by C. J. Archer
Fabian swallowed hard. His gaze fixed on me.
The butler opened the door wider. “Sir!”
“It is all right. Go inside.”
“Bring refreshments into the drawing room,” Matt said to the butler. “We’re staying for afternoon tea.”
The butler waited for Fabian’s nod and disappeared inside. Matt took the steps two at a time until he reached the same level as Fabian. Fabian jerked his head back and put up his hands in defense, expecting a punch, but Matt merely grabbed his arm and marched him inside.
We followed them into the drawing room. Matt shut the door and let Fabian go. Fabian blew out a shuddery breath only to draw it in sharply again when Duke stormed up to him. Fabian covered his head with his arms, but Duke merely shoved the Frenchman onto an armchair.
“Sit down and be grateful you’re still alive,” Duke growled. “Because everyone in this room wants you to pay for what you did.”
Willie stood over Fabian and cracked her knuckles. “Some of us want you dead.”
Fabian shrank into the chair, retreating as far from Duke and Willie as he could. I felt no inclination to order them to step back.
“You sent that letter asking me to meet Matthews at White’s, didn’t you?” Matt said.
Fabian swallowed and nodded. “I needed you to leave the house without India.”
“My god,” Chronos murmured. “You knew her magic was growing stronger. You knew she could stop your magic, but you didn’t know she was in the carriage already.”
I gasped as it all began to make sense. Chronos was right. “You knew I might use the spell to divert the knife that you directed with your magic. But how could you know I was capable of that?”
“I guessed,” Fabian said on a rush of breath. You are growing more powerful, India. The books say this will happen.”
“Books?”
“The authors of some very old texts say that some magic becomes more powerful the more it is used, and that spells do not have to be spoken, only thought.” He tapped his forehead. “Only the most powerful can make thought spells work on elements that are not their natural one, however. You are one of those magicians, India. You can control more than your own magic. You can create spells. And now you grow strong with frequent use.” He sat forward, his eyes gleaming.
Willie growled at him and he shrank back again, watching her warily.
“It was not personal,” he went on. “I like you, Glass. You are a good man, and it would have pained me to end your life and see India mourn. But it was necessary for the greater good, the betterment of magic.”
Chronos sat heavily on an armchair and rubbed his jaw with a trembling hand.
Matt’s fists closed at his sides. He was very close to losing his self-control.
My self-control was not nearly so strong. I took a step closer and slapped Fabian’s cheek. “You were willing to commit murder just so you could marry me and possess my magic!”
Fabian pressed his palms together, begging me or perhaps praying. Neither would work on me. My ire would not be quelled by sympathy, no matter what he had to say. There was nothing that could put right what he’d done. “Not possess your magic, or you,” he said. “I would never try to control you or tell you what you can do with your magic. I did it for the future of magic.” His eyes danced with what I now suspected was madness. How had I not seen it before? “Our children would be powerful, India. The combining of our lineages would lead a new generation into a bold future for magicians, one where wondrous spells could be created and admired.”
“You’re mad,” I spat.
“No! My mind is very clear. The future is filled with possibilities, but only if we are together. If we have children together.”
“I meant you’re mad if you think I would ever marry you.”
“In time, you would come to see—”
“Stop! You can attempt to justify your actions to yourself, but it won’t work on me. You are an attempted murderer, Fabian, and I hate you. I loathe you with every fiber of my being.”
I marched to the door and shouted for the butler. He was lurking not far away and came quickly. “Fetch Detective Inspector Brockwell from Scotland Yard. Take our carriage and tell him it’s urgent.”
He hurried off.
Matt came up behind me and settled a hand on my back. “Are you sure that’s what you want to do?”
“Of course. He tried to kill you! Three times, no less.” I glared past him at Fabian, cowering in the chair with Duke and Willie looming over him.
Matt expelled a deep breath and uncurled his fist. “They can’t arrest him. There’s not enough evidence.”
“But we saw him.”
He shook his head. “None of us saw him shoot or throw the knife. We only saw him running away.”
I closed my eyes and pressed my thumb and finger against the lids. “So he’ll go free.”
“Unless Brockwell finds a witness, yes.”
“Then what do we do about him?”
“Nothing.”
“But what if he tries again?”
“He won’t. His ultimate aim was for you to marry him, but even he can see that you’d never do that now, no matter how much he grovels.”
I glowered at Fabian, a pitiful figure cowering in the chair, blinking at me with mournful eyes. “Not even if he came crawling to me on hands and knees.”
Matt drew me into a hug and pressed his lips to my forehead. “It’s over.”
He was right, and Fabian knew it too. He would not attempt to kill Matt again. He knew there was no hope of us being together now.
Tears of relief spilled down my cheeks and onto Matt’s chest, dampening his jacket. He held me fiercely, and gave me his handkerchief when the tears finally abated.
I dabbed at my eyes. “I don’t think I’ll ever trust a magician again. Between Fabian, Mrs. Trentham, Amelia Moreton and countless others, it’s a corrupting influence that brings out the worst.”
He touched my chin, gently drawing my gaze upward. His eyes softened. “There are many good magicians too. Gabe Seaford, Mirnov, Barratt and his brother. You. And it’s not just magicians who are greedy for magic, it’s the artless too. Look at Coyle, and even my Aunt Beatrice.”
I gave him a lopsided smile. “You’re not making me feel very good about the human race.”
“Unfortunately in the business of criminal investigation, you will come across a disproportionate number of bad people. But the good outweigh the bad the world over, by a large margin. I’ve seen a lot more of the world than you, and you can trust me on that.”
He kissed the top of my head again and took my hand. Together we sat on the sofa to wait for Brockwell. Fabian didn’t move or attempt to, and remained silent, thankfully. I was in no mood to hear him attempt to deflect guilt.
My gaze settled on Chronos, sitting by the fireplace. He looked quite gray. I crouched alongside him. “Are you all right? You look unwell.”
“I feel dreadful, but not ill. I feel…” He shook his head sadly. “I feel responsible.”
“Why? Did you encourage Fabian on this path?”
His head jerked up. “No! Nothing like that. But I wanted you to marry him, or at least marry someone with strong magic like his. I never wanted you to wed Matt.”
“I certainly recall you trying to discourage me.” I patted his hand. “But you gave up and came to accept him.”
“Thankfully he’s rich.”
I gave him a withering glare.
He attempted a laugh. “It was a joke. In all seriousness, you’re right, and I did give up. I like him. I like him a lot, and I know he’s right for you. But I can’t help shaking the feeling that Fabian and I are not dissimilar. We are both excited by magic and its possibilities. We both want to shore up the future with strong magical lineages. We are both focused on a better future for magicians.”
I sighed and glanced at Fabian again. He couldn’t hear us, but he watched through narrowed slits, perhaps wondering what we w
ere talking about. “All of that is true, but with one key difference. You love me more than you love magic. Fabian never once considered my wishes. They were always secondary to his plans.”
He touched my jaw and gave me a grim smile. “You are the best granddaughter an old man could wish for. I don’t deserve you or your forgiveness.”
I kissed his cheek. “You do deserve it.”
When Brockwell finally arrived with two constables, we told him what had happened while the constables stood outside. Fabian remained silent, his gaze averted, as we explained that he’d confessed.
Brockwell removed his hat and scratched his head. “I can hardly believe it.”
“I do not confess,” Fabian finally said. “I have not done these crimes they accuse me of.”
Brockwell sighed as he continued scratching. After a moment, he called in his constables and ordered them to arrest Fabian. “He’s an iron magician,” he informed them. “He can wield it to his advantage, so use your truncheons if necessary and watch him closely.”
“I will not use my magic,” Fabian said with his chin tilted forward. “But I did not do these crimes either. You have no proof.”
Brockwell and Matt exchanged glances. Brockwell knew what he had to do, but Matt had already conceded that Fabian would be let go.
The constables pulled him to his feet but didn’t bother with handcuffs.
“Wait,” Duke said. “Before you go, I have something to say.” He swung his fist and punched Fabian’s jaw.
Fabian stumbled and would have fallen if the constables hadn’t caught him.
Duke dusted off his hands. “You can take him now, unless Willie wants a turn.”
Brockwell stepped between them before Willie could accept the offer. “I think it’s best if we refrain from physical violence. It gives the police force a bad reputation.”
Willie stabbed a finger in Fabian’s direction. “You’re lucky. If I catch you near Matt again, or India, your luck will run out. I guarantee it.”
Fabian rubbed his jaw then walked toward the door unaided. The constables and Brockwell followed.
“Put him in a cell with a window too small for him to crawl through,” Matt called after the inspector.
“All of our holding cells are like that.”
“And have men guard him at all times. He can mold the sliver from an iron bar into the shape of a key.”
Brockwell simply tossed a wave as he disappeared down the stairs.
I retrieved my reticule from the sofa where I’d left it. “No prison can hold him.”
“It won’t matter for long,” Matt said. “They’ll have to let him go if they can’t find a witness.”
“We have to hope that he realizes he’ll never have me now and won’t try anything again after he’s released.”
Willie patted the handle of the gun thrust down her waist band. Duke came to stand beside her, his right hand curled into a fist again. Together they strode out and glared at Fabian until the police carriage drove off.
The following day at fifteen minutes past four, Brockwell informed us in person that he’d released Fabian due to a lack of evidence. While the news was expected, it was still disappointing.
“He did not try to escape,” Brockwell reported as he joined Matt and me in the sitting room. “I’m not sure my men could have stopped him if he tried to strike them with flying iron bars.”
“That is a relief,” I said.
“For what it’s worth, I think the time in the holding cell made him reflect upon what he’d done. He might even be remorseful, although admitting that would implicate himself so he would never say so to me.”
“What makes you think he’s remorseful?” Matt asked.
“That’s what Willie told me after I let her out of the cell.”
Matt stared at him. “Willie was in there?”
“And Duke and Cyclops.” Brockwell frowned. “You didn’t know?”
“No. India?”
“I didn’t know either,” I said. “When they told us they were heading out last night, I thought they were going to a pub or gambling den. Are you saying they asked to see Fabian and you let them into his cell? Inspector, that could have been rather dangerous.”
“Only for Charbonneau.”
I couldn’t admonish him, since I had stayed awake most of the night thinking of accidents I wished would befall Fabian. “Is he all right?”
“Physically, he was the same as when I locked him up. Emotionally, he seemed shaken. I suspect they threatened him with forms of torture if he were to set a foot wrong again. I imagine Willie was particularly medieval in her descriptions.” He chuckled softly.
Perhaps he and Willie had talked through their problem after she finished with Fabian. Perhaps she’d felt such immense relief afterward that she decided their relationship was more important to her than their argument.
I shook off the thoughts. There were more important things to worry about than their romantic problems. “Would you care to join us for afternoon tea, Inspector?”
He put up his hands and backed away to the door. “Not today.”
“Willie isn’t home,” I assured him. I did not tell him that I expected her to return shortly from her walk with Aunt Letitia and Duke.
“Even so, it’s best if we have as little to do with each other as possible for a while.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but Matt got in first. “Very wise, Brockwell. Willie doesn’t like to be pushed in a particular direction.”
“No one is pushing her,” I said.
“That’s not the way she’ll see it.”
Brockwell agreed with him.
As Brockwell left, another visitor arrived. Professor Nash sat on the edge of the chair and fidgeted with the brim of his hat. Bristow brought in tea, but the professor put down the cup as soon as I handed it to him. We knew what upset him, but we gave him time to broach the topic when he was ready.
He finally relinquished his poor hat, pushed the spectacles up his nose and told us what was on his mind. “I received a letter from Mr. Charbonneau today saying he was not interested in pursuing our research any further.”
“Did he say why?” Matt asked.
“Not in the letter. He simply wished me well. Naturally I went to his house to ask him directly. At first his butler said he was not at home, but then Mr. Charbonneau himself appeared at the door and invited me inside.” He touched the bridge of his spectacles again even though they had not slipped down. “He then informed me that he no longer had the heart for magical research. I pressed him further, suggesting that he ought to speak to you, Mrs. Glass, and that’s when he told me he was no longer welcome in your home. I asked why and he told me the most extraordinary story.” He glanced between Matt and me. “Dear God. It’s true, isn’t it? He tried to kill Mr. Glass.”
I nodded. “On three separate occasions.”
Professor Nash pressed a hand to his heart. “This is shocking. So very shocking. To think, he was your friend. He has been a friend to me, too.”
“I’m surprised he admitted his crimes to you,” Matt said.
The professor finally picked up his teacup. “He didn’t. Not quite. He claimed you had accused him of attempted murder but the police couldn’t find evidence so he was released. I didn’t ask for further information, and he didn’t offer any. But I know you both as thorough investigators, and also his good friend, so I was quite sure you wouldn’t accuse him if you weren’t certain.” He blew on the tea only to set the cup back in the saucer. “I also know how desperate he was to strengthen his magical lineage. That’s why he did it, isn’t it? To make you a widow, Mrs. Glass, and hope you would go on to marry him and bear his children?”
I winced. It still pained me to think about it, and probably would for some time. I was yet to fall pregnant with Matt, so it was a testament to Fabian’s desperation that he would put so much hope into my ability to conceive.
“There’s nothing for it, now,” Professor Nash went on
. “He must leave England.”
“Did he say he would?” Matt asked.
“He didn’t mention it. Indeed, our meeting was very brief. I felt too awkward to stay long in his presence.” He sighed. “I imagine I’ll never see him again.”
“Will you continue your research without him?” I asked.
“Of course. It began without him and it will continue without him. It will just move at a slower pace again. Perhaps Oscar Barratt can help me, now that he has nothing better to do after the release of his book.”
“He’s working for the Gazette again,” I said. “But do ask him. He might want to work alongside you in his spare time.”
“He’ll be too busy with the wedding coming up.”
“His engagement to Louisa has ended.” I didn’t want to tell him that Oscar had ended it but was telling everyone that Louisa did. Although I knew it was the gentlemanly thing to do, I didn’t think it fair. She didn’t deserve such consideration.
But the professor seemed disinterested in the particulars. Indeed, he looked worried by the news. “Oh dear. That is unfortunate. Most unfortunate indeed.”
“Why?” Matt asked.
Professor Nash studied his tea with a frown. “Because she is rather smitten with Charbonneau.” He sounded distant and had a faraway look in his eyes, as if working through a problem in his head.
“And why is that unfortunate?” I asked.
He pushed his spectacles up his nose and regarded me. “She came to me some days ago and asked me to put in a good word with Charbonneau. I thought it very forward of her, but I chalked it up to the young ladies these days having modern sensibilities. I told her I would speak to him, but of course I didn’t. That is beside the point. The point is, when she spoke about Charbonneau, she brightened like an electric light. Indeed, to describe her as smitten with him is not quite accurate. Obsessed would be a better word. When Charbonneau is cut off from his friends here because of his actions, he might turn to her for sympathy and comfort. She will stand by him.”
“Why would that be a problem?” I asked.
“Because together they would be quite a force. They are both wealthy, and he is magically powerful. Both are mad for magic. I don’t quite know what that combination would look like, but I can’t shake a sense of foreboding about them colluding.”
