by C. J. Archer
She strode off and I didn’t speak to her again all evening. Not even to say goodbye when we left.
“This evening was a trial,” I said as we settled into the carriage. “But at least it’s over and I think most people believed me when I said I was giving up creating spells.”
“They believed you, but didn’t like it,” Matt pointed out. “Don’t expect Louisa to quietly accept it.”
“Ain’t nothing quiet about her,” said the woman who was always the loudest in the room.
“I’m just glad we left when we did,” I said.
“Me too. Mrs. Delancey was on the warpath. She told me I was going to hell if I didn’t sign that teetotaler agreement. I told her if there’s no liquor in heaven, I don’t want to go anyway.”
“I saw you talking to Sir Charles,” I said to Matt. “Did you manage to learn anything about him?”
He shook his head. “He’s too wily. He gave nothing away.”
Willie sighed. “Tonight was a waste of time. I should have stayed home and drank whiskey in peace. Even Letty doesn’t bat an eyelid now. Sometimes.”
“One good thing came out of it.” I smiled at her then Matt. “You two have resolved your problem.”
Willie sank into the corner. “Sorry about that,” she muttered. “I didn’t mean to offend.”
I patted her knee. “I know, and you didn’t.”
“It’s going to be a full house when all the adopted babies arrive.”
I laughed. “Let’s wait and see if we conceive first.”
“Can I make a request?”
“I’m quite sure that’s not how it works,” Matt said, trying hard not to laugh.
“Can you adopt one at a time? I need to adjust and I reckon it’ll be easier on my nerves if we have one for a year or two before we get another.”
“We?” Matt echoed.
“I ain’t moving out. Besides, children are little and don’t take up much space. I reckon we can all live together a while longer.”
“You might change your mind after the first and want them close together,” I said.
She screwed up her nose. “I don’t partic’ly like children.”
“How can you not like children?”
“I’ll like your children,” she said quickly. “Adopted or otherwise, they’ll be good and well behaved. It’s other people’s children I don’t like.”
“What about your own? I’m sure you’d like them.”
“Mine would be the worst behaved in the neighborhood. That’s why I’m never going to be a mother. Can you imagine me bringing up children? I ain’t mature enough to take care of myself let alone a smaller version of me. Nope, I’ll be content to watch yours grow up. And I promise not to corrupt them until they’re at least sixteen.”
“Eighteen,” Matt said.
She put out her hand. “Let’s shake on it.”
Our first Christmas altogether in the Park Street house was far from understated. While we’d been in Brighton, Duke and Cyclops had set up a tree in the drawing room, and helped Aunt Letitia decorate it, although they’d saved the star for me to place on the top. The tree’s branches bowed under the weight of candles, sweets, and decorations made of glass, wax, paper and fabric. Aunt Letitia also insisted on holly in every reception room as well as the hall and dining room.
“There’s no point in doing things in half measures,” she said. “Not when we could all be dead tomorrow.”
“Aunt,” Matt chided. “Why the morbid thoughts?”
She waved off his concern. “Not morbid, merely practical.” She passed him a gift from under the tree. “Now open mine.”
We exchanged gifts in the morning until our luncheon guests arrived. Detective Inspector Brockwell handed me a parcel tied with a blue ribbon upon entry. “This came for you at the Yard. It’s from Mr. Carroll.”
“The cotton magician?” I unwrapped the paper, revealing a small pincushion with a watch embroidered in gold thread on the top. Tiny silvery blue stars burst from the watch face and the watch’s chain was arranged to form my initials. The thread seem to shimmer in the light. “It’s exquisite,” I said on a breath.
Matt picked up a note that had fallen from the parcel to the floor and handed it to me.
“Mr. Carroll writes that he’s sorry for his crossness the other day,” I read. “He has made this for me as an apology.” I ran my fingers over the embroidered watch face. “It contains magical warmth.”
“I knew it,” Willie declared. “I knew he did the embroidery, not his daughters.”
“You didn’t see the embroidery at Carroll’s house,” Matt told her. “As I recall, Brockwell and I were the suspicious ones.”
Duke sniffed. “Can’t blame him for lying. Ain’t no man going to admit he embroiders in his spare time.”
“Cyclops is quite good at sewing,” Aunt Letitia said.
Cyclops didn’t look in the least embarrassed to have this pointed out in front of everyone.
We ate at midday then Matt dismissed all the servants so they could enjoy the afternoon with their own families. I wasn’t sure what Mr. and Mrs. Bristow would do since they were one another’s only family, but it wasn’t my business to pry.
We had barely begun tucking into the mince pies, turkey, potatoes, pumpkin and myriad other vegetables when Chronos addressed me loudly from across the table. “Why are you giving up magic, India?”
“You’re giving up magic?” Aunt Letitia asked. “But India, dear, how will our clocks run on time?”
“I’m not giving up magic,” I assured them both. “I am giving up spell creation.”
“Is that not the same thing?” she asked.
“No. Our clocks will continue to function efficiently, Aunt.”
“Thank goodness for that. Punctuality is a sign of godliness.”
Willie made a scoffing sound, but fortunately she was seated too far away for Aunt Letitia to hear.
“You can’t give it up,” Chronos went on. “It’s what you were born to do.”
“Nonsense,” I said.
“India, you can’t give it up. There’s no one else to do it.” He rested his elbows on the table, earning a scowl from Aunt Letitia.
“It’s for the best, considering the trouble new spells cause,” I said.
“Just because the flying carpet proved too dangerous, doesn’t mean other spells will be. Next time, create something less…” He waved his fork in the air. “Flighty.”
“Flying carpet?” Aunt Letitia echoed.
“I wish you’d included me,” said Lord Farnsworth with a pout. “I think I’d rather enjoy flight.”
I glared at Chronos. He merely shrugged and helped himself to another roasted potato. “It’s not fair on Fabian,” he muttered.
“No, no,” Fabian said quickly. “I have made my peace with her decision, Chronos. Now you must too.”
Chronos regarded him levelly. “My life has been dedicated to magical research and looking for magicians more powerful than myself. You can’t expect me to give it all up now.”
“I also have dedicated my life to magic,” Fabian said with equal gravity. “If I can accept India’s decision, then so can you.”
Chronos grunted. “It’s easier for you. You’ve spent fewer years than me at this. I’m old. Old people can’t change like you younger ones. Isn’t that right, Miss Glass?”
Aunt Letitia set down her knife and fork, her meal completed. “I don’t know why you’re asking me. You’re much older than I am.”
Willie chuckled and raised her wine glass in salute.
Chronos turned back to me. “India—”
“I don’t want to hear any more about it,” I said. “You are here because you’re my grandfather and its Christmas, but do not push our generosity too far. We can just as easily send you home before the dessert course.”
“There’s a dessert course?” Duke asked. “I thought since the servants had gone home, this was it.” He indicated the platters with his knife.
“I better save some room.”
“Me too,” Cyclops said, reaching for another slice of turkey.
Brockwell stood and raised his glass. “A toast, if I may. To our host and hostess, Mr. and Mrs. Glass. Thank you for your generosity.”
“Hear, hear,” Lord Farnsworth said before draining his glass. Willie refilled it for him from the bottle Bristow had left within her reach.
“It ain’t generosity when it’s family,” Willie said to Brockwell. “You’ve been around long enough now, Jasper, that you’re one of us.”
The inspector’s cheeks flushed. “Oh. That’s very kind. Very kind, indeed.” He gave us another salute with his glass.
“Am I like family?” Lord Farnsworth asked.
“You ain’t been around as long as Jasper,” Willie told him. “But keep showing up here like you have been and soon your face’ll be as familiar to us as that ugly painting of a cow in the sitting room.”
“It’s not ugly,” Matt said defensively. “I like cows.”
Lord Farnsworth sat up a little straighter and the smile couldn’t be wiped from his face for the rest of the day. Not until we adjourned to the drawing room, that is, with our stomachs full and our hearts content.
It was then that he brought up the matter of Cyclops and Catherine. “I have discovered who told Catherine’s parents,” he announced from where he stood by the mantelpiece.
Cyclops had been nodding off by the hearth, but now his head jerked up and he pulled his outstretched legs in. “Was it Charity?”
“No. It wasn’t Lord or Lady Rycroft or any of their offspring.”
“Then who?” I asked.
“A fellow by the name of Abercrombie.”
“Abercrombie!” cried several voices at once.
I groaned. “I loathe that man.”
“You know of him?” Lord Farnsworth asked.
“He’s the former master of the Watchmaker’s Guild,” I said. “He made my life miserable until he was ousted from the position a few months ago.”
“Why does he want to ruin my life?” Cyclops asked.
“Because you’re associated with me,” I said.
“And he doesn’t want a watchmaking family like the Masons to become connected to India,” Matt added. “That would be my guess.”
“I reckon he just likes stirring up trouble,” Willie said. “I don’t reckon it’s personal. Being a prick is just his business.”
Aunt Letitia shot her a glare. “That word is vulgar.”
“We should confront Abercrombie,” Duke said. “Tell him to leave Cyclops alone.”
Cyclops shook his head. “There ain’t no point. It’ll only make things worse. Besides, Catherine is working on her parents, bit by bit. Maybe it was a good thing they learned about us. It was time anyway.”
I gave him a sympathetic smile. “I’m glad you feel that way. Everything will be fine, you’ll see. Mr. Mason will be satisfied that you can support his daughter on your police wages, and Mrs. Mason will set aside her prejudices once she gets to know you.”
Willie folded her arms over her chest. “I like Duke’s idea better. We should visit Abercrombie and rough him up a little.”
“I did not just hear that,” Brockwell said, arching his brows at her.
Lord Farnsworth pushed off from the mantel and approached Willie where she sat in one of the armchairs. “You lost the wager, Willie. You have to wear a dress next time we go out.”
“I did not lose it! You did.”
His lower lip protruded as he tried to recall the conversation. After a moment, he wagged his finger at her. “I said if I find out who told the Masons, I win the bet.”
“No, the bet was if you found out Charity told the Masons, you win. Charity didn’t do it, so I win.” She gave him a triumphant smile. “I can’t wait to see you in a dress. Something with lots of bows on it. And it’s got to be pink.”
“But that’s not fair. I was under the impression I had to discover the villain’s identity. Otherwise I would have stopped after I learned it wasn’t Charity.”
“Did you find that out long before learning about Abercrombie?”
“No, the same time.”
Willie threw her hands in the air. “Then why all the fuss? You lost, Farnsworth. I expect payment early in the new year.”
He sighed. “Very well. But I can’t wear a pink dress. There’s far too much ginger in my hair for pink. Pick any other color.”
Willie rubbed her hands together. “I can’t wait.”
Brockwell came up to Lord Farnsworth to shake his hand. “A great piece of detective work, my lord. Have you ever considered consulting for Scotland Yard? We could do with a peer’s help from time to time on the non-magical side of things. Crime isn’t the exclusive domain of the lower classes.”
“You mean work?” Lord Farnsworth looked as though he’d smelled something rotten. “I couldn’t possibly.”
“The notion of getting paid to undertake endeavors is a vulgar one to people like us,” Aunt Letitia explained in her kindest voice to the inspector. “Matthew was brought up as an American, so he is an exception. But to Lord Farnsworth and his ilk, working is quite out of the question.”
Brockwell nodded slowly. “I see. Thank you for enlightening me, Miss Glass. I understand perfectly now.” To Lord Farnsworth, he said, “We wouldn’t have to pay you.”
Lord Farnsworth brightened. “Oh? That puts a different light on it entirely. I’d be happy to consult for Scotland Yard on criminal matters pertaining to the peerage. You may call on me any time, discreetly of course. Can’t have people I know seeing the police come to my door. How embarrassing.”
I covered my mouth with my hand to hide my laughter. But Matt noticed. He winked at me then grinned.
Later, when our guests had gone home and the rest of the household retired for the evening, I curled up with Matt in bed. “What do you think of our first Christmas together?” I asked.
“Unique. Entertaining. Delicious.” He drew me on top of him and pushed my hair back from my face. “And more wonderful than I dreamed it would be.”
I smiled. “It was, wasn’t it? Even Chronos behaved himself after he got his frustrations off his chest.”
“We have quite an unruly brood already,” he said. “Are you sure adding children to the mix is a wise idea?”
“Quite sure. We need more normal people in this household to restore the balance.”
He laughed. “You’d better kiss me, Mrs. Glass, then we’ll try to make a baby together.”
Available from 2nd March 2021:
THE TOYMAKER’S CURSE
The 11th Glass and Steele novel
Read on for an excerpt of MURDER AT THE MAYFAIR HOTEL, the first book in the Cleopatra Fox Mysteries, a new historical mystery series by C.J. Archer. Releasing 1st December 2020.
Excerpt: Murder at the Mayfair Hotel
About MURDER AT THE MAYFAIR HOTEL
It was the most fashionable place to stay in London, until murder made a reservation. Solve the puzzle in this new mystery from USA Today bestselling author of the Glass and Steele series.
December 1899. After the death of her beloved grandmother, Cleopatra Fox moves into the luxury hotel owned by her estranged uncle in the hopes of putting hardship and loneliness behind her. But the poisoning of a guest throws her new life, and the hotel, into chaos.
Cleo quickly realizes no one can be trusted, not Scotland Yard and especially not the hotel’s charming assistant manager. With the New Year’s Eve ball approaching fast and the hotel’s reputation hanging by a thread, Cleo must find the killer before the ball, and the hotel itself, are ruined. But catching a murderer proves just as difficult as navigating the hotel’s hierarchy and the peculiarities of her family.
Can Cleo find the killer before the new century begins? Or will someone get away with murder?
CHAPTER 1
Moving into a luxury hotel in the world’s most dynamic city was just the tonic I needed. If I had to li
ve with relatives I hardly knew, what better place than The Mayfair Hotel? From the look of its magnificent façade, I wouldn’t have to worry about bumping into them at every turn.
I planted a hand on my hat and tipped my head back to take it all in. Like most old mansions, it was both elegant and imposing; a grand dame that inspired admiration and awe in equal measure. The top of the fifth level appeared to butt against the dense gray clouds, and I counted seven arches spanning the width of the ground floor.
I headed for the central arch, sheltered by a burgundy canopy printed with the hotel’s emblem of an M inside a circle. I recognized it from the stationery my aunt used for her infrequent letters.
“Miss,” said one of the two doormen. “Miss, can you hear me?”
“I’m sorry, were you speaking to me?” I asked.
The doorman regarded me down his nose. “Are you sure you’re at the right place?”
“Is this The Mayfair Hotel?”
“It is.”
“Then I am at the right place.” I frowned. “Why would you think I’m not?”
His gaze held mine a moment longer than necessary. He was assessing me, no doubt trying to determine how a young woman alone could afford to stay in a luxury hotel when she wore a black cloak with frayed cuffs and a hat that was at least two seasons out of fashion.
I did not look away.
“Would you like to put down your luggage? I’ll have it sent to your room with your trunk.” The doorman gave a pointed look at my battered brown leather bag, his mouth turned down in distaste.
The bag had belonged to my grandfather. Thinking about him brought tears to my eyes, but I breathed through my sorrow until they disappeared. He may have died three years ago, but I’d thought about him a lot this last month.
“Miss?” The word came out as an irritated hiss.
I clutched the bag tighter. “Thank you, but I’ll keep it with me.”
The doorman signaled to an extraordinarily tall porter dressed in a smart red jacket and a rimless hat. The porter picked up my trunk and hat box and placed them on a trolley. Another doorman opened the door for him to push it through. I adjusted my grip on my bag and hurried after the porter.
