by C. J. Archer
“Marriage isn’t something to be entered into lightly,” Aunt Letitia said with all the authority of an expert. “Particularly for a woman. It’s better to remain a spinster than marry the wrong man. Isn’t that right, Willemina?”
Willie choked on her sip of wine. “Are you calling me a spinster?”
“One should marry a friend rather than blindly follow the heart. Passion fades while friendship lasts.”
Lord Farnsworth nodded thoughtfully. “Thank you, Miss Glass. Very wise words. So what you’re saying is, I ought to look closer to home, so to speak.”
Aunt Letitia smiled. “Precisely. Look to your current circle and consider a woman of marriageable age whose company you enjoy. It doesn’t matter if she’s the wrong sort.”
“Quite right. Marrying me will raise her up.”
“And soon no one will remember what her station was before the marriage. Society’s memory is short.”
“Depends on the woman,” Duke muttered with a glance at Willie.
Brockwell went quite still.
What a disaster! Aunt Letitia wanted Farnsworth to consider marrying Willie while her lover was seated at the same table! I didn’t know whether to laugh or gasp in shock. All I could do was cringe. As hostess, it was my duty to avoid such awkward conversations, but I had no idea how to proceed.
In the end, it was Matt who expertly steered the conversation away. “You never used to think that way, Aunt, but I’m glad you’ve changed your tune. Speaking of institutions, how is the training coming along, Cyclops?”
Brockwell listened in to the conversation with Cyclops, thankfully. I worried he might continue to frown so hard at Lord Farnsworth that his lordship would notice. I wanted to scold Aunt Letitia for causing such awkwardness at the dinner table but she was too far away from me. I suspected she was avoiding looking at me on purpose.
We adjourned to the drawing room after dinner. Usually the men would remain behind or retreat to the smoking room, but we didn’t like such formality and segregation in our household. It was easier to move around in the drawing room, which meant we could have quiet conversations on topics that others shouldn’t hear, particularly Aunt Letitia with her delicate mind.
“You should confront Chronos now,” Matt whispered in my ear as everyone took their seats or decided to remain standing.
I quickly scanned the room, but couldn’t see my grandfather. “Where did he go?”
He returned ten minutes later, a hand to his stomach. “Indigestion,” he said with an apologetic look.
“I need to speak to you.” I grasped his elbow. “Come and sit with me in the corner.”
“The corner, eh? So I can expect a scolding then?” He chuckled, but stopped when I glared at him. He sighed. “So what is it now?”
“I’ve been informed you’re using the extension spell with the magic of others.”
“Who told you that?”
“Is it true?”
He tugged on his cuffs. “So what if it is? I’ve a right to earn a little extra ready in my old age to fund my retirement.”
“You already get the rent from the shop. Why do you need more?”
“My rooms are expensive. They’re in a nice part of the city. I’ve also had some big expenses lately.” He indicated his suit. “The best tailors aren’t cheap.”
“Why do you need to go to the best?”
“Because my granddaughter is the future baroness of Rycroft. I can’t be seen in poorly tailored suits.”
I pressed my fingers to my temple where a headache was beginning to tap away.
“And dining out is costly these days,” he added.
“Doesn’t your landlady cook for you?”
He screwed up his nose. “She’s a terrible cook. Her stew tastes like old boots.”
“You need to learn to live within your means.”
“That’s easy for you to say.” He waved a hand to indicate the room. “We can’t all marry money.”
I sighed. I couldn’t win this conversation. “I’ll have Mrs. Potter send you leftovers every day. Sometimes I’ll put a little extra money in the package for you. Will that be enough to stop you selling your extension magic?”
“Dearest India.” He patted my cheek. “You are generous to your poor old grandfather. I knew there was a good reason for you to marry an artless.”
I rolled my eyes. Sometimes I wondered if he liked vexing me as punishment for marrying Matt. While Chronos liked the status and wealth that my marriage gave me, and him by extension, he would have preferred I’d married a magician to keep the Steele lineage strong.
Chronos hiccoughed. He pressed a hand to his stomach and winced. “I think I’ll say goodnight now.”
I asked Bristow to have our carriage prepared to take Chronos home. Once my grandfather was gone, I joined Matt and Brockwell by the fireplace. Brockwell was in the middle of giving Matt the directions to Mitcham Common.
“What’s at Mitcham Common?” I asked.
“A Romany camp,” Brockwell said. “Usually they only camp there in the summertime, but one family group returned.”
That must be Mr. Mirnov’s late wife’s family.
“Why do you want to know about gypsies?” he asked.
“We’re investigating a theft,” Matt said.
“Why wasn’t it reported to the police?”
“The victim has his reasons.”
“And who is the victim?”
“That information is confidential.”
Brockwell scrubbed his sideburns. “I assume the theft is related to magic and the victim wishes to avoid exposing magic to the authorities. Very well, I’ll allow your private investigation to go ahead.”
Matt laughed softly. “You don’t have a choice in the matter.”
“However, if there are more thefts, I must be informed.”
“Of course,” I said before Matt could say otherwise. “In the spirit of working collaboratively, can you tell us of any expert thieves operating in London who are known to the police?”
Brockwell smirked. “No clues, eh?”
I arched a brow, waiting.
“I can think of only two who are not currently serving time at one of Her Majesty’s establishments. One happens to be a member of the Romany clan camped in Mitcham Common. I’d begin my inquiries there.”
“India!” Aunt Letitia called from where she sat alone on the sofa. “Come and keep me company.”
Lord Farnsworth looked up from where he stood with Catherine, Cyclops and Willie. He joined me and sat on Aunt Letitia’s left while I sat on her right. The serious look on his face had me intrigued. One never quite knew what would come out of his mouth.
“I’ve been considering what you said over dinner about marrying a friend, Miss Glass. While I think it’s a good idea and very modern, I’m afraid I don’t have any eligible female friends.”
I pressed my lips together to suppress my smile.
“Don’t you?” Aunt Letitia asked, her gaze on Willie. When she saw that he didn’t follow her gaze, she thrust her chin in Willie’s direction.
He still didn’t notice. “Alas, India is already married.”
Well, that was unexpected. “I’m honored you consider me a friend, my lord.”
“Do call me Davide.”
“I thought your name was David.”
“It is, but I like the way my former French mistress used to say it. It has an exotic ring to it.”
“Very well. I’ll call you Davide from now on. Do you mean to say, you don’t have any other female friends? Are you quite sure?”
He frowned hard. “Oh! You’re referring to Willie.” He chuckled. “Marrying her would be a lark, I suppose, and we do get along. But I doubt she’d agree to an arrangement that leaves her shackled to a man.”
“Very true. She’s a unique individual.”
Aunt Letitia sighed. “I suppose you’re right. And marrying someone so far beneath you would have been rather shocking.”
He l
aughed. “I’ll say!”
Peter the footman entered with a message that he handed to Matt. Matt approached and handed the paper to Lord Farnsworth.
Farnsworth read it. “It’s from the club. I asked the manager to send me a message when the home secretary shows up, and my butler has sent the message on to me here.” He folded up the note. “Want to go tonight, Glass? Might be a good opportunity to chat to him.”
Matt and Farnsworth left together at eleven and I went to bed. Matt didn’t return until after four. He briefly reported that he’d become friends with the home secretary over their shared interest in poker. I didn’t ask how much money he’d lost to earn that friendship because I didn’t want to know. It was a necessary expense to learn more about Sir Charles Whittaker.
I left Matt asleep in bed in the morning and ate breakfast with Aunt Letitia, Duke and Willie. Cyclops had already departed for the day. We were just about to finish when Bristow announced that Detective Inspector Brockwell had arrived.
“It’s breakfast,” Willie said, knowingly. The inspector did have a habit of turning up at meal times and accepting my invitation to stay.
“Tell him to join us,” I said to Bristow.
Brockwell had no intention of sitting down, however. “I’m here on official business,” he said. “There’s been a murder, and according to the wife, you and Mr. Glass were among the last people to see the victim.”
“Murder! Good lord, who is it?”
“Mr. Trentham, a toymaker with premises on High Holborn.”
I sat back, the wind knocked out of me. Poor Mr. Trentham.
“I have to question you and Mr. Glass about your reason for visiting him.”
I nodded numbly and indicated a chair. “You might as well question us over breakfast.”
Brockwell inspected the array of dishes on the sideboard. “Thank you, Mrs. Glass. I don’t mind if I do.”
Chapter 6
“He was strangled,” Detective Inspector Brockwell said in response to Matt’s question. He’d already finished a plate of eggs and sausages by the time Matt joined us and was nursing a cup of coffee. He’d told us he’d been called out to the scene of the murder at six, just after Mrs. Trentham found her husband dead in his workshop.
“Strangled with what?” Duke asked.
Brockwell took another sip of his coffee, set the cup down then wiped his top lip with a napkin. He folded it up before placing it on the table again and finally meeting Duke’s gaze. “The bruises match the shape of fingers.”
“Bare hands!” Willie looked impressed. “The killer must have been strong.”
“He wasn’t incapacitated first?” Matt asked.
Brockwell shook his head. “There are signs he tried to fight off his killer. I won’t go into details for Mrs. Glass’s sake.”
Usually I would protest at being treated like a weakling, but this time I was rather grateful. The thought of poor Mr. Trentham struggling with his killer had left me feeling somewhat ill.
“The murderer must have been a man,” Duke said, with one eye on Willie.
To everyone’s surprise, she didn’t disagree. “He’ll have the marks of the struggle on his hands and face.”
Brockwell picked up his cup again. “If you don’t mind answering some questions for me, I’d be most grateful. What was the nature of your discussion with the victim?”
“He’s a suspect in our investigation,” Matt said.
“Ah, yes, the theft. The one you were reluctant to discuss with me.”
Matt shrugged off the pointed remark. “The victim didn’t want the police involved, but his wishes will now have to be ignored in light of the murder. The victim of the theft is Fabian Charbonneau. A spell was stolen from his house. Charbonneau had been engaged in a long conversation earlier in the evening with Trentham whereby the toymaker asked many questions about the potential of the spell’s existence, so we began our investigations there.”
“What’s so special about the spell that someone would want to steal it?”
“Fabian and I made the spell,” I said. “It’s the one we used to reach Brighton.”
“Ah. That spell.”
“It’s not only rare, it could be collectible, and therefore valuable.”
“But not useful?”
“Fabian’s quite sure there are no other magicians capable of making it work.”
Brockwell rubbed his sideburns. “So why would Trentham want it? Is he a collector?”
“We don’t think he stole it for himself,” Matt said. “He probably didn’t steal it at all. We suspect Lord Coyle is involved somehow. Outside of our own intimate circle of friends, he’s the only one who knew for certain the spell not only existed, but worked. He tried to buy the magic carpet from us and would covet the spell that made it fly.”
Brockwell took this information in with a slow nod then a sip of coffee. I was used to his pedantic ways now, but they still grated on my nerves at times, particularly when we wanted information.
“How has your investigation proceeded so far?” I asked.
“You’d like to be involved?”
“Yes,” we all said.
He twisted his mouth one way then the other as he regarded each of us in turn.
Willie clicked her tongue and leaned forward. “You know you need our help considering there’s a magical connection.”
“I will admit that your involvement will make it easier and my superiors won’t blink an eye.”
“Good,” I said. “They’ve become used to us helping you from time to time, have they?”
“No. I simply won’t inform them.” He flashed me a rare smile before removing the notepad from his jacket pocket. He licked the pad of his thumb and flipped the pages until he found the one he wanted. “The victim was discovered by his wife early this morning. She says she awoke at about five and wondered why her husband hadn’t come to bed. Apparently he sometimes works late, but never that late, and he hadn’t gone out to his guild. She went in search of him and discovered him in the workshop. She was very distressed during her interview at the scene, so I discontinued it.” He removed his watch from his waistcoat pocket, checked the time then returned it. “She might be ready now. Shall we resume the interview together?”
Matt informed Bristow to prepare the carriage while I went to see if Aunt Letitia had everything she needed for the day and to inform her of our new investigation. By the time I returned, the carriage was waiting and so were the others.
“I’m glad you’re coming, Mrs. Glass,” Brockwell said as we set off. “A woman’s touch might be useful in getting information from Mrs. Trentham.”
Willie frowned. “What about me?”
“Will you offer words of comfort to the distraught widow?”
“Only if I must.”
He gave her a flat smile. “You may investigate the scene with Duke while we talk to Mrs. Trentham.”
Her gaze narrowed. “Haven’t your men already looked over the scene?”
“Perhaps they missed something.”
She crossed her arms. “You don’t really think that. Come on, Jasper, give me something useful to do. I can ask Mrs. Trentham questions too. I can be sympathetic if I have to.”
“You can talk to the neighbors with me,” Matt told her.
She gave him a sloppy salute.
When she turned to look out the window, Brockwell mouthed “Thank you” to Matt.
The constable stationed outside the toyshop nodded at Brockwell as we alighted from the carriage. Matt and Willie peeled away to speak to the neighboring shopkeepers, while the inspector, Duke, and I entered.
It was dark inside. No lamps were lit and little of the dull morning light filtered through the windows. It was difficult to imagine children leaving here with smiles, clutching a new treasure. The small toys now looked like forgotten trinkets, waiting futilely for a child to notice them, while the larger ones loomed in the shadows with a sinister air about them.
We wove our wa
y past tables and shelves, careful not to knock anything. Some of the toys had been rearranged since our last visit. The doll’s house had been moved to the front and others sat on different tables.
Brockwell pushed open the door to the workshop at the back, only to stop suddenly in the doorway. “My apologies, Mrs. Trentham. I thought you’d be resting upstairs.”
I peered past him to see Mrs. Trentham sitting on the same stool her husband had occupied when we’d last seen him. The lamp on the counter cast a pale light across her tear-stained cheeks. She dabbed at her nose with her handkerchief.
“Do come in, Inspector. I was just…” She indicated the room with her handkerchief but didn’t finish her sentence.
“I have more questions for you, if you don’t mind. Are you feeling up to answering them?”
She nodded. “I know this is necessary, so please go ahead. Ask me anything.” She blinked watery eyes at me. “Mrs. Glass? What are you doing here?”
Brockwell explained how Matt and I got involved whenever Scotland Yard needed to investigate a crime related to magic.
She looked taken aback. “If my husband knew that, he might not have been so dismissive when you asked him questions yesterday.” She gasped. “Do you think the theft is related to his murder?”
“We’re not yet sure,” I said.
Brockwell introduced Duke and informed Mrs. Trentham he was going to look over the workshop again then he asked her to repeat what she’d already told him about finding her husband’s body. She did, and it was the same story the inspector had passed on to us. He indicated that I should continue with the questions.
“Yesterday, your husband directed us to a rival toymaker,” I began. “Do you think Mr. Mirnov capable of murder?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never met him.”
“Your husband claimed Mr. Mirnov put a curse on him.” At Brockwell’s raised eyebrows, I added, “The curse supposedly weakened Mr. Trentham’s magic.”
She sighed. “I don’t believe in curses, Mrs. Glass.”
“Even though magic is real?”
She lifted a shoulder in a shrug.
“Did your husband have any other business rivals?” Brockwell asked.
“No. At least, he never mentioned any in a bad light. Only Mirnov.”
