Ashes & Alchemy

by Cindy Spencer Pape

  Back in bed with Ivy, she was careful to silence her sobs. The knowledge struck her with the force of a thunderbolt. What a fool she’d become. Like an idiot, she’d gone and fallen in love.

  How wonderful it was, though, just those few moments in his arms. She’d thought, once, that she’d been in love. At seventeen, she’d been a naïve fool. What she’d felt for that cowardly twit was nothing like the depth of emotion she felt when she thought of Sebastian. It had been a game of love, not the actual emotion. Yet she’d known her first for most of her life, and Sebastian for only one day. Even so, that one day had altered her life in so many ways. She’d lost Jane, nearly lost Ivy and met the kindest, dearest man she’d ever know—even if he hid his kindness behind the manners of an autocrat.

  Even through her tears, Minnie smiled. It was going to hurt like the devil when she had to leave here, but she couldn’t quite regret knowing Sebastian. If she was bound to grow old alone but for Ivy, at least she’d always have the memory of stolen kisses that made her feel cherished.

  Ivy shifted in her sleep and snuggled into Minnie’s back. More love washed through Minnie’s heart. In some ways she was so lucky. Perhaps, tonight, she’d done something to ease Sebastian’s nightmares. That would be some small recompense for all he’d done for her. When Ivy grew older and asked about her father, the fictional Mr. Shaw, Minnie would say he was a big man, a soldier, with dark hair and hazel eyes, strong and gruff, but the kindest man who’d ever lived.

  When she slept that night, there were no nightmares, or even dreams of Sebastian’s kisses. All Minnie found was deep, restful slumber.

  * * *

  The next morning, Sebastian walked into his dining room to find both Minnie and Ivy at the table. “We’ve just seen Dr. Grant,” Minnie said with a smile. “Ivy is completely well. He doesn’t understand it, and I didn’t explain your suspicions. He just thinks it’s a miracle.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. I’m off to work this morning, but I’ll be back shortly after noon to escort you to the McCulloughs.” He gave Ivy a mock bow, which made the little girl grin. “Are you looking forward to a party today, Miss Ivy?”

  She nodded, eyes wide. “Mummy said there might be cake.”

  Seb winked. “Quite likely. Are you helping your mother with your party dresses?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m playing with my paper dolls and telling her what all the prettiest clothes look like.” Ivy bounced in her chair. “Can we stay here? The bed is ever so soft, and there’s no stinky chamber pots. And Mrs. Caypoo put strawberry jam on my toast.” Her eyes glowed. “Real strawberry jam.”

  “I can see that around your mouth.” Seb stifled a laugh. He wondered how his housekeeper liked the name Caypoo. “I call her Mrs. C sometimes. That might be easier than Claypoole.”

  “Ooh, I can say that.” Ivy picked up another jam-smeared toast quarter. “So we can stay?”

  “Well, that’s something your mother and I will have to talk about.” He crouched in front of her. “Wherever you go from here, Ivy, I promise it will be warm and safe. And you’ll sometimes have strawberry jam.” He’d see to that himself.

  “Thank you.” She lunged out of her chair to hug him and press a strawberry-sticky kiss on his cheek. “You’re my new best friend, Mr. Brown. You and Mrs. C, and Caypoo. He brought me pickup sticks to play with and showed me how.”

  Seb tried to imagine his proper butler playing pickup sticks and just couldn’t do it. This time, he didn’t offer Ivy an alternate name. She could call him Caypoo until someone else corrected her. The urge to spoil this child rotten seemed to be ubiquitous in this house.

  Seb took his leave, stopping in the lavatory to wipe jam from his cheek. His house felt more like a home than it ever had, even when his mother had stayed here during his recovery. He couldn’t remember the last time breakfast had made him smile. He wished he’d gotten a goodbye kiss from the mother as well. He could get used to that kind of send-off every morning.

  And why not?

  The idea struck in a heartbeat, fully formed. From the mouths of babes, it seemed, came the solution to everyone’s problems. Minerva didn’t have a job, they might not even have a flat to return to—not that he’d let them go back to that shite hole anyway. Even his servants had already been won over. Ivy would have a father and could go to a proper school, even make a come-out on a modest scale. Minerva could spend her days sewing for pleasure or reading novels. In the evenings, they’d be a family, with all the comforts that brought. And at night—well, there’d be no reason to deny the passion that had flared between them like a blazing star. After Vidya, Seb had sworn off marriage, but perhaps he’d been precipitous. He’d been looking at marriage as a responsibility, which it was, but he’d overlooked the comfort that could come from having another person around. Practical, calm Minerva wouldn’t throw tantrums and demand his attention or throw fits when he worked all night on a case.

  It was the ideal solution for everyone. He damn near skipped down the street, marveling at the perfection. Now all he had to do was convince Minerva—after he dealt with the man who’d killed her friend and tried to kidnap Ivy. That bastard would be lucky if he ever saw the inside of a prison cell. Seb would have no compunction about putting him down like a rabid dog.

  He started at the dress shop, intending mostly to rule it out. He was convinced the murder had more to do with Ivy than Jane. After a lengthy conversation with Madame Des Cartes, who’d been born Sally Carter, Sebastian was absolutely certain that the woman had nothing to do with it. Madame did indicate that, given the circumstances, she might be willing to take Minerva back, at a slightly reduced pay rate, of course. Seb lost no time in telling the witch that Mrs. Shaw would no longer be available, although he agreed to relay her message. Revolted, he drove to the ragged school where Ivy had been spending her days.

  The church was an old one, built in a time when this hadn’t been a slum. Narrow and tall, it was now sandwiched between a greengrocer’s and a dry goods store. The brick needed repointing and a board covered one of the stained-glass panels. Seb let himself in through the main doors to the sanctuary and, once inside, sought out the vicar, whom he’d spoken to the day before.

  The elderly Reverend Hacker took Seb downstairs to the school.

  The area was old and rough but mostly clean. Someone obviously cared about the premises and possibly the children in them. The stairs opened up into a hall.

  “Across from us is the headmaster’s office. Then each teacher has one of the three rooms. Ages three to six, six to nine, and nine to twelve.” The vicar pointed as he spoke.

  “And the fourth room?” Seb asked.

  “Storage, mostly. An art teacher comes once a week on Tuesdays and visits each room for an hour. A music teacher does the same on Thursday. On Wednesdays, I think it’s a naturalist. On Fridays we have prayer meetings. The headmaster, Mr. Billings, can tell you the rest.”

  “What can you tell me about Mr. Billings, Vicar? Did he start the school? Who pays his salary?”

  The older man frowned. “It was Mr. Billings who approached me with the idea—some five or six years ago, now. The school actually pays rent to the church, so there must be a patron. Mr. Billings doesn’t seem to be a wealthy man, although he is devoted.” So far, the vicar wasn’t lying.

  “So many children in the area, you know, who have nowhere else to go while their parents are working, or drunk, I’m afraid, as often as not. We try to give them a basic education in their letters, numbers, hygiene, maps and Christian virtues. Many of our graduates go on to be scholarship students at prestigious schools after leaving here. Others at least find apprenticeships or positions better than those of their parents.” All truth. Seb nearly asked the man straight out if he knew who was using children as laboratory rats, but he didn’t want to tip his hand completely.

  “I’m sure your work is exemplary, Vicar.” Hell, at least the church was doing something, which was more than most could say. “Now, if you could introduc
e me to Mr. Billings?”

  “Of course.” The cleric shuffled over to the headmaster’s door and knocked. When there was no answer, he stopped and peeked inside. “Mr. Billings doesn’t seem to be in. Perhaps he’s in one of the classrooms. He does the Monday lessons on behavior and deportment.”

  Seb was already inclined to dislike the headmaster, for no good reason other than that he had helped Ivy and therefore Minerva, long before Seb had had the chance. But lessons in deportment? For these children? That simply didn’t sound like a major concern. How about lessons in mending clothes, fighting off thugs or preserving food? Those things might save a life. Who cared about manners when survival was on the line?

  Seb suppressed a sigh. “Vicar, I need you to check the classrooms. And if you could stay with the groups while I speak to each of the teachers for a moment...?”

  “Of course, Inspector.” The reverend knocked on the first door, spoke softly, then went inside while a plain young woman in a brown dress and white apron emerged.

  “Can I help you, sir?” The teacher dropped a curtsy. “Vicar said you’re with the police. Is something wrong?”

  Seb shrugged. “I don’t know, Miss...”

  “Burton, sir. Meg Burton.”

  “Miss Burton, then.” Seb pulled out his notebook and pencil. “That is, I know there’s something wrong, but I’m not sure it has anything to do with your school. Which age group do you teach?”

  “The little ones, sir.” Her plain features brightened when she smiled. “I love the kiddies. My parents were missionaries in China and we had a school there, so I had experience.”

  So this was Ivy’s teacher, the one Seb wanted to question at some length. “Let’s go upstairs to the chapel. That way, we won’t disturb any of the classes.”

  Utterly submissive, she followed him up the stairs and took the seat he gestured to on the front pew. There were no supplicants in the church, so though it was a public place, they had it to themselves.

  “Miss Burton, you have a student named Ivy Shaw, correct?”

  “Yes, sir. She’s a corker, always ready to play or learn. I almost have her reading, young as she is.” Her face fell. “That is young as she was. She took sick last week, and none of the children have come back from the Black Death. Likely poor Ivy’s already gone. I’ll miss her, sir, and that’s the truth.” Miss Burton sniffed.

  She was telling the absolute truth. Seb gentled his tone. “Ivy is alive and well, Miss Burton.”

  The woman’s eyes flew open. “Truly?”

  “Yes. She’s under police protection.” That was only a slight exaggeration. She was under his protection, and he was with the police. “I need to know if you’ve noticed anything about which children have been getting sick. Is it mostly the weaker ones, or robust children like Ivy? Is there anything they have in common that the others don’t? Someone they come into contact with?”

  Meg’s brow furrowed. “The healthier ones. And always two at a time. First two from the oldest class, a boy and a girl. Then the same from the middle and then from mine. A week apart, each time.” She looked up at Seb. “That’s not natural, is it?”

  “No. That’s why I’m here.” Whoever was at fault, this young woman was honest to the bone. “Did they all get sick the same day of the week?”

  “I’m not sure.” Meg counted something on her fingers. “Mostly near the end of the week.” Her lip quivered. “Mostly they seemed to die over the weekend. We heard that Davy Nesmith passed away on Friday. He was one of Ivy’s closest friends.”

  “I’m sorry.” Seb bowed his head in acknowledgement of her grief. “I’m going to do my best to see it doesn’t happen again.”

  “Thank you, sir.” She gave him a fierce smile. “Any help you need, you come to me. I’ve helped fight off lions in the veldt. I’ll protect these children with my life and I can hold my own, sir.”

  “I believe you can, Miss Meg.” Seb couldn’t help but smile back. “For now, can you tell me if the headmaster is here today?”

  She shook her head. “He never showed up. I overheard the other two teachers talking about it. He’s never missed before, and it’s especially odd on a Monday, when he does the special lessons.”

  “Thank you.” Seb handed her his calling card. “If anything strikes you as odd or worrisome, please send a note or find a telephone and call.”

  “Of course, Inspector.” She preceded him down the stairs, shoulders strong and square. He got the impression that Meg and Minerva would be fast friends if they ever had the chance.

  Seb questioned each of the other teachers and learned nothing more of interest. They both remarked on Billings’ uncharacteristic absence, but neither had any idea where the man could be. With the reverend’s permission, Seb took a quick look around the headmaster’s office. He didn’t find anything incriminating but did write down the addresses of all the teachers, including the once-a-week special instructors. The fact that the illness occurred about the same time each week suggested one of those, but only knowing the incubation period would indicate which.

  No one answered the door at the headmaster’s house. Seb had a brief chat with the music teacher’s landlady, who told him her tenant taught private lessons most days. Seb honestly didn’t think a sixty-year-old parson’s widow was the most likely culprit anyway. The artist was next on his list, but proved to be an amiable young man sharing a flat with his “cousin,” a polite euphemism for male lover. Although that was technically illegal, Seb didn’t care a whit and chatted with both men. Neither radiated any significant interest in what Seb had to say or any dishonesty in their answers.

  Seb checked his watch. Time to go home. The naturalist would wait for later. After Seb and Minerva returned from Liam’s party, he’d go out again and take another stab at finding the headmaster as well.

  After one brief stop, he reached home in time to change. He put on his good suit and returned to the parlor seconds before Mrs. Claypoole followed him down the stairs with a mile-wide smile on her plump face. “Just you wait, Mr. Brown.” She actually giggled as she bustled back toward the kitchen.

  Seb heard more giggles from the top of the stairs. He watched as Minerva and Ivy glided down the steps, hand in hand. Collectively, the two beauties took his breath away.

  Chapter Six

  Minnie all but held her breath as she and Ivy descended the stairs. She’d never felt as lovely, not even as a girl, as she did in the made-over cornflower-blue gown. Beside her, Ivy fairly sparkled in her green velvet, although she’d had to wear her old brown shoes. Minnie had been lucky. Mrs. Brown’s shoes had only required a little stuffing in the toes to work on Minnie. Still she kept careful hold on the bannister to avoid tripping.

  Sebastian gazed up with softness in his eyes that let her know he, too, remembered their kisses the night before.

  “Before we go,” he said, “I thought you both might like a surprise.”

  Minnie tipped her head while Ivy clapped her hands.

  Sebastian pulled a small jeweler’s box from his pocket.

  “No,” Minnie said without thinking. “Gifts like this wouldn’t be proper.”

  “They’re just trinkets,” he said. “We’re going to a party. Might as well have something that’s not a hand-me-down.”

  “Mama! I want my surprise.” Ivy pulled out of Minnie’s hand and ran to Sebastian. “What is it?”

  He opened the box. “For you, poppet, an ivy leaf.” He pulled a simple silver bracelet with a green enameled sprig and fastened it around her wrist. It certainly couldn’t be called expensive, but it was a lovely gift.

  “Thank you!” Ivy whirled around, holding it against her green dress.

  “And for Minerva, goddess of wisdom, I have her faithful companion.” He reached for her hand.

  Minnie let him take it. Around her wrist he clasped an almost identical bracelet, but with a sweet brown enameled owl. “I didn’t think you’d accept sapphires to match your eyes,” he whispered. “So I settled for
this.”

  Minnie felt herself flush. Even more when Sebastian let Claypoole help Ivy with her cloak, also made-over, while Seb assisted Minnie himself. His gloved hands lingered on her shoulders, sending a tingle all along her spine.

  “I shall be the envy of every man there,” he said as he offered an elbow to each of them. They exited the front door to find a hansom cab waiting. Sebastian assisted them both, making Minnie feel even more like a fairy-tale princess. She sat facing forward, and to her surprise, Sebastian carefully adjusted her full skirts so he could sit beside her instead of Ivy, who gazed around with awe from the rear-facing seat. Once the carriage began to move, Ivy stared out the window at the houses flashing past in reverse. She’d never ridden in a carriage before. Minnie’s eyes misted at the thought. It had been seventeen years since she had, but Ivy never had at all. To her, just the trip to the party was a special treat.

  Swallowing hard, Minnie stared down at Sebastian’s hand where it rested on his thigh. How she wished she had the right to lay her own on top of it. Even through two pair of gloves, it would be something, some form of contact more deliberate than the brush of his thigh against her skirts. Instead, she whispered a question to Sebastian about his investigations of the morning.

  “No trace of the bastard,” he growled. When Ivy gasped, he looked over at her and his gaze softened. “Sorry, poppet. I’m just angry, but not at you.”

  “What’s a bass-turd? Is it fish poo?” Ivy’s brow scrunched.

  “It’s just a bad word,” Minnie interjected before Seb could speak. “And one you’re never to say again.”

  “Oh.” Her nose wrinkled. “That’s why there was a fight when Lucas Milton called Joey Cavanaugh one at school.”

  “Exactly,” Minnie said. “You must never call people names like that. Mr. Brown knows he was naughty to do so.”

  Seb nodded, but she saw the grin he tried to hide.

  “Mr. Engle used it too, so it must be all right,” Ivy argued. “He told the headmaster that nobody would miss a few worthless bass-turds.”