The Spy Master's Scheme (Glass and Steele Book 12)

by C. J. Archer

  The butler answered the door and allowed us to wait in the drawing room while he checked if his master was in. He was at home, and fortunately he was prepared to see us. Or perhaps it was unfortunately. I wasn’t sure I wanted this confrontation to take place.

  We did not sit down in the drawing room, and when Lord Coyle joined us, he did not offer us a seat. He remained standing too, leaning heavily on his walking stick, and I suspected he preferred to sit but would not do so until I did.

  I stood by Matt’s side, attempting to appear as defiant as I could while my heart hammered against my ribs. Matt didn’t look worried at all. He looked furious.

  “Mr. Pyke has been found,” he began.

  Coyle did not seem surprised by the news. “Dead or alive?”

  “Alive. He’s in hospital under police protection.”

  “Protection? From what? Me?” Lord Coyle’s laugh bellowed from his stomach and ended in a phlegmy rattle. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, as usual. His disappearance had nothing to do with me. What happened to him? Was he beaten by thugs?”

  “His body was found near the magic rug where it had crashed through the bushes. A device resembling a bomb was also found nearby.”

  “Resembling?”

  Matt’s jaw firmed. “We know it was you who kidnapped him and forced him to fly the carpet with a device of the same weight as a bomb.”

  Coyle grunted. “You’ve got it wrong, Glass.”

  “You failed.”

  “Pyke failed. It was nothing to do with me.”

  Matt pointed his finger at him. “You won’t succeed with your mad scheme.”

  “And what scheme is that?” Lord Coyle’s tone was as slithery as a snake’s.

  “Don’t come near my family. Is that clear?”

  “That will be difficult considering I married your cousin.”

  “If you come for India, I will destroy you.” Matt grabbed my hand and pushed past his lordship. I quickened my pace to keep up with his long strides.

  Lord Coyle’s throaty chuckle echoed around the room. “How gallant, Glass. What say you, India? Or do you let your husband speak for you, and drag you hither and thither?” He nodded at my hand, linked with Matt’s.

  Matt’s grip loosened, but he didn’t let go.

  I made a point of placing my other hand on Matt’s arm. “My husband and I are as one on this. Whatever you’re up to, you won’t get away with it.” I turned to go, only to stop again. “He is gallant, isn’t he? And a true gentleman, too. Perhaps you should take a leaf out of his book. Your wife will think better of you.”

  “I think we both know I’m not the husband she wants.” His gaze slid to Matt.

  “No, but you’re the husband she deserves.”

  His smile widened. “Well played, India. You’ve got steely nerves. That’s why I like you for more than your magic.”

  “We are not friends, my lord.”

  “Ah, but I am on your side nevertheless.”

  “I don’t see how. You want power and wealth, and you think magic can deliver that to you by harming others. My god, you want to bomb your enemies!”

  “My enemies? My dear lady, my enemies are your enemies.” He took a step forward, ramming the end of his walking stick into the floor. “Magic has the power to protect us and advance us if we use it correctly.”

  “Not us, my lord. I want no part in your plans.”

  He grunted again, but this time it was more of a derisive laugh. “You’re an idealistic fool and we all know from our history books how those fare.”

  I tugged on Matt’s arm and marched out of the drawing room.

  “It was not I who kidnapped Mr. Pyke,” Lord Coyle called after us. “You have my word on that.”

  Once we were safely ensconced in the carriage and heading to Shoreditch police station, Willie declared she didn’t believe a word Coyle had said. “It was him. He kidnapped Pyke, I know it.”

  Duke scoffed. “How do you know?”

  “Woman’s intuition.”

  He gave a pointed look at her buckskin trousers. “What does your feminine intuition tell you, India? Was Coyle lying?”

  “He’s an accomplished liar, so I suppose it’s likely. Matt?”

  Matt drew in a deep breath as if it were the first proper one he’d breathed since arriving at Coyle’s. “He’s still at the top of my list of suspects. One thing I’m almost certain of is that Pyke didn’t orchestrate this himself. He was put up to it by someone, either through coercion or flattery.”

  We all agreed with that.

  We left Cyclops to complete his day at work while we returned home. With nothing more to do until we heard from Brockwell, we each went about trying to occupy ourselves for the rest of the day. Duke and Willie accompanied Aunt Letitia on a walk while I discussed some household matters with Mrs. Bristow and Mrs. Potter. I joined Matt afterward in his study with the door closed. It was a rare opportunity to be together in the middle of the day.

  For one brief but wonderful hour, we blocked out the world and our troubles and simply enjoyed one another’s company. After he helped me dress and I straightened his tie, I pushed him onto his office chair and sat on his lap. I smoothed down his hair. “I needed that.”

  He smiled against my lips. “So did I. More than I can say. Thank you for distracting me with so much enthusiasm.”

  I laughed and it felt deliciously cathartic after the last few days.

  A knock on the door had me jumping to my feet. I stood by Matt, pretending to read something on his desk, as he asked the newcomer to enter.

  Bristow opened the door. “I thought you’d like to know that Miss Glass, Mr. Duke and Miss Johnson have returned home.”

  “Thank you, Bristow.” Matt waited for Bristow to leave then stood and kissed me on the mouth. “All good things must come to an end eventually.”

  I reached up and clasped my hands behind his neck. “I’ve never liked that saying. Good things don’t have to end.”

  “An adjournment?”

  “Better.” I kissed him lightly then led the way downstairs.

  Cyclops arrived home just before the gong sounded while Aunt Letitia was dressing for dinner. Before he headed up to change too, he wanted to inform us of a development.

  “It’s about Abercrombie.” He glanced at the door. “What I’m about to tell you must not leave this room.”

  “Letty ain’t going to walk in,” Willie assured him. “Coming down before the dinner gong sounds is like breaking the law to her.”

  “What about Abercrombie?” I prompted.

  “I convinced my chief inspector to send a spy into the protestors’ camp specifically to watch him so if he’s heard encouraging violence, he can be arrested.”

  “Excellent news. Well done, Cyclops.”

  He put up his hand. “Don’t get too enthusiastic yet. The chief inspector has to have approval from his superiors before it can happen.”

  It was a start and I told him so.

  Dinner was a small affair which, in itself, was unusual. There was no Brockwell, Lord Farnsworth or Chronos. I missed their company. Willie did too, going by her frequent heavy sighs, a sure sign she wanted to have a conversation but not start it.

  I eventually gave up and confronted her. “Are you missing Brockwell?”

  She screwed up her face. “No! I ain’t a desperate debutante just out of the school room, and he ain’t no prince, neither.”

  I turned to her squarely. “Missing someone has nothing to do with one’s age or station. Nor is there anything wrong with admitting you miss him. He’s a wonderful man, quite interesting, and excellent company. Of course you should miss him.”

  She sniffed. “Sounds like you miss him.”

  “Is there something you want to tell me? Something about the recent conversation you had with him in this very house?”

  She shoveled beans into her mouth and shook her head.

  “Sometimes discussing a problem makes it seem less dreadful.�
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  “It’s private.”

  “It’ll just be between the two of us. No one else need know, not even Matt.” The others had continued their conversation around us. Either they were ignoring us on purpose to give me an opportunity to find out from Willie what had happened between her and Brockwell, or they were genuinely oblivious.

  “You can’t keep a secret, India.”

  I bristled. “I can.”

  “Well I ain’t telling you and that’s final.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I know what you’ll say, and it’s the exact opposite of what I want to hear, right now.”

  “You don’t know what I’m going to say.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re predictable.”

  I snatched up my wine glass. “I am not,” I muttered before sipping.

  Aunt Letitia retired to her room after dinner, while the rest of us adjourned to the drawing room. We were just about to sit down to a game of cards when Bristow entered.

  “You have a visitor,” the butler announced.

  Willie looked up eagerly from the cards she was shuffling. “I hope it’s Farnsworth. I need the distraction.”

  My mind leapt to earlier in the afternoon when Matt had thanked me for distracting him. I shook off the thought. Lord Farnsworth was not that kind of distraction for Willie. Well, he had been, just the one time, but not anymore. Brockwell certainly fitted that description.

  It was Brockwell himself who entered the drawing room, however. Willie crossed her arms, slumped in the chair, and refused to look at him.

  The detective inspector shuffled into the room clutching his hat in both hands. “Good evening, all.”

  Everyone responded, except for Willie.

  Brockwell’s cheeks pinked at her slight. He cleared his throat and addressed Matt. “Mr. Pyke has regained full consciousness. You’re welcome to join me and question him.”

  “We’ll come now,” Matt said, rising.

  We all stood, even Willie. “Not me,” she said. “I’m meeting up with Farnsworth.”

  Duke arched a brow at her. “You never mentioned it before now.”

  “I don’t have to tell you everything.”

  Cyclops picked up the deck of cards and waved them in front of her face. “If you had a previous engagement, why were you about to deal yourself into a game?”

  “’Previous engagement?’ You’re sounding like an English toff lately, Cyclops.” She pushed past him, gave Brockwell a wide berth, and disappeared out the door.

  Cyclops sighed as he clasped Brockwell’s shoulder. “Whatever is going on with you two needs to get fixed. She’s even more annoying than usual.”

  Duke clasped Brockwell’s other shoulder. “We know it’s her fault, whatever it is, but maybe you should apologize anyway. It can’t hurt.”

  Brockwell looked like he wanted to sink into the floor and out of sight.

  I gave him a sympathetic smile as Cyclops and Duke left the room. “Don’t mind them. They’re simply worried about her. We all are.”

  “I’m not,” Matt said, quite cheerfully, as he followed the others out.

  The inspector turned to go too, but I caught his arm. I lowered my voice. “So what did you say to Willie the other night?”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, India, but if she wants to tell you then she will.” He slapped his hat on his head and strode off too.

  I frowned at his back, hands on my hips. Matt stopped at the top of the staircase and flashed me a grin. It made me laugh, despite everything. It was good to see him in a cheery mood for once, his other worries set aside for now.

  That mood didn’t last long, however, as we once again focused on the case. Mr. Pyke’s reappearance signaled the end of our involvement in the investigation, but thankfully Brockwell wasn’t prepared to exclude us. As far as we were concerned, there was still more to uncover. Much more.

  It remained to be seen whether anything would be done—or could be done—with whatever information we did uncover. It depended on whom Mr. Pyke implicated.

  Mrs. Pyke still sat in the same chair we’d left her in that afternoon. She had been feeding her husband soup from a bowl and now set it aside. Mr. Pyke was propped up in bed against two pillows, bandaged from head to toe like a mummified Egyptian come back to life.

  “It’s good to see you sitting up,” I said, smiling. “We were worried about you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “The doctor says he should make a full recovery,” Mrs. Pyke said. “But it will take time for the broken bones to heal.” Her eyes were full of tears, as they had been when we left her earlier in the day, but they were tears of hope and relief, I suspected.

  “I’m sorry my wife troubled you with this, Mrs. Glass. I’m sure you’re too busy to worry about me.”

  Mrs. Pyke’s face fell.

  “Not at all,” I assured them. “I’m glad she came to us. Indeed, she was right to do so. She knew your disappearance was related to magic and that the regular police couldn’t help. By coming to us, we were able to bring it to the attention of Detective Inspector Brockwell. He’s used to investigating matters involving magic and he frequently engages our assistance. He’s artless, you see.”

  My speech seemed to lift Mrs. Pyke’s spirits. “So my husband can speak freely in his presence?”

  “He can.”

  “It won’t matter,” Mr. Pyke said heavily. “I can’t tell you much. I never saw the face of one of the men, the one who I think organized my kidnapping.”

  “What do you mean?” Matt asked.

  “Wait a moment.” The detective inspector removed his notepad and pencil from his pocket and found a blank page. “Let’s start at the beginning. Were you kidnapped, Mr. Pyke, or did you leave of your own volition?”

  “A little of both.” He tried to sit up straighter, but gave up, wincing in pain. His wife fussed with the pillows at his back until he gently shooed her away. “A man came to my shop three days ago and asked if I was a wool magician. I said I was. He then asked if I’d ever made one of my carpets fly. I told him I hadn’t but I know someone who had.”

  “You did what?” Matt asked icily.

  “I never named names! Anyway, it didn’t seem to matter, because I think he already knew about Mrs. Glass. At least, he already knew about a flying carpet. He didn’t say he knew she was the magician who made it fly.”

  “Go on,” Brockwell said. “What else did he say when he called on you?”

  “He demanded I try to make a carpet fly on my own. When I said I didn’t have the spell, he told me he had it written down.”

  “So you went with him,” Matt said flatly.

  Mr. Pyke glanced at his wife. “I hesitated at first. That’s when he said Mrs. Pyke would be harmed if I didn’t meet him after I closed up the shop.”

  I gasped. “He threatened you?”

  Mrs. Pyke had been biting her lip as she listened to her husband’s story, but she didn’t seem shocked. She must have already heard it. “He wouldn’t have gone with that man otherwise, Mrs. Glass. He’d never do anything dangerous or wrong.”

  Mr. Pyke pressed his fingers to the bandages at his temple. “The man collected me in his conveyance on Courser Street after I left the shop and drove me to Hampstead Heath. It was just going dark by the time we arrived, but we waited hours until it was quiet. I memorized the spell he gave me by the light of the carriage lamp. When we were sure no one was about, he took me to an area on the Heath where another man stood with a rug laid out on the ground. The first man told me it was one that had been flown before, so I assumed it was the one you spoke the spell into that day in Mr. Charbonneau’s house.”

  “Go on,” Brockwell prompted, pencil poised over the notepad.

  “I did as I was ordered and spoke the spell into the carpet. It lifted somewhat. I tried it again and again, dozens of times, and each time it lifted a little more, sometimes flying a short distance. The men became impatient and annoyed with me, and i
nsisted I keep trying. So I did and finally it flew up and about, although I had difficulty controlling it. It went this way and that, up and down, as if it had a mind of its own.”

  “So you decided to get on it and fly it?” Duke asked, speaking up for the first time. “Seems foolish.”

  “I had no choice. The first man ordered me to get on it. To be honest, he frightened me more than the other one. He gave me a metal box to hold and told me to make the rug fly. So I attempted it again, but it couldn’t carry my weight. It went forward along the ground, however, taking me with it. I kept speaking the spell over and over and it sped up, but never fully lifted off the ground. It crashed through some bushes which is how I got all these scratches.” He indicated his bandaged face and hands. “Then I fell off and must have knocked my head. The box fell out of my hands. I don’t know where it went.”

  “He can’t remember anything after that,” Mrs. Pyke finished.

  Her husband nodded. “The next thing I knew, I was in here.”

  “And what did the men look like?”

  “The first one, the one who visited me in the shop and collected me on Courser Street was a big fellow with black hair and beard. A real thuggish character. He was a young fellow with a Cockney accent.”

  “And the other one?”

  “He hardly spoke and I never saw his face. When I arrived at Hampstead Heath, he moved away into the shadows and kept his face averted. But he was clearly the leader. The thug looked to him from time to time before giving me orders.”

  “Was he large?” Matt asked. “Did he have a distinctive moustache? Did he walk with a limp or the aid of a walking stick?”

  “He had a walking stick, but he didn’t need it. He was thin, not particularly tall. I know his name.”

  We all leaned forward as if Mr. Pyke had pulled on strings attached to our necks.

  “Just after I fell off the carpet, I was in and out of consciousness. The thug reached me first and I heard him say something to the other man who was out of my line of sight.”

  “And?” I asked, breathless.

  “He called him Sir Charles.”

  Chapter 12

  “We should wait,” Brockwell said as we gathered in the hospital foyer to discuss Mr. Pyke’s explosive statement.