The Magician's Diary (Glass and Steele Book 4)

by C. J. Archer

  "Your husband was a magician," Matt went on. He was a like steam engine, gathering speed as he stormed down the hill, smashing through any barriers in his wake. I would not want to be a barrier on the tracks right now. Mrs. Millroy had better answer him truthfully because he would not stop until he was satisfied.

  She gave a small nod. "He was. As was the watchmaker Chronos, but I suspect you already know that."

  "Did your husband have any family?" Matt pressed.

  "A cousin, but I don't know much about him except that he's dead now and had no children. He was also a doctor and lived for some time in America. Whether he was a magician or not, I couldn't tell you."

  Dr. Parsons was the cousin, but neither Matt nor I offered up the information.

  "And you already know we had no children together," she went on. "Of course, James's bastard might be magical but I don't know where to begin looking for him. Is that the real reason you're here? To find a doctor magician?" Her lips twisted as if the notion disgusted her. "You're all the same. You don't really want to find his killer, do you? So are you sick? Is one of you dying?"

  "Scotland Yard sent us," I told her. "Ask Commissioner Munro or Detective Inspector Brockwell if you want verification."

  "The Surgeon's Guild knew your husband was magical," Matt pushed on. "They found out just before his death and confronted him. Perhaps they killed him."

  Her lips parted in a silent gasp. Her gaze searched his then fell to her hands. Those hands suddenly became very busy, wringing in her lap. "They wouldn't do such a thing. They're doctors. They don't murder people."

  "You told them he was a magician, didn't you?" Matt asked.

  Her eyes gave her away before she closed them and gave the slightest nod. "It wasn't anyone from the guild. It can't have been. Dr. Ritter is head of the London Hospital now, a very respectable man."

  "How did he react when you told him?"

  She frowned then rubbed her forehead with her left hand. She wore no wedding ring. "It was odd. He wasn't shocked. He seemed relieved. I think he was jealous of James's skill, and magic explained that skill. Doctors value their education above anything else, you see. It matters to them where a physician or surgeon studied and who he studied under. Learning that James's skill was innate, not learned, made Dr. Ritter feel more like his equal when before he had not."

  "Did you tell anyone else about your husband's magic?" Matt asked.

  She shook her head. "Only the guild." She looked pleased with herself, and I knew she'd done it as retribution for her husband's infidelities. Part of me forgave her for it.

  "And the Watchmaker's Guild?" I asked. "Did you tell them about Chronos's magic?"

  She studied her linked hands. "Dr. Ritter informed the Watchmaker's Guild. When I explained about the experiment performed on the vagrant, Dr. Ritter asked for the name of the second magician so I told him about Chronos. Since I didn't know his real name, I described his appearance. He said he was obliged to inform the Watchmaker's Guild's master. It was nothing to do with me."

  "You got him into awful trouble!" I cried. "How could you do that to someone you hardly knew simply because you wanted revenge on your husband?"

  "Chronos had a hand in a man's death, Miss Steele. That's why I did it. He didn't deserve to get away with it. Although he did, in a way, by dying." She was all blotchy red cheeks, white lips and flared nostrils, like a raging bull. "I heard Chronos died shortly after James, so neither of them paid for the crime they committed on that poor man. His family never received justice."

  "He had no family," Matt said.

  "Are you sure?"

  Matt and I exchanged glances. "We were informed that he was a homeless man named Mr. Wilson with no friends or family. He was dying with no hope of recovery."

  "Some of that may be true, but unlike you, I don't trust my source." Mrs. Millroy looked as if she was about to lay down a winning poker hand. "My husband was a liar, and a self-centered, boastful man with loose morals. He came home every evening from his rooms and lied to my face for more than a year when I asked if he'd worked late. That is not the act of a trustworthy man."

  "Do you have any proof that the vagrant had a family?" Matt asked.

  "I spoke to the man myself. I was visiting James at his Savile Row rooms one evening, hoping to catch him not there so I could confront him. He was there, however, with Chronos. That was the first and only time I met the watchmaker. I guessed what they were up to, since James had talked of such an experiment for years, but had never met a watchmaker magician before. When I saw the ill man lying on the bed, I knew what they were going to do that night." She shook her head but did not look too upset by the memory. It was more of a narration from a distant observer than participant. "I spoke to the man very briefly before James ordered me away. He said his name was Wilson and that he had a child and a wife but had lost them. I supposed that to mean they died, but I could have been mistaken. He was very confused, his words difficult to understand, but I think he had spent time in a doss house and planned to return there later that night." Another shake of her head. "He believed Chronos and James would cure him."

  "But they did not," I said heavily.

  "Apparently the magic was imperfect. But that's by the by, Miss Steele. The point you appear not to grasp is they ended that man's life sooner than God intended."

  "You don't know that."

  "And you don't know otherwise."

  She had me there.

  "Why are you interested in whether the man had a family now anyway?" she asked Matt. "He is irrelevant to my husband's murder."

  "His family may have sought revenge against your husband," Matt said.

  "James was murdered by his mistress or someone associated with her. Another lover, an avenging family member… Look for her and you'll find the killer."

  "You seem convinced. Why?"

  "It's not sour grapes, if that's what you're thinking."

  Matt held up his hands in surrender.

  "It's common sense, that's all," she said. "If not her, then an opportunistic thief who went too far."

  "So you don't know anything about her?" I said. "Did he ever let her name slip, or that of his son?"

  "No."

  "Did he ever go somewhere he should not have been?"

  "Bright Court on the night of his death," she offered with an arched look that implied I was stupid.

  "You think his mistress lived in one of London's vilest slums?" I wanted to give her an equally arched look but managed to keep my features schooled.

  She shrugged. "It's unlikely. He valued cleanliness above all things. Cleanliness and good teeth."

  Old Nell's teeth may have been better years ago, but Whitechapel had filth oozing from every crumbling brick. That hadn't changed in twenty-seven years, despite attempts to clean up the slums by the authorities.

  "What about his patients?" Matt said thoughtfully. "Did he ever discuss them with you?"

  "He used to, in the beginning," she said quietly. "In later years, we grew apart and he stopped confiding in me unless I asked a direct question. He was always something of a charming man with women. Coupled with his magic, it meant he had patients queuing to see him."

  "What about employees?" Matt asked. "Did he have someone to take appointments, type letters et cetera?"

  "Of course. I did it in the beginning, but as he grew more successful I decided my time was better spent in the home. He employed two women over the course of the remainder of his life. One married and left his employment, and Miss Chilton, the second one, was with him until the end. And no, she was not his mistress. She was a spinster of about thirty years. I lost contact with her after James's death. She did not have a child, to him or anyone else, during that time. I would have noticed."

  Matt pulled out a notepad and pencil from his jacket pocket. "May I have her full name and last known address, please."

  "Miss Abigail Chilton." She retrieved a portable writing desk from a shelf in the corner and set it down on
the table. She plucked a small book from it and flipped the pages until she found the one she wanted. "She lived at number twenty-three Theberton Street, Islington. Whether she lives there still, I cannot be certain."

  Matt wrote the address in his notebook. "What of the patient records?" he asked without looking up. "Did you keep them?"

  She slammed the writing desk shut. "I destroyed them. Why would I keep them?"

  Damnation. They could have been useful if the mistress was a patient of Dr. Millroy's.

  "What about his diary?" Matt asked.

  She paused mid-step, the writing desk in hand, before continuing on. She carefully deposited the desk on the shelf again, taking her time. "So you do want his magic. And I thought you were telling me the truth and wanted to bring that woman to justice."

  "The diary wasn't found on his body," Matt persisted. "If he had it with him, his killer must have taken it. But you already knew that, Mrs. Millroy. Is it possible he didn't have his diary with him that night? Did he leave it here by any chance, or in his Savile Row rooms?"

  "It wasn't here, and I did not find it among the paperwork at his rooms when Miss Chilton and I cleaned them out. He always kept it on his person. I told the police that much, but I did not tell them what secrets he kept in it. You seem to have guessed, however, that he wrote his spells in it, among other things."

  "Spells? Plural?" I asked in wonder. Chronos knew of only one.

  "I don't know how many. He couldn't get most to work."

  "Why not?"

  "I'm not a magician, Miss Steele, but I believe it had something to do with not knowing the right way of saying the words. They were complex, foreign."

  "The spells in that diary were passed down from his ancestors," I said. "Correct?"

  "Are you implying that James was killed for the diary and the spells in it?" she asked, not answering me.

  "It's a possibility."

  "I disagree."

  "Why?"

  "Because very few people knew about the importance of the diary. Only me and probably Chronos. My husband was careful. He did not discuss magic with many people and certainly none in his profession. The guilds are powerful and dangerous, and they do not like magicians. He would never take such a risk except with someone he trusted completely."

  "He trusted you and you betrayed him, Mrs. Millroy," Matt said, the thread of steel in his voice clear as day. "You told the Surgeon's Guild about the experiment and his magic."

  "He killed a man! He had to be stopped."

  Matt closed his hands into fists on his knees then spread out his fingers, as if he were releasing his frustrations.

  "The question is," she said to him, "how do you know about the diary? Who told you?"

  Someone coughed and footsteps sounded on the steps leading upstairs. Mrs. Millroy suddenly stood and stalked to the sitting room door.

  "Morning Mrs. Millroy," came a man's voice, followed by another cough. "I heard voices."

  "I have callers," she told him.

  He came into view, peering over her head at us. He was a young man with blond hair in need of a comb and clothes that looked as if he'd slept in them. He waved cheerfully at us then stifled a yawn.

  "Any breakfast?" he said to Mrs. Millroy.

  "I told you, breakfast is served before nine. You'll find porridge in the kitchen but it will be cold."

  He groaned. "Porridge again? And cold? You do recall that I'm paying you for bed and breakfast." He stormed away, expressing his dislike of a cold breakfast with every thumping step.

  "My lodger," she told us.

  Now I knew why she claimed her maid was off mid-week. It was likely she kept no maid anymore and had taken in lodgers to help her financial situation. It also explained the threadbare nature of the furnishings. Despite her haughty manner, she was struggling like thousands of other widows in the city.

  "Thank you for your assistance, Mrs. Millroy," Matt said, extending his hand to her. "I know it hasn't been easy for you to talk to us, but I assure you we are determined to find your husband's killer."

  She shook his hand and even looked pleased to do so. "And bring her to justice," she added.

  She saw us out and Matt gave Cyclops the address for Miss Chilton.

  "Clearly Mrs. Millroy thinks the mistress is guilty," I said.

  Matt smiled. "What gave you that idea?"

  "I'm excellent at reading the signs." He laughed. "I found it difficult to like her," I added. "Sympathize, yes, but not like. Does that make me an awful person? As a woman, shouldn't I be on her side? Her husband did wrong her terribly."

  "You're the best person I know, India," he said, that smile never wavering. "Mrs. Millroy doesn't deserve to be liked because her husband treated her terribly. Pitied, but not liked. So what do you think about what she said?"

  "She was honest, perhaps brutally so."

  "She could be an excellent liar."

  "True, but why lie?"

  "To point the finger at the mistress."

  I nodded, slowly. "Do you think the vagrant had a family, as she claimed? Why would she lie about that?"

  "I can't think of a reason. It seems Wilson's wife and child died before him, though."

  "Poor man. No wonder he lost his way. Probably his will to live too."

  Matt sucked in a breath and wagged a finger at me. "If that's so, why did he agree to participate in the magicians' scheme? That speaks of desperation to live, not to die."

  "Yes," I said, nodding. "I see your point. Perhaps he didn't mean his family died when he told Mrs. Millroy they were lost. Perhaps he meant…what?"

  Matt shrugged. "That is a good question."

  Miss Chilton no longer resided on Theberton Street. The new lodgers had never heard of her but they'd only lived there five years. One of the near neighbors had lived in the street longer and recalled Miss Chilton married and moved away.

  I felt deflated when I climbed back into the carriage, but Matt was a little more hopeful.

  "We can check the marriage register at the local parish churches," he said. "It's likely she got married in one of them."

  "The General Register Office will have the records," I told him.

  "Then I'll put my lawyer onto it while we continue our investigation elsewhere. We're on the right path, India. I sense it."

  I sensed nothing, but I smiled along with him so as not to dampen his good mood.

  Cyclops drove us home but we didn't reach the door before it burst open and Willie ran down the stairs, Duke on her heels. He wasn't running after her to stop her, however. He was eager to get to us too.

  Willie shoved a newspaper at Matt. It was a copy of The Weekly Gazette, opened to an inside page. Her breaths were so ragged that she couldn't speak, only stab her finger at an article headed MAGIC: PROOF IT EXISTS.

  Written by Oscar Barratt.

  "India," Duke muttered, "what have you done?"

  Chapter 10

  I pressed a hand to my chest but my heart continued to rampage. I had to read the article twice to take it in, but even then I couldn't quite fathom it. I understood the words but not the betrayal. How could Oscar do this? We'd decided against writing such an article. Hadn't we? Or had I decided and assumed he agreed?

  "Matt," I began. I shook my head and continued to stare at the newspaper in his hands, my mind numb.

  What did it mean? What would happen now?

  I read the article a third time. I concentrated hard, but still failed to grasp why Oscar would do this to me, to other magicians, and even to himself and his family. He'd invited suspicion to the door of every craftsman or woman with superior skill.

  His article spoke about magic being kept hidden to keep the magicians safe from jealous guild members. He wrote about the way it was inherited, like blue eyes or black hair. He described what magicians do with their spells, using examples of carpenters, boat builders, jewelers, paper manufacturers and countless others. He wrote about mapmakers, goldsmiths and watchmakers but did not mention name
s. There was no mention of ink magicians or doctors.

  My legs wobbled. My vision blurred. My heart raced too fast, too hard. I went to sit down on the step, but found Matt's arm around me, supporting me. He walked me inside, Duke and Willie in his wake.

  "India?" Miss Glass's voice had never sounded so clear and strong. "India, what's happened? Are you ill?"

  I sat on the sofa in the drawing room. Miss Glass fussed around me, plumping cushions, giving orders. I couldn't see past her. I couldn't see Matt. I needed to see him. Needed him to know I did not sanction that article.

  "Matt." My voice rasped. "Matt." Miss Glass tried to get me to lie down but I shooed her away.

  She frowned. "Lie there until the doctor comes, India."

  "I don't need a doctor."

  "You had a turn."

  "My corset is too tight."

  Her eyes widened. "You are not undressing here in the drawing room!"

  "Aunt," Matt's firm voice chided. "India simply needs air."

  I needed to read that article again and catalogue everything Oscar had written. And then I would march to his office and demand he print a retraction.

  How could he do this?

  "Matt," I said again. "Can we speak alone?"

  "No," Miss Glass said before he could answer. She moved out of the way, allowing me to see him.

  He stood in the center of the room, arms crossed over his chest, every muscle taut. His gaze raked down my length. Then he turned and walked out.

  I refrained from calling after him. I closed my eyes to block out the vision of Willie and Duke, glaring at me as if my name was in the byline, not Oscar's. I sank back into the sofa and groaned.

  "How could you?" Willie whined. "Is there something loose in your brain, India?"

  "What are you talking about?" Miss Glass asked.

  No one answered.

  "Duke, give me that newspaper," she said.

  He sighed and handed it to her. She skimmed the newspaper, pausing on the article in question. She quickly read it and lowered the paper. "Oscar Barratt is your friend, India."