kidnapper could swap it with a real baby in a perambulator, and while it made noise, the mother or nurse might not be aware until too late. Other than that, I couldn’t see how the spell would pose a problem.
“Did the book say if the spell could make the doll speak?” Fabian asked. “Or just cry?”
“It only mentioned crying,” Professor Nash said.
“If it could be made to speak, then the spell could be used on other, more lifelike, things. That automaton knight from Trentham’s shop, for example. If a speaking spell could be combined with the moving spell—"
“Fabian, no.” I sliced my hand through the air. “It’s not a good idea.”
His suggestion opened the floodgates and now I could think of all number of horrid uses for the spell, or a combination of the two spells, spoken by a magician capable of directing a creature that could speak. A lifelike toy could be used as a decoy in a robbery, calling the police away from the scene of a crime. It could be used to frighten the unsuspecting who attempted to engage it in conversation, or be used to deliver anonymous threatening messages. A lifelike wooden soldier could march into an enemy camp and give orders… The list of possibilities was endless. And worrying.
“No, Fabian,” I said again. “Don’t talk any more of it. I won’t help you recreate the speaking spell.”
“But only you could control it, India. No one else. And you don’t have cruelty in your heart.”
I sighed. “We’ve been through this. I might not be the only magician capable of using it. And what if someone threatens to hurt my family if I don’t use the new spell for them? You know I would not stay strong.”
“But—"
“India’s right,” Matt snapped. “The spell could be dangerous.”
“Or it could be wonderful!”
I shot to my feet. “That is my decision, Fabian.”
“Is it? Or is it your husband’s?” It was quietly spoken but the effect was as the aftermath of a thunderclap. It felt as though his words reverberated around the room, rattling the panes of glass and frayed nerves.
A weighty silence descended upon us as Matt placed his teacup on the table in a slow move that was rigid with tension. He stood, rising to his full height, and took a step toward the still seated Fabian. “If you think that, then you don’t know my wife at all. She’s more than capable of coming to a sensible conclusion on her own.”
Fabian and Matt glared at one another. Duke moved to stand by the door, a motion to leave, but it took Professor Nash’s audible gulp to break the standoff. Matt came to my side and offered me his arm.
I took it, circling my hand around the taut muscles. “I can’t stop you from attempting to recreate the spell, Fabian, but I won’t be a part of it.”
“I cannot do it without you.”
We said our goodbyes and together with Duke, we left. I wanted to look back to see Fabian’s face. Despite everything, I wanted to know that he wasn’t offended. I wanted him to know that we were still friends. But I kept my gaze forward.
“Mrs. Glass is right,” I heard Professor Nash say. “There are too many unknowns for it to be completely safe. It must be a spell confined to the pages of history books. An extinct rarity to be wondered at by academics and history buffs through the ages. Don’t you agree?”
I didn’t hear Fabian’s response.
Chapter 9
Matt did not remain angry for long. His temper might flare when he was pushed, but it rarely ruled him and he was usually quick to release it. I, however, was still seething at dinnertime. I’d shed a tear when we arrived home, but when my tears abated, I became angry with Fabian.
He’d agreed that we wouldn’t make new spells. He’d led me to believe he saw the dangers too, and that he wouldn’t pressure me to resume our work. But all of his promises had been forgotten the moment an interesting prospect reared its head. My wishes had been discarded as if they didn’t matter, my concerns swept aside.
It felt like a betrayal. I was beginning to wonder if Fabian saw me as a friend at all.
I changed for dinner and met the others in the drawing room before going in. Aunt Letitia wasn’t there, but Cyclops had finished work for the day and Willie had returned too.
I threw my arms around her and hugged her fiercely. “Duke told us what you did to stop Abercrombie. You are a true friend, Willie. A true, dear friend.”
She drew away and clasped my arms. “Want me to punch Charbonneau for you too?”
“So they told you.”
Matt took my hand and kissed my forehead. “Are you all right?”
“I will be, although Willie’s offer sounds attractive.”
Willie cracked her knuckles.
“She was just telling us how the police interviewed Abercrombie but let him go,” Matt said.
I sighed. “That was to be expected, I suppose. He wouldn’t do anything against the law.”
“Not in front of independent witnesses.” Willie stabbed a finger in Cyclops’s direction. “But your lot should investigate him. I reckon he’s saying one thing in public and another in private to rile up the younger members of the craft guild.”
“’My lot’ are doing their best,” Cyclops said. “We have to operate within the law.”
“They should send a spy into his camp, someone in disguise who can listen in to conversations and report back.”
Cyclops put up his hands. “Don’t look at me. I’m too conspicuous.”
“And Abercrombie knows you,” Duke added. “He knows all of us.”
The dinner gong sounded and we filed through to the dining room where Aunt Letitia joined us. “Why all the long faces?” she asked as the soup course was served.
“We’re worried about the missing Mr. Pyke,” I reminded her.
“Yes, of course, dreadful business. But I’m sure he’ll turn up, having had an adventure. Willemina, you look particularly gloomy this evening. Are you unwell?”
“I’m fine,” Willie mumbled.
I tried to catch Aunt Letitia’s attention to warn her not to bring up the subject of Brockwell and his abrupt departure after talking to Willie the night before, but she didn’t notice.
“You must call on the detective inspector after dinner. He always cheers you up.”
“No he doesn’t,” Willie snapped. “Not always.”
“Well, nearly—”
“What have you been doing today, Aunt?” Matt asked. “Did you go out for a walk?”
Her lips pursed at being politely but forcefully diverted from a potential intrigue. “I did, and then I attended to s
ome correspondence. One letter in particular caught my eye. My friend, Lady Sloane, has a niece who’ll have her first season this year.”
“Season of what?” Duke asked.
“The season.”
Duke gave her a blank look.
“She’ll be presented,” Aunt Letitia went on.
“Presented?”
“At court. It means she’ll be out.”
“Out of what?”
Aunt Letitia returned to her soup. “Honestly, Duke, you’re so American. Tell him, Cyclops. But first, take your elbow off the table.”
Cyclops sat back and lowered his arms. “When a young lady of good breeding turns eighteen or thereabouts, she comes to London and makes her debut. She’s presented at court then spends the spring and summer attending social engagements—balls, dinners, afternoon teas, races, and soirees.” He waved a hand in the air to indicate the events went on and on. “It’s a way of signaling the young lady is hunting for a husband, and the social occasions give her an opportunity to catch one.”
Duke stared at him with his mouth ajar. “Did they teach you this in the police school?”
Cyclops indicated Aunt Letitia. “Miss Glass taught me.”
Aunt Letitia patted her mouth with her napkin. “Although I made it sound less like a blood sport.”
“So what did your friend say in her letter?” I asked.
“Lady Sloane said her niece is quite pretty and very accomplished, although somewhat unconventional.”
Willie passed her empty plate to the footman collecting the dishes. “Is that code for being as mad as a wild hog?”
Aunt Letitia gave Willie a withering glare. “It might be. Or it could simply mean she has opinions.”
“God help us,” Willie muttered at the ceiling.
Duke kicked her under the table, but it was not at all subtle and we all noticed.
“Lady Sloane has asked if she can call on me when she arrives in London with her niece,” Aunt Letitia said. “I thought she could come for afternoon tea.”
“I’d be delighted to meet them both,” I said. I hoped Mr. Pyke would be found by then so that I could give my full attention to Aunt Letitia’s friend. As the wife of the heir to the Rycroft title, I was probably expected to entertain from time to time throughout the season, although I wasn’t sure if anyone would particularly care about us. We weren’t important people in society.
