by C. J. Archer
I nudged him with my elbow. "Come on. Let's speak to Sir Charles and get his version of events."
We crossed the road and knocked. Sir Charles answered the door with a delighted smile and warmly invited us inside. "What a pleasant surprise. Were you in the area?"
"We drove past just a few moments ago," Matt said, stepping into the hallway. "You saw us."
"No," Sir Charles said lightly. "I saw a conveyance. I didn't know it was yours."
"Then why did you duck back inside when you saw it?"
"I forgot something. Then I looked at the clock and realized I didn't have to leave just yet anyway."
"So it wasn't because the coast wasn't clear for Mrs. Delancey to leave at that moment."
Sir Charles cocked his head to the side. "Pardon?"
"We just spoke to her and she admitted she was here."
Sir Charles blinked slowly. "What did she admit to precisely?"
"She said you were exchanging gossip," I told him. "Specifically about the matter of the stolen magical coronet and the lord who is losing his title to his brother."
"Ah. Yes. That's true." He smoothed the graying hair at his temple with his fingertips. "A most curious business. Do you know the lord in question, Glass?"
"No," Matt said. "The thing is, we don't believe Mrs. Delancey was here just to gossip with you. So why was she here?"
Sir Charles's throat worked with his swallow, but his face remained unchanged. Indeed, it was rather too smooth, too schooled, considering Matt had just accused him of lying.
"May I speak to you alone, Glass?" Sir Charles said.
"Whatever you tell me I will tell my wife later."
"Even so. I cannot bring myself to confess in front of Mrs. Glass."
"I'll wait through here." I indicated the adjoining room.
It was a cozy sitting room that captured the morning sunshine, making it a perfect room for taking breakfast. There was no evidence of breakfast having recently been consumed there, however. It was tidy, clean, and rather cool. A fire had not been lit.
A moment later, Matt and Sir Charles joined me. "Now, what can I do for you?" Sir Charles asked, as if a conversation had not just transpired between he and Matt.
"May we see your collection?" I asked.
"My what?"
"Your collection of magical objects. May we see it?"
He put up his hands. "No, no. It's private. I am sorry, Mrs. Glass, but I don't show anyone and I won't change that, even for you."
"Then how do we know you even have a collection of magical objects?"
He chuckled. "Why would I pretend to have a collection if I don't?"
"To get into the collector's club."
"But why would I want to belong to a club of collectors if I am not one too? Mrs. Glass, this suspicion is unfounded." He sounded amused, as if he were speaking to a silly woman who'd asked a silly question. "Ask Coyle. He has seen my artifacts."
Coyle must have seen them or he would never allow Whittaker into the club. He certainly wouldn't have put him on his list of suspects if he didn't believe he was a collector.
"Are you unwilling to show us because you have items in it that you should not have?" Matt asked. "Stolen items?"
Sir Charles gasped. "Certainly not!"
"The magical coronet was stolen. The one mentioned in the newspaper gossip column."
His eyes briefly flared before smoldering. "I didn't take it. I don't even know the fellow mentioned in the article. Why would you think I do?"
"We're asking the same question to every member in the club," Matt said. "We asked Mrs. Delancey just now."
Sir Charles glanced toward the window. "No one is going to simply confess to the theft, Glass. You're naive if you think that."
Matt smiled. "Thank you for the advice."
We took our leave and returned to the carriage. "Do you believe him?" I asked as we walked.
"About the theft? Hard to say. As to Mrs. Delancey's visit, I think they're both lying. She didn’t come here just to gossip. However I doubt they're having an affair, despite him telling me they are."
"Is that what he told you in private? That's an awful thing to say, especially if it's untrue. A gentleman should never tell another about his affair."
"He wanted to throw us off the scent of the truth. So if they're not having an affair, what are they doing?"
"Whatever it is, she doesn't want her husband to find out." I paused as we reached our carriage. "To me, that implies she is having an affair."
"But why Whittaker? I know I'm not a woman, but he doesn't seem all that appealing to me. He's not rich, handsome, or witty."
"He is quite dashing." I stepped up into the cabin. "But more to the point, he is a bachelor and not her husband."
Matt joined me, frowning. "What are you implying?" he asked.
"He's not her husband so that makes him exciting. An illicit affair is exciting, for some women," I added when his frown deepened. "Some women who are bored, for example."
He gave Woodall instructions then closed the door. He was still frowning. "How will I know if you grow bored with me?"
"Me? Grow bored with you?" I laughed. "You must be joking. Matt, how could I ever become bored with a man with a carefree attitude and a dangerous past; a former alcoholic and gambler that likes to solve mysteries, has friends in the police force in two countries, and relatives ranging from lords to criminals? And I haven't even mentioned your magical watch. Matt, I'm more in danger of being overwhelmed by you than bored."
He looked pleased with my assessment. "Good. But let me know if that's not enough for you anymore, and I'll consider adding another vice to the list."
Sir Charles was right; we wouldn't get anywhere if we asked the suspects if they'd stolen the coronet. We needed to find out where they'd been on the night of the theft and look for the coronet in their magic collection. Both tasks required the help of Willie, Duke and Cyclops.
We were close to Mr. Longmire's lodgings, however, and decided to call on him before heading home. He was not pleased to see us, which was hardly surprising.
"What do you want?" he grumbled when Matt pushed past Mr. Harker.
"A word," Matt said.
Mr. Longmire rose, wincing. His face had swollen even more with dark bruises forming around his eyes. By the way he held himself, I'd say his ribs hurt too. "Catch the fellows who did this to me yet?"
"We're not looking for suspects," Matt said. "If you want them caught, inform the police."
Mr. Longmire eased himself back into the chair with a grunt. "So why are you here?"
"We learned something last night that we thought you should know," I said. "The Cox estate is entailed. You can't sell off any of it."
"Is this your attempt to get me to drop the lawsuit?" He made a scoffing sound. "The land is rich, the tenants are good. The income from the farms are all I need."
"It's also heavily mortgaged," Matt added.
Mr. Longmire rubbed a hand over his jaw, only to touch a bruise and stop with a hiss of pain. "You lie."
"Cox is careful with money, but most of the income goes to paying back the loan. He's not wealthy."
As if Mr. Longmire suddenly remembered Mr. Harker was there and ought not to listen to the conversation, he dismissed him. "I want something for supper. Something sweet." After Mr. Harker left, he regarded us coolly, as if he didn't believe us. But the simple act of banishing his servant would imply otherwise. "Cox never said a word. If what you say is true, he would have told me himself to dissuade me from claiming my birthright."
"He's too proud to mention the debts," Matt said. "We just wanted you to know."
"So I'll drop the lawsuit? Ha! You're mistaken, Glass. It's not about the money." He stood again and limped to the door. "It's about what's rightfully mine. Good day."
"That went well," I said to Matt as we headed down the stairs.
"What makes you say that?" He doffed his hat for the landlady as we passed her in the hall. "He says he
won't give up the claim."
"Nobody got punched or called nasty names."
The landlady gave a small squeak of horror. I smiled at her and thanked her for opening the door. "One never knows with Mr. Longmire," I went on. "Anyway, we've given him something to think about. He might change his mind in time."
There were three more suspects on Lord Coyle's list, the perfect number for our small band of associates. Matt had gathered them in the library and gave brief instructions.
"They are all wealthy," he said. "All have servants and servants can usually be bought." He passed a pouch of coins to each of them. "If they can't be bought, you'll have to think of something else."
"No guns," Duke said with a pointed glare at Willie.
"I won't use my Colt," she protested. "I don't shoot innocent people."
"Willie, you can visit the house of Mrs. Rotherhide," Matt went on. "According to Coyle's list she's a wealthy widow." He handed her a slip of paper with an address on it. "Duke, you can go to the household of Mr. and Mrs. Landers. She inherited a vast sum from her father and married a financier who already had a vast sum at his disposal. She's twelve years younger than him." He passed a piece of paper to Duke and another to Cyclops. "Cyclops, please speak to the servants at Lord Farnworth's residence. Apparently he's an unmarried bachelor in his late twenties who inherited an estate that he seldom visits. He prefers London and likes to collect rare things. Not just magical objects, but rare books, ancient artifacts and exotic beauties."
"Beauties?" the rest of us asked as one.
"That's what it says on Coyle's list." He showed it to me. It did indeed say “exotic beauties.”
"Do you think he means women?" Duke asked.
"Course he does." Willie held out the piece of paper with the address of the widow to Cyclops. "Swap with me. I'll go to the lord's house and you check on the widow."
"Why?" Cylcops asked.
"Because you got Catherine. You don't need exotic beauties in your life. I do."
"What about me?" Duke whined.
"I got in first." Willie shook the paper at Cyclops.
"I gave Cyclops the Farnsworth household for a reason," Matt told her. "If 'exotic' means what I think it means, Cyclops might have a better chance of befriending one or more of the beauties."
Willie scrunched up the paper in her fist and stamped it on her hip. "I can befriend an exotic woman just as well as he can. He's too gentlemanly to betray Catherine to do what might be necessary, but I ain't got the same problem on account of me and Jasper having an understanding."
"What about me?" Duke said again. "I ain't got no one to betray, and I like exotic women too. I like all women."
"Besides," Willie went on. "Cyclops ain't exotic. He's just tall and looks mean." She indicated his eye patch and the angry scar disappearing behind it.
Cyclops crossed his arms. "That's insulting."
"I could have said you were fat, but I restrained myself."
"I ain't swapping with you. Or you," he said when Duke opened his mouth.
"I'll tell Catherine," Willie warned.
"Go ahead."
Willie flattened the piece of paper and sighed. "Why do I have to get the dried up old widow?"
Duke rolled his eyes. "Swap with me then. I don't care."
They exchanged papers and filed out, discussing how they'd make their first approaches, what disguises they'd use or stories they'd make up. They were more animated than I'd seen them in some time. Investigative work invigorated them.
"What about us?" I asked Matt. "What should we do while we wait?"
"I'm going to speak to my uncle," he said. "He might have some knowledge about these suspects."
"Is that wise? He'll want to know why and you promised Lord Cox you wouldn't tell them about the theft."
He thought about it a moment then smiled. "Very well. I'll ask my uncle to invite me to his club instead. Then I'll ask around there. Discreetly, of course."
"Do you think he'll want you at his club? He doesn't like you and a gentleman's club is his sanctuary, so they say."
"I am his heir, and if he wants me to fit in, he'll want me seen at his club. I might even ask him to nominate me for membership."
"Why not ask Lord Cox instead? He'll be more than happy to take you as his guest."
"If I fail with my uncle, I'll ask him." He kissed my cheek. "What about you? What are you going to do this afternoon?"
I had an idea but I doubted he'd like it. I was considering how to make it sound like a good idea when Aunt Letitia entered the library.
"India, let's go for a drive," she said. "I've been cooped up inside too long."
"An excellent idea," Matt said, striding past us. "Enjoy your afternoon."
Aunt Letitia gave me an expectant look. "We ought to change before we go out."
"What's wrong with this?" I asked, looking down at the deep green day dress with the rose colored silk waistband and collar. The new outfit came with a matching hat and jacket with peaked shoulders, and I thought I looked very well in it.
"Nothing's wrong with it. It's quite suitable for morning calls with Matthew. But afternoon calls with me require something…different."
"Different?"
"Different to what you wore this morning. Do hurry along, India, we haven't got all day."
"Very well, I'll change. But our first call is to someone I need to see. Then we can go wherever you like."
Chapter 8
The offices of The Weekly Gazette were located on Lower Mire Lane, just off Fleet Street where the more prestigious daily newspapers had offices. Aunt Letitia poked her head out of the carriage door after I stepped down, took one look at the discarded newspapers piling up in the dirty, smelly gutters, and insisted on waiting in the carriage.
The front desk was unmanned, but I'd visited Oscar’s place of work enough times that I knew where to find his office. I was a familiar figure so no one stopped me as I marched past their desks, strewn with papers and artwork, typewriters and inkstands. I even greeted some of the staff by name. The hum of the printing press in the basement below provided a rhythmic, almost soothing, backdrop as they worked.
"India!" Oscar cried as I entered his office. "What a pleasant surprise. Do sit down." He looked past me. "Are you alone?"
"Matt's aunt is in the carriage, so I must be quick." I sat on the chair opposite his desk. "I have a favor to ask."
He smiled. "Does Glass know you're here?"
"Why?"
"Because he wouldn't like that you're asking me for a favor. He doesn't like me."
"He doesn't dislike you, Oscar. He merely worries about the book you're writing and what impact it will have on me."
"It goes deeper than that, India, and you know it." He put his pen in the holder and leaned in. The smirk warned me of what was to come. "He doesn't like me because he worried you and I were more suited than you and him." He clasped his hands. "But that's all in the past now. You're happily married, and I'm happily engaged."
"So you are happy?"
"Of course." His smile was genuine. "Marriage to Louisa will not be dull."
"I believe you're right on that score." I returned his smile. "Now, to my favor. Can you tell me if any magicians who received one of those nasty anonymous letters are thuggish in nature?"
"That's an odd question. Why do you want to know?"
This was the part where my plan fell down. I didn't want to give Mr. Longmire's name to Oscar, but I had to tell him a certain amount of the story to satisfy him enough to help me. I wasn't sure he would, but I had to try. Unlike Matt, I couldn't ignore Mr. Longmire's situation. Someone knew who had sent the threatening letters to magicians and had then meted out their own punishment, and I wanted to find out who.
"Matt and I discovered who sent the letters. He was subsequently set upon near his home, most likely by someone he sent the letters to."
Oscar leaned forward a few more inches. "Who is it?"
"I won't tell you."
"Why not?"
"Because you can't be trusted with the information."
"I say, that's a bit harsh. I wouldn't beat him up, just talk to him, reason with him, show him we're not bad people."
"We've tried reasoning with him, and it didn't change his mind. I doubt you can make matters better, Oscar, but I'm quite sure you could make them worse."
He drummed his thumb on the desktop as he regarded me through narrowed eyes. "If you won't tell me who it is, I won't give you the names of magicians I think are capable of assault."
"I suspected you'd say that. How about I tell you something else?"
"It will have to be interesting," he said carefully.
"It is. You see, Fabian and I created a new spell together."
His thumb stopped drumming. "You did? That is interesting. Go on then, tell me. What does the spell do?"
"You must promise not to tell anyone or put it in your book."
"I'll have to tell Louisa. We don't keep secrets from one another."
I considered that then nodded. "We made a watch fly."
"Oh. Is that all? I don't mean to dampen your enthusiasm, but your magic is strong. Your watch has always responded to you."
"Not always," I said snippily. "Not the new one. Even my old one could not be controlled. Anyway, it was Fabian's watch that flew using a new spell we created."
"That is interesting. Well done, India. Give my congratulations to Charbonneau. Now, a deal is a deal. I can tell you that none of the magicians I know who received threatening letters would hurt anyone. They're good men."
"But you made me tell you my information!"
He laughed softly. "I didn't trick you. I said none of the ones who received the letters are thuggish, but I know of two others who are. Perhaps they did it on behalf of the entire magical community. But the problem is, how did they find out the anonymous author's name?"
"That is a mystery, I admit. I'll be sure to ask them."
He dipped his pen in the inkwell. "James Teller is a brick magician, and Donald Grellow is a carpentry magician." He wrote down the addresses of both men's workshops on a piece of paper and passed it to me.
