by C. J. Archer
"He asked you that outright?" I said.
He nodded. "It was rather bold, but he seemed to think I would answer in the affirmative. I suppose when one is aware of magic and looking for it, one can tell from my articles that I believe."
"Then what did he say?" Matt went on.
"He asked me how much I knew. I told him I'd heard about magic and said that some of the subjects in my articles claimed to be magicians, Dr. Hale among them."
"Did he ask a lot of questions about Hale, or his death?"
"He asked none. He didn't mention Hale specifically after I told him the doctor claimed to be an apothecary magician. If I had to guess, I would say he wasn't overly interested in Dr. Hale or his murder."
"That's odd," I said. "You would think a man with Coyle's interests would be wildly curious."
"Unless he knew everything he needed to know about Hale already," Matt said, "and his death."
Could Coyle be behind the murder? But why? What would he gain?
"What do you mean, a man with his interests would be curious?" Mr. Barratt asked.
He addressed me but I waited for Matt to answer. I no longer trusted my own instincts when it came to Barratt, or how much to tell him.
"Miss Steele?"
I looked to Matt but he simply frowned back at me. It would seem he wasn't going to guide me. So be it. It was on his head if he didn't like what I was going to say.
"We're quite certain Lord Coyle knows about magic," I said.
"Do you think he's a magician?"
"We don't know. He collects magical objects but we're not certain if he put the magic into any of them."
"He collects them? Whatever for?"
"There seems to be no reason behind it. Most of the magic in his collection would have disappeared—many years ago, in some cases. He kept the collection hidden and only brings it out on special occasions for select guests."
"Perhaps he's merely an eccentric." He tapped his fingers together in thought. "It explains his interest in my articles. If he's collecting magical objects, he'll want to know of any magicians who can provide him with artifacts to add to his collection."
"Did you tell him you're an ink magician?" Matt asked.
"No. I probably would have, if he had asked directly, but he didn't. I got the feeling he suspected, however. It was a strange sort of standoff. I was waiting for him to tell me he was a magician, and he was waiting for me."
"You think he is?"
"I did at the time, merely to explain his interest in my articles, but in light of what you've said about his collection, I'm no longer sure. An artless man may like to collect magic objects as much as a man who can't paint likes to collect paintings."
"Did you see a man arrive at Coyle's house a few minutes before you left?" I described the stranger to him, but he shook his head.
"Sorry," he said. "The butler let me in and out. A footman took me up to Coyle's office and I met with Coyle. I saw no one else. Why? Who is he?"
"We're assuming he's Coyle's man," Matt said. "He ordered us to cease our investigation into Hale's murder."
"Good lord. That's brazen. In broad daylight?"
"In Matt's house," I said. "Miss Glass and I had just returned from a walk and he came right up to the door and threatened me."
Mr. Barratt's brows flew up his forehead. "You were alone?"
"The butler was there."
"But Mr. Glass was not?"
Matt drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. I got the feeling he was keeping his temper in check and his response to himself.
"Matt can't be home all the time," I said, "and he can't know when someone plans on threatening us. To be fair, he was threatened too."
"You're a very reasonable woman, Miss Steele. I know ladies who would berate their menfolk for not being around for such an event, rightly or wrongly."
"Mr. Glass is my employer, not my folk," I said icily. Honestly, I'd had enough of men and their overbearing notions for one day.
Mr. Barratt surprised me with a genuine smile. "Thank you for clarifying that for me."
I got the feeling he'd done some fishing and I'd gobbled up the bait and hook in one gulp.
Both men regarded one another over the desk, one smiling and the other scowling. It was a thrilling feeling to be the object of their silent battle, until I remembered that my instincts could be completely off. It was more likely that Matt didn't trust Mr. Barratt and Mr. Barratt…actually I could not think of a reason for him to dislike Matt.
"You said you were coming to visit me today," Matt said. "Why?"
"Not you," Mr. Barratt said. "I wanted to see Miss Steele."
"Me?" I blinked at him. "Why?"
"Ever since we spoke about your grandparents, I decided to do a little investigation of my own."
Matt sat forward. "You did what?"
Mr. Barratt put up his hands. "Whoa, calm down. Why are you angry, Mr. Glass?"
"You've been spying on India, that's why."
"Not at all. I'm helping her find the missing pieces of her background. I want her to understand where her magic came from."
"I see," I said before Matt could interrupt. While I saw his point, and it was odd that Mr. Barratt would investigate my background without asking me first, he was telling me now. And I was wildly curious about what he'd found. "And?" I prompted.
"And I learned two things. First of all, you may not have inherited your magic from your paternal grandfather but your paternal grandmother."
"Well, that's interesting, and could explain why my grandfather was granted a license from the Watchmaker's Guild. He was artless and harmless in their eyes. My grandmother may have assisted him, but the guild probably didn't know about her."
"She died before you were born?" Matt asked.
I nodded. "My father spoke fondly of her, but not so fondly of my grandfather. Their marriage wasn't a happy one. Apparently my grandfather was a selfish man and his neglect drove my grandmother to an early grave. I always thought it sad."
"Unhappy marriages are common," Matt said quietly. "I've certainly seen enough of them."
"Amen," Mr. Barratt muttered.
"How did you find out about my grandmother's magic?" I asked him.
"I asked a retired watchmaker I know in passing if he knew the Steeles of St. Martins Lane. His son now owns the shop around the corner from here, but the elderly man remembered your father and grandparents. After a few pertinent questions about your grandfather's skill, he said that his work deteriorated after your grandmother died. That got me thinking that he wasn't the magician, but she was. A few more questions and I became certain of it. He'd once seen her fix an extremely old clock with mechanisms that had stumped him."
"Did you mention magic to the retired watchmaker?" Matt asked.
"Of course not." Mr. Barratt pulled his chair forward and leaned his elbows on the desk. His blue eyes sparkled. "That's not all I learned from the old watchmaker. As we were talking, he said it was odd that I was asking him about your grandfather now, of all times."
"Why?" I asked.
"Because he thought he saw him recently."
"That's impossible. He's dead."
"That's what I told him, but he insisted he passed him in the street a few weeks ago. He called out but the other man kept going."
"Your source must have been mistaken."
"I thought so too, but I decided to follow it up." Mr. Barratt smiled an odd little smile. "I checked at the General Register Office. His birth and marriage details are recorded, but not his death."
"It must be an oversight," I said. "He is dead. My father told me."
Mr. Barratt and Matt exchanged glances. "Unless your father lied," Matt said. "If he didn't like him and wanted nothing to do with him…" He shrugged, almost as if offering me an apology for suggesting it.
"It's possible," I muttered.
"Separately, the two pieces of evidence amount to no more than speculation," Mr. Barratt said. "But together, I
think there's a very real possibility that your grandfather is alive and living in London."
Chapter 11
"I think we should change our plans," I said as Matt opened the carriage door for me outside the Gazette's office. "Instead of confronting Lord Coyle, I think we should spy on him. He's unlikely to admit to sending his man to threaten us, and spying on him might give us more evidence against him."
"I've been thinking the same thing myself," Matt said. He ordered Bryce to take us to Scotland Yard.
"You want to speak to Munro about Coyle?" I asked as he settled on the seat opposite me.
"Brockwell, not Munro."
"But he wants to arrest you!"
"All the more reason to keep him informed. I don't have the greatest faith in the police force coming to the right conclusion on their own, so we need to feed them as much evidence as we can."
"You may have to convince him not to confront Coyle and ruin our spying efforts."
"Or I may need to convince him to believe me in the first place."
That was as much a concern as anything. If Brockwell was in Payne's pocket, we might have to go over his head and speak to Munro again. I knew it galled Matt to even consider it, but we may have no other choice.
I was about to say as much and looked up to see Matt watching me.
"Are you thinking about your grandfather?" he asked.
Barratt's suggestion that my grandfather could be alive had rocked me, but now that the initial shock had passed, I wasn't convinced.
"You're frowning," he said, leaning forward. "Are you all right?"
I nodded. "I never knew the man, so the news isn't upsetting. But don't you think my grandfather would have tried to make contact with me if he was in London?"
"Perhaps he didn't know where to look. He may have gone to the shop and found it renamed Hardacre's and given up."
"If so, then he gave up too easily. He could have asked Eddie where to find me."
"Unless he didn't want anyone to know he was still alive. India…" He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. "India, have you considered that your grandfather may be Chronos, hiding out in London under the name DuPont?"
"It crossed my mind. But he isn't a magician so he can't be Chronos. Mr. Barratt says my grandmother was the magical one."
"Barratt could be wrong. He based his assumption on the observations of one source—and an elderly man, at that. If your grandfather is Chronos, it would explain why he hasn't come looking for you—he wants to keep his identity a secret."
"For reasons we do not yet know." I sighed, feeling rather exhausted by it all, and by our lack of progress in finding Chronos. Time was running out for Matt, and every step forward was followed by another step back.
He must be heartily sick of getting nowhere.
Matt's hand closed over mine on my lap. "It'll be all right, India. We'll find him."
"Do you mean my grandfather or Chronos?"
"Both." His crooked smile told me he still supposed them to be one and the same.
We had to wait thirty-five minutes for Detective Inspector Brockwell. One of his men brought us tea that we drank in the outer office. Matt could hardly sit still, however, and frequently got up to pace the room or look out the window. I, on the other hand, occupied myself with the small mantel clock which was a full minute behind. I had it working perfectly by the time Brockwell finally entered.
He removed his coat and hat and hung them on the stand near the door. He did not seem surprised to see us, so he must have been warned. "Come through," he said and indicated the two guest chairs near the desk in his office.
"We have another suspect for you," Matt said as he sat. "You need to investigate him."
Brockwell undid the buttons on his jacket, taking his time with each one before moving on to the next. He kept his gaze on Matt but did not speak. It was as if he could only focus on one task at a time. Or he was deliberately trying to rile Matt by stirring up his simmering frustration? "Do I now? And who might that be?"
"Lord Coyle."
Brockwell scratched his sideburns. "And why would Lord Coyle murder a doctor from the London Hospital?"
"We don't know, but he's involved somehow. He sent a man to my house to order us to stop the investigation. He threatened Miss Steele in my absence."
"Threatened you? Miss Steele, were you harmed?"
"No," I said.
"When was this?"
"Before lunch."
The detective tugged his watch by its chain and checked the time. "It's almost four now. Why did you take so long to report it?"
"We're reporting it to you now," Matt growled.
"I was overwrought," I said. "I needed time to recover."
The poor, delicate female act seemed to work on Brockwell. He nodded in sympathy. "So tell me, Mr. Glass, how did you connect the man to Coyle?"
"Miss Steele followed him," Matt said.
Brockwell turned to me. "You followed him? Despite being overwrought?"
"That came later," I said quickly. "He went to Lord Coyle's house. I've been there before and recognized it."
"So you assume the man works for Coyle."
"We do," Matt said. "There's no other conclusion to make."
"He could be a friend or acquaintance."
"Then Lord Coyle keeps strange company," I said. "The man was a thug with a Cockney accent."
"Perhaps Lord Coyle isn't too particular who he calls friend."
Matt drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "You sound as if you have no intention of investigating him."
Brockwell scratched his other sideburn and took his time answering. I had to clutch the chair arm to stop myself from shouting at him to say something. "I can't accuse Lord Coyle of murder based on your account," he finally said. "The connection is tenuous."
"The connection is very real," Matt snapped.
"The evidence is flimsy."
"Even flimsy evidence should be followed up. You forget, Brockwell, that I am well aware of what a man in your position should do at this juncture. My job in America was much the same as yours."
"That's not what I heard," Brockwell said with bland indifference, as if he didn't care. But his eyes gave him away. They may be half hidden beneath lazily lowered lids, but they were intently focused on Matt.
"I've already told you," Matt said, his jaw set hard, "Payne is lying. Do you have fresh evidence against me or are you merely his puppet, repeating his nonsense?"
Brockwell tensed. It may not have been a good idea to call him a puppet. "I have a list of all your family's misdeeds." He rifled through some papers on his desk and pulled one out. He handed it to Matt. "Every crime and misdemeanor committed by every member of your extended family is on there."
Matt gave it a cursory glance then handed it back. "None of those are news to me, Munro, or any American lawman worth his salt."
"That list wouldn't be half as long if Matt didn't work for the American police," I said since Matt didn't elaborate. "It's precisely because of his connection to the Johnson clan that he has been so successful in bringing outlaws to justice."
Brockwell dipped his chin in a slight nod. "Your devotion to your employer is admirable, Miss Steele."
"It isn't devotion. It's the truth. Kindly refrain from pre-judging me as you have done Mr. Glass."
"Pre-judging?" It was the most rapid response he'd given yet, coming before I'd even finished speaking.
"Yes, Detective, you have pre-judged Matt, taking one man's word as gospel. I may not be a policeman, but even I know that is not the best way to approach an investigation. Now, are you going to speak to Lord Coyle or not?"
Brockwell considered his answer. "Not without more evidence. I can't accuse a man in his position of being involved in murder. There will be consequences for me."
"If anyone else had come to you with this information," Matt said, "would you investigate?"
Again, Brockwell thought through his answer before finally speaking. "You are a suspect,
Mr. Glass. It's possible that you are trying to lead me astray. So I would have to say yes."
"If we wanted to lead you astray, we would not have chosen someone like Lord Coyle, previously unrelated to this crime. Further, you may cast doubts on my character to your heart's content, but do not accuse Miss Steele of deliberately trying to mislead you." Matt stood and held his hand out to me.
"If I have offended Miss Steele then I am deeply sorry." Brockwell rose and bowed to me. "It's not my intention. As to your accusation, Mr. Glass, I am merely being cautious. To be fair, I trust very few people, but in your case, I have even less reason to believe you, considering what I know." He tapped the sheet of paper listing the Johnson family's crimes.
"You have no difficulty trusting Sheriff Payne," I shot back.
"Do I, Miss Steele?"
I strode toward the door, my skirts swishing violently around my legs. I assumed Matt followed me but when I turned at the door, he was still with Brockwell at the desk.
"You should make up your mind who to trust soon," he told Brockwell. "Or you may find yourself with enemies."
"And you, Mr. Glass, ought to be careful not to go about accusing noblemen like Lord Coyle without very solid evidence of guilt. Your English family will not be able to save you if you make a mistake, nor will Commissioner Munro."
"I am well aware of that."
"I believe your man, the one with the eye patch, is watching the premises of Mr. Pitt today," he went on.
"Is he?" Matt asked idly.
"Don't play me for a fool, Glass. You know he is. I first saw him that day at your house. He's very distinctive. Kindly tell him not to return. Pitt is a suspect. If he notices him, it could ruin the investigation."
"Why is Pitt a suspect?"
Brockwell smirked. "Nice try. Good day, Mr. Glass, Miss Steele."
"I don't like that man," I grumbled as we headed out of the building into a rain shower. "He believes everything Payne told him."
"Home, Bryce," Matt said before climbing into the cabin after me. "I don't know," he said. "I'm beginning to see him a little differently. He didn't like me calling him Payne's puppet."
