The Apothecary's Poison (Glass and Steele Book 3)

by C. J. Archer

"I caught him," he said "but let him keep the watch."

  My mouth dropped open.

  "It was my regular watch, India, not my other one."

  I patted his jacket at his chest and felt the reassuring lump of his magic watch, safely tucked in the inside pocket. My eyes fluttered closed and I sucked in a shaky breath.

  "The only way a pickpocket could get that one is if I'm unconscious," Matt said. "That's why I keep it in a buttoned down pocket. India, are you all right?" He took my hand. "You look pale."

  "I thought it was your other one," I said weakly. "And when you disappeared, I thought you might never catch him and… I think you know where my thoughts ran after that."

  He tucked my hand into the crook of his arm and steered me toward the house. I was grateful for his steadying presence. "I'm sorry I didn't clarify before chasing after him. The reason I took so long is because I questioned the boy thoroughly before letting him go."

  "You let him go and you let him keep your watch."

  "He's a child, India. I couldn't turn him over to the constables. He needs the money that watch will bring more than I need the watch."

  I sighed. "I know. But I think he was after your other one. Bristow said the boy's been here for some time."

  He nodded. "He told me he was paid by a gentleman to wait for me then steal my watch. If it had been a random event, I would have dismissed it, but he blurted out about the gentleman as soon as I caught him."

  "Did he describe him to you?"

  "He said it was just a gentleman who looked like any other. Neither old nor young, tall nor short, fat nor thin. He had no distinguishing marks that the boy can recall, and no accent."

  "So it's not Payne."

  "Or Payne disguised his accent, or perhaps paid someone else to approach the boy. That's what he does, removes himself as far as possible from the scene of the crime and everyone connected to it. That's how he gets away with it, by disassociating himself, so that when his name is linked, he can call those intermediaries liars."

  I tightened my grip on his arm. "It may not have been Payne."

  "I can't think of anyone else who suspects my watch is important."

  "Chronos knows. He doesn't want to speak to you, so perhaps he wants to remove the watch from you altogether, for reasons not yet clear to us. And then there's Abercrombie. When he ordered those thugs to kidnap you to stop you meeting Mirth at the bank, he left the watch with you, so he knows it's important."

  "But not that it keeps me alive. He doesn't know it's anything other than a regular watch with sentimental value. If he didn't want it then, he wouldn't want it now. My money's still on Payne."

  Matt plodded up the front steps to the house and suppressed a yawn as Bristow took his hat. We ate a quick luncheon with his aunt before he retired to his rooms for a much needed rest. Miss Glass and I sat quietly talking as we did our needlepoint. My nerves had calmed somewhat, after the shock of the theft, but at least our conversation kept my thoughts from wandering in that direction overmuch. If they had, I might feel worried all over again.

  "Veronica," Miss Glass said to me after an hour sitting together, "when will Harry be back?"

  I set my embroidery hoop down on the seat beside me and rose. I took her hands in mine and smiled. "Soon," I told her. "Now, let me take you to your room. You need a rest."

  She touched her temple. "I do feel a little tired." Miss Glass's episodes of confusion occurred when she was either tired or overwrought. She usually seemed better after a nap.

  I returned to the sitting room after sending Miss Glass's maid up to her mistress, but I was soon disturbed by the arrival of a visitor.

  "Mr. Barratt! What a surprise," I said, greeting him.

  "Not an unpleasant one, I hope," the journalist said.

  "Not at all, but I'm afraid Mr. Glass is indisposed at the moment."

  "Then I'll speak with you alone." His eyes shone with good humor. "What a happy outcome for me."

  I smiled and indicated he should sit. "Bring tea, please, Bristow."

  The butler left and Mr. Barratt sat on the armchair. "I wasn't expecting to see you here, Miss Steele. Shouldn't you be with Mr. Glass, attending to business matters in his office?"

  I hadn't said that Matt was attending to business matters, or that he was in his office. Mr. Barratt was fishing. While I wouldn't tell him Matt was resting, I had no qualms telling him about our domestic arrangements. "I live here," I said. "I act as companion to Matt's aunt when he has no need of me."

  "Indeed? So you see a great deal of him?"

  "It's unavoidable."

  "Even in a house this size?"

  I laughed. "There are only six bedrooms, not including the servants' bedchambers in the attic. Not at all large, compared to some."

  He laughed too. "Not in my world, Miss Steele."

  "Nor mine. It's quite a difference to the rooms above my father's watch and clock shop. After his death, I needed employment, and Matt needed an assistant. It worked out perfectly for me. Considering I had no experience as anyone's assistant except my father's, I'm not sure he got the same benefit from the arrangement as I did."

  "I beg to differ," he said warmly. "I think he did very well out of the arrangement. Very well indeed. He does, after all, get to enjoy your company every day."

  My face heated, and I tried to laugh off his flattery, but I felt his gaze on me. It was unnerving; not because I felt embarrassed by his flattery but because I liked it.

  "Tell me about yourself," he said after an awkward pause. "I'd like to get to know you better."

  "Why?"

  "Because I like you, and that's what people do when they like one another."

  "Oh. Yes. Of course." I sounded like an unsophisticated oaf.

  "And you're a magician and I've met so few."

  "Shhh." I glanced at the door just as Bristow entered, carrying a tray. He deposited it on a table and I poured the tea. "There's not much to tell," I said to Mr. Barratt after Bristow left. "My mother died when I was young, and my father passed just over a month ago. I've been around watches my entire life and helped him in the shop whenever I could."

  "You said he was artless and you never knew you were a magician until recently. It must have come as a surprise."

  He had no idea how much. When my watch had saved me, I thought I was going mad and imagining things. "Tell me, Mr. Barratt, does your magic manifest itself in ways other than the one you showed me at the Gazette office?"

  He set his cup down and gave me his full attention. "What do you mean?"

  How much should I tell him? How much could I trust him? If I wanted answers, I had to, at least a little. "What I'm going to tell you cannot be repeated to a soul. Do you understand? I don't want to read about it in your newspaper tomorrow morning."

  He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, fixing me with a curious gaze. "I promise to keep your secret, Miss Steele."

  I took a sip then set down my cup too. The slight delay seemed to irk him but he did not try to rush me. "My watch saved my life once, as did a clock I worked on."

  "Saved your life how?"

  "I threw the clock at an assailant. It wasn't a very good throw, and would have missed him, but the clock deviated from its course and hit his head."

  He sat back again, somewhat deflated. "Perhaps your aim is better than you think."

  "My watch jumped out of my reticule and wrapped its chain around the Dark Rider's wrist when he attacked me. It caused him to convulse violently."

  He sat forward again and cocked his head to the side. "Jumped out?"

  "Of its own accord, yes. I know it sounds odd, but I swear it happened.

  "I believe you. Did you order it to…act on your behalf?"

  I shook my head. "I wouldn't know how."

  "Did you say anything to it? Anything at all?"

  "No. It was as if it knew."

  He scrubbed a hand across his jaw and studied the middle distance. "Remarkable."

  "You know more
about magic and magicians than anyone," I said. "Have you heard of this sort of thing happening to others?"

  "No. Never. Those I have met use simple spells to work simple magic, most of which is useless—and temporary. I've heard of previous generations wielding stronger spells. No spell at all, however…that's new and very intriguing. You're special, Miss Steele."

  "Is special a polite word for odd?"

  He smiled. "Not on this occasion. Having a clock and watch both save you is a benefit. You're fortunate. I wonder how it works. I mean, why you? Why can't I summon ink and make it splash in someone's eyes, for example?"

  "Has your life ever been in danger?"

  "No."

  "Perhaps that's why. Perhaps it only works when there is a threat."

  He considered this for moment then shook his head. "My father died when a runaway coach knocked him over as he crossed the road. He was an ink magician too and had a sample bottle in his pocket. It didn't save him."

  "Oh. I'm sorry."

  "It's quite all right, Miss Steele, but I think it disproves your theory and proves mine. You are special. The question is, why?"

  Why indeed. "I know so little about my grandparents or great-grandparents, so perhaps I inherited it from one of them. I wish I knew more about this magic and where it came from. Not knowing is terribly frustrating."

  "I can imagine." He moved to sit beside me on the sofa, so close that our knees almost touched. "There must be some people still alive who knew your grandparents. Could you speak to them?"

  "About magic?" I shook my head. "It's not a good idea to bring it up with the artless."

  "Why not?"

  "Because they'll assume I'm asking because I've inherited my magic, and they'll fear me or despise me since they're afraid of losing customers."

  "I'm not advocating drawing it to the public's attention, just a few friends."

  "Aren't you? Isn't that what this meeting is about?"

  He narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

  "You want me to help you bring magic into the open, whether through your newspapers or simply by discussing it with people. Well, Mr. Barratt?" I pressed when he didn't answer. "Isn't that true?"

  He blew out a measured breath, taking his time to answer. "The cause is important to me," he said carefully. "I do want to bring magic into the open. But I sincerely wish to see you learn more about your magic, not to help me, but to help yourself. I know how frustrating it must be for you. I can't imagine not knowing where my magic came from and not being able to discuss it with like-minded magicians." He placed his hand over mine.

  I stared down at it. I ought to withdraw, but I didn't want to. "Thank you for understanding," I said. "It means a lot to me. I have no magical friends, you see, and—"

  A shadow blocked the light from the doorway. I looked up to see Matt standing there, looking disheveled from his rest and startled at seeing a visitor. His gaze rose from our linked hands to my face. His jaw hardened.

  "Barratt," he growled. "What are you doing here?"

  I snatched my hand away.

  "I came to see you," Mr. Barratt said, rising. "I've been enjoying tea with Miss Steele while you completed your business. We've been discussing her magic."

  Matt strode in and stood by the fireplace. "Your magic, India?"

  I knew from his glare that he didn't want me to talk about it with Mr. Barratt. But, despite his profession, I believed the journalist would keep my secret and only release it if I gave permission.

  I poured tea for Matt and held it out to him. "Yes, my magic." I heard the hard tone in my voice and didn't regret it. He couldn't order me about on this. "It's nice to talk to other magicians about it," I added, softer. He accepted the cup but I did not let it go immediately. I held on until his gaze connected with mine again.

  He lifted his chin in a nod, and I allowed him to take the cup and saucer.

  "There are things only another magician can understand," Mr. Barratt said cheerfully. "Miss Steele needs a friend to talk to about it from time to time, that's all."

  "And you are now that friend," Matt said tightly.

  Mr. Barratt smiled.

  Time to change the subject before the tension in the air stretched more. "Now that you're here, Matt, perhaps Mr. Barratt can tell us a little more about his discussion with Dr. Hale."

  "Excellent idea," Matt said with far more eagerness than the situation warranted. "According to our source, Dr. Hale claimed you badgered him into talking about his magic."

  "Badgered? I did no such thing. He willingly spoke to me. He thought my articles were a good way to draw out more magicians."

  "That's not what we were told. Did he tell you he'd changed his mind, perhaps? Did you fight about it?"

  I tried to catch Matt's eye but he would not look at me. No doubt he knew he'd find himself on the sharp end of my glare and didn't want to be spiked.

  "Who is your source?" Mr. Barratt asked.

  "Just answer the question," Matt said.

  "Your source has it wrong. Dr. Hale and I spoke again after the newspaper article ran that morning—"

  "You mean on the day he died. Why didn't you tell us you spoke to him then, too?"

  "It wasn't relevant," Mr. Barratt said, his voice laced with steel. "As I was saying, we spoke about his concerns, and I assured him that the articles were vague enough that the artless would think nothing of it. In fact, we agreed that the articles were important—that finding more magicians was important—with the aim of one day going public. Like me, he was tired of hiding his magic."

  "Acceptance isn't going to happen overnight," Matt said. "Getting the word out to the public will cause years of unrest between the artless and magicians. Perhaps even decades. The artless are afraid of losing their businesses, their livelihoods, and they're not going to sit idly by and allow magicians to take everything from them. You live in a fantasy world if you think that."

  "I admit some adjustments will be necessary," Mr. Barratt said. "But they can be made. The country isn't overrun with magicians, for one thing. There will still be opportunities for the artless and their businesses to succeed."

  "I wish I shared your enthusiasm and optimism. I truly do. I want India to be able to discuss her magic without fear of recrimination, but I've seen the worst of humanity, and I have little faith in magicians and the artless living harmoniously together. If keeping magic a secret means she is safe, then that's what I advocate, no matter how much it frustrates you—or her. Frustration is a small price to pay for one's life."

  He did not look at me, but I felt as though he spoke directly to me. I'd always understood his need for secrecy, but to hear his voice rasp with earnestness as he told Mr. Barratt his reasons drove it home.

  "I cannot argue with your position, Mr. Glass," Mr. Barratt said. "I would very much like to keep Miss Steele safe too."

  Matt stiffened.

  "But this is beyond her, or me, or any single magician," Mr. Barratt went on. "This is not about today or tomorrow, or even next year or ten years from now. What I want will change the lives of the next generation of magicians and the generation after that. I'd like my grandchildren to live openly and harmoniously among the artless without fear."

  "You seem to have missed my point. What I'm trying to tell you is that there may not be any grandchildren of magicians because this generation will be wiped out."

  Mr. Barratt stilled. I hardly dared to breathe. Hearing it put so baldly shocked me, although I couldn't say why. Perhaps because I didn't truly believe such a thing could happen. Matt, however, did. That mattered. It mattered very much.

  "You have a lower opinion of your fellow man than I do, Mr. Glass," Mr. Barratt said.

  "Perhaps because I've seen more of the lowest form of man than you."

  "Having reported on the Ripper murders, I respectfully disagree." He looked as if he was about to say something else to Matt, but instead turned to me. He once again covered my hand with his. "We're frightening Miss Steele."
/>
  I withdrew my hand. "A little heated discussion doesn't frighten me," I assured him.

  "You are made of stern stuff. You're braver than most females I've met." He smiled. "Another point of uniqueness in your favor."

  "You ought to meet Matt's cousin, Willie. I'm weak compared to her."

  "Hardly," Matt muttered. "Was there a reason for your visit, Barratt, or did you simply stop by to drink tea with India?"

  "I came to warn you both that Detective Inspector Brockwell from Scotland Yard questioned me about you, among other things."

  "Thank you for the warning," Matt said. "His questions are merely form."

  "What sort of questions?" I asked.

  "How well I knew you, mostly. He mentioned you were ill, Mr. Glass, and that's why you claimed to be interested in Hale and his medical miracle. Nothing serious, I hope."

  "No," Matt bit off.

  "Thank you for stopping by, Mr. Barratt," I said quickly. "It was good of you to warn us."

  He stood and took my hand. "Thank you for the discussion and tea. It was most enjoyable, at least for a little while."

  Behind him, I caught Matt rolling his eyes.

  "I'll see you out," I said.

  I walked him to the door, and Matt followed. Mr. Barratt climbed into a waiting coach and gave the driver orders. He waved as the coach rolled away.

  "He can afford to keep his own horse and conveyance," I said. "That's surprising for a journalist."

  "Family money," Matt said. "His brother is one of the most successful ink producers in the country, remember?" He shut the front door and indicated I should walk ahead of him back to the sitting room. This time, Matt sat and sipped his tea. "What did he say to you before I came in?"

  "We were discussing my family and where my magic came from." I considered stopping there, but I knew I'd feel guilty for withholding the most important detail. "Now…don't get mad."

  He set the teacup down with a clank and glared at me.

  "I told him about my watch saving my life."

  He took two deep breaths, letting the last one out slowly. "It's your choice to tell him that if you wish."

  "I know. Of course it is. But I knew you wouldn't like it."

  He picked up the cup and sipped his tea. Mine had gone cold. We ought to have some cake, too. That would keep our mouths full and stop us from saying things we regretted, and by the time we'd finished eating, he might be calmer.