by C. J. Archer
Chapter 11
I groaned. Matt placed a hand on my shoulder and shot Oscar an accusatory glare.
Oscar looked smug. "Good. Let's have it out with Abercrombie. Will you stay, India?"
"No," Matt said before I could decide whether I wanted to or not.
"He'll see us leaving," I said to Matt. "We might as well hear what he says and reassure him I had nothing to do with the article."
His jaw hardened. He didn't look at all pleased with my suggestion but he didn't urge me to go.
Mr. Gibbons, however, wished us well. "I may not be involved in the Mapmaker's Guild anymore," he said to Oscar, "but neither I nor my daughter want a part in this. Do not mention my family's name. Is that understood?"
Oscar nodded. "Of course. Thank you for stopping by."
Mr. Gibbons pushed past Mr. Abercrombie and left. The second gentleman, the reporter named Mr. Force, entered behind Abercrombie but remained near the door and allowed Abercrombie to say his piece first.
Abercrombie only had eyes for me. They were hard and filled with disgust. "I knew you would be behind this, Miss Steele."
"You're mistaken," I said. "I came here to tell Mr. Barratt that I do not approve of his article."
Abercrombie's oiled mustache twitched in glistening outrage. "I am not a fool, Miss Steele. Your words were all through that article."
"Are you calling me a liar?"
"India had nothing to do with this," Matt snarled. "We're here for the same reason you are—to warn Barratt against writing anything further." He glanced past Abercrombie to the other journalist and nodded a greeting. I suspected Matt wanted to say more but didn't trust the stranger.
"You are mistaken, Mr. Glass," Mr Abercrombie said. The pinched lips beneath the mustache contorted into an odd smile. "I don't want to warn Mr. Barratt against writing further articles about magic. I want to encourage him to write more.
"More?" I prompted, knowing I was taking the bait he dangled in front of me.
"He's a laughing stock, Miss Steele. This newspaper is already seen as a second rate sensationalist rag, and Barratt's article plunges new depths."
"I say!" Mr. Baggley protested.
"So write more, Mr. Barratt," Mr. Abercrombie said. "Write more of the same and bring your paper into even further disrepute. I dare you."
Was his plan to simply hope the public would dismiss Oscar's claims as ridiculous? It didn't seem like a good plan to me. Londoners believed all sorts of outrageous claims newspapers made purely because they thought if someone published it, it must be true. A recent report of a mermaid sighting in the Thames being a case in point. Many Londoners still swore they could hear mermaids singing on a clear evening down by the river.
"My paper is neither second rate nor sensationalist," Mr. Baggley said, crossing his arms. "Oscar can back up every claim he made in that article. Can't you, Oscar?"
"Indeed," Oscar said.
Mr. Force from The City Review stepped into the room. He was slender and not much taller than me, with an air of confidence and smugness about him that reminded me of Oscar, although they looked nothing alike. Where Oscar had brown hair and eyes, Mr. Force was all fair hair and freckles. "Prove it," he said. "Publish the names of your sources."
"I will not," Oscar shot back.
"Then your story about magic will be seen as a hoax."
"By who? You?"
"By me and every other journalist and member of the public who suspects you made it up to sell more papers."
Mr. Baggley smirked. "We are selling more papers. We've already run out of copies, a Gazette record for this time of day. There'll be more copies of this edition available tomorrow, and in next week's edition, I'll print more copies with Oscar's latest article, and I'll wager we'll sell out of those too. Oscar has hit on something. Londoners saw the truth in his words. They believe it because they've long suspected the guilds were hiding something to make themselves more powerful. So many have suspected, and some even guessed the truth." He picked up a copy of the latest edition from the corner of the desk and waved it in front of Mr. Force's face. "I should have let Oscar print this when he first mentioned the idea to me, but I asked him to wait until he had proof. Well, he has the proof now."
"Then print that proof!" Mr. Abercrombie shouted. "Print the names of your sources!"
Oscar shook his head, unfazed by the man spitting over his desk. "I won't be publishing anything of an identifying nature. My sources asked for anonymity and I'll give it to them. If any are happy for me to print their names then I will gladly do so."
He did not look to me but it didn't matter. Abercrombie knew I was the main source. He just wanted the world to know it and that was why he'd come here—to shame Oscar into revealing it.
"Coward," Abercrombie sneered.
"Any journalist would do the same," Oscar said with a speaking glance at Mr. Force.
Mr. Force merely grunted. "Your cockiness will be your downfall, Barratt."
"And choosing the wrong side will be yours, Mr. Force, and that of your newspaper."
Mr. Force snorted. "The City Review is bigger than this silly story, Barratt."
"Then why are you here? Because you and your investors," he nodded at Abercrombie, "are worried. Aren't you? Otherwise, why bother with my silly little story in the silly little weekly?" I had never seen Oscar so supercilious, so righteous. He believed utterly in his greater cause, his revolution as he called it. There would be no swaying him against it.
Mr. Abercrombie must have realized too. "You sniveling little prick! You're going to cause enormous upset and harm to families and you don't even care."
It was, perhaps, the only time he'd said something that I agreed with.
"Come, Abercrombie," Mr. Force said. "You and I have work to do." Unlike Abercrombie, he didn't look at all worried. He and Oscar had their cocky attitudes in common.
"They're going to write a counter-argument," Mr. Baggley said, watching them leave.
"Let them," Oscar said. "It'll give weight to my story. Those who buy their paper and not ours will now be curious and seek out a copy of the Gazette, and give my article a thorough read."
Mr. Baggley rubbed his hands together. "I'm glad I didn't listen to the naysayers who thought you were a crackpot." He chuckled. "You two," he said to Matt and me, "it's time you left. My best reporter has work to do."
While I wanted to try to talk sense into Oscar again, I knew it was a futile exercise. Matt must have realized too because he took me by the elbow and steered me out.
"India," Oscar called.
"Don't listen to him," Matt said, not stopping.
"I don't hold grudges," Oscar said from the doorway of his office. "When you see that writing the article was the right thing to do, I'd like to talk. My door will always be open to you."
Matt halted in the outer office and rounded on him. "Don't come near India again. Is that understood?"
Oscar saluted him, earning another fierce scowl from Matt. His forehead seemed permanently fixed in that position today.
I withdrew my elbow from Matt's hand and exited the Gazette's building ahead of him. He ordered Cyclops to return home then climbed into the coach behind me. He removed his hat and dragged his hand through his hair. His skin sported the waxy pallor of illness and his eyes the signs of an aching head. It was past time to use his watch.
Should I tell him to use it now or withhold my opinion? Despite his illness weakening him, he still seemed ready to snap my head off. Perhaps I wasn't being fair and it was Oscar's head he'd rather snap off, but I decided to hold my tongue until the situation became desperate.
He ended up retrieving his watch from his pocket without me prompting. He closed the curtains, opened the watchcase, and welcomed the magic into his body.
A minute later, he shut the case. His skin returned to normal and the muscles in his face no longer looked as if they were trying to keep the pain at bay.
"You could not have stopped Oscar from writing
that article," he said as he returned the watch to his pocket. "He'd made his mind up before he even met you."
"But I gave him the proof he needed."
He sighed. "India, no. Don't blame yourself."
I didn't respond. I wasn't the only one blaming me. He may be saying all the right things, things I needed to hear, but I knew he blamed me, at least a little.
I turned to the window and, after a moment, opened the curtain again. I no longer wanted to discuss Oscar and the article, or the implications. What happened next was out of our control. We couldn't stop Oscar from writing a second article any more than we could stop Mr. Force from The City Review writing a counter-article. It only remained to be seen which side the public took, or if they even cared at all.
But the main reason I didn't want to talk about it anymore was because I didn't want Matt to realize I agreed with Oscar's idea of a revolution. That didn't mean I wasn't worried. I was. Even more so now after seeing how angry Abercrombie had become when Oscar couldn't be forced into publicly revealing his sources. But the notion of magic being out in the open appealed to me. To walk into a watchmaker's shop and not feel like I carried a contagious disease would be wonderful, liberating. I had grave doubts that we would ever reach that point, yet I had to hope.
Matt would not agree, and I didn't have the heart to argue with him anymore.
I informed Chronos, Willie, Duke and Cyclops of our encounters at the Gazette office while Matt rested in his rooms. They did not take it well.
"I'll march down there and point my Colt at that low down pig swill until he agrees to stop writing more articles." Willie spoke her piece while pacing the library floor. Fortunately her gun wasn't on her person or she might have marched out of the house.
I kept a close eye on her while the others debated the merits, or not, of Oscar's article. Only Chronos thought it could turn out well, if people kept their heads.
"That's the problem," Duke said. "People don't keep their heads. They can't see the other side, only their own."
"You have more faith in people than I do," Cyclops said to Chronos. "Where common sense gets thrown out and emotions rule, trouble follows."
"Aye," Duke and Willie agreed.
"Abercrombie's worried or he wouldn't have gone to see Barratt in person," Chronos added with a twisted smile. "I wish I'd seen his face when Barratt told him he was writing another article."
"Revenge ain't a good reason to support Barratt," Duke said. "Specially when good people will suffer alongside the bad."
"The Masons will lose business," Cyclops said with a shake of his head. "They're your friends."
"Not mine, Elliot's," Chronos said.
"And mine," I added, once again unsure which side I fell on. I couldn't bear it if the Masons suffered. There was no doubt they'd lose business to magicians if the public believed Oscar. On the other hand, there were no horology magicians in London except Chronos and myself, and neither of us had a shop.
Duke nudged Cyclops with his elbow and winked. "You'll take care of Miss Mason, if it came to that."
"Shut it," Cyclops mumbled.
Duke and Willie both chuckled.
We heard Bristow greet someone out in the entrance hall beyond the closed door but could not hear the responding voice.
"A word of warning," I said quietly to Chronos while the others were distracted by the possibility of a visitor. "Matt is against Barratt's plan. If you want to remain here you'd better not say anything to support it."
"Thanks for the warning," he said. "But you're the one with more to lose by speaking up, so you're wise to stay silent. You could have all this for the rest of your life if you play your cards right, but my presence here is only fleeting. I'll move on again soon."
"Stop it," I hissed. "I work for Matt, that is all. Stop implying otherwise."
He shook his head. "Clearly your parents instilled too much sanctimonious nonsense into you. If I'd brought you up—"
The door opened and Bristow slipped through a gap barely wide enough to fit his frame. "Miss Steele, Mr. Hardacre is here to see you. He says he knows you're here and refuses to leave until you speak with him." His gaze slipped to Chronos. "What shall I tell him?"
"How does he know she's here?" Cyclops asked.
Bristow didn't have an answer for that.
"I'll get rid of him," Willie said, already halfway across the room.
I rose. "I'll go. If he wants to see me, he won't be satisfied until he does."
"Question is, why does your ex-fiancé want to see you?"
"Hardacre?" Chronos asked, understanding dawning. "That's the fellow who stole my shop."
His shop? Well, honestly. "Bristow, please show Mr. Hardacre to the drawing room. Close the door and wait with him until I arrive."
He slipped out again. I could not see Eddie through the gap which meant Eddie could not see in here. Good. If he saw Chronos, it would bring more trouble to our door than we already had.
I turned to Chronos, hands clamped firmly on my hips. "It was not your shop. You gave up the right to it when you left and falsified your own death. It should have been my shop, inherited from my father. Now, stay in here and don't come out until I return. Is that clear?"
He sniffed. "I am your elder. You'll speak to me with some respect."
"I'll give you respect when you prove you've earned it. Until then, I'll treat you like the man who left his wife and family behind to save his own skin."
"They were fine without me. Better off, in fact."
"Stay out of sight," I snapped.
"I am many things, but a fool is not one of them. Of course I'll wait here."
I checked the coast was clear before I emerged from the library. I crossed the hall to the drawing room, glancing up the staircase as I past it. There was no sign of Matt. Hopefully I could send Eddie on his way before he awoke. Matt had enough on his plate without the irritating presence of Eddie to contend with.
My former fiancé did not look at me when I entered, but over my head. I glanced behind me, expecting to see Matt but the hall was empty.
"Thank you, Bristow, that will be all."
The butler took my hint and bowed out. I shut the door.
"No tea?" Eddie asked. "No cake from the lady of the house?"
"You're not staying long enough for tea and cake," I said.
He smiled that oh-so-charming smile that I used to think was dashing but now knew to be false. It made him even more handsome if one liked fine, delicate features topped with wavy blond hair. Coupled with his blue eyes, I could well remember why I once thought myself in love with him. But often he'd revealed his true self to me, his ugly heart blinded me to his good looks. Now I could barely even look at him without my stomach churning.
I wished it hadn't taken me until my father's funeral to see that ugliness. In my defense, Eddie had been very persuasive. His smiles seemed genuine, his concern for me real. I'd desperately wanted to believe he would keep his promise to take care of me. Now, I knew I could take care of myself, but then, I lacked the confidence as well as the means. How things changed in a mere few months.
He sat on an armchair by the fireplace and indicated I should sit on the sofa. I remained standing.
"Where's your master?" he asked.
"Assuming you're referring to my employer, Mr. Glass is not here."
"Is he at home? The butler wouldn't say."
"Why do you ask?"
"Why do you not answer?"
"Eddie, I don't have time for games, and I doubt you can afford to keep the shop closed for any length of time. Get to the point."
His fingers tightened around the chair arm, but that was the only sign that my words had any effect. "How do you know I haven't employed an assistant?"
"I doubt you can afford to. Profits weren't very large when my father operated the shop and he was a better watchmaker than you and a better salesman too."
"What rot! Who is spreading lies about my business? Is it that stupid Mason
girl?" He snorted. "Ridiculous creature, batting her eyelashes at every man in her path. She's a hopeless flirt, do you know that?"
"You're mistaking friendliness for flirtation."
"You would defend her."
"Yes, because she's my friend and has been good to me when I needed her. But you wouldn't recognize kindness in others since you don't possess the capacity for it yourself. State your business then leave. I have better things to do with my time than talk to you."
"Like getting into bed with newspaper reporters?" He crossed his legs and clasped his hands in front of him.
My fingers twitched, wanting to wipe that smug smile off his face. "The article in the Gazette had nothing to do with me."
"Don't play me for a fool, India."
"Why not? You are one. You are also Abercrombie's puppet. Did he tell you to come here?"
His smile tightened. "I'm far too clever to be anyone's puppet."
"You? Clever? Hardly." It was a horrid thing to say, but it felt good to say it to him. The sour look on his face was satisfying to see. It would seem his intelligence was a soft spot for him.
He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. "You're an unnatural woman, India. It's no wonder you're not married yet. Who would want a vicious wasp for a wife?"
I slapped him across the cheek.
His head jerked to the side and a red patch in the shape of my palm bloomed on his face. "You bitch!" He wiped his face and checked his hand as if he expected to see blood. "I should thrash you for that."
I stumbled backward but he did not come after me. Even so, I moved closer to the clock on the mantel. If he tried to harm me, I'd throw it at him and hope that it would swerve to hit him as the clock at the gambling den had once changed course to hit my assailant.
"But you won't because you know Matt and his friends would make you pay." Somehow I kept my voice steady when my heart thundered ferociously. Showing weakness to Eddie now would be humiliating. "You ought to be careful or this wasp will sting you." I stepped forward again and smiled. He sat back slowly. "The thing is, Eddie, you fail to grasp the notion that most women would rather not marry at all if men like you are the only option."
