by C. J. Archer
"Will you believe a detective inspector from Scotland Yard?" I asked.
The sergeant narrowed his gaze. "If he can prove he's from Scotland Yard, I'll have to do as he orders."
Matt and I looked at one another and wordlessly left the station. Matt gave Woodall Brockwell's home address. At this time of day, he was more likely to be there unless he was investigating an important case.
The carriage leapt forward as Woodall urged the horses to make haste. My hair tumbled over my eyes. I'd not taken the time to arrange it after hurriedly dressing. Aunt Letitia would be horrified to see it flowing about my shoulders like a schoolgirl.
Matt didn't seem to notice. He seethed on the seat opposite, his glare focused on the scene rushing past the window. I didn't dare say a word.
We arrived at Brockwell's residence, and I was very glad that we didn't have to wake him. He answered the door with a piece of toast in hand.
"Blimey! It's only you two. I thought it was someone from the Yard come to fetch me for a murder. To investigate one, I mean." He invited us into the small entrance hall, out of the drizzling rain. "Is something wrong?"
"It's Willie," Matt said. "She's been arrested—falsely—and the moronic sergeant on duty won't release her. He thinks he's in the right and won't take my word for it. Will you come and set him straight?"
The mention of Willie's name had seen Brockwell tense, his gaze sharpen, but by the end of Matt's speech, he had relaxed again. "Sometimes the night sergeants can be a little too enthusiastic."
"I don't mind enthusiasm in the police force, but I would like them to know the law."
"To be fair, it's quite an obscure law," I said.
Brockwell reached for the coat hanging on the stand by the door. He slotted the piece of toast into his mouth, drew on the coat, and removed the toast again, leaving behind a bite-sized chunk. He followed us outside, chewing loudly, and locked the door.
He finished the piece of toast as he settled into the carriage and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. I watched him, wondering when he was going to ask. Wondering what his reaction would be when he found out. I wasn't sure whether to worry or be amused.
"So," he finally said when he finished his mouthful. "What was the obscure law she's supposed to have violated?"
"Gross indecency," Matt said, also watching Brockwell intently.
Brockwell's lips twitched. He was smiling. I thought he might be jealous at the thought of Willie being with another man, but he seemed to accept it. He scrubbed his sideburns. "I see the problem. The sergeant refuses to believe she's a woman and Willie refuses to, er, prove it, so the sergeant thinks he arrested two men."
"That's not it. The sergeant knows Willie is a woman, and the other person caught in the act wasn't a man."
Brockwell's hand stilled. He stared at Matt then suddenly looked away. He shifted on the seat and resumed scratching his sideburns. "I see." He cleared his throat. "I'll inform the sergeant of his error. You're correct, Glass. Gross indecency applies only to men. There is nothing in the law that mentions women. Perhaps the lawmakers never considered two women would…" He drifted off, his face reddening.
"Or perhaps they don't consider it to be indecent when they do," Matt said.
Brockwell blushed, and I felt my own face heat. I wished Matt wouldn't say things like that to shock. Not to a man like Brockwell, who was not only straight-laced but quite possibly in love with Willie.
"Come home and have breakfast with us," I urged Brockwell. We stood in the reception area of the Leman Street police station, waiting for the duty sergeant to escort Willie from the holding cell. The detective inspector had flashed his Scotland Yard identification and ordered Willie's release after giving a swift, no-nonsense lesson in the precise legal meaning of gross indecency.
The sergeant had wasted no time in acting. He seemed worried about the repercussions of the false arrest. It was difficult to tell if he was more worried by Matt's thunderous expression or Brockwell's cold one. Neither man looked as though he would tolerate incompetence.
"Thank you, Mrs. Glass, but I ate breakfast before your arrival," Brockwell said. "I must get to work."
"But it's still early."
He slapped his hat on his head. "Even so. Good morning."
"You're leaving now? Don't you want to see Willie?"
For the first time since entering the station, he looked uncertain. "I think it's best if I don't."
I moved to block the exit. "Stay. She'll want to thank you."
He hesitated. That hesitation cost him moments in which he could escape before Willie arrived.
She didn't seem too ruffled from a night spent in the holding cell. Her clothes were crumpled and her hair resembled an abandoned bird nest, but that wasn't out of the ordinary. She didn't even look particularly tired.
"You didn't both have to come," she said to me.
With his back to her, she didn't realize Brockwell was standing there until he turned around. She froze.
Brockwell touched the brim of his hat. "Good morning, Miss Johnson."
"Jasper," she began. "I—I… What are you doing here?"
"I came to explain the law to my colleague." Brockwell nodded at the sergeant, now back behind the counter. "He understands his mistake and won't make the same one again."
The sergeant studied his ledger intensely.
Willie swallowed. "Right. Well. Thanks. I s'pose I owe you a favor."
"You owe me nothing. I must go. Good morning, all."
He stepped around me and left.
"Willie," I hissed. "Go after him."
"Why?"
"To thank him properly, of course."
The sergeant asked her to sign the ledger and returned her few belongings to her, including the gun.
She strode past me and we followed her out. By the time we reached the pavement, Brockwell had departed.
"Visit him later," I said to Willie. "I think he's upset. He didn't accept my invitation to join us for breakfast, and Brockwell never misses an opportunity to eat for free."
She climbed into our waiting carriage and threw herself into the corner, arms crossed. "I knew he'd be like this. He's fine that we ain't committing to each other, but me being with women…that's different. He's a prude, India, just like you. "
"Then he'll come around, just as I did. Even Aunt Letitia accepts that part of you now, in her way. Brockwell will accept it too, if you give him the opportunity."
"I don't think so. It's different for you and Letty. You're friends, family. You ain't intimate with me."
I appealed to Matt as he sat beside me, but he put up his hands. "I did my part. I got her out. How was it in there, Willie? Did they treat you well?"
"As well as can be expected," she said morosely. "Don't fuss, Matt. It ain't my first time in prison."
"Try to make it your last," he muttered.
I spent most of the day with Fabian, attempting to create spells to make objects fly. None worked, which only confirmed that we needed an actual magician for each type of object we were trying to float.
"I asked Mrs. Delancey if her husband had any distant cousins on his father's side," I told Fabian. "She claims not."
"Pity," he said on a sigh. "But she may not know of his entire family. You should ask Mr. Delancey."
"Perhaps he's going tonight. Mr. and Mrs. Landers are hosting a soiree and have invited Matt and I. It seems there'll be some other members from their so-called collectors club there."
"I have been invited too," Fabian said. "I declined, but now that you say you are going, perhaps I will change my mind. I can engage Mr. Delancey in conversation and ask him about his magic family."
"An excellent idea. Do come, that way I know I won't be the only magician there and the focus of their attention. It's draining. Oh, I think Oscar might be going, since Louisa is a member of the club. That makes three magicians."
Fabian's lips flattened at the mention of her name. When Fabian arrived in London, she was the fi
rst person he turned to. Their fathers had been great friends, and Louisa and Fabian had sent one another letters over the years. She had proposed marriage to him within weeks of his arrival, but when it came to light that she was marrying him purely because she wanted to marry a magician and have magical children, he'd turned her down.
Indeed, he would have refused her anyway, even if that wasn't her motive. He wanted to marry a magician too, to strengthen his magical lineage.
"You two have not repaired your friendship?" I asked him gently.
"We have not spoken since her betrothal to Barratt. I am pleased for her, but the last time we met, it was tense between us. She was angry with me. Does Barratt know?"
"She told him. He knows she's marrying him for his magic bloodline, but he doesn't care." I smiled wryly. "He's marrying her for her money, so I suppose they're even."
He laughed softly. "They make a good couple." His eyes turned sad and his smile faded. "But I worry for their future. There must be some feeling between husband and wife, non? Some affection. Marriage is for a lifetime." He sounded a little melancholy. Perhaps his own decision to marry for magic instead of love was weighing heavily on him.
"Sometimes I wonder if Louisa rushed her proposal to Oscar,” I said. “If she'd taken her time, she might have genuinely fallen in love with a magician. Ah well. Perhaps the affection between Oscar and Louisa will deepen over time." I hoped Fabian connected my suggestion to his own situation and continued to look for a magician to love rather than give up on love altogether.
Going by his sorrowful eyes, he didn't think the notion possible.
The drawing room at the Landers' house was filled with members of the collectors club. It seemed that upon my acceptance of her invitation, Mrs. Landers had sent out numerous others to people she had not previously bothered to invite.
"It's a rare thing to have a private audience with a magician such as yourself," she told me. "I wanted to share my good fortune with my like-minded friends so I added one or two other guests at the last moment."
"One or two?" her husband muttered, glancing around.
Mrs. Landers laughed. She had a light, delicate laugh that suited the fine-boned woman. She was everything I was not. Small, fair-haired, with the tiniest waist and hands I'd ever seen. Even her facial features were delicate, giving her a childlike quality. Standing beside her husband, with his receding hair, the twelve-year age gap seemed larger.
"We are even more fortunate that Mr. Charbonneau changed his mind and came too," Mrs. Landers said as she gazed upon Fabian as he spoke to Louisa and Oscar. "Aren't we, Mr. Landers?"
Mr. Landers smiled blandly. "Yes, m'dear," he said with equal blandness. His gaze was directed toward the refreshment room where the food and wine had not yet been laid out.
"Tell me about your collection," I said to Mrs. Landers. "Will we have the opportunity to see it tonight?"
"Patience, dear Mrs. Glass." She laughed again. "For a magician, you are quite impatient to see magical objects. This must be the third or fourth time you've asked."
I looked toward the refreshment room too. It was going to be a long night.
"My wife likes to draw out the theatrics," Mr. Landers said.
"It will be worth it," she said. "We have such a fabulous collection, don't we, Mr. Landers? It's small but very unique."
Mr. Landers' gaze shifted to the dark wood cabinet with the gilded moldings and green marble top, situated on an occasional table. The single door was marked with gilded roses in the corners and a golden, semi-naked cherub holding a bowl of fruit stared out from the center. It was a fine piece of furniture. Fit to hold a magical coronet.
"You can feel it, can't you, Mrs. Glass?" Mrs. Landers asked, excitement edging her voice.
"Feel what?"
"The magic in that cabinet. It was made by a magician. I understand you can feel magic heat, so you must be responding to it. Or perhaps you can feel the magic inside. Yes, that must be it. We have some fine pieces, all with strong magic infused through them."
"How do you know it's strong? Are you a magician?"
Her hand fluttered at the diamond pendant at her throat as she laughed. "Lord, no. How I wish I was, don't I, Mr. Landers? It was the magician craftsmen themselves who assured me. The prices I paid—well, we don't discuss money. Do tell us, Mrs. Glass, can you feel the magic?"
"I have to touch an object to feel the magic." I indicated the room. "The other furniture has been moved to the side to allow space, but that cabinet takes pride of place in front of the arranged chairs. I suspected it's part of your evening's entertainment. That's why I was looking at it."
"My, you are clever. Mrs. Delancey did say as much, didn't she, Mr. Landers?"
At the mention of her name, Mrs. Delancey broke away from Matt and Mr. Delancey and joined us. "What a delight this evening will be. We're so fortunate to have not one or two magicians, but three. This is a coup, Mrs. Landers!"
Mrs. Landers flipped out her fan and covered her mouth with it. "How you do go on, Mrs. Delancey. We are greatly honored, and I have you to thank for suggesting I invite Mrs. Glass."
"And Mr. Glass," I added, loud enough for Matt to hear.
He looked up, saw the plea in my eyes, and joined us. "We were just discussing the magical coronet," he said to Mr. and Mrs. Landers. "Did you read about it?"
"Oh, yes, we certainly did," Mrs. Landers said. "If only we knew the name of the lord who owns it! How I'd dearly love to see it."
"Buy it, you mean," Louisa said in a voice that commanded attention. All conversations stopped and everyone in the room looked at her. "That's what all of you want: ownership. You want to lock away the magical pieces and wait for their value to rise before offloading them to someone else in the club who will do the same. You ought to share them with the world."
Oscar stood beside his fiancée, nodding.
Mrs. Landers gave a small gasp.
Her husband stiffened. "This is the collector's club," he said to Louisa. "We collect magical objects, in case you've forgotten. If you don't agree with it, perhaps you ought to leave."
"Dear Mr. Landers," Louisa said, smiling sweetly. "You are entirely correct and I apologize. I am delighted to be in your house tonight with such wonderful company. Please don't send us away because of my silly outburst. I promise to bite my tongue before I speak next time."
It would have been a pretty speech if not for the complete lack of contrition in her tone.
"He is not talking about sending you away tonight, Louisa," Lord Coyle piped up. "He means you will be banned from the club altogether. You're only in it by the skin of your teeth anyway, considering you do not collect magic."
"Ah, but I collect something far more valuable." She smiled at Coyle as she looped her arm through Oscar's.
Oscar's gaze dropped to meet hers, but he didn't match her sly smile.
"No one will be offering to buy the coronet from the lord anyway," Sir Charles Whittaker announced. "You have to find out who stole it and make an offer to the thief."
"Stolen!" Mrs. Landers cried. "Dear lord, no. How diabolical."
"That's the problem with announcing these things in the papers," Mrs. Rotherhide said. She wasn't as pretty as Louisa or Mrs. Landers, or as fashionably thin, but she had lovely warm eyes, rosy cheeks and generous curves. I could see why Duke liked her.
"It isn't the fault of the newspapers," Louisa said defensively. "It's the thief who stole it, not the author of the article."
"It was a gossip piece," Oscar pointed out. "Not a proper article."
Nobody seemed to be listening. All were a-twitter about the theft.
I looked at Mrs. Delancey who was looking at Sir Charles. He, in turn, glared at Matt.
"Be careful," Sir Charles said with a spark in his eyes. "Or Mr. and Mrs. Glass will accuse you of stealing it."
Everyone in the room looked at us. Then Mr. Landers barked a laugh. "Don't be absurd. None of us would steal it. We're not stupid enough to attract the
attention of the police for a trinket."
"It's hardly a trinket," Lord Coyle said. "It's a magical golden object."
"It's exceedingly rare," Mrs. Rotherhide added.
"Forgive my husband," Mrs. Landers said with a light tap of her fan against Mr. Landers' arm. "He doesn't understand the value of all the different magic. If only he'd spend a little more time studying them."
"You ought to come to more meetings, Landers," Mr. Delancey said. "They're enlightening. You might find your wife's collection is valuable. When shall we get to gaze upon it?" he asked Mrs. Landers.
"Soon, soon," she said cheerfully. "We're not all here yet."
Conversations began again, but I could still feel the simmering anger being thrown our way by of Sir Charles. He didn't appear to be listening to Louisa and Mrs. Rotherhide, quietly talking beside him.
Mrs. Landers swept closer to us, the full skirt of her pale blue silk chiffon gown seeming to float across the floor with her light step. She was all smiles for Matt. "Mr. Glass, are you investigating the theft of the coronet?"
"We are," Matt said.
"Then you know who originally owned it."
Matt remained silent.
Unperturbed, Mrs. Landers forged ahead. "Do tell us who it is. Everyone in this room is very discreet. No one would tattle."
"Why do you wish to know?" I asked.
"If the owner comes from a family of gold magicians, then I'd like to meet him. Wouldn't it be exciting? It doesn't matter how weak his magic is, all that matters is that it's gold magic. Isn't it thrilling, Mrs. Glass?"
"What my wife is trying to say," Mr. Landers said, "is she won't tell anyone who it is. She just wants to know so she can invite him to things like this, and perhaps add a piece of his to her collection."
"We'll pay for it, of course." Mrs. Landers indicated the cabinet. "We've paid for everything in there."
Her husband's jaw hardened and I detected a slight wince. No doubt his recent financial troubles meant his wife could no longer indulge her whims like she used to. I wondered if she knew he'd been forced to sell off properties.
