by C. J. Archer
I bobbed down to her level. “Good morning,” I said. “My name is India. What’s yours?”
“Betty,” she whispered.
“May we look around your house?” Brockwell asked Mr. Carroll.
“No!” Mr. Carroll bristled. “You cannot. My wife is cleaning upstairs. It would be most disruptive, not to mention unnecessary. We are not harboring anyone here.”
“We need to check for ourselves,” Brockwell said.
“Well you can’t.” Mr. Carroll crossed his arms and settled his feet apart. For a slight man facing off against four men and one woman, he did not lack courage.
“Please don’t make my men force you to step aside.”
Mr. Carroll swallowed but didn’t back down. “Betty, go to your mother, please.”
The little girl ran off. I didn’t like the frightened look in her eyes.
“Step aside,” Brockwell demanded.
“Just a moment,” I said as cheerfully as possible. “Let’s talk about this, shall we? I don’t think you’re fully aware of the dangers posed by the two fugitive magicians, Mr. Carroll. You see, one of them can detonate bombs from a distance.”
He blinked hard.
“She has already set off one bomb. Did you hear of the destruction of the bandstand in Hyde Park?”
He paled. “I read about it. Good lord, are those the people you’re searching for?”
“You can see why we need to find them urgently. They cannot be allowed to set off another bomb. No one was harmed in the bandstand event, but next time could be different.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” He stepped aside and watched as the two constables filed past him. “If you’d told me earlier, Inspector, I would have been more compliant.”
Brockwell gave him a tight smile which he then cast on me. If he was irritated that I had given out too much information, it was too bad. If we wanted help then we needed to give something in return.
“You don’t use your magic, Mr. Carroll?” I asked as the men went to search the house. We remained near the door, waiting. I could hear a woman’s voice talking to the searchers upstairs. She sounded annoyed rather than alarmed.
“I’m a clerk, Mrs. Glass.”
“I meant in your spare time. Do you do anything with cotton? Work with it, embroidery—”
“I do not embroider.” He sounded disgusted. “I am a clerk for a bank. I haven’t used my magic in years, since I fell out with my father. He owns a cotton mill and had no qualms about using his magic any chance he got. It brought him some close attention from the other mill owners who suspected magic still existed. I told him to stop speaking his spells. He refused and suspicion grew. All his friends deserted him, the other mill owners refused to let him into their clubs, no one would give him the time of day. No amount of talking to him worked. He’s an obstinate old fool who can’t see the effect his actions had on my mother—and me. When she died, I left and came to London. I found myself work, a wife, and settled down. I haven’t seen my father since.”
He suddenly stopped talking and pressed his lips together, as if afraid he’d said too much. No amount of coaxing would get him to talk about his magic again.
The men returned and we left after thanking Mr. Carroll.
“It’s him,” Brockwell said as we headed back to the carriage.
“How do you know?” I asked. “What did you find?”
“Nothing. It’s just a feeling.”
“You’re a policeman, Inspector. Of all people, you know feelings can be misleading.”
“On the contrary, Mrs. Glass. While I prefer to deal with facts, I have developed a very strong sensitivity for when someone is lying or withholding information. And my gut feeling is telling me he’s doing both.”
I shook my head. “He doesn’t use his magic, and he’s certainly not an advocate for magicians. He tried to encourage his father to stop using it but he refused. They had a falling out over it. That doesn’t sound like someone who would be on the side of Amelia and Mr. Bunn, wanting magic to become public knowledge.”
“With all due respect, Mrs. Glass, you haven’t been dealing with witnesses and suspects for as long as I have. You can’t tell when someone is lying.”
He did have a point, as much as I hated admitting it. My instincts were often wrong. “What gave you the impression he was lying?”
“He’s young. Men his age are usually the type to take up a cause.”
“Amelia isn’t a man,” I pointed out.
“His two daughters already display signs of strong magic,” he went on. “We saw their embroidery in their room. It’s very good.”
“Far too good for children their age,” Matt added.
“Like all fathers, Mr. Carroll will want his magician daughters to grow up in a world where they can be happy, free,” Brockwell went on.
“Or he might want them to hide their magic to keep them safe,” I countered. “Just as he wanted his father to hide his magic. I admit that I don’t possess an intuition for liars, Inspector, but I spoke with Mr. Carroll for a few minutes and I think he’s telling the truth. I doubt he’s harboring anyone.”
Brockwell climbed into the carriage after me, but Matt paused with one foot on the step. “Where to now?” he asked the inspector.
“Back to Scotland Yard,” Brockwell said. “I want to find out if Carroll is associated with any other premises in the city. A room, a storage facility, anything where he could hide two people away from the family home. I can send out telegrams across the city from the telegraph service at the Yard.”
It would seem my opinion of Mr. Carroll didn’t matter. Perhaps if I were in Brockwell’s shoes, I’d want to make sure too. “If you’re doing that for Mr. Carroll, you ought to do it for Mr. Carpenter too,” I said. “He owns a workshop.”
He gave me a nod of approval. “I’ll make inquiries about both.”
“Good. I think we’ll find Mr. Bunn and Amelia very soon, if we are thorough.”
“That’s if Carpenter or Carroll is harboring them at all,” Matt muttered.
Chapter 12
It was early afternoon by the time we arrived home. Aunt Letitia’s first words to me when I entered the sitting room were to ask when I was taking her shopping.
“I’m much too tired,” I said, accepting the cup of tea she poured for me. “It’s also miserable outside.” I didn’t want to alarm her and tell her about the dangers of going out while Bunn and Amelia were at large. It might set off her memory lapse episodes. “Can you wait a little longer?”
“But Christmas is soon.”
“We have time.”
She poured more tea into her empty cup and set the teapot down with a thud on the table. She put the cup to her lips but hardly sipped before setting that down with a loud clank in the saucer. She then proceeded to sigh repeatedly.
“Shall we create some more decorations or write cards together?” I asked.
“I’ve written all my cards and made enough decorations to cover all the Christmas trees from here to Greenwich. When will we get one?”
“We have dropped the ball on tree acquisition somewhat. I’ll ask Bristow to arrange it.”
Decorating it would keep her busy, although I hoped to be at home to help. Matt too. It was our first Christmas together, after all. It wouldn’t be the same if we couldn’t share the experience.
Duke arrived in time for dinner, and Willie halfway through it. Cyclops missed dinner altogether, but Mrs. Potter made sure he had something to eat while we convened in the library to discuss the day’s events. Aunt Letitia had already retired to her room, but we liked the coziness of the library with its walls of books and large fireplace. There was something comforting about it on a winter’s night.
“Whoever is hiding them is doing a good job of it,” Duke said.
“Except for that time Bunn was spotted in Bloomsbury,” Willie pointed out.
“Just because he was seen in Bloomsbury doesn’t mean he’s still there,” Cyclops said as
he cut through a slice of beef. It was so thick it was more of a slab than a slice. “If they’re smart, they’ll be long gone by now.”
The enormity of the problem subdued our mood. The fugitives could be anywhere, either in or out of London. If they changed their appearances, we might never find them.
“At least the gunpowder stores are safe,” Duke said.
Willie pointed at the doorway which had all of us turning to look. There was no one there. When we turned back, she was chewing with her mouth full and there was one less slice of beef on Cyclops’s plate.
He shook his head. “I deserved to have my food stolen for falling for that.”
Willie smiled as she chewed.
“How long will the gunpowder be safe?” I asked. “The police can’t watch the storage facilities forever. Sooner or later the constables will need to return to other duties.”
“Sooner rather than later,” Duke said. “Word is the burglars, pick pockets, and lowlifes know the police resources are limited right now and they’re making the most of their freedom. Crime is rife in the city.”
Willie looked past us and smiled. “Well, look who’s here.”
I didn’t fall for it this time, nor did Matt or Cyclops, also sitting with their backs to the door. Only Willie and Duke faced it.
Duke nodded a greeting. “You smelled Mrs. Potter’s cooking from the Yard, Inspector?”
Cyclops circled a protective arm around his plate. “You must think I’m a fool.”
“Detective Inspector Brockwell,” Bristow announced.
I glanced around to see the inspector enter. He smiled back at Willie and shuffled into the library.
“Bristow, see if there’s something left over from dinner for the inspector,” I said.
Brockwell put up his hands. “I wouldn’t dream of disturbing your cook at this hour. Your dinner is long since finished.”
“Cyclops is still eating.”
“But he’s family.”
“And so are you.” I took him by the elbow and steered him to a chair. I gave Bristow a nod and he disappeared, shutting the door behind him.
Brockwell sat with a loud groan and stretched out his legs.
“You look exhausted,” I said. “It’s been a long day.”
“A long few days. But it’s nice to sit in your library, Mrs. Glass. Books are a comfort.”
“Indeed they are.”
Willie poured the inspector a glass of whiskey at the drinks trolley. I was about to tell her it didn’t go with dinner and she should ask Bristow for wine, but Brockwell accepted gratefully. Willie squeezed his shoulder and sat again. She lifted her own drink and he saluted her with his glass.
Well, well. That was a promising sign.
“What did you find out about our two Bloomsbury magicians?” Matt asked. If he noticed the flirtatious interaction between Willie and Brockwell, he didn’t care. I supposed the investigation was more important, but it made me feel warm inside.
“Aside from Mr. Carpenter’s workshop, there are no other properties leased or owned by either fellow,” Brockwell said as the door opened and Bristow brought in a tray with a glass of wine and a covered plate. The butler set it down and removed the covering. Brockwell’s eyes lit up at the large helping of beef and potatoes.
It was some time before we could coax more information out of him. After a few minutes, he dabbed at the corner of his mouth with the napkin, sipped the wine, and picked up his knife and fork again.
“We are still looking for sites connected to them,” he said before tucking in. “I’m quite certain Carroll is our man. There was something suspicious about him.”
Matt agreed, but I wasn’t so sure. I couldn’t quite put my finger on why, however.
Cyclops finished his dinner and we watched the inspector eat, each of us lost in our own contemplations. Or so I thought.
“Is there something else?” Duke prompted the inspector with a large measure of impatience in his tone.
Brockwell shook his head.
“You could have sent a letter,” Duke went on. “You didn’t have to come all the way to Mayfair.”
“I wanted to give Mr. and Mrs. Glass my report in person on account of their help earlier today.”
Duke crossed his arms. “But you had nothing to report.”
“That in itself is something.”
Duke was about to say more when Willie smacked his arm. “Let the man eat in peace. He’s tired and hungry and you heard India; he’s family.”
Duke shrugged. “I ain’t making an issue of it, Willie.”
But she was no longer listening to him. She was watching Brockwell enjoy his meal. “Why don’t you stay the night here, Jasper?”
“No!” both Matt and I said before Brockwell could answer.
“Do you want my aunt to faint when she sees him coming down the stairs in the morning?” Matt asked.
“Letty’s seen him at breakfast before.”
“The answer’s still no.”
Willie humphed and slumped in the chair.
“You could always spend the night together at his home,” I said. “Aunt Letitia is quite used to not seeing you at breakfast, Willie. She won’t even question your absence.”
The inspector shook his head as he finished his mouthful of potato. “Thank you for the suggestion, however I must decline. This case is keeping me very busy and I’m too tired to, er, entertain a guest.” He cleared his throat and glanced at Willie before quickly looking away.
She merely humphed again.
Bristow opened the door. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but there’s a constable here who wishes to speak to the detective inspector. He’s in a rather agitated state. Shall I—”
One of the constables who’d accompanied us that morning in Bloomsbury barged past Bristow. “Sorry,” he said to the butler under his breath. “But this is important. Sir, there’s been a development at one of the gunpowder storage facilities.”
Brockwell set his knife and fork down and dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his napkin. Each movement was maddeningly deliberate and slow. The constable shifted his weight from foot to foot as he waited, and finally turned to Matt when Brockwell picked up his wine glass and took a sip.
“Some gunpowder was stolen,” the constable said. “Not a lot, so I’m told, but enough to make three homemade bombs.”
Brockwell rose and buttoned his jacket. “Tell me on the way how it’s possible that a storage facility was broken into beneath the noses of Scotland Yard’s finest.”
“You can tell me too,” Matt said, rising.
Cyclops, Duke and Willie also stood, so I did too.
Brockwell blocked our exit and regarded each of us in turn. “There isn’t room for all of you in the conveyance. Mrs. Glass, may I respectfully suggest you remain here. Mr. Glass and Mr. Cyclops may come with me.”
“Why them?” Duke snapped.
“Fine by me,” Willie said. “I reckon I’ll go out and find me a game of poker. Come on, Duke, it’ll be more fun than investigating.”
Matt pecked my forehead and strode after Brockwell and Cyclops. Willie and Duke also left. I followed them into the entrance hall and watched as they put on coats, gloves and hats, wondering if I ought to protest or not. When Bristow opened the front door and a blast of icy air swept inside, I decided staying home was quite all right with me.
I waited up for Matt and Cyclops to return but fell asleep in front of the fire in the sitting room with a book on my lap. I awoke when Matt gathered me in his arms.
“Where are you taking me?” I mumbled, half asleep.
“To bed.” He angled me sideways so we could fit through the door and headed up the stairs.
I rested my head on his shoulder. “Don’t hurt your back.”
He chuckled. “I’ve wrangled a drunk Willie out of saloons many times. You’re easy by comparison.”
I smiled. It wasn’t quite what I meant but I appreciated his attempt to make me feel as small as Willie
.
By the time he lay me on the bed, I’d woken up enough to want a conversation. “What time is it?”
“Almost two.”
“What happened? How did Amelia and Bunn steal the gunpowder when it was being watched by the police?”
He sat on the bed with a sigh and undid his tie. “There was a distraction in the form of a small bleeding child asking for assistance to find his parents.”
“They harmed a child!”
“The child was a decoy. He screamed then ran off, drawing the constable on duty after him.”
“It was definitely a boy?”
“Pardon?”
“Are the constables certain the child was a boy?”
“I didn’t ask. Why?”
“Mr. Carroll has two girls, no boys.” I helped him remove his collar and set it on the bed.
“You think they used one of Carroll’s girls to act as decoy for them?”
“Perhaps. Except the child wasn’t a girl,” I said, unfastening my cuffs.
“And Mr. Carpenter’s children are grown,” Matt said. “Damn. Someone other than Carpenter and Carroll is helping them.” His hooded gaze watched my fingers undo my cuffs then followed them to the top button of my dress. “It could be anyone.”
I paused. “Mr. Carpenter has grandchildren. He makes toys and dollhouse miniatures for them.”
He lifted his gaze to mine. “Could his grownup children be harboring Amelia and Bunn with or without Carpenter senior’s knowledge?”
“I’m not entirely sure. He claimed his son is artless, so it’s likely his grandchildren are too. Why would his artless son help a cause he has no interest in?”
“Unless his grandchildren are magicians,” Matt said. “It can skip a generation.”
“We ought to inform Brockwell.”
Matt sighed and cast a longing look at my throat just above the button I was undoing. “I’d better tell him now. It can’t wait for the morning.” He sighed again and picked up his collar and tie. “I’ll try not to wake you when I return.” He kissed me lightly on the lips then cast one more look at my throat. “Damn this investigation.”
“Matt,” I said as he opened the door. “Please be careful. The fact remains that someone shot at us. You may or may not have been the target, but until we know for sure…”
