by C. J. Archer
A cold wind whipped across the open space. I clutched my coat tighter at my throat and ducked my head into the breeze. The weather kept the crowds away, but there were still people scattered about, strolling or riding. There was no sign of Amelia Moreton, however, as I forged on to the bandstand.
The octagonal structure was easy to see in the winter when the surrounding trees had lost their leaves. It loomed ahead, but appeared to be deserted. It wasn’t until I drew closer that I spotted Matt and three constables nearby, urging people to leave the vicinity.
He looked up as I approached. “What are you doing here? Go home. It’s not safe.”
“I thought it might be a trap to capture you and I came to warn you.” Now that I was here, the theory seemed far-fetched. Aside from a few thick tree trunks, there was nowhere for Bunn or Amelia to hide.
“I think they’ve abandoned the kidnapping idea,” Matt said. “We’ve searched the immediate area and there’s no one here. There is, however, a homemade bomb on the stage and there’s no timing device attached. Someone has to light the fuse and run off before it explodes.”
My heart lurched into my throat. “So it’s not a hoax. But how will Amelia get close enough to detonate it now?” I eyed the bandstand, dozens of feet away. “Could it go off accidentally? Should we stand further back? If she used her spell on the gunpowder, the explosion could be bigger than an artless bomb of the same size.”
“I’ve taken that into consideration and we are far enough from the bandstand to be safe, but we could do with some more constables to warn everyone. They’re stretched thin.”
“I’m sure reinforcements will arrive soon, but until they do, I can help.”
“You can help by staying close to me. I’d send you home, but that might be too dangerous if they’re nearby.”
We directed some pedestrians away from the area by telling them a police matter was unfolding. They were curious but complied without complaint. Matt scanned the vicinity and spotted some fresh constables racing toward us.
“You’re angry with me for coming,” I said.
“We’ll discuss it later,” Matt said.
“You can be angry all you want, but when your life is in danger and you’re not with a friend in possession of the knowledge about your watch, then I will always risk your displeasure and come with you.”
“Noted,” was all he said. At least it wasn’t the silent treatment.
He informed the new constables of the situation and asked them to help keep people away from the bandstand.
A mere ten minutes later, Willie arrived, but it was another fifteen before Brockwell showed up. He inspected the bomb alone then rejoined us at a safe distance.
“There is no timing device attached,” he said, confirming what Matt already knew. “It’s not surprising, as they’re notoriously unreliable.”
Willie scanned the nearby trees. “So she planned on being here to light the fuse herself.”
There was no sign of Amelia Moreton. She must have left upon seeing Matt and the constables.
“I sent for the bomb expert before I left the Yard,” Brockwell said. “He’ll dismantle it safely and take it away.”
I checked my watch. “There are only eight minutes until four. When will he get here?”
“Not before four. He’s coming from Greenwich.”
“It’s all right, India,” Willie said. “The police have cleared the area. If it goes off by accident, no one will get hurt.”
“Yes, but…I don’t understand. Why put a bomb here at all when you can’t detonate it? They must have guessed we’d come ourselves or send the police, so why tell us the location at all? Our presence foils their plan.”
No one had answers, nor had I expected them to. There was more going on here than we knew, but until Bunn and Amelia chose to reveal it to us, we’d remain in the dark.
Brockwell ordered some of his men to check as much of the park as possible for more bombs or a woman matching Amelia’s description. It would be impossible to search more than the immediate vicinity before four, however.
I cradled my watch in my palm and watched the minutes and seconds tick by. They seemed to last hours. Brockwell estimated the specialist bomb diffuser was still twenty minutes away, at least.
As the hour of four drew nearer, it was some comfort that the police hadn’t found more bombs. Hopefully this was the only one. Brockwell assured us some police had been sent to Oxford and Regent Streets too. The usually busy shopping precinct would be even busier with Christmas gift buying, and that would make it extremely difficult to spot our villains, particularly if Bunn employed a disguise.
The more I considered it, the more I suspected this entire event was a ruse to lure Matt here. They must have abandoned the idea to kidnap him when he arrived with the police in tow. If kidnapping him wasn’t the plan…
My mouth went dry. Aunt Letitia was home alone. I was very glad I’d given Bristow the order not to let anyone into the house. She and the servants would be quite safe as long as they kept the doors and windows locked. I expelled a measured breath.
A bone-shattering boom pounded the air.
Matt pushed me to the ground, shielding me with his body. Something thudded on the damp earth nearby then all fell silent, except for the ringing in my ears.
I peeked out from beneath my arms covering my head to see a jagged piece of wood sticking out of the ground not a foot away. Beyond it, in the space where the bandstand should be, was a burning pile of timber.
Matt stood and assisted me to my feet. He clasped my face in both his hands and inspected me. “All right?” he asked. His voice was hard to hear over the ringing.
I nodded and looked for Willie. Brockwell had covered her as Matt had covered me. They were both getting to their feet, dusting themselves off and looking around. The shock on their faces probably matched mine.
The bomb had gone off yet no one had lit the fuse. Without a timing device attached, how was that possible?
Magic.
“Is anyone injured?” Brockwell shouted.
Some of his men responded, but those further away didn’t hear.
We picked our way past more pieces of splintered, smoking wood but the fire kept us from getting too close.
Brockwell removed his hat and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “How was it detonated?”
“Amelia,” I said darkly. “With a spell.”
“But her father didn’t tell us she could do that.”
“You trust him after discovering he sold illegal bombs?” Matt all but scoffed.
Brockwell drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “We’ve got a problem on our hands. A very big, unpredictable problem.” He looked to me. “India, you have to do as they ask.”
I nodded but Matt shook his head. “This was a warning,” he said. “They wanted us to know what Amelia’s capable of. They knew we’d come here, see a bomb with no timer and no one to detonate it and think they’d made a mistake. They knew we’d clear the area so no one would get hurt.”
“That’s something, at least,” I said. “It shows they’re not willing to kill.”
“Unless they have to,” Brockwell added.
“It’s likely Bunn and Amelia were watching for India at the corner of Oxford and Regent,” Matt went on. “When she didn’t turn up, Amelia exploded this bomb from there with her spell. I suspect they’ll send another note soon, asking the same thing of India and threatening to explode another bomb. But this time they won’t give us the location of the bomb, only where India should go.”
“But if they’re unwilling to kill or injure people, surely they’ll tell us,” I said lamely. But in my heart of hearts, I knew Matt was right. This bomb was the warning. The next one would be the real danger.
Matt took my hand in his. His eyes were as grim as the sky. “Until their letter arrives, we have some investigating to do. There’s still a chance we can stop them from planting another bomb.”
“We?” Brockwell
echoed.
“You need our help, Brockwell.”
The detective inspector conceded the point by not disagreeing.
The rain started again and Matt flipped up my hood for me. We walked back through Hyde Park with Willie, passing a fire engine pulled by two powerful horses on its way to put out the bandstand fire.
Bristow opened the door only after we identified ourselves. He reported that Aunt Letitia was waiting to have a light afternoon tea with us in the drawing room. She was upset that we’d all gone out and not told her.
“We’re in the middle of an investigation,” Matt said when she scolded him for being absent when she wanted company. “India and I have to go out again now. Willie will sit with you.”
“Actually I’m going out too,” Willie said. “I want to see how Farnsworth’s faring.”
“You should stay here,” Matt warned her. “Or not go out alone.”
“I ain’t going to be a prisoner here.”
“Why would you be a prisoner?” Aunt Letitia asked.
“No reason.” Willie sighed and sat on a chair. “I s’pose I’ll just have to eat all these cream puffs myself.”
Matt paused, picked up a cream puff, and beckoned me to follow him as he took a bite.
His aunt clicked her tongue. “Honestly, Matthew. Your manners are so American sometimes. India, you’re a good English girl. Educate him on the proper way to enjoy cream puffs—sitting down.”
I eyed the cream puffs, then the door through which Matt had left, and looked to the plate of cream puffs again. I grabbed one and bustled out. The sound of Aunt Letitia’s clicking tongue followed me all the way to the stairs.
The small figure of Mrs. Moreton looked more forlorn than the last time we’d seen her. The lamplight cast shadows over her drawn face and her hollow eyes filled with tears. She cried when we told her what Amelia had done in Hyde Park.
“I loved that bandstand,” she said. “I used to take the children to the concerts there when they were young. Amelia liked to dance to the music.”
“I know this is hard for you,” I said. “But what can you tell us about Amelia’s magic?”
“Not much. My husband is the magician. I’m artless, as is our son. He’s at the factory now, trying to keep the business running while his father is…” She swallowed. “Indisposed.”
“What spells can she do?” Matt pressed.
“Just the two. One to make the fireworks more spectacular, and the other to detonate them from a distance.”
“You knew about the detonation spell?”
She bit her lower lip. “I know I should have told you about it, but I didn’t want her to be in any more trouble than she already was. I thought you might lock her away if you caught her and never let her out again. Some artless want to imprison magicians to stop them casting spells.”
“I’m not artless,” I pointed out.
“The police are, and the judges and law makers. They’re the ones with the real power, not magicians. If they thought Amelia was a danger to society, they’d lock her away. Or worse.”
“She proved she is a danger by bombing the bandstand,” Matt said, not very kindly. “It’s not just her own freedom she jeopardized through her actions, but that of all magicians. You should have told us.”
Mrs. Moreton’s head lowered beneath his glare. “I know,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I’d almost forgotten about the detonation spell. She rarely uses it. It’s only needed when the fireworks don’t explode in the sky. She speaks the spell from the ground. It’s why our fireworks never fail here in London, because she’s there.”
“Not your husband?” I asked.
She shook her head. “The spell doesn’t work for him. His father taught him the words, however, and he passed them on to Amelia when we realized she was quite powerful.” She let out a thin wail. “I wish he never had! I wish she’d never discovered her magic. It’s a curse!”
“It’s not a curse,” Matt said gently. “Not if she uses it with good intentions.”
Mrs. Moreton didn’t appear to hear him. She sniffed and dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief.
Matt handed her the letter we’d received earlier. “Do you recognize this handwriting?”
She skimmed the note and gave a small nod. “It’s hers.”
He folded the note and slipped it back into his jacket pocket. “The police are looking all over the city for Amelia. Do you have any idea where she might have gone?”
She shook her head.
“Could someone be sheltering her? A relative or friend? A lover perhaps?”
She cringed.
“Please, Mrs. Moreton,” I said, “if you can think of anyone, it would be most helpful.”
“I don’t know her new friends, the magicians who are advocating for freedom. She stopped confiding in me around the time she fell in with them.” Her words faded toward the end, as if she’d run out of steam. She stared down at the floor. “How could she do this to me?”
Matt caught my eye and signaled that we should leave.
I touched Mrs. Moreton’s hand, startling her. “If you think of anything, let us or the police know.” I gave her a calling card and smiled sympathetically.
Outside, Matt spotted the policemen before I did, hunched in their coats, stamping their feet for warmth. They rather foolishly stood within the circle of light cast by the lamppost.
“What a horrid night for surveillance duty,” I said.
Matt jogged over to one of the constables then returned after exchanging a few words. The constables moved out of the light into the darker stretches of the street. They were almost invisible in their uniforms and if I hadn’t known they were there, I wouldn’t have seen them.
“Apparently Brockwell has also sent men to search the untenanted house where we found Willie. I’ll let him know the address of the other one. More constables are watching the fireworks factory in case Bunn and Amelia return there, either to hide or to steal gunpowder. Amelia might be able to detonate bombs, but she can’t make them out of thin air. She needs gunpowder, and the factory has a warehouse full of it.”
The resources of the Metropolitan Police were stretched thin. Even with so many men on the street, it would be near impossible to find Bunn and Amelia if someone was harboring them. We didn’t know the names of their activist associates, nor even where to start looking.
“We could try Bunn’s workshop again,” I said as Matt assisted me into the carriage. “The lad might be more helpful if we impress upon him the dangers of remaining silent.”
“I’m not sure he knows anything more. What if we question Moreton again?”
“Her father? Do you think he’ll know her associates when her mother doesn’t?”
“If she’s going to talk to anyone in her family about magic, it would be the only other magician among them.”
“Yes, you’re right. Let’s go now. Hopefully Brockwell will let us question him considering the exceptional circumstances.”
Matt gave Woodall instructions then climbed in and sat beside me. We traveled quickly through the evening traffic to Scotland Yard and found Brockwell in his office, having just returned from Hyde Park. He looked more harried than I’d ever seen him, and considering he was often disheveled, that was quite a feat.
“You look like you need coffee,” I said.
He glanced up from his paperwork. “Or something stronger. Got any leads for me?”
“Not yet,” Matt said. “But we think we know how to get some.”
He explained his theory and, to my surprise, Brockwell readily agreed to let us interrogate Mr. Moreton. “But I’ll be present,” he added.
He led the way through the building to the basement cells where Mr. Moreton was imprisoned. “He’s being moved tomorrow to await trial,” he said.
“Will he be hanged if found guilty?” I asked.
“Unlikely, unless we can prove he sent his bombs to our enemies, either here or abroad. He will go to jail for a long time,
however.”
The warden unlocked the cell door then locked us inside. Mr. Moreton looked terrible. His jaw was shadowed with stubble and his hair desperately needed a comb run through it. The smell wafting from him was rather pungent too, but I tried not to show my disgust.
The cell was small with only a slim barred window high up on the wall. A bed was positioned beneath it, and a bible and tin cup sat on a shelf and an empty plate on the bed.
Mr. Moreton greeted us politely but cautiously. “I would offer you a seat, Mrs. Glass, but they don’t provide one,” he said with a large dose of sarcasm and a glare for Brockwell.
The detective inspector ignored the jibe. “There has been a development today in the situation involving your daughter.”
“You found your cousin?” he asked Matt.
“She was found yesterday in one of your properties,” Matt said. “Amelia escaped along with Bunn, however.”
“She’s under his influence. He’s a nasty character, not satisfied with the skills God gave him. He always wants more.”
“You told us you hardly knew him,” Matt said. “From what we can gather, it’s more likely he is under her spell. Amelia is the driving force behind the movement. The two letters were written in her hand.” The arch of his brow was intended to let Mr. Moreton know that he knew he’d lied about not recognizing Amelia’s handwriting on the first note.
Mr. Moreton sat heavily on the bed. “What do you want from me?”
“We want to know who could be harboring her,” Matt said. “Who are her associates?”
“I don’t know.”
“You must know. You would have introduced her to magicians.”
“I didn’t.”
“Who are her friends, Mr. Moreton?”
“I told you, I don’t know. Go away. I have nothing more to say.”
“That’s unfortunate,” Matt said with an ominous tone. “Because we’re not leaving until you tell us where to look for her. We know you know something. She must have confided in you, her father, mentor and fellow magician.”
