by C. J. Archer
“Nothing,” I said. “We simply wanted to see if it could be done.”
“Will you make other things fly now? Other metals, perhaps?”
“I doubt it. There’s no point. We’ll probably move onto something entirely different.”
I looked to Fabian and he smiled back. His eyes shone with wonder at our achievement.
My heart responded with a little flutter in my chest. We had achieved something wondrous. We’d created the first new spell in years—perhaps centuries. Not only that, but I had spoken a spell that had nothing to do with timepieces. Magicians had not worked outside their own craft for a very long time and even then only a select few powerful ones could make new spells work using a craft that was not their primary magical one.
I was one of those powerful magicians. It was humbling and rather overwhelming too. The implications could be far-reaching. I passed my hand over the notebook, feeling somewhat giddy.
“I would like my payment please,” Mr. Pyke said.
Fabian pulled out some bank notes from his inner jacket pocket. “Of course. Thank you for—”
“I don’t want money.”
“Pardon?”
“I said I don’t want money.”
Fabian tilted his head to the side. “But we discussed your fee before you came here today. You agreed to the amount.” He tried to hand the bank notes to Mr. Pyke, but the wool magician refused to take them.
Fabian muttered something in French under his breath. “What do you want?”
Mr. Pyke looked to me. “I want you to extend my magic, Mrs. Glass.”
I shot to my feet. “No! Absolutely not.”
“Your extension spell will make my rugs last a lifetime. Beyond! Imagine owning a rug that never goes threadbare, never frays or fades. My name and reputation will live on in my rugs.”
“I do not extend the spells of others, Mr. Pyke. You’ve agreed to a sum with Mr. Charbonneau; kindly accept the money and leave. Might I also remind you of your promise to keep our achievement to yourself.”
Mr. Pyke glanced at Fabian then took a step closer to me. I took one back and Fabian came up alongside me. But Mr. Pyke didn’t look like the violent type. He merely huffed in frustration. “It’s only fair you do this for me, Mrs. Glass. After all, you make your watches run on time forever. They’ll never lose a second when you use your extension spell on them. People will look upon your watches for generations to come and admire their quality and accuracy. Why can’t all magicians enjoy the same benefits?”
“For one thing, I don’t use the extension spell on my timepieces, and for another, I don’t sell watches and clocks. You will make quite a fortune from the sale of your rugs once word got out that that their fine quality lasted.”
“I don’t care about the money. I want my reputation as a quality rug maker to outlive me.” He passed a hand over his mouth and locked his earnest gaze with mine. “Mrs. Pyke and I haven’t been blessed with children. My rugs are all I have. I cherish the ones I put my magic into. I weave them with my bare hands and don’t sell them to just anyone. The buyer has to be right. They have to appreciate fine quality woolen rugs. If the life of that carpet can be extended by your magic, that’ll be my legacy. Do you understand, Mrs. Glass?”
“I do.”
I too had an affinity for the timepieces I worked on. I wouldn’t say I cherished them, but I did feel a connection to them. For me, it was like a calling, a compulsion, but I could see how other magicians would look upon their magical work and think of it as an extension of themselves.
“But I cannot extend your magic,” I went on. “It’s not right or fair. I am sorry, but my decision is final.”
Mr. Pyke’s nostrils flared and his cheeks pinked.
Before the wool magician could utter a word, Fabian stepped between us. “We agreed on a sum and that is what I will pay. No more.” He thrust the money into Mr. Pyke’s palm. “Leave as a gentleman of your word and not like a vagabond thrown out by my staff.”
Mr. Pyke’s hand closed around the bank notes. “Can’t blame a man for trying.”
Fabian barked an order and his footman came running.
“I’m going, I’m going,” Mr. Pyke muttered.
I watched him leave and released a breath once his footsteps had receded. “I suppose we should have expected that.”
“I am sorry, India. I should have chosen more carefully.”
“It’s not your fault. He tricked you. At least he didn’t dig his heels in and insist.”
“It would make no difference. You would still say no and my man would still throw him out.” He shrugged with lazy elegance in what I’d come to think of as his French way. He grinned and indicated the notebook. “Come. Try again. This time I will ride it.”
“Ride the carpet! Fabian, are you mad?”
There was that grin again. “Perhaps.” He settled cross-legged on the rug and rested his hands on his knees. After a moment’s thought, he clutched the edge. “Do it. Speak the spell.”
I concentrated on the carpet first, focusing all my attention on picturing it rise. Then I spoke the spell from the book.
The rug lifted as it had done before, but dipped alarmingly beneath Fabian’s weight. He slipped off. Fortunately it had risen mere inches off the floor.
“Are you all right?” I asked, assisting him to his feet.
He dusted off his trousers. “I think a little more concentration must be applied to the area beneath me next time.”
“I’m not sure it’s as simple as that. I wonder if the spell needs to be adjusted.”
We both considered this in silence a moment until Fabian shrugged again.
“It did lift,” he said. “That is a good sign. I thought it would not with me riding it.”
“I’d hardly call it riding, Fabian. It was more like balancing.”
He laughed. “Shall we try again?”
We tried three more times, but each attempt ended with the same result. Fabian wanted to try again, but it was time for me to leave. He walked me outside to my waiting carriage and waved me off after declaring he was going to attempt to replicate my success on his own. I ordered him not to ride again without me present.
Matt was home when I arrived. He beckoned me into the library and closed the door. He looked pleased with himself.
“I made a carpet fly!” I blurted out, unable to contain my news.
His brows almost flew off his forehead. “Congratulations.”
“You’re unhappy about it,” I said flatly.
“Just surprised. I didn’t think you would make it work so soon.” He perched on the edge of the table and took my hand. “I’m pleased for you because I know it’s something you’ve worked hard to achieve, but I reserve the right to remain apprehensive about that spell and all future spells you create.”
“The notebook is safely locked away, and Fabian won’t let anyone see it.” I didn’t tell him about Mr. Pyke’s demand for payment from me. It had come to naught and wasn’t worth worrying Matt over.
He drew me close and kissed me lightly on the lips. “I am immensely proud of you, India. You continue to amaze me.”
“Thank you. Now tell me your news. I can see you have something important to say.”
“Just after you left, I had word from a civil servant who works at the Home Office. I’ve been trying to bribe him ever since learning he works for the honors committee.”
“The honors committee?”
“They accept nominations and decide who should be put forward for a knighthood.”
“Oh,” I said, trying to sound like I was following. “Go on.”
“Sir Charles Whittaker was not among the candidates in any of the records going back ten years.”
I stared at him. “He’s not really knighted?”
“He is knighted. I checked.”
I frowned. “I’m confused.”
He indicated the book on the table. It was a copy of Debrett’s Peerage and Baronetage, opened to
the page listing Sir Charles. “If it’s in Debrett’s, then his knighthood is authentic. He’s not just gadding about calling himself a sir for amusement. I wanted to find out what he was knighted for, considering he claims to be nothing more than a civil servant.”
“He has never elaborated on what he does for the government,” I pointed out.
“Precisely. And I have asked, both directly and indirectly. He won’t say, and no one seems to know. So I decided to work backwards from the knighthood, and have discovered through my new friend—”
“Whom you bribed.”
“Whom I bribed with a considerable sum, that Whittaker’s nomination did not go through the committee, like everyone else’s.”
“It bypassed the system?”
“Precisely. And that can only mean one thing. He was knighted for work so secretive that no one must know about it, not even the honors committee.”
“That seems like a wise decision considering at least one member of the committee can be bribed.”
A small crease appeared between his brows. “You’re not taking this seriously.”
“I am. I’m just not sure what this has to do with Sir Charles telling Lord Coyle about me looking for a wool magician.”
“It might have nothing to do with it, but it does point to the fact that he is not who he says he is. At least, he’s not who he is pretending to be.”
“He hasn’t lied. He simply hasn’t elaborated.”
“He doesn’t have magical objects in his house despite telling the other club members he does. That’s a lie.”
“He could keep them somewhere else for protection, as he claims to.”
“The mere fact that he is working on some level with Coyle is suspicious enough, let alone that they are sharing secrets about you and magic.”
He was right. It was a concern. Sir Charles must be treated with suspicion until we knew more about him. “So how do we find out what he does for the government? Confront him?”
“Not yet.” He looked down at the copy of Debrett’s and began to shake his head, but stopped. His gaze met mine again and a crooked smile touched the corner of his mouth. “We do know he gets information from Mrs. Delancey. I propose we return to our original plan and talk to her.”
“You want to feed her false information to throw Sir Charles off the scent?” I wasn’t even sure what that scent was. Perhaps I’d been reading too many detective novels lately.
“I just want you to talk to her. Find out what she knows about Whittaker’s work, if anything. Don’t tell her about the flying carpet.”
“Of course not.” I circled my arms around his neck. “Are you not coming with me?”
“I’ll leave Mrs. Delancey in your capable hands. Take Willie with you.”
I drew back with a frown. “Why?”
“She’s driving me mad being here all day. She needs to go somewhere that’s not a gambling den and be with people who are not Lord Farnsworth. Do you know he regularly takes her to Tattersalls?”
“I thought he didn’t like women invading the traditional masculine space of the bloodstock auctions.”
“Willie appears to be the exception. I’m worried she’s going to purchase a thoroughbred she can’t afford based on the advice of a bored aristocrat with nothing better to do than lose money at cards and horses.”
“You’re being a little harsh on him. Lord Farnsworth treated his lover with a great deal more affection and respect than she deserved. That says much about a man.”
He conceded the point with a nod. “I promise I’ll try to think more fairly of him in future, but I can’t promise to like him.”
“That seems reasonable to me. And I will take Willie with me tomorrow morning when I call on Mrs. Delancey. I quite like watching Mrs. Delancey try to figure Willie out.”
I kissed him again and he responded warmly if somewhat absently. I drew away, arched my brow, and said, “What is it, Matt?”
“There’s one more thing about Whittaker that occurred to me as I was coming home in a cab. I overheard Barratt’s attacker tell the driver to take him to Hammersmith.”
“You mentioned it at the time, but I don’t see— Oh! Sir Charles lives in Hammersmith! Are you suggesting he sent that thug to threaten Oscar?”
“I am.”
“That’s an awful thing to insinuate without proof. I can’t imagine he’d do such a thing. He might be suspicious, but I don’t think he’s violent.”
“Hiring someone to commit violence is far easier than doing it yourself.”
I swallowed heavily. I used to think myself a dreadful judge of character, until Matt convinced me otherwise. But those doubts crept in again. I had liked Sir Charles, on the whole. If I’d been wrong about him, who else had I judged incorrectly?
Chapter 3
“I heard the bride looked quite sickly,” Mrs. Delancey said, handing me a teacup.
“Not at all,” I said, accepting it. “She looked as radiant as ever.”
“I also heard the ceremony was terribly bland.”
“That’s true.” I didn’t feel any guilt for calling the ceremony bland. It had been dull, and I had no reason to protect Lord Coyle or Hope from gossip.
“I also heard the food was awful, and the guests couldn’t wait to leave.”
“The food was quite delicious.” I didn’t respond to her comment about wanting to leave. In our case, it had certainly been true.
“I’m glad we didn’t go,” Mrs. Delancey said as she handed another teacup to Willie, sitting beside me like a washed-out version of herself. “We had another invitation for the same day and I would have been desolated if I’d missed it for a wedding reception that was…how shall I put it…not up to my very particular standards.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from pointing out that she hadn’t been invited to the wedding. Thankfully Willie was suffering the ill effects of imbibing too much alcohol the previous night to comment. I doubted she’d heard a word over the pounding in her head.
She did not immediately take the offered cup. “Got anything stronger, Mrs. D?”
Mrs. Delancey’s polite smile froze. “Coffee?”
Willie screwed up her nose and accepted the teacup.
“Sir Charles wasn’t at the wedding either,” I said idly. “I wonder why.”
Mrs. Delancey sipped her tea.
“Perhaps he wasn’t invited,” I went on. “Or perhaps he was busy at his place of employment. Tell me, Mrs. Delancey, you are closely acquainted with Sir Charles; where does he work?”
Mrs. Delancey blushed. It would seem she was still mortified at being caught meeting with Sir Charles in secret. We initially suspected they were having an affair, but it turned out she was feeding him information about me and the spells I was creating with Fabian. I didn’t feel inclined to alleviate her discomfort.
“We aren’t terribly close,” she muttered.
“But you must know where he works?” I pressed.
“In one of the government buildings.”
“Which one? What department?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“He asked me if an artefact he’d purchased had magic in it, and I wanted to speak to him about it some more.” I’d practiced the lie on the way over so it rolled easily off my tongue.
She straightened and her eyes widened. “Oh? What object?”
“He asked me to be discreet. Sorry.”
Her face sagged. “Why not speak to him at his place of residence? You know where he lives.”
“He never seems to be there when I call on him, so I thought I’d pay him a visit at his office. So, where is that?”
“I don’t know.”
“What department does he work for?”
“I don’t know that either.” She lowered her cup to the saucer. “India, why the sudden interest in Sir Charles?”
“I just want to return the artefact to him,” I said quickly.
“Is it something important?”
It seemed to have the opposite effect. She leaned forward and held my gaze. “Is the magic in it very strong? Or does it contain a rare magic? Gold, perhaps.”
“Nothing like that.” I sipped my tea
“But—”
“Have you got any cake?” Willie cut in.
Mrs. Delancey blinked at her then tugged on the bell pull. A footman entered and she asked him to fetch cake. Once he’d gone and shut the door again, she resumed her interrogation.
“It is gold magic, isn’t it?” She curled her hand into a fist and struck her knee. “I knew it. How did he get his hands on a magical golden object?”
Lord, how had this escalated so quickly? I scrambled to find a way out of the conversation that wouldn’t make things worse, but it was Willie who came to the rescue.
She suddenly turned very green and shot to her feet. She got as far as the closed door when she must have realized she wouldn’t make it to the privy, and threw up in a large blue and white vase perched on a pedestal.
“That’s a magical piece!” Mrs. Delancey cried. “It cost a fortune.”
“Worth every penny.” Willie returned the bunch of pink flowers she’d hastily removed to the vase. “I feel better now, thanks.”
“I did not ask after your health,” Mrs. Delancey quipped. “Clearly you cannot hold your liquor.”
Willie stormed back to the sofa but did not sit down. “I can. Last night was an exception. The liquor was bad, I reckon.”
“I have just the thing to make you feel better. Permanently better.” Mrs. Delancey pushed past Willie and opened the drawer of a side table. “I’ve joined the temperance movement.”
Willie groaned.
“We meet regularly and write letters to the government demanding changes to liquor licensing laws. Our members have all signed pledges to give up drink.”
“If you’re going to lecture me on the perils of liquor, I’m leaving.”
“Surely I don’t need to lecture you. The evidence is in my vase.” She waved the leaflet under Willie’s nose. “Sign this pledge. You’ll feel much better if you eradicate liquor from your life.”
