“So for instance, if he held your hand, he could lead you to anything you’d misplaced, say, a favorite pen or a piece of sheet music?” Merrick said.
Nell tipped her head back and forth. “Sort of. The sheet music, if it wasn’t a favorite piece, would take him a bit. But if, say, I lost one of the earrings you gave me for my debut, his power would respond to the strength of the urgency I would feel.”
Tom stifled a sigh. He wanted to dismiss Nell’s concern as nothing but nonsense so he could get the hell out of here, but unfortunately he couldn’t. Like him, she’d grown up in a world full of supernatural abilities, and despite her soft heart she was no fool. If she said the boy was gifted he probably was, and that made his disappearance the business of the Order.
“What could the ghost tell you about the woman who took the boy?” He tried not to snap, but it was always a challenge talking to Nell. Just being in the same room with her set his teeth on edge.
Merrick shot him a stern glance and Tom dipped his head, acknowledging that his reaction to Nell was bad form. It was so damn difficult to pretend he wasn’t still in love with her.
“She was taller than average, fair and heavily cloaked.” Nell’s drab gray day dress turned her dusky skin sallow. Even with a white lace collar and cuffs, she could pass for an upper servant, nothing like she’d looked at home. Nell loved color and sumptuous fabrics, but apparently she’d left all her satins and velvet behind when she’d come here.
“Nothing more. The headmistress saw her but refused to say anything. She’d probably speak to one of you two, as officers of the crown, not to mention titled ones. She’s a bit of a snob.” Her full lips curled up into a grin that didn’t reach her huge, dark eyes.
“I gathered that when she so graciously invited us to use her private parlor.” Merrick lifted an eyebrow again, studying Nell as if looking for bumps and bruises. “Has she given you trouble?”
Tom bit his lip to repress a smile. Woe to the poor woman if she’d been giving Merrick’s darling daughter grief for being less than lily-white pure English. Merrick may have come to fatherhood late, but he was as protective of all of them as any child could ask for, including Tom himself. Despite Tom being a Devere, Merrick was the only father he’d ever known. Suddenly, the day showed promise. Watching Merrick dismember the woman—if only verbally—would do Tom’s mood a world of good.
“I’m fine, Papa,” Nell said. “I can handle a snooty employer. She treats me no better nor worse than the other teachers. It’s Charlie I’m worried about.”
Nell’s left eye twitched the tiniest bit when she lied. Lead settled in Tom’s stomach. Maybe he could dismember the woman himself.
“Let’s invite the headmistress in,” Merrick said. “I’ll stay long enough to chat with her, but then I have to catch the train back to London. Tom will stay to sort everything out. Right, son?”
“Um, of course, sir.” Tom tried to gulp back his surprise. Merrick was leaving him? Him, here with Nell? Had Merrick lost his reason? Avoiding Tom was why she’d come all the way to Cornwall, why she worked when she didn’t have to. It was all his fault she wasn’t home, surrounded by her loving family. Mostly, it was his fault she wasn’t married with a family of her own by now. Nonetheless, Merrick was Tom’s superior officer, as well as his foster father. There wasn’t any way Tom could say no.
“Good.” Merrick rubbed his hands together. “Now, let’s have a chat with your Mrs. Chisholm.”
Tom flicked his finger, releasing the small spell that had kept their voices from traveling beyond the walls of the room. Party tricks, that’s all he was good for in this kind of situation. Despite the popular belief that magick was all-powerful, he couldn’t always do much. Still, his little tricks had proven useful on occasion, even if he was more confident with a pistol or sword in his hand.
Merrick trod heavily on the wooden floor as he crossed to the door, giving the headmistress plenty of time to scurry back to her desk. “Please, Mrs. Chisholm. May we join you a moment?”
The stern-eyed, hawk-nosed woman, one cheek rosy from where it had probably pressed against the door, gestured toward some chairs. Her hair, blond shot with silver, was pulled back so tightly her skin was taut across her cheeks. “What can I do for you, my lord?” She ducked her head in a parody of a curtsy, even though she was seated.
Merrick took a seat in front of the stark wooden desk and patted the chair beside him for Nell. Tom took up a position beside the door to the hallway, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall and scowled, playing bully boy to Merrick’s fond papa.
“First, I’d like to thank you for taking good care of my girl,” Merrick said with a proud glance at Nell. “She’s her mother’s darling, but she was determined to do some good work before she settled down. She tells us she’s happy here at Glenbury. Perhaps you’re in need of another patroness? Lady Northland positively adores sitting on charity boards.”
Tom kept his face rigid and was impressed that Nell didn’t even blink at that outright whopper. Caroline hated that sort of noblesse oblige.
“Oh, of course, my lord.” Mrs. Chisholm swallowed hard. Clearly she’d assumed Nell was cast off from her noble family, not beloved and indulged. The old bat wouldn’t be the first to assume Nell was Merrick’s natural daughter, not wanted by his gently born wife and forced to earn her own keep. Chisholm’s lips pursed as if she’d been eating tainted pickles. “We’re so pleased to have Miss Hadrian here. The students are fond of her, of course.”
“Of course.” Merrick reached over and tugged one of the ebony curls that had come loose from Nell’s prim bun. “Children always adore her. She has plenty of practice, with six younger siblings.”
The woman’s eyes widened as she mouthed the word six, looking ready to reach for her vinaigrette.
“Yes, an uncanny knack with the little ones, has our Nell.” Merrick turned his eyes directly on Mrs. Chisholm. “Her instincts are unerring. So why don’t we talk about this boy who has her so worried?”
“It’s nothing,” Mrs. Chisholm said with a wave of her hand. “Just a child taken home by his relations. It does happen you know. Even these blind urchins occasionally have some usefulness to their family and are called back.”
Nell’s spine stiffened and Tom braced for the explosion.
Nell didn’t disappoint. She leaned forward and gripped the headmistress’s desk. “They’re not urchins, they’re children. Blindness has nothing to do with it. Charlie is a brilliant, brilliant musician and a wonderful boy. He doesn’t have any relatives, and even if he did, they’d leave him here, where he can finish his education. He’s not even nine years old and he’s on track for a remarkable career in music. Do not speak as if he were some worthless scrap tossed up on the seashore. Who took him?”
The last words were sung rather than spoken and Tom bit back a grin. Nell was beyond furious if she was pulling out her power. He’d only seen her do that before in cases of life or death. “Eyeball your gob, chuckaboo. No need to batty fang the dizzy haybag.” He whispered the words in the street cant of their youth, knowing Nell’s hearing was nearly as acute as his own or Merrick’s. Watch your mouth, my friend. No need to beat up the old lady.
“I granny.” I understand, she subvocalized back, even as the power of her song compelled the older woman to answer. “Stubble it, slang cove.” Shut up, show-off.
“The woman said she was his aunt. She gave me his name, the date he was left here and twenty pounds. I didn’t ask any more questions.” Chisholm blinked even as she said the words, her mouth round in horror. She clapped her hand across her lips.
“Of course you didn’t,” Merrick soothed. “Absolutely right, I’m sure. Now what name did the aunt give you? An address? The boy was a favorite of Nell’s and she’d like to send a note, congratulating him on his new family.”
Having just admitted to an officer of the crown and potential patron that she’d accepted bribery to release a student, the woman seemed inclined to cooperate
. She held up a book listing registered students.
“Charles Berrycloth,” Merrick read. “‘Abandoned August 6, 1859 by a woman from a nearby village who said she found him sleeping alone in the flat next door after the mother disappeared. Precise age uncertain, claims to be four years old.’ So he’s nine, now, or close to it.”
“Nine sounds right,” Nell said. “He pronounces it ‘Barrowclough,’ though. Not berry-cloth. His memories of childhood are muzzy, of course, but he’s very good with sounds, so that’s probably the way he learned it from his mother. He also remembers having a birthday near Easter, so the previous headmistress assigned March twenty-first as his birthday.”
Tom’s head swam. “Barrowclough? Are you certain?” He’d only heard that name once before in his life—just about nine and a half years earlier. All the blood from his brain seemed to pool and coagulate in his stomach.
“Berrycloth,” Mrs. Chisholm insisted. “That’s what it says right here. The boy couldn’t have possibly remembered anything. It must have been a ploy for attention. Look. The aunt even signed it that way yesterday.”
“Clara Berrycloth,” Merrick agreed, looking at the handwriting closely. “Tom, come tell us what you think.” He stood and held out the book. He must have seen the shock on Tom’s face, because he steadied Tom’s shoulder with his other hand. “Everything all right?” he whispered.
Tom took the book in both hands, laying his thumb over the woman’s signature. Keeping his back to the headmistress, he murmured a small incantation. “A scheme,” he muttered as emotions and surface thoughts filtered into his brain, leaving a bitter, acrid taste in his mouth. “Lies, but little ones, easier to keep straight. Disgust at the brat and his disability, but the possibility of great gain. Berry. Damn, he was supposed to have just used Berry. Too late. Have to change again. Time to go.”
It couldn’t be. Tom staggered and Merrick pushed him hard into the chair he’d just vacated.
“My foster brother occasionally has these spells,” Nell said to the headmistress, her voice just barely registering through the sickness churning in Tom’s gut. She laid one cool hand against his forehead. His breath quickened. “He’ll be fine in just a moment. I don’t suppose you have any brandy here?”
“Spirits? In a school? Heavens forfend. Shall I fetch some tea?” At Nell’s gesture, Mrs. Chisholm scuttled out of the room in a swish of starched petticoats. Tom didn’t even look up to see her go.
“What the hell, son?” Merrick gripped both of Tom’s shoulders. “You’ve never gotten that kind of detail before, or reacted like this. Are you all right?” While magick always had a price, this was extreme. Even Tom knew that, and he barely knew his own name at the moment. Usually, casting a spell caused a bit of fatigue, like dashing up a staircase or lifting a heavy box would. This magnitude of physical reaction was something strange, and he could only believe it was because the subject was as personal to him as he’d at first feared when he’d heard the name Barrowclough.
Tom swallowed. “I will be.”
Merrick pulled a flask from the pocket of his coat and handed it to Tom, who took a long, healthy swig of the MacKays’ finest single malt. He swallowed, gasped and swallowed again. Finally he wiped his mouth with his coat sleeve, a gesture that was pure Tommy Porter, not at all Sir Thomas Devere. “I just went a little deeper than usual, I guess. I’m fine,” he said after a minute. Once he’d taken several deep breaths, the other two backed off, just in time for Mrs. Chisholm to bustle back in, a servant at her heels with a tea tray.
Merrick bowed. “None for us. Thank you for your time, Mrs. Chisholm. I’ll leave the matter in your capable hands. Nell will be leaving at once. We’ll just nip upstairs and pack her things. You can forward the remainder of her salary to Hadrian House, St. James, London.” He strode out the door, Nell and Tom close on his heels. If Tom wasn’t exactly striding along, at least he was upright.
“Papa,” Nell cried, “what on earth?”
“Really, darling, do you think I could leave you under the auspices of that harridan?” Merrick shot her a glare. “Your mother would have my head. Independence is one thing, but working for someone who despises you is something no one, particularly my daughter, should ever have to face. You and Tom go find the lad, then come home. Hell, bring the boy along if you like. Don’t suppose your mother would even notice another.” Caroline Hadrian adored children. The former governess and Merrick had four of their own, ranging from four to eleven, as well as the five they’d rescued from the Wapping slums.
“I’m a grown woman, Papa. I can choose my own employment.” Nell scurried to keep up, both hands holding her serviceable gray skirts. “And what do you mean, Tom and I? Aren’t you going to help me find Charlie?” She’d assumed his talk of catching a train was merely for Miss Chisholm’s benefit.
Merrick squeezed her shoulder. “I can’t come, poppet. I’m sorry. There’s another rash of gifted children gone missing. I have to be there. We haven’t seen any signs of the black sweat, but even so, it could be the Alchemist again, and we have to be sure. If it is, we can’t let the bastard get away again, not when he’s finally resurfaced.”
Nell caught her breath. “The Alchemist? But Hacker is dead.” The vicar-turned-scientist had used children as guinea pigs to try to cure black lung disease from coal smoke. The bastard had nearly killed Ivy, the daughter of friends.
“It has to be another with a similar agenda,” Tom said.
Merrick frowned. “Remember, we always suspected Hacker wasn’t the mastermind of the project. I believe the real Alchemist used the unhinged vicar for his own purposes, and that he’s likely out there somewhere.”
“Then, of course you must stop him,” Nell said. “But that’s no reason for me to leave Glenbury for good.”
Tom paused and leaned on a wall to catch his breath. “Give it up, Nelly-belly. The old biddy would sack you as soon as you left to find the boy anyway.”
Ignoring the old nickname, she paused, twirling that loose curl around one finger. After a moment, she sighed. “Oh, rot. You’re probably right. Now I won’t have a job or a reference. Blast it.”
Merrick grunted. “I’ll buy you your own bloody school. Now let’s go.”
Nell made an exasperated sound and Tom sighed. That’s probably exactly what would happen. Damn it, she ought to just find a husband. Then maybe Tom would be able to sleep at night.
“I won’t leave without saying goodbye to my pupils.” She grimaced. “And…someone else. Just give me a few hours. We can leave right after supper. I’ll make the announcement that I’m needed at home.”
Merrick opened his mouth and she whirled on him, one foot on the back staircase of the old manor that had been converted to a school. God, she was magnificent. Barely two inches over five feet, she stood up to Merrick like a lioness, poking him in the chest with one finger.
“No, Papa. I want to find Charlie, but an hour or two is unlikely to make a difference. I won’t have twenty children, twenty blind children, most of them abandoned here, thinking that I’ve run off without a care. Someone at home is gravely ill and in need of nursing. They’ll understand that. Are we clear?”
Merrick kissed the top of her head. “Of course, dearest. Your poor old grandmother is likely to die if you don’t hurry. Better?”
She snorted and Tom grinned. She’d never had a grandparent in her life. Her standing up to her father like that was bold and new, though. He found he rather liked it.
“Thank you. Tom?”
Tom held up his hands in surrender. “Don’t ask me. I’m just here to carry your trunks. I don’t ask any questions about old Granny Hadrian. She’s liable to give me the stink eye.”
That left them all chuckling, but Merrick caught Nell’s chin. “This someone else. Is he anyone your mother or I ought to know about?”
Tom felt like the breath had been sucked from his lungs. Of course he wanted her to find someone, but here? Another teacher? How could the man possibly support
her as she deserved?
Nell thought a moment. “Not really. I’d thought at one point about bringing him home for a visit, but…no. He’s just a friend, so far at least.”
“Sure?” Merrick’s tone was soft, but the cords of his neck were taut.
Nell laughed. “It’s all right, Papa. No need to worry about your little girl. He hasn’t so much as bruised my feelings. I’m simply not quite sure of my own yet.”
They climbed another two flights of stairs to the attic that housed the female teachers. Tom knew which room was hers before she even opened the door. Her scent—rich with cinnamon but jasmine sweet—wafted into the narrow hallway, just like it did in the corridors of both Hadrian Hall in Northumberland and Hadrian House in London. Wherever she went, Nell left her imprint.
“Not much of a room, is it?” Merrick looked around the small space, ducking to enter the doorway. “Our housemaids have bigger quarters. Now I know why you never let us visit you here.”
“Think of it as less to pack and less you have to carry back home with you.” Nell frowned. “Papa, you’ll take my trunk? There’s just the one. But where do we go? I mean, where should we start looking for Charlie? I suppose nearby if his neighbor knew about the school and did drop him off. I just don’t know.” With quiet efficiency, she began to pack the contents of her wardrobe into the small trunk she’d been using as a night table. One spare brown dress and some white silk Tom didn’t even want to think about went into a carpetbag she pulled from under the bed.
“I’ve got to rush. Just have the trunk sent ahead.” Merrick accepted objects as Nell handed them to him and laid them in the trunk. Tom understood and mentally thanked the older man for not trying to instruct another Knight’s investigation. It had to be hard for someone of Merrick’s authority to step back, especially when his own family was involved. That he did was a mark of trust Tom wasn’t sure he deserved.
“Tom, would you mind wrapping the photographs?” Nell said. “You’ll find a box of tissue at the bottom of the wardrobe.”
Ether & Elephants Page 2
