The Ink Master's Silence

by C. J. Archer

  Oscar had the decency to look chastised.

  "If you did this to get revenge on Cecilia and me—"

  "Don't be absurd," Oscar barked. "I was never in love with her. She was in love with me, and going by your overreaction, she probably still is."

  "Overreaction?" Isaac grunted as he put on his jacket. "I'm leaving. I can't stand listening to your narcissistic drivel."

  "Go. I don't want to see you anymore. And don't expect a warm welcome next time. I'll instruct my landlady not to let you in."

  "She can't keep me out. Or anyone else, for that matter."

  "Is that a threat, Isaac?"

  "Take it any way you like."

  Oscar shook his head. "Our parents would turn in their graves if—"

  "Do not presume to know what they'd think." Isaac marched out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

  I didn't know what to say, so I picked a book off the floor and placed it on a chair. It must have been on the table that had ended up bearing the brunt of their argument. Oscar picked up part of a table leg.

  "He brings destruction wherever he goes," he said, inspecting the splintered end.

  "Is that a literary quote?" I asked.

  One corner of his mouth lifted. "It's something I overheard him say to Cecilia once, after they fought about me and how she…how she had feelings for me. She claimed she no longer did, but…" He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "I left the next day. It was better for everyone."

  "If it helps, I think you did the right thing."

  Someone knocked on the door, and Matt answered it. Detective Inspector Brockwell stood there.

  "Miss Steele, what a pleasant surprise," he said. "But, may I ask, what are you both doing here?"

  "Investigating the threatening letters sent to Mr. Barratt," Matt said stiffly.

  "Since you wouldn't do it," Oscar chimed in.

  "That wasn't my response, sir, and well you know it," Brockwell said, clipping off each consonant with brutal precision to convey his point. "I will investigate the letters as a separate matter, in due course. The murder is taking up all my time and much of Scotland Yard's resources. As I said to you, when you first brought the letters to my attention, I don't think you were the shooter's intended target instead of Mr. Baggley."

  "Then why you are here?"

  "I need to account for the movements of the main suspects during the day and evening of the murder."

  Oscar recoiled. "I'm a suspect?"

  Brockwell clapped his hands behind his back and lifted his chin. He almost looked noble, but his scruffy sideburns and crumpled shirt collar let him down. "You and Mr. Isaac Barratt were overheard arguing on the day of the murder in the Gazette's office. It's my understanding the argument was about the magic articles you wrote."

  "My brother is against revealing magic to the world. What of it?"

  "How did the argument end?"

  "As they always do, with him storming out."

  "What are you getting at, Inspector?" I asked.

  "I am sorry, Miss Steele, but I can't divulge that at this point. I hope you understand." His gaze lifted to Matt's as Matt moved closer to me. Brockwell turned back to Oscar. "Where can I find your brother, sir?"

  "You just missed him." Oscar indicated the broken table. "As you can see, we argued."

  "He has a violent streak?"

  Oscar frowned. "Are you accusing my brother of Baggley's murder?"

  Brockwell glared back. "Where is he staying, Mr. Barratt?"

  "You are accusing him." Oscar squeezed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "Christ, man, he's a fool, not a killer. Why would he kill Baggley to stop the articles, anyway? Why not me? I am the writer. I can take the articles anywhere."

  "Can you? Have you tried?"

  Oscar's frown deepened. "No, but…but I've helped the Gazette's circulation."

  "And created enemies for yourself, the paper, and the editor." Brockwell paced the room, taking in the broken table, the unmade bed in the adjoining room, the half-eaten breakfast. Was he looking for evidence that Isaac Barratt was staying with his brother? "I am not a newspaperman. I don't pretend to know these things, but if I were an editor of a different newspaper, I wouldn't touch your inciting articles. Not for all the circulation figures in the world."

  "The newspaper world is grateful you are not a newspaperman then." Oscar indicated the door. "If you're going to accuse Isaac or me, kindly leave. I have nothing more to say. Even if I knew where my brother was staying, I wouldn't tell you. He's not a murderer."

  "Of course you'd defend him." Brockwell held up a finger when Oscar protested. "Wouldn't it make sense for your brother to kill your editor and not you? After all, it's much easier to murder a stranger than a family member."

  Oscar marched to the door and jerked it wide open. "Get out."

  Brockwell gave him a tight smile. "As you wish. Good day. Good day to you too, Miss Steele." To Matt he said, "I see from the announcement in The Times that congratulations are in order."

  Matt hesitated then gave a curt nod.

  Brockwell took my hand and bowed over it. "If I need to speak to you again, where will I find you?"

  "I am still residing at number sixteen Park Street," I said.

  Brockwell hesitated. "That is…unexpected."

  Matt stood on the other side of the open door to Oscar, indicating Brockwell should leave.

  "I wish you the best of luck in your marriage, sir," Brockwell said to Matt.

  "Marriage?" Oscar blinked at me.

  "Not to Miss Steele. Mr. Glass is engaged to his cousin, the daughter of Lord Rycroft."

  Oscar's lips parted then a hesitant smile touched his lips. "Is that so? Congratulations, Glass." The smile stretched with each second that Matt didn't respond.

  Brockwell stepped closer to me and lowered his voice. "I admit to being taken by surprise, Miss Steele. I pride myself on my observational skills, and I thought there was something more than a professional relationship between you and Mr. Glass. It seems I was wrong. I apologize for my assumption."

  "No apology necessary," I muttered, unable to meet his gaze.

  "Perhaps I can call upon you—"

  "Didn't you say you were leaving, Brockwell?" Matt prompted.

  Oscar opened the door wider. "Good day, Inspector."

  Brockwell bowed to me again then left without another word.

  "I'm also taken by surprise by this announcement," Oscar said, rejoining me.

  I bit my lip, wanting to tell him the truth but knowing I couldn't. For now, everyone must believe Matt was marrying Patience.

  Matt, however, must have had enough. When Oscar took my hand and kissed the back of it, he said, "You of all people should know not to believe everything you read in the papers, Barratt."

  Oscar dropped my hand as if it burned.

  "Be careful, Barratt," Matt growled, his voice low. "Your life is still in danger."

  Oscar swallowed.

  Matt offered me his arm and escorted me out. He gave our coachman orders to drive to Hendry's Smithfield paper shop and settled opposite me in the cabin.

  "They're circling like vultures now they think you're available," he grumbled.

  I fought to keep a straight face. This wasn't a laughing matter, although I did like that he was jealous. "I believe vultures eat the scraps left behind by predators. Are you calling me your leftovers, Matt?"

  "Don't tease me, India. I can't see the lighter side at the moment."

  I changed seats to sit beside him and closed both my hands around his arm. The muscle flexed then relaxed. "We'll be able to tell them I am not available soon."

  "Not soon enough."

  Hendry's paper shop was closed on Sundays, as were all the shops along the Smithfield strip. The street was quiet, almost entirely devoid of life, since many of the shopkeepers lived above or behind their shops. Two couples strolled by, and three children played on the pavement. I spotted a man lounging against a wall a little furthe
r along, but I couldn't see his face beneath his lowered hat brim. I knew it was Cyclops from his size.

  The door to Mr. Hendry's shop was unlocked, even though the sign read closed. Matt called out and Hendry emerged from the rear workshop, his sleeves rolled up to the elbows.

  "What do you want now?" he said on a sigh.

  "Why were you asking for Oscar Barratt at The Weekly Gazette's office on the day Baggley was killed?" Matt asked.

  Mr. Hendry bristled. "Who says I was?"

  "There are witnesses."

  "It's none of your affair, and I don't have to answer you.

  "At this point in time, the police don't suspect you," Matt went on. "They aren't aware that the threatening letters to Barratt were written on magic paper. We'd be happy to assist them, however, and you can answer their questions instead."

  Mr. Hendry rearranged three small parcels on the counter that looked as if they were ready to be sent to customers in the morning.

  "It won't look good for you if you don't answer," I said gently. "We know you overheard a Gazette employee tell another man that Oscar Barratt would be working late. Did you return that evening to speak with him?"

  "I went nowhere near the Gazette's office that night." He moved on to a stack of invitations at the counter's end and ensured it was square. "I admit that I was there during the day. I wanted to reason with Mr. Barratt. He needs to know that his articles are putting people like me in jeopardy. I'm losing friends because of him." His voice rose, along with the color in his cheeks.

  I touched his arm. "Perhaps those friends weren't worth having if they're abandoning you now."

  Mr. Hendry snorted. "It's different for you. You don't work in your magic trade."

  "And Mr. Sweeney doesn't work in yours."

  His gaze sharpened. "Yet he refuses to speak to me now."

  "And he's turning others against you," Matt added.

  Hendry fidgeted with the stack of invitations again. The act seemed to soothe him, just as touching watches soothed me.

  "I understand," I said gently.

  He sniffed. "No, Miss Steele, you don't."

  I looked to Matt, hoping he could say something to cheer the poor man up.

  "Did you return to the Gazette's office that night?" Matt asked again. It would seem his sour mood had lingered, and his charm had abandoned him.

  "I already told you I didn't."

  "Why didn't you? You wanted to speak to Barratt, and you knew he was going to be there."

  "I didn't go back!"

  "Where were you?" Matt pressed.

  "Here," Mr. Hendry grumbled. "All night."

  "Can anyone confirm that?"

  "That's none of your business!"

  He stripped off the top invitation from the pile and threw it at Matt, murmuring something under his breath that I couldn't quite hear. The paper clipped Matt below the ear and fluttered to the floor.

  "You're bleeding," I said, going to Matt's side.

  He touched the small cut, smearing the drop of blood. He looked to Mr. Hendry. "You have more than one magic trick."

  Mr. Hendry backed away, hands extended as if warning us not to get too close. "I…I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

  I picked the invitation off the floor and ran my hands over the blank back. It was hot. "You turned it into a weapon," I murmured.

  "I…I said I was sorry."

  "Death by paper cut," Matt said wryly as he wiped the rest of the blood off his neck with his handkerchief.

  "How did you do it?" I asked Mr. Hendry. "What words did you say?"

  He shook his head quickly. "I won't tell you."

  "But that spell…you know two, don't you? One to improve the quality of your paper, the other to fling the paper."

  His eyes widened as he backed into the counter. "Don't tell anyone. It's been years since I used that spell. If people think I can hurt them with paper, they'll come for me. I won't be safe."

  "No one will harm you, Mr. Hendry, and I won't tell anyone what happened here. Can you make the paper move without a spell?"

  "India!" Matt gave his head a slight shake. "We should go."

  "Can you make paper move without a spell?" I said again.

  Mr. Hendry shook his head. "You should leave now."

  "If you think of anything that exonerates you, let us know," Matt said.

  Mr. Hendry turned wild eyes onto Matt. "I didn't kill that man! Please, you must believe me."

  We left and the door slammed closed behind us. The lock tumbled.

  "Are you mad, India?" Matt said when we were alone in the carriage.

  "His paper turned into a weapon for him. It's the same as my watch." I clutched my reticule tighter, feeling the shape of my new, untested watch inside.

  "Don't ask him that question again," Matt said. "He'll want to know why you're asking, and that'll reveal too much."

  He was right. I needed to be careful. Yet knowing that didn't diminish my need to learn more about my power. I doubted Mr. Hendry could teach me, however, and that made questioning him further a pointless exercise.

  I nodded and he finally sat back with a sigh.

  "Do you think he lied about not returning to the Gazette's office that night to speak to Barratt?" I asked.

  "It's hard to say. He grew angry when I pressured him, which is suspicious."

  "Angry enough to give you a paper cut."

  He smirked as he touched the cut beneath his ear. "I wonder if he could have flung all of those sheets of paper at me at once."

  It was a sobering thought. One paper cut wasn't enough to distract Matt, but hundreds certainly would.

  "I'll have Cyclops continue to watch him," he said as we drove past Cyclops. He tugged on his hat brim in deference but made no other sign that he knew us.

  "He's very conspicuous," I said. "Perhaps you should get Duke to do it instead."

  "I need him watching Cox. Cyclops is too conspicuous, and I can't have Cox getting suspicious."

  "Just until this investigation is finished."

  "My priority is finding Cox's weakness, not this investigation." His iciness invited no argument, and I offered none.

  Matt had to summon his charms upon our return home, however. Gabe Seaford was waiting for us, and he was one man we both wanted to stay on friendly terms with. The magical doctor may be needed to save Matt's life again one day. We all hoped that day would not be soon.

  "What a lovely surprise," I said, accepting his kiss on my cheek. "I must admit, we weren't expecting to see you."

  Gabe shook Matt's hand and glanced at Miss Glass. He looked uncertain, and she graciously left the room, even though she knew what Gabe had done to save Matt. He seemed to relax a little once she was gone.

  "I see you've already had tea," I said, sitting on the sofa.

  "Miss Glass took good care of me," he said. "Your aunt is very kind, Matt, and appears to be in good health, considering her age."

  Matt smiled. "Don't let her hear you discuss her age or she won't serve you tea anymore."

  Gabe laughed.

  "Speaking of her health," Matt said. "She sometimes has turns where her mind seems to slip into the past. It usually happens when she's upset. Can anything be done for her?"

  "How long do the turns last?"

  "A few minutes."

  "Then I wouldn't worry too much. Short-term memory loss is quite common in the elderly, unfortunately. And what about you? You look well."

  "I feel fine, entirely back to normal. Thank you again, Gabe. You're a miracle worker."

  "And we will be forever in your debt," I added. "It was good of you to call on Matt."

  "I read the announcement of your engagement in The Times."

  Matt's face clouded. He looked away.

  Gabe looked from Matt to me then back to Matt. "Is something wrong?"

  "No," I said quickly.

  "So the announcement wasn't a mistake?"

  I searched for the right response, but could think of none. Mat
t didn't say a word. The silence stretched painfully until I could no longer stand it.

  "More tea, Gabe?"

  "No, thank you." He frowned and glanced between us again. "I've upset you both. I'm sorry, I'd better go."

  We saw him out and watched him walk along Park Street to the corner. "That was nice of him to come and see if you're feeling all right," I said, returning inside.

  Matt led the way to the library and held the door open for me. "I doubt that's why he was here."

  "Then why?"

  "He saw the announcement in The Times, assumed you were free, and came to ask you to the theater tonight or something similar."

  I laughed. "Good lord, Matt. Before I met you, Eddie was my only beau. Now you see them everywhere. I haven't changed. I'm hardly going to attract four times more gentlemen callers now than before."

  "You have changed. You just don't see it." He closed the door and circled his arms around my waist from behind. "You're more confident in yourself," he murmured in my ear, "and that confidence makes you desirable."

  I pulled away, too aware of him and not trusting my reaction being so close to him.

  "And for another, you're not very good at seeing what is right in front of your nose." He kissed the tip of my nose. "It wouldn't surprise me if you had more men interested in you before Eddie than you think."

  I rolled my eyes, and was about to say something, when someone knocked on the library door. Bristow entered upon Matt's command.

  "Lord and Lady Rycroft are here, sir. They wish to speak with you in the sitting room. Alone."

  Matt took my hand. "They can say whatever they want in front of you, India."

  I shook my head. "It'll be better for everyone if I stay away."

  He nodded but didn't look too pleased to be facing the lions without me.

  I headed for the stairs while he opened the door to the sitting room and closed it again. I met Miss Glass on the way down and informed her that Lord and Lady Rycroft wanted to be alone with Matt to talk.

  "Alone? Tosh! This will be about the wedding and that concerns the entire family. Come along, India. You ought to be there too."

  "Me? Why?"

  "Because it concerns you too, whether they like it or not. You and Matthew have chosen a particular path, now you must face the consequences together." She pointed at the sitting room door. "In there are two of the consequences."