by C. J. Archer
I put a finger to his lips before he planted them on my mouth. “And what about Detective Inspector Brockwell?”
He sighed. “He knows he can’t monopolize her. Can we stop talking about Willie and her overly complicated romantic liaisons and start talking about what I’d like to do to you when I get you into the bedroom?”
I gave him a sly smile. “Don’t talk, just show me.”
His lips brushed mine in a tender kiss that promised much more. “As you command, Mrs. Glass.”
The following morning was another gloomy day. A letter came for Aunt Letitia from her sister-in-law, Lady Rycroft, saying she and Charity were returning to London. They found the country too provincial and lacking in sophisticated society. Most of their friends wouldn’t have returned to the city yet, but a few were trickling back now that Christmas festivities were behind us.
“What about my uncle?” Matt asked.
“He’s not coming,” Aunt Letitia said, scanning the letter again. “Beatrice says she cannot wait to see Hope. She has some suggestions for guests she ought to invite to a dinner party.”
“Coyle will enjoy that,” Matt muttered.
“What about Patience?” I asked. “Any word about her and Byron?”
“She doesn’t mention them.”
It was as if Patience no longer existed. Ever since her husband had his title stripped away and given to his older half-brother, Lady Rycroft barely acknowledged her eldest daughter’s existence. She might as well be dead. Lady Rycroft probably preferred she had died to the scandal that ensued.
Matt, standing behind me, gently squeezed my shoulder. “Don’t worry about them. They have one another, and I suspect Patience likes being out of her mother’s sphere anyway.”
Bristow entered the drawing room and announced the arrival of Fabian. He’d barely finished speaking when Fabian pushed past him. He breathed heavily, as if he’d been running, and his face was flushed.
“Bristow, fetch Mr. Charbonneau a glass of water,” I said.
“Have you been exerting yourself?” Aunt Letitia asked with a slight wrinkle of her nose.
Fabian offered a shallow bow. “My apologies for my state, Miss Glass. I am in disarray.” He smoothed down his hair and fidgeted with his tie. “I could not wait for the carriage to be prepared so walked here, very quickly.”
“Fabian, what is the matter?” I asked.
He turned to Matt. “Glass, I have a job for you. An investigation.”
“Into what?” Matt asked.
“A theft.” Fabian swallowed and settled his anxious gaze on me. “Your spell has been stolen, India.”
Chapter 3
“Stolen!” I pressed a hand to my rapidly beating heart. “When?”
“Last night,” Fabian said. “The maid discovered the top drawer of my desk open and everything inside it missing.”
“The spell wasn’t in your safe?”
“No. It was in the drawer, but it was locked. All the papers in the drawer were stolen, and the spell was hidden among them. The thief got in through the sitting room window on the ground floor.”
Matt swore under his breath, earning a glare from Aunt Letitia. “If you’d given me the spell when India first asked, it would have been safe.”
“Matt,” I scolded. “That’s not fair. It could just as easily have been stolen from here.”
He gave me a look that said he doubted it, but he kept the thought to himself, thankfully. Fabian didn’t look as though he needed further censure. He dragged a trembling hand through his hair, only straightening when Bristow entered with a glass of water on a tray.
“Have you questioned the servants?” Matt asked.
Fabian accepted the glass. “Not thoroughly.”
“Bristow, have the carriage brought around. India, are you coming?”
“Of course,” I said, rising. “Should we send word to Brockwell?”
“Not yet.”
“Nobody else should know,” Fabian said. “This is magical business.”
“Detective Inspector Brockwell understands magic,” I told him. “You remember how discreet he was after the affair with Amelia Moreton. He hushed up the magical element to the case.”
“He is still artless.”
“As is Matt.”
Matt settled a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll notify Brockwell if we need his resources. For now, we’ll keep this to ourselves. The fewer people who know, the better. I don’t want someone like Coyle getting even a hint of it.”
“Coyle may already know,” Fabian said darkly.
My heart skipped a beat. He was right. The most likely person to steal the spell was Lord Coyle. Nobody else knew what Fabian and I had created, although many knew that we’d been working together to create spells. It was possible they suspected we’d lied, and decided to see for themselves, and had been lucky enough to stumble across the spell. But what would they do with it once they got it?
I voiced my concern once we were ensconced in the carriage and on our way to Fabian’s townhouse near Berkeley Square. “Why would anyone bother to steal it? It’s useless to anyone but me.”
“We don’t know if there are others like you in the world, India,” Matt said.
“There is no other as powerful as her,” Fabian told him. “I am almost sure of it.”
“Almost?” Matt bit off.
“Matt does have a point,” I said quickly. “There might be another strong magician who could make it work. If Lord Coyle, or someone else, thinks there is another, he might have stolen the spell to give to them.”
“Or sell it,” Matt added.
Fabian, seated opposite, glanced first at Matt then me. “Or they might force you to use it, India.”
My blood ran cold. He was right. I hadn’t thought of that.
Neither had Matt, going by the way his face lost all color. He took my hand in his and caressed it with his thumb.
The first thing we did upon arriving at Fabian’s townhouse was inspect the sitting room window. The lock had been snapped clean off.
“Someone used a lot of force,” I said.
“Not necessarily.” Matt ran his finger over the windowsill. “This wood should be splintered, but there are only scratches. Was the lock loose, Charbonneau?”
“I do not know,” Fabian said.
“You didn’t hear anyone moving through the house?” I asked.
“It must have happened in the dead of night. The servants’ rooms are on the top level and I am a heavy sleeper.”
“It wasn’t like this when you returned home from the collector’s club meeting?”
He shook his head then suddenly stopped. He wagged a finger at me. “The toymaker magician, Mr. Trentham, was very interested in our work. He asked me about spells we created together. I told him we are not doing that anymore, but…” He muttered something in French. “I do not think he believed me. Perhaps he suspected we created a spell before giving up, although I did not imply as much to him, I assure you.”
“You think he decided to break in on the off-chance that you did have a spell?” Matt shook his head. “It seems unlikely.”
“What would he do with the spell anyway?” I asked. “His magic isn’t all that strong.”
Fabian opened his mouth to say something but closed it again. He frowned at the window frame where the window’s lock had been affixed.
Matt approached the butler, standing by the door.
I took the opportunity to have a quiet word with Fabian. He looked somewhat ill. “I know you feel violated. It’s awful that someone got into your house while you were asleep under the very same roof.”
“It is not that.” He screwed his eyes shut. “Mon dieu, I cannot believe it is gone. All that hard work, for nothing.”
“You made a copy, didn’t you?”
He opened his eyes. They looked sadder than when I’d told him I wasn’t going to work with him anymore. “No.”
“Oh.” I leaned against the window frame. The spell
really was lost if we couldn’t retrieve it. I felt somewhat bereft at the notion, as if a little piece of me had been torn off and thrown away.
Fabian suddenly grasped my hand. His eyes were bright, his cheeks flushed with color. “We must create it again, India. Do you remember the words? I think I do, but I need your help.”
“No, Fabian. I told you I don’t want to cast new spells.”
“But it is the same spell, not a new one.”
I withdrew my hand.
His face fell, but his lips pursed. “You would let the thief be the only one with the spell? That is not fair.”
“We’ll catch whoever it is. You’ll get the spell back.”
Matt strode across the room and rejoined us. “The butler will assemble the staff in here for questioning.” He frowned at me. “Is everything all right?”
I folded my arms and nodded.
He studied Fabian from beneath hooded lids, only looking away when the footman entered.
Fabian joined him and the other servants filtering into the drawing room. They stood in a line, hands clasped in front of them. All bowed their heads except for a tall, pretty maid who gazed adoringly at Fabian. He didn’t seem to notice as he asked each of them to tell him if they’d seen or heard anything suspicious the night before.
The housekeeper and cook lived off-premises, but the butler, maid and footman all had rooms in the attic and none heard a thing.
“Except for someone coughing,” the maid said. “Real loud, he was. He coughed twice. No, three times.”
“Someone outside the house?” Matt asked.
“Oh yes, not inside. I’d wager they were on the pavement near this room, in fact.”
“And where is your bedchamber?”
“Pardon me?”
“Where is your bedchamber positioned in the house? Is it on this side or the other?”
“The other.”
“So why do you think the coughing was outside here? I doubt you could have heard it from your room.”
She bit her lip and seemed to shrink into herself. When Matt turned off his charm, he could be rather daunting when he wanted to be.
“I heard it too,” Fabian said quickly. “I did not think it might be connected, but Jane is right. It did come from somewhere near here. My room is on this side.” He pointed to the ceiling. “Do you think the thief coughed to cover the sound of the lock breaking?”
“It’s highly likely,” Matt said. “Thank you, Jane. It’s fortunate both you and Mr. Charbonneau heard it. Do you recall the time?”
“No, sir. It would have been after midnight but before six, when I get up to start my chores. The coughing woke me, but I was too sleepy to check the time and it was dark anyway.”
“May we have a look at the office now?” he asked Fabian.
In the office, Matt immediately crouched at the desk to inspect the top drawer. “The thief either used a key or a slender tool to open the lock. It’s not a complicated mechanism.” He eyed Fabian. “Please tell me you didn’t leave the key lying about.”
“No! It is kept on my person.” He patted his waistcoat pocket.
Matt stood. “The thief knows how to pick a simple lock.” He checked inside the drawer and removed some coins. The drawer was otherwise empty. “What else was in here?”
“Letters from my man of business in France, private correspondence with my brother, investment information. Nothing of value to a thief.”
“Could the thief have simply taken everything in the drawer because they couldn’t see the contents in the dark?” I asked. “That might mean they weren’t after the spell in particular.”
“It’s possible,” Matt conceded, looking around the office. “Are there any other locked drawers, boxes or cabinets in here, Charbonneau?”
“There is a safe behind that painting.” Fabian indicated a framed landscape on the wall. “Only this drawer was broken into, and nothing but its contents were stolen. I think they wanted the spell and suspected it was in there. Perhaps hoped it was in there, and not the safe.”
“How fortunate for them that it wasn’t,” Matt said pointedly.
Fabian swallowed and lowered his gaze.
Matt peered into the other drawers, checked the door, windows, and inspected the carpeted floor. Fabian watched him with an ever darkening frown.
“There is something I should tell you,” he eventually said. “Something Trentham spoke of last night troubles me and might be relevant.”
“Go on,” I said as Matt once more inspected the top drawer.
“Trentham claims his magic is cursed. He says if the curse is lifted, it would be stronger.”
“Curse?”
“It is not the curse that interests me. It is his belief that his magic could be stronger without it. If he knew of a way to lift the curse, then he might think he will be strong enough to use your spell.”
“Hence he came here, hoping to find it so he could use it once his magic returns to its full strength,” I finished for him. “That gives Trentham a motive. And you did say he asked you a lot of questions last night. Not only that, the timing is too coincidental for my liking. This theft happened the very night he questioned you at length about our work.”
“Curses aren’t real,” Matt piped up.
I gave him an arched look.
“Very well, they might be real. But I still think this is the work of Coyle. He knows about your flying carpet spell. He’s the only one outside our circle who does. Anyone else is simply guessing that you created a new spell. It must be him.”
“Shall we pay him a call now?” I asked.
“He won’t admit it, and I doubt we can trick him into saying something incriminating. He’s an accomplished liar.”
“It might be worth letting him think we’re onto him,” I pointed out.
Matt agreed, and we departed for Coyle’s townhouse. Once seated in the carriage, he said, “Charbonneau is sleeping with his maid.”
“I know. Isn’t it positively scandalous!”
“Not to mention stupid. She could easily retrieve the key from his pocket and use it to open the desk drawer, or give it to the thief.”
I gasped. “You think she lied about the coughing?”
“It’s possible.”
Poor Fabian, being duped like that. While I didn’t believe he had feelings for her, and I didn’t approve of him having a relationship with his maid, it would be a betrayal if she’d been behind the theft.
“We should have questioned her more thoroughly,” I said.
“Perhaps, but she seemed a little in love with him, going by the way she looked at him. She wouldn’t steal from him if that were the case. I suspect she’s innocent and simply happened to be in his room when the thief broke in.”
“You have a good heart, Matt.” I touched his jaw so he’d look at me. “But a little too good. I think we should question her, but we can compromise and do it subtly. We’ll send Duke or Willie. She’s never met them.”
“The footman and butler have. Besides, Willie isn’t subtle. It’ll have to be Duke, and somewhere away from the house so the other servants don’t see him.”
“Agreed. But where? And how will he encourage her to talk?”
“I’ll think of something.”
We traveled in silence for several minutes, the only sound coming from the rain on the roof and the rumble of wheels. I assumed Matt was pondering the problem of the maid, so his next question took me by surprise.
“Do you believe Charbonneau didn’t make a copy of the spell?”
“Why would he lie?”
“I can’t think of a reason, but it seems odd that something so important to him wasn’t locked in the safe and he made no copies.”
“Fabian wouldn’t lie to us, Matt. Besides, did you see his hand shake when he told us? He’s devastated by the theft. He wouldn’t be if he held another copy.” I turned to face him squarely. I wanted to see his reaction properly. “Have you always doubted Fabian’s characte
r?”
“No, and I don’t doubt him now.” He gathered my hands in his and gave them a gentle squeeze. “But we must consider all angles, India.”
“You’re worried, aren’t you?”
“A little. If Fabian lied about making a copy, perhaps he’s lying about other things. Like you being the only powerful magician. If there is someone else, someone who could use that spell…”
He didn’t go on, but I knew what he was implying. There was nothing stopping them from using it. If the thief was unscrupulous enough to steal the spell, they probably wouldn’t have the morals to refrain from using my spell to their own advantage. “It’s just a flying spell, Matt. It’s more harmless than Amelia Moreton’s detonation spell. I’d wager Coyle had someone steal it so that he can one day make money off commercial flights.” The more I thought about it, the more I warmed to the idea. It certainly made me feel a little less anxious about the theft.
Matt considered this a moment then smiled. “If anyone is mad enough to pay money to ride on a flying carpet, they should be charged a fortune for their stupidity. That thing was a death trap.”
As we drove up to the house, a hackney cab drove off. The occupant’s hand was raised to adjust her hat and her arm obscured her face. It was a little early to be receiving callers, but perhaps Hope was an early riser and liked to get on with the day.
Lord Coyle received us in the library, a small room of paneled wood and leather-bound books. His collection of magical objects was kept in an even smaller room hidden behind one of the shelves. Perhaps he’d just been in it, because he had no book or newspaper in hand. He sat in the only armchair, positioned by the fireplace where a small fire warmed the room, and regarded us from the shadows of his thick brow.
“I was just thinking about you two,” he said with a flick of his fingers at the butler. He didn’t ask the butler to bring refreshments, which meant Coyle didn’t wish us to stay long. There was nowhere to sit anyway. Coyle occupied the only chair. It wasn’t a room designed for receiving guests, or even for sitting quietly with his spouse.
“Why?” Matt asked.
“First things first. Why are you here?”
