by C. J. Archer
Usually we visited Commissioner Munro at the police headquarters, but not this time. Matt wanted to speak to Detective Inspector Brockwell, a plodding yet thorough policeman whom Matt admired. I couldn't decide what to make of him, however. While I appreciated his dogged determination to get to the truth, I worried that he saw Matt as an outlaw and would arrest him one day. The police had arrested him before, almost costing him his life when he couldn't access his watch in the prison cell. I didn't trust them not to do it again. With Sheriff Payne whispering in the commissioner's ear about Matt's misdeeds in America, my concerns were justified. So far, the commissioner had chosen to believe us when we told him that Payne couldn't be trusted, but for how long? How many times would he overlook our tendency to attract trouble, particularly when we couldn't explain it thanks to the secrecy surrounding Matt's magic watch?
"What can I do for you?" asked Detective Inspector Brockwell. We sat in his small, windowless office at the back of the building. It was nothing like Commissioner Munro's office on the top floor overlooking the river. Aside from the lack of view and space, it also lacked orderliness. Like Brockwell himself, his office was untidy. Papers were scattered across the desk and chair and spilled onto the floor. A lopsided portrait of the queen hung on the wall with a map of London pinned beneath it. The bookshelf was largely empty, yet books piled up in the corner of the room.
Matt plucked the papers off one of the chairs and offered me the seat. I took it and he placed the stack near my feet since there was nowhere else for them to go. He remained standing at my side.
"India and I are investigating a case of a missing nun from the Convent of the Sacred Heart in Chelsea," Matt began.
Every word saw the inspector's eyebrows rise higher until they almost met his hairline at the mention of the convent. "You're investigating a crime? Why?"
"One of the nuns asked us to look into it. It's been bothering her, and she'd like a resolution after all these years."
"How many years?"
"Twenty-seven."
"Twenty-seven," Brockwell repeated flatly. "That number again."
"Pardon?" I asked.
"It seems to come up frequently, of late. Dr. Millroy's death occurred twenty-seven years ago, after he was involved in a suspicious death, also at that time." He scratched his bushy sideburns with deliberate strokes that I was convinced he slowed on purpose to annoy me.
It did not seem to annoy Matt. "I doubt the good nuns from the Order of the Sacred Heart had anything to do with those crimes," he said.
I pressed my lips together to suppress my smile.
Brockwell stopped scratching. "I don't believe in coincidences."
While Brockwell knew the specifics surrounding Dr. Millroy's death, he did not know the wider story of the doctor's magical abilities or how his illegitimate son may have inherited those abilities and might be the only person alive that could save Matt. Brockwell had made it very clear he did not believe in magic. A non-believer wouldn't understand our desperate need to find Phineas Millroy. He might even get in the way of us finding him if he thought Matt guilty of the crimes Sheriff Payne accused him of. It was best if Brockwell was kept in the dark as much as possible.
"Then you're a fool," Matt said.
I closed my eyes. Calling the inspector a fool when we required his help wasn't a good idea.
"How so?" the inspector asked.
"Coincidence can be understood by the study of probability theory. Mathematically speaking, it's not unlikely that two disparate events will occur in the same years when taking into account the ages of the nun, Millroy, and anyone else involved in both cases."
Brockwell put up his hands in surrender. "Get to your point, Glass. What do you want from me?"
"I want you to check the police archives for any reports of the mother superior's disappearance from the convent twenty-seven years ago. According to Sister Clare, it was out of character and she did not tell anyone where she was going. She has not been seen or heard from since."
"And this Sister Clare came to you and asked you to investigate?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I was there to make a donation and happened to mention that I'm a private inquiry agent," Matt said without hesitation. "Perhaps it was the first opportunity she's had to discuss it with an investigator in all this time."
Brockwell scratched his sideburns again. "Or perhaps something triggered her memory while you happened to be at the convent offering a donation. Sizable, was it?"
"I don't like your tone," Matt said darkly.
"Will you help us, Inspector?" I asked before he could get even closer to the truth. "There's no need for you to trouble yourself beyond a quick check of the archives. It's unlikely to be a police matter."
"You think the mother superior left of her own accord?"
"It seems the most likely scenario."
"You will inform me if you suspect something illegal." When Matt didn't respond, Brockwell added, "Miss Steele?"
"Of course," I said. "Are your archives kept in this building?"
"Some, but this might be a case for the local Chelsea branch."
When he didn't rise, Matt said, "We can wait while you check."
"I'll send word when I've found a record of the investigation, if there is one."
"By the end of today?"
Brockwell checked his pocket watch. "It's almost five, Mr. Glass. Hopefully I'll have something by tomorrow."
"Midday."
Brockwell gave a non-committal grunt then walked with us out of his office. "Jack Sweet's trial will be soon," he said. "If he pleads not guilty, you will both be called to testify. I am sorry for the trouble and anxiety, Miss Steele."
"I'm happy to testify if it helps," I said. "I'm not worried about being called to speak in front of a jury."
"You are very brave." He suddenly grasped my hand and patted it. The intimate gesture took me by surprise, as did his smile. This serious man hardly ever smiled. "I've never met a woman with such steely nerves as you, pardon the pun."
I smiled back. "Thank you, Inspector. It must seem odd that we attract more trouble than most, but it's a relief to know that you don't think us guilty of anything untoward. Sheriff Payne would have you believe otherwise, but he cannot be trusted."
"As you say."
"Good day, Inspector," Matt said briskly. He put out his arm for me to take then led me back through the building and outside. "What a nerve!"
I frowned at him. "Brockwell?"
"I don't like the way he smiled at you."
"It was just a smile," I said, stepping into the carriage.
"He patted your hand. That makes it more than just a smile."
"It's called flirting, Matt. You should know all about it, considering you're quite the expert."
He settled on the seat opposite. "I am not."
"You are and you know it."
He tugged on his cuffs and stared out the rear window. I thought the matter ended, but as we neared Mayfair, he said, "Next time we visit Scotland Yard, you're staying home."
* * *
Duke and Cyclops arrived home just before dinner and reported on their success in the sitting room where Matt and I sat with Miss Glass. She had insisted we tell her about our day as she was tired of looking through magazines.
"We fixed the roof," Duke said, rubbing his shoulder. "There were a few broken tiles. We found some spares in the outbuildings. It weren't too much trouble and Sister Bernadette was real grateful. She didn't want to climb up there herself."
"I'm surprised she doesn't think God will stop her from falling," Miss Glass said with a sniff.
"How grateful was she?" Matt asked. "Did you manage to get any more information out of her?"
"We didn't want to be too nosey, as you suggested," Cyclops said. "But we did learn something that might be useful. The priest who takes their confessions is the same one from twenty-seven years ago. If one of the nuns knew something, or did something, they might ha
ve told Father Antonio in the sanctuary of the confessional."
"He's unlikely to tell us anything he heard in confidence," I said. "It'll be sacrosanct."
"Aye, but Matt's good at reading people. If he asks the right questions, he might learn something."
I sighed. "It's better than nothing."
"He can be found at St. Mary's in the same street as the convent," Duke said.
Matt lowered his head into his hand and ruffled his hair. When he straightened, he did not smooth his hair back into place. I sat on my hands so as not to do it for him.
"You look tired, Matthew," Miss Glass said. "Why not rest before dinner?"
"I don't need to."
She cocked her head to the side. "You tell him, India."
"Give me the watch." I held out my hand. "Let me speak Chronos's spell into it and see if I can extend the magic again."
He heaved a sigh but complied. I caressed the back of the case, stroking the smooth silver with my thumb as I spoke the extending spell. It warmed and a faint purplish light flared before extinguishing. I handed it back to Matt.
"Use it in your room then lie down for a little," I said. "Don't argue," I added when he opened his mouth. "You're not needed here."
"Bully," he muttered, tossing me a tired smile.
I watched him go then sank into the armchair.
"He's getting worse," Cyclops said.
Miss Glass's hand pressed to her chest and she blinked damp eyes. "My poor boy."
I stood and crouched before her. "We're very close to finding someone who can help him. Very close." I did not mention the possibility that Phineas Millroy might not have inherited his father's magic, nor did I mention the very real possibility he could be dead or out of the country. I couldn't bear to discuss either of those scenarios; Miss Glass's delicate mind might shut down altogether.
She gave a small nod and returned to the magazine on her lap.
Cyclops and Duke left to clean up before dinner. I raced out after them, catching up to Cyclops on the stairs. "I saw Catherine Mason today," I said. "She asked after you."
His step slowed but he forged ahead without glancing at me. "Ain't no concern of mine."
"I can see that you're pleased she enquired about you so don't try to hide it. She's unhappy. She feels stifled at home, and she can see her life stretching out before her in a monotonous stream of housekeeping." I tapped his arm. When he didn't respond, I poked him. "You have the capacity to make her happy—and yourself at the same time."
"I told you why I can't," he snapped. Cyclops never snapped. I'd hit a raw nerve.
"I don't like your reason. I don't agree with it. If you're worried about her safety in America, then don't return."
"Easy to say, not so easy to do."
"I disagree. You have a choice, Cyclops. One of them easy, and one of them is hard but not impossible. Don't shy away from the hard one when it will make you both happier."
He stopped and rounded on me. I folded my arms and glared right back. "Seems to me you're taking the easy way too, India."
My arms dropped to my sides and I stared at his back as he walked off up the stairs. It wasn't until he'd disappeared from sight that I thought of a retort.
I heard the front door open and Bristow greet Willie. I decided to join her instead of dwelling on Cyclops's words.
"India," she declared with a smile. "How was your afternoon?"
"Fine, thank you. I see from your good mood that yours went well."
She handed her battered cowboy hat to Bristow, who took it between thumb and forefinger. "Well enough, and that's all I'll say. Don't try to get anything out of me because you won't."
I held my hands up as I joined her, then leaned closer. "I don't need to question you since I know you have a lover," I whispered.
Her smile vanished. "What do you know?"
"That you're always happy lately and that you're blushing now."
She slapped her hands to her cheeks. "I am not!"
"And that your hair is down when you left with it pinned up earlier."
She touched her hair at her shoulder. It tumbled down her back in long, thick tangles.
"You have the look of a woman who has recently had a fumble in the hay with a fellow. Or perhaps a store room at the hospital."
Her cheeks lost some of their heat and her shoulders relaxed. "How would you know? You ever taken a turn with a lover in a storeroom?"
"I've never had a lover," I shot back, not in the least concerned what she thought of me. "Eddie doesn't count."
"He sure don't. That little turd ain't worthy of you. He ain't worthy of any woman. I reckon he wouldn't even know what to do with one if he got her into a storeroom."
"Probably ask her to fetch a broom and clean up the mess he made of his life."
We both laughed. Then she put her arm around me and dragged me into the library.
"I need a drink. Come and have one with me and shut the door, India. But one more mention of lovers and hospitals and I'll call Bristow and tell him you've been drinking before dinner again."
"Please, spare me his lecture."
* * *
Matt couldn't settle the following morning as he waited for word from Brockwell. He paced into and out of rooms, stared out the front windows to the street, and struggled to make conversation. It worried his aunt, so I offered to walk with her in Hyde Park as a distraction. Hopefully by the time we returned, Brockwell's information, or lack of, would be known.
But it wasn't Brockwell we saw upon our return to the Park Street house. It was Lord and Lady Rycroft, alighting from their carriage. While Matt's aunt visited from time to time with her daughters in tow, his uncle rarely did. His presence didn't bode well.
"Let's keep walking," Miss Glass said. "Perhaps they'll leave if I'm not at home."
"Or perhaps it's Matt they wish to see," I said. "In which case, we ought to be there to support him. I suspect they'll want to discuss Patience's situation."
"I do want to know if Lord Cox has found out about her indiscretion." After a hesitation, she quickened her pace. "You're right. We cannot leave Matthew to bear the brunt. Come along, India."
We met them in the entrance hall where Bristow was in the process of taking Lord Rycroft's hat and walking stick. They greeted Miss Glass formally and even spared a brisk "Good morning," for me, although neither met my gaze.
"Is Matthew at home?" Lady Rycroft asked. "We must speak with him urgently."
"Come through to the drawing room," I said since Miss Glass made no move to invite them to stay. "Bristow, have tea sent in. I'll fetch Matt."
I didn't have to look far. He met me on the stairs as I went up. "Your aunt and uncle are here." I reached out to straighten his tie then quickly pulled back. "Have you heard from Brockwell?"
"No. I was considering going to him instead."
"After this meeting."
"You are joining me in there, aren't you, India?"
"If you wish."
"I most certainly wish it." He gave me a wry smile. "With you there, they might restrain themselves."
"Do you think they're here because of Patience and Lord Cox?"
"I have no doubt about it."
Miss Glass's head was bowed when we entered the drawing room, her hands demurely folded in her lap. Lord Rycroft stood over her, the fat beneath his chin folded into thick layers as he scowled. They could not be less alike. She was thin where he was broad; she had gray hair and most of his was still black; she was submissive while he was domineering. It was easy to forget they were brother and sister.
"Do you understand, Letitia?" Lord Rycroft demanded.
She gave a small nod.
"Say it. Say you understand so that I know you heard me."
"Rycroft," Matt cut in with a scowl of his own for his uncle. "Aunt Letitia doesn't appear to be up to your questioning. May I help?"
Lord Rycroft regarded Matt down his nose. Since Matt was taller, it meant he had to tilt his head back qui
te a way. "It's of no concern to you."
"When you're in my house and my aunt looks afraid, it becomes my concern."
Lord Rycroft continued to glare at his nephew and Matt glared right back. It took the arrival of Bristow with tea things to break the standoff. I poured and handed out cups, hardly breathing until Lord Rycroft finally sat.
"Richard ordered me to travel with Beatrice and the girls to the estate in preparation for the wedding," Miss Glass said, looking up from her lap. All the color gained from our walk had drained from her face, and her eyes had lost their brightness.
"Do you want to go with them or come later with me?" Matt asked.
"She doesn't have a choice," Lord Rycroft said, setting down his teacup without taking a sip. "She's going with Beatrice. It's for the best."
"For whom?"
"For everyone! She's Patience's aunt. She'll be needed."
His wife rolled her eyes. "It's the best place for her," she said. "You can't keep an eye on her here, Matthew. You're too busy. She needs companionship and security or she'll just wander off again like last time."
"Last time she wandered off, she was with you," Matt shot back. "She returned here, as I recall."
Lady Rycroft sniffed. "Yes, well, it just goes to show that she must be watched at all times."
"She doesn't wander off when she's here alone, and she has India for company a lot of the time."
Fortunately Miss Glass did not dilute his argument by mentioning I was rarely at home lately.
"She's no trouble," I added.
Lord and Lady Rycroft ignored me. "Very well then, stay here," Lady Rycroft mumbled into her cup.
Her husband turned his icy glare onto her. "Beatrice," he hissed. "We agreed."
"It's all well and good for you, Richard, you're coming later. You're quite happy to saddle me with the responsibility of caring for her in the meantime. What if she wanders off again? She could go into the woods or the lake. Imagine if she turns up in the village talking nonsense. I'll never live it down."
