The Toymaker's Curse (Glass and Steele Book 11)

by C. J. Archer

  Lord Farnsworth suggested they leave immediately to get to the meeting place before Whittaker and the home secretary so they could hide. Fortunately it was going to take place at the southern end of the Broad Walk in Regent’s Park. Lined with trees, they shouldn’t have any trouble remaining hidden from view in the dark.

  After they left, I curled up beside Matt on the sofa. He didn’t place his arms around me, however. He was still disappointed at being left out of his own adventure.

  “Stop pouting,” I scolded. “This is for the best.”

  “But it’s not fair.”

  “You’re behaving like a child.”

  He stopped pouting and finally put his arms around me.

  I caressed his jaw then planted a trail of light kisses from his throat to his ear. “The servants and Aunt Letitia have gone to bed and we’re alone. Put some more coal on the fire.”

  His gaze heated and a wicked smile curved his lips. “That’ll make it hot in here.”

  “Yes, it will.” I unbuttoned his waistcoat. “You’d better take off some clothes to cool down.”

  Chapter 13

  Cyclops arrived home alone almost two hours later. Duke, Willie and Lord Farnsworth had decided to go on to one of their favorite gambling dens after leaving Regent’s Park and had left it to Cyclops to deliver their report.

  The report was very brief. They’d overheard nothing. “Whittaker and the home secretary met at the southern end of the Broad Walk and we were hidden behind nearby trees. Unfortunately, they walked as they talked and if we tried to follow, they would’ve seen us.”

  “Damn,” Matt muttered.

  “At least we know they’re up to something. Nobody meets in the middle of a January night in a public park unless they don’t want others to overhear.”

  It certainly pointed to a suspicious connection, and the only connection I could think was that Whittaker was a spy for the government. One so secretive that they couldn’t meet in the home secretary’s office.

  The following morning, Matt declared he was going to confront Sir Charles Whittaker. “There’s no other way to get answers,” he told me as he dressed.

  “He’s hardly going to give direct answers if he is spying for England,” I said.

  “He might let something slip.” He finished knotting his tie and fastened his waistcoat buttons. “Get dressed if you want to come with me.”

  I yawned as I climbed out of bed. “Go and wake one of the others. You need a guard.”

  “Let them sleep. Nobody will shoot me this early in the day.”

  I eyed him dubiously. “And how did you reach that conclusion?”

  “Nobody will expect me to be out before breakfast on a Sunday.”

  It was not a theory that held much water in my opinion, but Matt didn’t want to hear my protests. He left, as I dressed, to send word to Woodall to bring the carriage around.

  Once we were seated safely inside the cabin, I asked for one of the pistols that were stored in the compartment under the seat. Matt didn’t utter a word as he produced it and checked it was loaded. He handed it to me and I tucked it into my muff along with only one of my hands. The other wouldn’t fit now.

  “Feel better?” he asked.

  “Not particularly. I doubt I can shoot someone before they shoot you, particularly if they catch us by surprise.”

  He leaned forward and planted a hand on the seat on either side of me. His face was very near mine. “You’re beautiful and brave.”

  “Compliments won’t work, Matt. We shouldn’t be doing this alone. We should have roused one of the others.”

  He kissed me briskly then sat back. He wisely remained silent until we reached Sir Charles’s residence.

  The landlady fetched him, leaving us standing on the porch, exposed. I scanned the street but it was quiet. Nobody was out this early on a cold Sunday morning. When Sir Charles opened the door, he at least had the decency to invite us into the hall where it was warmer. The smell of bacon made my stomach grumble in hunger.

  “Come to accuse me of shooting your husband again, Mrs. Glass?” he asked.

  “We know that wasn’t you,” Matt said.

  I would have told him we knew no such thing, but we’d agreed on the way over that we must let him think we didn’t suspect him anymore. We didn’t want this visit to be diverted off-course.

  Sir Charles gave a shallow bow. “I’m pleased to be exonerated. But now I’m intrigued as to the nature of this visit.”

  Matt got straight to the point. “You were seen last night talking with the home secretary.”

  Sir Charles went very still. He stared at Matt and, after a moment, he checked over his shoulder and indicated we should enter the adjoining parlor. He closed the door. “What is this about?”

  “We want to know why you’re spying on us for the home secretary.”

  “What makes you think I am?”

  “We’re not fools, Whittaker, so don’t treat us as though we are. You are a spy for the government and you’re spying on us. On my wife.”

  Whittaker scoffed. “This is absurd.”

  “Then why did you bring us in here and close the door?”

  Whittaker’s throat moved with his swallow. “What do you want, Glass?”

  “I want to know if you are spying on India specifically or all magicians.”

  “I’m not answering that. Please leave.”

  Matt pressed on. “You were part of the collector’s club before they were even aware of her, so I suspect the latter. I’m going to assume the British government wants to know who all the magicians are and to keep an eye on them. That’s what I’d do in their position. I suspect you’ve been instrumental in building a file on India.”

  “I didn’t think you’d be prone to storytelling, Glass.”

  “You might as well admit it,” Matt went on. “There’s nothing I can do about it. Indeed, there’s nothing I want to do. As it happens, we are on the same side. The government want magic kept quiet, to exist only in the shadows, the way it has done for centuries. So do we.”

  Sir Charles moved further into the room. “I’m not the only one who knows Mrs. Glass has been working on creating new spells with Mr. Charbonneau. That is not a secret.”

  “I’ve given up. Truly,” I added when he gave me a skeptical look. “The thing is, I’ve come to realize that my spells can be misused by magicians who don’t have the best interests of others at heart. New spells can be dangerous. Some could even be used as weapons. I don’t want that.”

  “And nor does the government, does it?” Matt said.

  Sir Charles didn’t deny it. It was confirmation enough for me that he was indeed working as a spy for the home secretary. “What about Mr. Charbonneau? Has he decided to give up?”

  “He has to. He can’t do it alone.”

  “And there is no one else aside from yourself capable of creating new spells with him?”

  “No one.” I adjusted my grip on the pistol inside the muff. “And you can be assured that I no longer want to do it. The problem with Mr. Trentham’s automaton has proved to me how dangerous it can be when a spell is stolen and falls into the wrong hands.”

  He tilted his head to the side. “Stolen? Are you talking about the new spell you created with Charbonneau?”

  I nodded.

  “I read about the automaton in the newspaper, of course, but…was the stolen spell retrieved when Mrs. Trentham was arrested?”

  “Unfortunately not.”

  “We suspect Coyle was behind the theft of the spell from Charbonneau’s residence,” Matt said. “We think he urged her to do it.”

  Sir Charles tapped a finger against his thigh as he considered this. It was the only outward sign that it troubled him. The cool, debonair gentleman looked as unruffled as ever.

  “What will be the official stance about the incident, specifically, and about magic, in general?” Matt asked. “I assume that’s what you were discussing last night with the Home Secretary.”<
br />
  Sir Charles continued to tap his thigh. “You can read it for yourself. I have this morning’s editions upstairs. Apparently Mrs. Trentham killed her husband. It had nothing to do with the automaton. She simply blamed it to escape justice. Scotland Yard got her to confess in the end.”

  Matt nodded, not at all surprised. “It’ll require more than a few statements to quell the public’s interest in magic.”

  “I agree.”

  “So what will the home secretary do next?”

  Sir Charles barked a laugh. “He doesn’t tell me his plans, Glass.” He glanced at the door. “Have we finished?”

  “One more question,” Matt said. “Does Coyle also work for the home secretary?”

  Sir Charles leveled his gaze with Matt. “Coyle only has his own self-interests at heart.”

  “Do you also work for him?”

  “No.”

  “Then why have you met him in secret and talked about India with him?”

  “You’re mistaken. Now, if you don’t mind, my breakfast smells ready.” He rested his hand on the doorknob, but before opening it, he turned to me. “Tell me, Mrs. Glass, is it possible for that automaton to work without a toymaker magician operating it?”

  “No. I suspect every time it did work seemingly without anyone controlling it, Mrs. Trentham was in fact whispering the spell. There is no such thing as faulty magic. She lied when she told us it was acting of its own accord so she could later blame her husband’s murder entirely on the automaton. I’m sure it was all her doing.”

  “She was an accomplished liar,” Matt murmured.

  Sir Charles gave me a shallow bow. “Thank you. That is indeed something useful.”

  Once Matt and I were safely inside the carriage, I finally felt as though I could breathe normally again. My chest had been tight during that entire encounter. “Do you think we achieved anything?” I asked.

  “He knows we’re on the same side, that we want the same thing. Perhaps now the government will focus their resources on dampening these latest rumors and the resulting fear rather than worrying about what you’re going to do next.”

  It was something of a comfort to have called a truce with Sir Charles, for that’s precisely how it felt. We were on the same side now that I’d given up spell casting. We all wanted to keep Britain safe from those who would use magic for ill purposes.

  Now all we had to do was find all copies of the stolen moving spell and destroy them. The task would not be easy, but at least Sir Charles and the home secretary now knew where to begin their search—with Coyle.

  The newspapers did indeed have further articles on the topic of magic and, more specifically, the Trentham murder and the automaton. While all reported that the police stated Mrs. Trentham confessed to being solely responsible for the murder of her husband, and that magic had nothing to do with it, opinion pieces were divided. Most believed the official police statement—but not all.

  Tellingly, her escape from Scotland Yard’s holding cell wasn’t mentioned. Officially, she was awaiting trial.

  “They can’t keep her escape secret forever,” Cyclops said, turning the page of the newspaper he read at the breakfast table. We’d arrived home from Sir Charles’s to find most of the household just getting out of bed. Only Aunt Letitia was missing, preferring to have her breakfast in her room.

  Willie, sitting beside him at the table, clicked her tongue. “I ain’t finished.”

  Duke walked past on his way to the sideboard and Willie thrust out her empty coffee cup, blocking his path. “Another one,” she said without looking up from the paper.

  Duke rolled his eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Cyclops picked up his empty cup and handed it to Duke too with a smile. “Thanks, Duke.”

  “I’m only doing it for you because you’re a working man now and a man’s entitled to have a Sunday off.”

  “Then why are you doing it for Willie?”

  “She would’ve punched me in the arm if I didn’t.”

  Willie looked up. “I’ve been working all week too. So’ve you, Duke.”

  “It ain’t the same and you know it,” Duke said.

  I folded up the newspaper I was reading and reached for another. “We’re all going to church today and we’re going to mingle with the other parishioners. I want to gauge the reactions of the general public to these articles.”

  “I think we should split up,” Matt said. “You and I will attend our usual church with Aunt Letitia, and the three of them should go to other areas. That way we’ll learn the opinions of different types of people.”

  “Good idea,” Willie said. “Not everyone in the city thinks the same as Lord and Lady Tosspot from Mayfair.”

  “You are not going anywhere, Matt,” I told him. “You can stay home. Aunt Letitia and I will go without you.”

  He grumbled but accepted my decision when I refused to back down.

  It turned out that people from the same part of the city didn’t all think the same. At our church alone, opinions varied. Some believed the official statement that Mrs. Trentham murdered her husband and simply used magic and the automaton as a scapegoat. Others were skeptical and suspected the government was covering up the existence of magic. Of those who stated they believed in magic, not all thought the automaton responsible for the murder. The reactions were just as varied at the other churches.

  What became clear, however, was that magic was utmost on people’s minds. As Willie had put it, the bull was out of the lasso and couldn’t be caught again.

  Brockwell arrived after lunch. It was unusual for him to miss a meal if he could help it, but he told us he’d just come from Scotland Yard where he’d been all morning. I could tell he wanted to talk to us about something but was reluctant in front of Aunt Letitia. When she finally made her excuses, he closed the door behind her himself.

  “Out with it, Jasper,” Willie said. “You been acting like you’re sitting on a hornet’s nest ever since you arrived.”

  “This won’t come as a surprise, I suspect,” he said, moving to stand in front of the fireplace. “Mrs. Trentham was found dead overnight.”

  I was the only one who gasped. Not that I was surprised. I’d expected it. But it was still a shocking thing to happen. I’d been talking to her mere days ago. I’d helped her clean up the toyshop after she’d directed the automaton to make a mess.

  “How did she die?” Matt asked.

  “A gunshot through the head,” Brockwell said.

  “An execution,” Cyclops muttered. “They didn’t even try to make it look like an accident. Only someone who thinks they’re above the law does that.”

  “Or someone who is the law,” Matt said.

  We all looked to Brockwell, who was scratching his sideburns. When he realized, he lowered his hand. “There’s more. The constable who was on duty in the evidence room hasn’t been found.”

  “Do you think he’s dead too?” Willie asked.

  “I don’t know, but I don’t think he’s innocent. He hadn’t lived at the address he gave very long. He also volunteered to do duty in the evidence room that night. That in itself is unusual. No constable would rather be on duty inside when he can be out. Particularly constables who are new recruits that come highly recommended.”

  Cyclops lifted his head. “How recently did he complete his training?”

  “Three weeks ago. Interestingly, he wasn’t a young man.”

  “Most trainees are barely out of the schoolroom,” Cyclops told us. “They call me Pa.”

  “Any chance you can find out more about him from your supervisors?” Matt asked him.

  Cyclops nodded. “I’ll try tomorrow.”

  “Have you read the papers?” Willie asked Brockwell. “They say Mrs. Trentham confessed to murdering her husband. Your superiors don’t want magic blamed.”

  “They told me as much this morning when they questioned me.”

  “Questioned you about what?” I asked.

  “Magic, my expe
riences with it, and with investigating alongside you. They asked me a lot of questions about you, India.”

  The planes of Matt’s face hardened. “What did you say?”

  Brockwell resumed his seat. “They’re already aware of the existence of magic. You know that, Glass. Trying to deny it will do no good.” He turned to me. “All I told them was that you were a law-abiding citizen who wanted to do no harm. I assured them you don’t even practice magic anymore since you no longer own a business.”

  “Did they ask about my spells with Fabian?”

  He nodded. “I told them you’d stopped after seeing what harm the spells can do. I did not tell them the spell was stolen and was what Mrs. Trentham used on the automaton.”

  “They’ll soon find out,” Matt said. He told Brockwell about our meeting with Sir Charles, and Sir Charles’s meeting with the home secretary. “He’s a spy for the British government, and he infiltrated the collector’s club to spy on magicians and collectors.”

  Brockwell scrubbed absently at his sideburns. “Interesting. It means they’ve believed in magic all this time, from before I even met you, despite some trying to deny it to me.”

  “Maybe they’ve known for a while,” I said. “Perhaps even centuries.”

  That statement left a hefty silence in its wake. It didn’t break until Aunt Letitia returned.

  Brockwell stayed with us for the rest of the day and seemed to appreciate the distraction from his work. The weather cleared just before the sun set but we did not leave the house. It didn’t seem fair to go for a walk when I wanted Matt to remain indoors. For his part, he no longer seemed agitated by being made to stay home. He didn’t complain, although I did catch him gazing longingly at the sky at one point.

  We received two letters during the afternoon. One was from Louisa, who wanted to know more about the Trentham case, and the second was from Mrs. Delancey, who suggested we needed a collectors club meeting to discuss recent developments.

  “She seems to have forgotten we’re not members,” I said.

  “Will you go to a meeting if you’re invited?” Matt asked.

  I shook my head. I didn’t want to discuss magic with anyone. At least, not with those who took it upon themselves to be the curators of magical objects.