by C. J. Archer
"Why not talk to her? She'll understand."
"I will, but I wanted your opinion first. Sometimes I think you know me better than my parents do. You're my best friend, India, and I feel as though I can tell you anything."
"More so than your parents," I muttered. I'd been like Catherine in that regard. Despite loving my father, I hadn’t confided in him much. Would I have taken my mother into my confidence, had she survived into my adulthood? I wasn't sure. Children often didn't confide in their parents, preferring their friends.
Perhaps Daniel Gibbons had too.
"You ought to introduce Miss Mason to Duke or Cyclops," Miss Glass said to me. "They're interesting men, worldly, and they laugh at Willemina's jokes and those are some of the silliest I've heard."
"Cyclops is the big one-eyed coachman, isn't he?" Catherine asked, turning up her nose. "He looks rather frightening."
"He's not," I assured her. "Nor is he the coachman anymore. Mr. Glass employed proper servants. Cyclops is Matt's friend, as is Duke. Although I'm not sure Duke is available." There was something between he and Willie, although neither may not yet know it.
Bristow appeared and bowed. "Would you like a fresh pot of tea, madam?"
"That would be lovely," Miss Glass said.
"Not on my account." Catherine rose. "I must be going. I'm only supposed to be at the market. Goodbye, Miss Glass."
"Goodbye, my dear. Good luck with your Mr. Wilcox problem. Let the poor fellow down gently."
Catherine drew in a fortifying breath. "I will." She turned to go, but spotted the clock on the mantel. "Why is the clock facing the wall? Doesn't it work?"
"It's perfectly fine," Miss Glass said before I could speak. "Matthew tells me that India mustn't check the time for an entire day. It's a small wager between them."
I narrowed my gaze at her. "Did he ask you to spy on me?"
She patted my arm. "Don't worry, dear. You haven't succumbed to temptation once, so I have nothing to report. You're a very strong willed woman, and I admire you for it."
"She has your measure, India," Catherine said with a smile.
I kissed her cheek and walked her to the front door. "Let me know if you hear anything else about either the Watchmakers' or Mapmaker's Guild."
"Why the Mapmakers?"
I shrugged. "I'm merely curious."
"It's definitely Payne," Matt said, kicking off his boots and leaning back in the chair. We sat in his office, he at the mahogany desk and me in the armchair by the unlit fire. We'd wanted privacy, away from Miss Glass and the servants, to discuss the morning's events. I'd not yet told him what I'd learned from Catherine.
"What did he say to Munro?"
Matt took out his watch and clasped it in his fist. The purple glow crept along the veins in his hand, up under his sleeve and re-emerging at his collar. When it reached his hairline he finally deposited the watch back in his pocket. He looked healthier, his face not quite so pallid, but the tiredness didn't leave his eyes altogether. I'd grown used to seeing it there and almost never noted it anymore. I'd never known Matt in full, complete health, but I did know that he couldn't live like this. He ought to be enjoying his prime.
"Munro wouldn't say much, only that Payne told him I should not be trusted, as my family are law breakers."
"Did you tell him that Payne is corrupt?"
He nodded. "He said he'll send a telegraph to California. I told him it won't do any good, since no one there believes me." He sighed. "It remains to be seen what Payne will do next, but I assure you, India, he's not the sort of man who'll come after you to get to me."
"Thank you, that is somewhat reassuring, but I don't like the idea of him targeting you specifically very much either."
"He'll be subtle, whatever he chooses. He can't risk coming under suspicion, either here or at home. He's gone to great pains to hide his duplicity there, and it's worked."
"So far."
He gave me a weak smile. "I like your optimism." He hunched forward, elbows on knees, and dragged his hands through his hair.
"I'll leave you to rest, but first, I need to tell you something. Catherine Mason came by this morning and told me of a conversation Abercrombie had with her father."
He glanced up. His hair stuck out from his head in damp, bedraggled spikes thanks to the rain. I resisted the urge to smooth it down. "What the hell did he want?"
I told him what Catherine had told me. "I'd like to pay Abercrombie a visit," I finished. "With you, of course."
"No."
I'd been prepared for that response. "Matt, we have to confront him about Daniel."
"We need to stay clear of him. He's afraid of your skill just like the Mapmakers' Guild is afraid of Daniel's. Your existence threatens his livelihood."
"But I'm not even making watches."
"Not now, perhaps, but one day."
Neither of us spoke for a minute, or perhaps two. I glanced at his clock on the mantel, but he'd even turned that around. Damn him.
"There's one other thing," I said. "Something struck me as I spoke with Catherine. She talked to me about her suitor, you see, rather than discussing him with her mother. It made me realize that people don't always confide important things to their parents, but sometimes discuss them with their friends. I think we ought to visit Daniel's friends. I wrote down their names when Commissioner Munro first came to us."
Matt went around to the other side of his desk and picked up the notepad. "There's two. We'll visit them this afternoon." He slapped the notebook against his hand. "Good thinking, India. Where would I be without you?"
"You'd be able to look at all your clocks, for one thing."
He smiled. "How is your challenge progressing?"
"Excellently. I haven't thought about the time once. You can ask your aunt, if you like, since you enlisted her to spy on me."
"I knew she'd crack and tell you."
I smiled back. "I don't mind that she spied for you."
His smile vanished. "Why? What are you up to?"
"Nothing." I got up. "But do get some sleep so you're refreshed for dinner tonight with the Rycrofts. It's a pity Miss Haviland won't be there. I told your aunt how she's precisely the sort of girl you'd like. Obedient, placid and very accomplished. I think Miss Glass is planning on holding a soiree here so the girl can display her talents."
He groaned. "You're wicked."
"I prefer clever."
I strode to the door, glancing at the mantel again out of habit, forgetting that the clock had been turned around.
"I saw that," he called after me. "You'll succumb before the day is out."
I shut the door on his chuckle.
Daniel's two friends boarded in the same house not far from Daniel's home in Hammersmith. Their sitting room didn't entirely lack feminine touches, as one would expect of bachelors. While the leather armchairs, writing desk and tables were solid, simple pieces, the pretty floral curtains and cushions cheered up the room. I guessed the two men to be younger than me but older than Daniel by three or four years. The fair, slender one, Mr. Connor, worked as an office clerk, and the darker, stockier Mr. Henshaw labored in a shoe factory. Being Saturday, neither was at work.
"We'll do everything we can to help you find Daniel," Mr. Connor said. He seemed the more outgoing of the two. He answered our questions first and possessed a confident air. The quieter Mr. Henshaw only spoke when pressed. "We're extremely concerned about him, aren't we, Thomas?"
Mr. Henshaw nodded.
"But as we told the police, we don't know where he is. He didn't stop here on his way home. Sometimes he does, but not that day." Mr. Connor flicked his blond hair back off his forehead with a jerk of his head.
"You may not know his movements," Matt said, "but you may have other information. Did he ever discuss things with you that he wouldn't tell his family?"
"What sort of things?"
"Anything."
"A girl, perhaps," I clarified, since Matt was doing a terrible job.
/>
The two men glanced at one another. Mr. Henshaw's left eyebrow quirked and Mr. Connor's frown deepened. It seemed as if they were silently communicating with one another, but I couldn't fathom what the signs meant.
"Did he have a particular female friend?" I asked. "Someone he met in secret and didn't tell his family about?"
"No," Mr. Connor said. "Nothing like that."
"But there is something," Matt pressed. "You must tell us. We need to know everything if we're to find him."
The men glanced at one another again and Mr. Henshaw nodded. "You mustn't tell his family," Mr. Connor said. "Daniel's grandfather would be furious if he found out he was selling his maps. Daniel didn't know why the old man was so against it. He's very strict."
Mr. Henshaw tapped his temple. "He's mad."
"This is between us," Matt said. "Mr. Gibbons won't be told anything."
Mr. Connor looked relieved. "Daniel became frustrated that his family wanted him to stop drawing maps. Daniel couldn't stop. It was like a compulsion. He had to do it."
"When he tried to stop, he became moody," Mr. Henshaw added. "He wasn't someone you wanted to be around at those times." He looked to his friend.
Mr. Connor nodded. "So we suggested he draw them in secret, which he did here." He opened the top drawer of the writing desk. "He kept his pencils, rulers, papers and other tools here. He made his maps on this desk." He skimmed his hand over the surface as if he could still see Daniel's maps there.
Mr. Henshaw placed a hand on Mr. Connor's shoulder.
"But drawing them wasn't enough for Daniel," Mr. Connor went on. "He wanted to make money. They were bloody good, begging your pardon, Miss Steele. I've never seen anything like what he did. His maps were beautiful works of art, and incredibly accurate, too."
"So he got himself a small cart and sold his maps from them," Mr. Henshaw said.
"On the streets?" Matt asked.
Mr. Connor nodded. "At first, he simply wandered up and down the main shopping thoroughfares on his days off, but he discovered that Oxford Street was more lucrative. Not just anyone buys maps, see. Daniel realized he needed to be where the better class of gentleman shopped, somewhere he could be found again. One customer even sought him out after hearing of his reputation."
The guild wouldn't have liked that at all. "Did his master, Mr. Duffield, find out that he was selling maps without a license?" I asked.
"Not that we are aware," Mr. Connor said, perching on the edge of the desk. "Daniel only sold existing maps from his cart, ones that he'd drawn here. He didn't take commissions for new ones. He insisted that anyone wanting to commission him approach Duffield and go through the correct channels. He didn't want to upset his master or the guild."
Yet he would have done so simply by selling from his cart. I knew all too well how the guilds liked to control the sale of products that fell under their jurisdiction.
"Daniel may have led you to believe that he didn't take commissions without Duffield's knowledge," Matt said, "but he might not have told you everything."
"He did." Mr. Henshaw's eyes flashed as they bored into Matt. Matt didn't so much as blink. "He kept no secrets from us."
Matt produced Daniel's map from his inside jacket pocket. "Then he would have told you who commissioned this map and why."
The wind left Mr. Henshaw's sails. He glanced uncertainly at Mr. Connor, but the blond fellow kept his gaze firmly on the map.
"Where did you get that?" he asked.
"That's not important," Matt said. "But since you don't know the answer, it proves that Daniel did not tell you everything. What do you know about it, gentlemen?"
Mr. Connor shrugged. "Nothing, really. He mentioned that a gentleman approached him on Oxford Street after hearing of his reputation. He commissioned Daniel to make a special map of inner London. That may be it. "
"Special?" I said.
"He didn't clarify, and I admit to not being interested enough to ask. I didn't think it important. Is it important, Mr. Glass?"
"I don't yet know," Matt said. "Did Daniel tell the gentleman to go through Duffield's shop?"
"As far as I am aware, yes. Is that the map?"
"I'm not sure," Matt said. "What I do know is that Daniel later argued with the man who commissioned the special map you speak of. Did he mention an argument to you?"
Mr. Connor shook his head and glanced at Mr. Henshaw. Mr. Henshaw shrugged. "Could be that day he came here all foul-tempered and wouldn't say why."
"Could be," Mr. Connor agreed. "I wish we'd pressed him, now. Do you think the fellow he argued with, the customer, is the one who caused him to go into hiding or…or has taken him?"
"It's too early to say," Matt said.
"There's one other thing," Mr. Henshaw said in his quiet, uncertain voice. He looked to his friend, who nodded for him to go on. "Remember when Daniel said he was going to get some money?"
"That could be linked to the special map," Mr. Connor said thoughtfully. "Daniel told us he would get more money than he'd ever seen in his life. Enough to take the three of us out of London and go live somewhere in the country together, away from our families."
"All from one commission?" I asked. While I could believe that a man who knew the rarity of a magical map would pay a high price for one of Daniel's, it seemed unlikely that Daniel knew his own worth. His grandfather thought he hadn't even been aware that he was magical, but someone had told him and helped him learn spells to create a magical map.
"Oxford Street is a long street," Matt said. "Is there a particular part that Daniel frequented?"
"Not many of the traders liked him being outside their shops," Mr. Connor said. "Many ordered him to move on if he lingered too long. Only the old toymaker near Baker Street was kindly. He let him stay out front as long as he wanted."
"Thank you," Matt said, rising. "You've been very helpful."
"Please let us know as soon as you find him," Mr. Connor said, shaking Matt's hand. "We're very worried. This isn't like Daniel."
"No," Mr. Henshaw chimed in. "He wouldn't leave without getting word to us. Something's happened to him."
"At least someone is doing something about it. I thought his father had given up, yet here you are."
"And we're following every path until we find him," I assured them.
Some of the shops on Oxford Street had already closed for the day, but most were still open, including the toyshop. Abercrombie's Fine Watches And Clocks had not yet shut either. Its grand corner position on the other side of the street dominated the smaller premises nearby, much like Abercrombie dominated those beneath him in the guild ranks.
"You don't have to leave the carriage," Matt said.
"I'm not worried about Abercrombie. He won't try to have me arrested again. He knows you're friends with the police commissioner."
"Munro's involvement is the least of Abercrombie's worries if he tries anything," he said darkly as he climbed out of the carriage. He folded the step down and held out his hand to me.
I didn't dare ask him to elaborate; I suspected I might not like the answer. Matt's past had been colorful, to say the least. After his parents died, he'd lived with his mother's family, most of whom were outlaws. He must have learned some of their criminal ways before he betrayed them. I wasn't foolish enough to think he was a saint who never sought retribution against those who harmed people he cared about. To think that I was one of the people he cared about, however, was as intoxicating as a glass of brandy. Two, in fact.
"Come now, Mrs. Prescott," Matt said with a genial smile. "Let's purchase some English toys for our niece and nephew back home in California."
"An excellent idea, Mr. Prescott."
I placed my hand on his arm and allowed him to lead me into the small shop with the bright red door and matching window trim. I would have loved to come into this shop as a child, but a watchmaker's daughter didn't usually shop for toys on Oxford Street. Her clever father made them for her out of spare parts.
&n
bsp; "Oh, look," I said, pointing to an automata of a mother with her children having tea. "My father made me one just like it. You turn the crank that winds the gears beneath the floor, making all the parts work at different intervals."
"I had soldiers like these," Matt said, picking up one of the red coats. "Kept me occupied for hours."
The toys were clearly made for the children of wealthy parents. There were gleaming rocking horses with long manes, pretty dolls, dollhouses furnished with perfect miniature furniture, and even a Bing clockwork train set.
"I've only heard about these," I said, crouching to get a better look. "I've never actually seen one. Do you know these work on the same principles as timepieces?" I picked up the engine to inspect it, but the shopkeeper looked anxious so I put it down.
"Good afternoon," he said with a bright smile. He looked just like a toymaker ought, with rosy red cheeks, snowy white hair and friendly eyes. I was so pleased that he fit the mold that I smiled enthusiastically.
"Good afternoon," I said. "My husband and I are looking for something for our niece and nephew. What do you recommend?"
He showed us around his shop, winding up some of the automata so we could see them work. It was utterly fascinating, and I told him so. "Your shop is delightful," I said. "Isn't it, Mr. Prescott?"
"Yes, my dear," Matt said, eyes twinkling with good humor. It would seem the shop had lifted his spirits too.
"Do you see anything your niece and nephew would like?" the toymaker asked.
"Everything," I said with a laugh.
"The train set," Matt said.
I was about to protest that it was too expensive, since we weren't actually in need of toys, but we were supposed to be wealthy, and wealthy people didn't worry about expense.
"Your nephew will cherish it for years," the toymaker said, plucking the engine off the table.
"As will our niece," Matt said. "We'll also take the zoetrope."
We joined the toymaker at the counter as he gently wrapped up the gifts. "Do you know of any good map shops nearby?" Matt asked idly. "I had heard of a lad who sold his maps out the front, but he doesn't appear to be here today."
