by C. J. Archer
"I…I'm not sure what to say to that." I may not have known what to say but my face certainly knew how to react. It blushed to the roots of my hair.
"Say, 'Thank you, Matt, I agree with you.'"
I arched my brows at him. "Now you're being silly."
"Say 'I'm lovely.'"
"I will not."
"Go on, it's easy. 'I'm very pretty. I have a lovely face and figure. In fact, my figure is more than lovely, it's—'"
"Matthew?" Miss Glass emerged from her bedroom, her lips pinched in horror. "Why are you telling India that your face and figure are lovely?"
Matt and I laughed.
"Never mind, Aunt," he said. "If you'll both excuse me, I have to get ready to go out for the day."
"Is India going with you?" she asked.
"Yes," I said as Matt said, "No."
"Good. India and I shall pay a call on our friends, the Mortimers."
It sounded as good a plan as any, since I wasn't allowed to spy. The Mortimers were nice people anyway, and I liked their company very much. It would be a pleasant outing.
Miss Glass and I left in the brougham mid-morning and returned before luncheon. Bristow met us at the door and took our hats and coats as Bryce drove off to the mews. A man I hadn't seen approach climbed the steps and touched the brim of his hat in greeting. He was broad shouldered but not tall, with short stubby fingers. He wore no gloves and his gray tie had been done up in a rather slap-dash fashion. The rest of his clothing was good quality, and clean, but simple.
"Good morning," he said to Bristow in a cockney accent. "Are you Mr. Glass?"
Bristow sniffed. "Mr. Glass does not open his own door. I am the butler." I'd never heard him put on airs before, and I almost burst out laughing.
But the look on the stranger's face stopped me. The veins on his temples and neck bulged and I had the feeling he was holding himself back from either shouting or attacking Bristow.
"Is Mr. Glass in?" the man snapped.
"He is not," Bristow said. "May I leave him a message?"
"Or can I help you?" I asked. "I'm his assistant."
"Miss Steele?" the fellow said. How did he know my name? "In that case, you can." He jerked his head at Bristow. "Haven't you got some butlering to do?"
Bristow's nostrils flared.
"Bristow is perfectly all right where he is," I cut in before the butler could attempt to force the fellow out. I suspected he would not win that contest. The stranger looked rather solid.
He glanced up the staircase behind me and toward the sitting room door where Miss Glass had retreated. Was he looking for other residents? Others who may try to toss him out?
I did not have a good feeling about this. "Who are you and what do you want?" I demanded.
"It doesn't matter who I am or who I work for. I ain't asking, Miss Steele, I'm telling you. Stop your investigation."
All the air sucked out of my body, leaving me feeling weak and at sea. "Pardon?" I whispered.
"You heard me. Tell Mr. Glass to stop investigating Hale's death. It ain't nothing to do with you."
Bristow edged between the man and me. "Get out or I'll summon the constables."
The man touched the brim of his hat. "Be sure and tell Mr. Glass, ma'am. My employer is serious on this matter. Deadly serious."
My heart thudded even as my blood chilled. We'd been warned off the investigation into Daniel Gibbons's murder too. That time, it had been Abercrombie's doing. Had he sent this man? The similarities were too close to ignore.
"Who employs you?" I pressed. "Who wants us to stop? And why?"
He turned and headed down the steps, his gait unhurried. He had not come in a conveyance so walked up the street. In a moment of madness, I removed my hat.
"A coat, Bristow. And a parasol. Hurry!"
"You're going to follow him? Is that wise?"
"Perhaps not, but it is necessary." I shoved my hat into his chest. "Go!"
He rushed into the cloak room and came back with my blue coat, a parasol and the footman. "Take Peter," Bristow said. He helped me into my coat and handed me the parasol. "Do as Miss Steele says, and see that no harm comes to her," he ordered Peter.
I ran out, not waiting to see if the footman followed. The stranger disappeared around the corner into Aldford Street. I ran after him, Peter alongside me, and breathed a sigh of relief when I spotted the stranger crossing Park Lane. He glanced over his shoulder, but I ducked behind the parasol.
"Act naturally," I told Peter.
The Hyde Park walking path was not too busy and the man was easy to spot with his stocky stature. He glanced around again and must have been satisfied that he had not been followed because he didn't check again.
His slow, steady pace took him out of the park at Hyde Park Corner and into Grosvenor Crescent, Belgravia. Like Mayfair, Belgravia was an area of extraordinary wealth. Impressive mansions graced the curved streets overlooking a lush garden square. I'd been here quite recently with Matt. In fact, the closer we drew to Belgrave Square, the more certain I became that the man was heading toward the exact same house. When he knocked on the front door and was let in by a butler I recognized, I knew we had the connection we needed.
The house belonged to Lord Coyle.
The notion thrilled and chilled me in equal measure. Lord Coyle kept a private collection of magical objects. He'd purchased a magical globe from the Mapmaker's Guild in a clandestine exchange with the globe's creator. He was no stranger to magic.
But how was he connected to Dr. Hale? And why did he not want us to investigate Hale's murder?
"Come, Peter," I said. "Let's return home."
As I said it, the door opened again. I gasped as a different man emerged from the house.
It was Oscar Barratt.
Chapter 10
Matt returned alone at lunch time. I waited until after his rest before telling him about the stranger's warning. As expected, he was livid, but he restrained himself well enough and only thumped his desk once.
"That's not all," I said. "I followed him to—"
"You followed him!" he exploded. "Are you mad? He could have attacked you."
"I had both Peter and my watch with me, and it was broad daylight."
"Even so."
"Even so, stop protesting and listen. Peter and I followed him to Lord Coyle's house in Belgravia."
He stared at me, open-mouthed. "That is an interesting development," he eventually said, sounding calmer. "What's Lord Coyle got to do with any of this?"
"He collects magical things. Perhaps he bought one of Hale's medicines to add to his collection. But why kill him? It doesn't make sense."
"Perhaps Hale wouldn't sell him anything so Coyle killed him in anger." He studied the desk surface, lost in thought.
I tried thinking of a way to tell him the rest of my news without piquing his suspicious nature, but I couldn't. There was no way to avoid it. He had to be told. "That's not all," I said. "A few minutes after that man went into Coyle's house, another came out. Oscar Barratt."
"Barratt! Well, well. So he's involved in this after all." He looked rather pleased about it, too.
"It may mean nothing. He could have other business with Coyle."
He leaned back in the chair and regarded me. "India, you can't possibly continue to defend him after this discovery. There's a direct link between Barratt and Coyle, and Coyle sent someone to threaten you."
"An indirect link. And I'm not defending him. I'm keeping an open mind."
It was a long time before he spoke again, and I thought that was the end of it until he said, "Why do you defend him? Why won't you accept that he's a suspect in Hale's murder?"
"I…I don't know."
He rubbed his thumb along the chair arm as if he were trying to scrub a mark off the leather. The movement occupied his attention. "Is it because you feel…a connection to him?"
"I suppose that could be it. We're both magicians."
"But that's the only similarity b
etween you." He finally looked at me and I was shocked to see that he already seemed exhausted, and yet he'd only just woken from a nap.
"His family are in trade, like mine," I said, not really thinking about what I was saying. I wanted to ask him why he looked so awful, but his odd mood put me off.
"He's from a wealthy family," he said. "Yours are middle class."
"Thank you for pointing that out."
"That didn't come out right." He rubbed his forehead. "India, what I'm trying to say is, don't be taken in by Barratt's charms. I know his type. They only befriend people who can help them achieve their goals. They use people. I don't want you to get hurt."
"Thank you for your concern," I said, more harshly than I intended, "but I'm quite capable of determining who is a true friend and who is merely acting the role."
"You thought I was the Dark Rider," he pointed out. "And that Dorchester was innocent."
I leapt to my feet in what must have looked like petulance, but I didn't care. Matt's words stung; not because he'd judged me harshly, but because he was right. "You forgot to mention Eddie."
He winced and closed his eyes. "India, I'm sorry. That was cruel. I shouldn't have said it."
"Perhaps I needed to hear it. Perhaps I am too trusting of Barratt." I turned to leave, not wanting him to see the tears pooling in my eyes. I felt like a fool.
He reached the door before me and caught me by the shoulders. He dipped his head to look into my face, forcing me to lower my chin to keep him from seeing my eyes. "I've upset you. Damn it. I'm an idiot, India. You have every right to be angry with me. So go ahead. Say something about me that irritates or upsets you."
"Wh-what do you mean?"
"Point out my faults. It'll make you feel better and put us back on even ground."
My chin wobbled, to my absolute horror. "How can I when I can't find fault with you?"
"You can. I speak out of turn, for one thing. Anything else?"
Why couldn't he stop being nice? It was making me want to cry.
"India," he murmured gently, "I'm sorry I hurt you. I shouldn't have said those things."
"But I am a terrible judge of character," I spluttered. I couldn't hold back the tears anymore. They flowed out of me, along with all the frustration and humiliation I'd felt after Eddie ended our engagement. I prided myself on being clever and yet I'd been thoroughly duped by him.
Matt drew me into his arms and tucked my head beneath his chin. He felt warm and solid and safe. I wanted to remain there; I wished with every piece of me that I could be held by him like this whenever I wanted. But I could not, and that made me cry more.
"What Eddie did is not your fault, it's his," Matt said, massaging my neck. "Dorchester too. Forget them. Trusting the wrong person happens to the best of us. I'd rather be like you, and believe everyone is good on first meeting, than suspect everyone is bad. You're a positive, trusting person, India, and it's part of the reason I admire you."
The more he massaged my neck, the more my tears dried. But I did not move away. Now that I'd stopped crying I could hear his heartbeat. It kept rapid time but was rhythmic and reassuring. Surely such a strong heart couldn't fail. Surely he wouldn't die without the watch.
Matt gently drew me away. He wiped the pads of his thumbs across my cheeks and kissed my forehead. His lips lingered and for a moment I thought—hoped—he would tilt my head back and kiss me on the mouth.
But instead he stepped away with a sigh. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to me. "Will you be all right to go out soon?"
"Yes, of course." I dabbed the handkerchief against my eyes and gave it back to him. "Where are we going?"
"To see Barratt."
I looked away. "Oh."
"I want to know what business he had with Coyle. You don't have to come if you don't feel up to it."
"I want to go. What about Coyle himself? Shall we confront him about the man he sent?"
"We certainly will, but we'll see what Barratt knows first. He may know nothing at all. Like you said, he could be innocent."
He was being diplomatic for my sake. I wished he wouldn't. He seemed to think I liked Oscar Barratt in that way, and that certainly wasn't the message I wanted to send him. I wasn't interested in Barratt at all. I found him charming, and it was nice to discuss magic with another magician. But I couldn't tell Matt any of that without giving away too much of my heart's secrets.
I headed to my rooms but paused in the doorway. Miss Glass sat at my dressing table, rearranging my trinkets and combs.
"Miss Glass! Is everything all right?"
"I thought we were friends, India," she said without looking up.
"We are." I crouched beside her. She spoke evenly, with a strong voice, yet she did not seem like herself. "What's wrong?"
"Friends do not betray one another."
I blinked. "How have I betrayed you?" The moment I said it, I knew she'd seen Matt and me together through his open door. We hadn't noticed her.
"You know how."
I sat on the end of the bed. "I was upset and Matt was consoling me. Actually, he made me upset, so I suppose he felt guilty. That's all it was, Miss Glass, nothing more."
Finally she met my gaze with her cool one. "It didn't appear to be nothing to me, India, nor would it appear that way to any of the servants if they saw."
"It won't happen again."
"Are you quite sure?"
"Yes. There is nothing of that nature between us."
Her lips thinned. She didn't believe me. "The thing is, India, as much as I like you, I love my nephew even more. He's my family and the Rycroft heir. He has duties to consider, and chief among those duties is to marry well and produce an heir. His wife must be from a proper family."
"Why?" I blurted out. "What difference does it make?"
She seemed surprised by my outburst. I couldn't blame her. It was a little out of character for me. "A marriage is an alliance between two families," she went on. "Each partner brings something to the marriage, whether that be money, land, influence or a title. If a gentleman marries a girl who brings none of that, he risks his estate being whittled away over time as well as becoming a laughing stock among his peers. No one will take him seriously. Is that what you want? For Matthew to be treated like an outcast?"
"He already is an outcast," I said. "He's not even English."
"He most certainly is!"
I put my hands up, in no mood for her prejudices. "His father ran away from his responsibilities and yet you don't seem to blame him for marrying a poor American girl."
"Don't bring Harry into it," she snapped. "He was not the heir, and he had his reasons for leaving. Our father did not treat him well." This last she slurred into her chin as her shoulders slumped. "Poor Harry. My poor dear brother, when are you coming home? I'm so alone without you."
I went to her side and gently helped her to stand. "Come, Miss Glass, it's time you rested." As much as I hated seeing her descend so quickly into her addled state, it was a blessing in this instance. I didn't want to battle with her over something that did not exist and could never be.
She clung to me as I steered her to the door, her fingers surprisingly strong. "You understand, don't you, India?"
Her clear voice surprised me. She seemed to remember our exchange.
"I do, Miss Glass. You only want what's best for the Rycroft name."
"And for Matthew. Always, and only, for him. The Rycroft estate will one day be his, as it should be. Every door will open to him and every opportunity will be laid at his feet, as long as he steps carefully and does not repeat Harry's mistake and marry an unsuitable girl. But we are still friends, are we not, India?" Her voice shook and her fingers tightened on my arm. "Please say we are still friends."
"We're still friends, Miss Glass. I've always known Matt is far beyond me and that hasn't changed. You have nothing to fear on that score."
"I knew I could trust you."
Matt walked past as we exi
ted my room. "Aunt? Are you feeling unwell?"
"A little light in the head," she said.
"Allow me to escort you to your rooms while India gets ready."
"Does she have to go out with you?"
He looked to me.
"I do," I told them both. "I'll send Polly up. As to the other matter, Miss Glass, you have my word."
She gave me a weak smile. "Thank you, India. You're a good girl."
They walked off and I heard Miss Glass ask him about the bruise on his cheek. I did not hear Matt's response but I doubted he mentioned sparring with Cyclops.
I finished freshening up and found Polly in the servants’ sitting room, mending Miss Glass's dress hem. I sent her upstairs and waited for Matt in the entrance hall. He joined me a few minutes later, frowning.
"She's all right," he said when I asked. "Frail, but aware of who everyone is."
"I'm glad to hear it. She did turn very suddenly that time."
"Why was she in your room? And what is the other matter you two had been discussing?"
"It's something between us. She wouldn't want you to know."
His frown deepened but he didn't press me for an answer.
Bryce drove us to the office of The Weekly Gazette where we found Oscar Barratt writing in a notebook. He snapped it shut upon seeing us and welcomed us in.
"This is a pleasant surprise," he said, smiling, "and fortuitous, too. You've saved me a walk to Mayfair to see you both." He held a chair out for me then returned to the other side of the desk. "Nasty bruise you've got, Glass."
"I walked into a door," Matt said.
"Of course you did. So how may I help you?"
"How do you know Lord Coyle?" Matt asked.
"Coyle?" Mr. Barratt's gaze shifted between us. "I don't know him beyond an initial meeting I had with him only this morning. I'm guessing from your expression you already know this, Mr. Glass. May I ask why the interest?"
"One question at a time," Matt said calmly. "What was your meeting about?"
Mr. Barratt sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "He summoned me, as it happens. Apparently men like Coyle expect you to visit them when they want to talk with you, not the other way around. His world works differently to mine." He laughed without humor. "He told me he has read some of my articles and was curious if I was alluding to magic in them."
