by C. J. Archer
Mr. Moreton lifted his chin and turned away, presenting us with an uncompromising profile.
Matt slammed his hands into Moreton’s shoulders, shoving him backward on the bed into the brick wall.
The outburst had no effect on Mr. Moreton. He smoothed his hair down and cleared his throat. “I have nothing more to say. Leave or I’ll call the warden.”
Matt growled in frustration.
“Step back, Glass,” Brockwell commanded. “Let me handle this.” He cleared his throat. “Mr. Moreton, if you tell us who your daughter’s associates are, I’ll see that your sentence is lenient.”
“I don’t know her associates,” he snarled.
“But you know something. I can see it in your eyes.”
Mr. Moreton lowered his gaze.
It was Brockwell’s turn to growl in frustration. Short of beating the information out of Mr. Moreton, we’d get nowhere, and neither Matt nor Brockwell had the stomach for that level of violence. Besides, we were trying to get information from a man that would see his daughter arrested. He wouldn’t give in easily.
I had an idea that might convince him, however.
I sat beside him on the bed. “Mr. Moreton, Amelia is a powerful magician. We know she can use the spell to detonate bombs and fireworks from afar, yet it didn’t work for you. I understand something of powerful magic, both its benefits and its dangers. I also know what it means to be feared and excluded because of that magic.”
“Your point, Mrs. Glass?”
“My point is, your daughter is going to ruin not only herself but the rest of your family, and the business too. Once your own crime becomes public, the Moreton reputation will hang by a thread. Your son could save it and restore it to its prior glory if we suppress the fact that you are a magician. But your daughter’s lack of discretion could ruin it altogether if she continues along the path she has chosen. We won’t hide that she has detonated bombs from afar with a spell. Indeed, if you don’t help us, we’ll ensure the information is given to the press. Imagine the public’s response. They’ll both fear and loathe your family, and no artless will do business with Moreton’s. The company will go bankrupt and your wife and son will be destitute.”
He swallowed hard. “My son isn’t a magician.”
“It won’t matter, not to the public or your customers.”
He stared down at his clasped hands in his lap.
“You can’t save Amelia,” I said. “But you can secure your wife and son’s futures if you tell us how to stop her.”
He leaned his elbows on his knees and lowered his head into his hands. I glanced up at Matt and he gave me a grim smile and a nod.
With a heaving sigh, Mr. Moreton straightened. His watery eyes fixed on Brockwell. “If one of her bombs kills someone, she’ll hang won’t she?”
The inspector nodded. “But if we capture her before she creates the next one, she will merely serve time in jail.” He did not say how long. I suspected her incarceration wouldn’t be short.
“Very well,” Mr. Moreton said. “I can’t tell you the names of her other associates. I only know of Bunn. But I can tell you that she will need black powder to make another bomb. Are you watching my warehouse?”
Brockwell nodded.
“You must also watch other gunpowder stores in the city. If they can’t get into my warehouse, they’ll try elsewhere.”
“Where are those stores?” Matt asked.
“I don’t know. I am only aware of my own.”
“There could be hundreds of places that use gunpowder!”
“In small quantities, yes, but not the amount she will need, particularly if she creates more than one bomb. Surely there can’t be that many in London. Most ammunition factories and mines are in other counties, and there are very few fireworks factories here.”
We left the forlorn figure of Mr. Moreton sitting on his prison bed and made our way back upstairs.
“This is going to be impossible,” Brockwell grumbled. “Where do we even start?”
Chapter 8
We met Cyclops and Duke in the reception area of Scotland Yard where they were briefing a sergeant in front of a map on the wall. “These streets here,” Duke was saying as we joined them. He pointed to a sizeable area in the East End. “None of the residents claims to have seen people matching Bunn or Amelia’s description.”
“They could be lying,” Cyclops said. “They ain’t too keen on giving up information. East Enders look out for each other.”
We briefed them on the day’s developments and our reason for being at Scotland Yard on a cold evening. Both offered to help Brockwell search other factories and warehouses for stores of gunpowder.
“Yes, but which ones?” Brockwell said on a sigh. “Aside from ammunitions and fireworks factories, of which London has very few, where else?”
“Warehouses down at the docks,” Matt said. “The gunpowder would be offloaded and stored until it can be dispersed around the country. We just need to find out who imports it.”
“Most of the English supply of saltpeter comes from India,” Cyclops said. He shrugged when we all looked at him in surprise. “I just know it from my days working in mines back home. We had an Englishman come and learn a new blasting technique from us once.”
Duke clicked his fingers. “Mining companies want gunpowder too. We just have to find out who imports it and stores it down at the docks. If it has to be imported then it probably comes to London before going by rail to its final destination?”
Brockwell turned to his sergeant. “Find out who imports the elements to make powder then gather as many men as you can for surveillance duties. Cyclops and Duke, may I commission your assistance?”
Brockwell strode off with Duke and Cyclops in tow amid shouted orders from the sergeant to the constables. Matt and I left them to it and returned home.
Willie had waited up for us. Once we informed her of the evening’s developments, she insisted on going to Scotland Yard to help with the search. Nothing we said could convince her to stay home.
Matt and I retired to bed, but I couldn’t sleep. My tossing must have kept him awake because he rolled over and snuggled me.
“They’ll find them,” he assured me in a sleepy voice. “This will all be over by the morning.”
“And if it’s not?” I turned to face him. “Matt, I think I should do as they ask. I should infuse my magic with Mr. Bunn’s.”
He propped himself up on his elbow. I could just make out his frown in the dark. “It won’t end their harassment. It’ll just be the beginning. Another magician will come to you, then another and another.”
“I could ask for secrecy.”
“You could ask, but would they agree? If they manipulate you once, they’ll know they can manipulate you again. Even if they don’t tell other magicians, what if Bunn asks you to do it a second time and third? I doubt he’ll settle for one pair of boots. And who knows what Amelia is capable of. She might demand you make her explosions last longer.”
I rolled onto my back and stared up at the ceiling. “I have to do something. If it weren’t for my magic, this wouldn’t have happened.”
He touched my jaw and turned me to face him. I could sense rather than see his earnestness. It vibrated off him in waves. “This isn’t your fault, India. Don’t think like that.” His thumb stroked along my jawline and up into my hair near my ear. He leaned in and gave me a kiss that contained all his frustrations and earnestness.
I reached around his neck but he drew back.
“So you’ll stop blaming yourself?” he asked.
I nodded. “Just kiss me again.”
He smiled and did as commanded.
Despite his expert kisses, I couldn’t fully commit. My mind continued to play the scenarios over and over. Matt might be right, this could be finished by morning, but there were so many places to watch now, so many more to search, that it would most likely take days. We didn’t have days. Amelia could create another bomb tomorrow if she
found gunpowder.
Her father had proved that illegal weapons were being made right here in London. What if he wasn’t the only one? What if there were illegal stores of gunpowder and illegal importers—ones we didn’t know about but Amelia did?
Matt pulled away with a sigh. “Have I gone from a good kisser to a mediocre one?”
“That assumes you were a good kisser in the first place.”
He playfully nipped my top lip then drew away again. He looked serious in the dim light. “So tell me what’s stopping you from enjoying my company?”
“We need more resources.”
“Scotland Yard has many men. Brockwell will be fine.”
“His men are very conspicuous and some are not terribly bright. Amelia is smart. We have to outwit her, and that means being more secretive and invisible than her.”
“Invisible?”
“We need spies, Matt, people who are good at blending in and not being seen. And we need a lot of them.”
“Brockwell could approach the Home Office,” he said thoughtfully. “But then he’d have to explain about Amelia detonating bombs from a distance, and that will expose the existence of magic to officials at that level.”
He was right. While some craftsmen and guilds had long suspected magic existed to this day, the authorities were unaware, as far as we knew. The highest official who knew about magic was Commissioner Munro of the Metropolitan Police, Brockwell’s superior. Knowing about it and believing in it were two different things, however. While his own son had been a magician, the commissioner had never truly believed its existence. Or perhaps he didn’t want to believe. He let Brockwell investigate magical crimes, and never interfered. According to Brockwell, he had to edit his reports to play down the magical element and sometimes removed it altogether. If Munro wasn’t prepared to believe in magic then he probably hadn’t informed others of its existence. I hoped not anyway.
“I was thinking of someone less official for that reason,” I said. “Someone with a network of spies at his disposal, or so we assume.”
He sat bolt upright. “Coyle? India, if we ask him for a favor, we’ll owe him.”
I sat up too. “Technically, Scotland Yard will owe him.”
“He won’t make that distinction.”
“He might. Think about it, Matt. We need him.”
He thought about it for all of three seconds then shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. He’s away on his honeymoon. We don’t even know where they went.”
“We could find out from his staff. The butler will know. Then we could wire him and he can set the wheels in motion from his hotel.” I knelt and took Matt’s face in my hands. “Sleep on it, but we can’t wait too long. No later than tomorrow morning.”
“But—”
“No more buts. Just kiss me again and remind me what a good kisser you are.”
I felt his lips twitch with his smile. “Good?”
“Very well, you are a great kisser, Matt. An excellent one, in fact. Now prove it.”
“Gladly.”
We were about to head out after breakfast when Lady Rycroft and Charity arrived. We tried to make our excuses, but Aunt Letitia insisted we join them in the drawing room.
“A few moments only,” she all but begged. “I’m sure my sister-in-law can’t stay longer than that.”
Matt agreed, but I wasn’t so sure. We needed to get word to Lord Coyle immediately. I was beginning to think Matt didn’t want to approach him at all, despite agreeing to it before we went down to breakfast.
“This is an early visit,” Aunt Letitia said as we settled into the drawing room.
“We came to tell you we’ve brought our departure forward,” Lady Rycroft said stiffly. “We’re leaving for Rycroft Hall today.”
“A letter would have saved you the effort of coming all this way in person on such a cold morning.”
Lady Rycroft’s nostrils flared. “My daughter suggested it would be more personable to come ourselves, but if our company is not welcome, we’ll leave.” She rose.
“Sit down, Beatrice,” Aunt Letitia said tightly. “You and Charity are always welcome with open arms. We are happy to have you, no matter the hour, aren’t we, India?”
“Of course,” I said with a little less sarcasm than she employed.
Lady Rycroft sat again, her lips pursed into a thin line. Her daughter didn’t seem to hear any of our conversation. She was too intent on watching the door, waiting for Cyclops to walk through it, no doubt. He had not yet come home after a night of surveillance. Hopefully if he did, Bristow had the foresight to warn him of what awaited in the drawing room so he could avoid Charity altogether.
“And will all your girls be joining you at Rycroft Hall for Christmas?” Aunt Letitia asked with exaggerated politeness.
“Charity will be there, of course.”
“How fortunate you are to have one dear child always with you, Beatrice. It must be such a comfort having her as your constant companion.”
Good lord, she was laying the hyperbole on so thickly one needed a saw to cut through it.
Lady Rycroft sensed it too, but politeness dictated she couldn’t acknowledge it except with another round of flared nostrils and stiffening spine. “Charity is a comfort,” she said without an ounce of sincerity.
At the sound of her name, Charity seemed to come alive. “Are your friends here, Matt?” she asked.
“Not at present,” he said.
She crossed her arms and pouted.
“Hope can’t come for Christmas,” Lady Rycroft went on. “She’s far too busy now that she’s Lady Coyle.”
“Oh?” Aunt Letitia said. “Do they plan on hosting many parties? I don’t recall him being one for that sort of thing. He seems rather reclusive.”
“I’m sure Hope will see that he changes.” Lady Rycroft’s eyes lit up when talking about her youngest daughter, and there was no tartness in her voice. “She did marry one of the most pre-eminent men in the country, so we must expect her to be far busier than the rest of us. She’ll not only have parties to host, but a great many events to attend. Invitations will come pouring in, particularly once the London season gets underway. Things are always a little quiet in the city over winter, but they both insisted on staying here. Neither likes the country. They are so well suited, in that as in all things.”
Beside her, Charity snorted softly.
Her mother’s lips pinched. “Hope has made a great match for herself. The best she could possibly make.” She patted Charity’s hand. “It won’t be long before she finds you a husband, dear girl. One of Lord Coyle’s friends, perhaps.”
“I’d rather stab myself in the eye with a fork than marry a fat old beast like that.”
Lady Rycroft’s face reddened. “Charity!”
Charity merely shrugged.
I bit my lip hard to stop myself smiling.
“Oh dear,” Aunt Letitia said with a click of her tongue. “You’ll never marry with an attitude like that.”
“You mean I’ll end up unmarried like you, Aunt,” Charity said.
Aunt Letitia blinked hard, as if she’d been slapped.
“Don’t be unkind,” Lady Rycroft said mildly.
“I wasn’t. I envy her. She’s lucky her parents never forced her to marry someone like Coyle.”
“We didn’t force Hope. She chose Lord Coyle. He might not be Prince Charming, but she must be commended for looking beyond his exterior deficiencies and seeing the true value in a man of his standing.”
Charity pulled a face, but wisely remained quiet. It wasn’t an argument she could win against her mother.
“And Patience?” I asked. “Will she and Byron spend Christmas at Rycroft Hall?”
“They weren’t invited,” Lady Rycroft said. “We knew they’d be too busy with his children so didn’t bother to send an invitation.”
It would seem all was not forgiven where Patience and Byron were concerned. It was unfair, considering losing the title was not his
fault. The poor man had suffered enough and now his own mother-in-law could barely bring herself to talk about him.
Then again, perhaps they were fortunate to be excluded from Christmas celebrations at the hall. They wouldn’t have to be stuck with Lord and Lady Rycroft and their petulant middle daughter.
Lady Rycroft rose. “Come, Charity. We must leave. We still have to visit your sister.”
“Hope?” I asked. “But they’re away.”
“They returned home last night.”
“That was a brief honeymoon,” Aunt Letitia said.
Charity smirked. “Hope wanted it that way.”
Her mother glared sharply at her. “Lord Coyle is a busy man. He had business here he couldn’t ignore for any length of time.”
Charity rolled her eyes.
I arched my brows at Matt and he gave a small nod, although he didn’t look particularly happy about what we had to do.
I subtly whispered in Aunt Letitia’s ear asking her to keep Lady Rycroft and Charity talking for ten more minutes, then Matt and I made our excuses. Since our carriage was already waiting, we left immediately. Lord and Lady Coyle didn’t live far away, so I didn’t have long to convince Matt that this was a good idea.
“I don’t like owing Coyle a favor,” he responded. “Nor do I think he’ll agree to us passing the buck onto the police. He knows the commissioner won’t give him anything in return. He’ll make sure he gets his pound of flesh from you, India. You’re the only one who has what he wants.”
He was right, but I wasn’t going to admit it. We were almost there, so I simply sat quietly and stared out the window until we arrived at the Belgrave Square townhouse.
We greeted the newlyweds as civilly as possible considering our strained relationships in the past. I tried to gauge Hope’s demeanor, but her easy manner was as charming as usual.
“What a lovely surprise,” she said as we sat in the drawing room. “How did you know we were back?”
“Your mother paid us a visit,” I said. “She’ll be here soon, in fact, so we’d like to come to the point straight away.”
