by C. J. Archer
"Perhaps it will come to you." He smiled.
She smiled back. "Perhaps it will. I am so glad you've come. You've brightened my day. I don't get out as much as I used to, and my friends do not call on me with any regularity." She lifted the little dog to her chest and cradled it. The dog seemed content enough to be woken up and adored. "Without Bliss here, my day would be unending boredom. Milo is pleasing to look at but not as much of a companion as I'd hoped he would be."
Milo was a companion, not a footman? Merry widow indeed.
"Does the name Chronos mean anything to you?" Matt asked, clearly not ready to leave.
She frowned. "An acquaintance of James's had an odd name like that," she said, once again settling Bliss in her lap. "I think that's the name of the man who assisted him with the experiment."
"Do you know his real name or profession? Anything about him?"
"We never met, and James merely mentioned him in passing. I assumed they were working on a new medical technique or device together."
"What about a woman named Nell Sweet?"
Her spine stiffened. "Was James seeing another woman?"
"No. You were the only love mentioned in his letters to my father."
She relaxed a little but her features remained strained, and her vigorous stroking of Bliss continued, much to Bliss's happiness. "I did wonder if I'd driven James away, if my action led him to fall out of love with me and into the arms of another. He was so angry with me, you see. So very angry."
Matt glanced at me, the first sign that he wasn't sure of himself. I gave him a small nod of encouragement. As sensitive as the topic was, we had to broach it.
"Ma'am, forgive me," Matt said gently, "but you've mentioned an argument between you and my cousin a few times now. I think I know what you're referring to." He paused. The silence felt weighty, oppressive. "I don't want to seem impertinent, but was the argument over your son?"
She did not seem surprised that he brought it up. Indeed, I wondered if her constant mentioning of the argument was a way of introducing it into the conversation. I suspected Lady Buckland wanted to talk about it after all this time.
"He was born in this house." She blinked up at the chandelier hanging from the ceiling rose. "I initially told James I'd keep him and raise him, telling people I'd taken in a ward in need of a home. Whether anyone believed that, I don't know. I'm sure the gossips enjoyed themselves at my expense. But that's not why I gave him up. I didn't care about anyone's opinion of me. I still don't."
"Good for you," I felt compelled to say. "Why did you give him up?"
She smiled wanly. "I quickly learned that motherhood is a difficult business and doesn't come naturally to every woman. Maternal instincts are not a thing, Miss Steele. At least in my case they are not."
"So you gave him away for adoption," Matt prompted.
She nodded. "I knew James wouldn't allow it, so I organized it in secret. When he found out, I didn't tell him where I sent Phineas, no matter how relentlessly he questioned me."
"He must have been furious," Matt said quietly.
"Oh yes. And I understand why. I do. James wanted a child so desperately but seed can't take root in barren earth. And Mrs. Millroy was a desert. He finally got a son from me then I sent him away. I don't regret it. Phineas could not be raised as James's own child, or even as mine. He would not be afforded privileges or James's name. At least by giving him up he had the chance of a good life." Her entire body sagged into the sofa, momentarily disturbing the dog before she resettled. "Phineas is much loved in his new home. I'm sure of it. Much, much loved with a normal family and lots of siblings."
"You know who adopted him?" Matt asked, rather incredulously. Or perhaps it was hopefully.
"Only in my heart."
Matt gave her an understanding smile, but I knew it wasn't genuine.
"I tried telling James that Phineas would be loved, but he wanted to hear none of it. He railed at me, demanding to know which orphanage I sent Phineas to. But I wouldn't tell him. I couldn't have him undoing all my hard work, all the hopes I had for our child. He would ruin everything by bringing Phineas back here. What did he think would happen? We could not live as a family, and I could not raise a boy alone. What did I know about children or mothering? I did the right thing," she said with certainty.
"But Cousin James didn't give up trying to find out where you took him," Matt went on. "Hence the letter he sent you on the day of his death asking you to meet him."
She nodded. "He sounded more reasonable in his letter, not as angry. I suspected he was going to try to coax the answer out of me instead of force it. He talked about how special Phineas was, how I didn't understand the gravity of my actions because I didn't know what his child was capable of becoming. His child, not mine." She rolled her eyes. "As if I had nothing to do with his conception."
Special. Dr. Millroy expected, and perhaps hoped, his son would be a magician. A rare doctor magician, at that.
"Do you know why he thought his child would be special?" Matt pressed.
She waved her hand. Bliss opened her eyes at the loss of her mistress's touch. "Doesn't every father think his son is special?"
I detected no lie, no understanding of magic and how it passed from one generation to the next. If she knew about magic at all, she had not once given an indication during the interview.
"Ma'am, thank you for your honesty," Matt said. "I knew from Cousin James's letters to my father that he had a son, and I'm glad you confirmed it. You've given me something to hope for."
"Hope for?"
Matt looked at her guilelessly. "Your son is my only surviving blood relative. I want to meet him."
She blanched.
"Will you tell me which orphanage you sent him to so I can trace him? They'll have records and—"
"No! Definitely not!" She pushed the dog off her lap. Bliss landed on the floor with a whimper then scurried under the other sofa as her mistress stood. "Good day, sir. I'd like you to leave now."
Matt stood so I followed suit. "Please, ma'am. If I could meet my cousin, it would mean the world to me. To us." He put his arm around me. It was hard as a rock, at odds with his soft plea. "I won't tell Phineas anything about you, if that's what you want."
She gave the bell pull a fierce tug. "No. I cannot risk him learning who I am. I cannot risk him coming here, expecting me to acknowledge him."
Milo entered and bowed but did not speak.
Lady Buckland barked a laugh. "Can you imagine it? He would be older than Milo. Isn't that absurd?" She went to Milo, arms outstretched. He took both her hands in his and kissed her flushed cheek. "What would he think of me?" she said, casting a dreamy look at her footman.
"Lady Buckland," Matt pressed. "Please, this is important."
She spun sharply. "Stop it," she hissed, her eyes flashing. "Stop it! You're just like James, demanding answers I cannot give. Get out of my house! Go!"
Matt took a step toward her but Milo blocked his path.
The footman cracked his knuckles and smiled. It was all crooked teeth. "You heard her ladyship," he said in a broad Cockney accent. "Get out."
Matt stared down at the floor, as if the roses woven into the carpet could help him. The room suddenly seemed too close, too cloying with its abundance of pink. I had to get Matt out before he got so frustrated that he shed his disguise and did something he would regret. Milo looked as strong as he was handsome.
I took Matt's hand and urged him toward the door, my mind searching for something to say to dissolve the tension. I spied a newspaper on a table and picked it up to idly discuss the news.
Only it was the latest edition of The Weekly Gazette, opened to Oscar Barratt's article. I forged on anyway. "What a sensation this article caused."
"Has it?" Lady Buckland said with disinterest.
Matt eyed Milo as if he wanted to punch him, and Milo continued to smile back at Matt. I'd seen that look before. It was the sort of smile a guilty man has when he knows the p
olice can't catch him. He could do anything in this house to us and Lady Buckland would protect him with her money and status.
I pulled hard on Matt's hand and dragged him out before he buried us in a hole we could not climb out of.
Chapter 15
Matt gave our coachman directions to the Bethnal Green shelter and assisted me into the carriage.
"Are you all right?" I asked, trying to look at his face without making it obvious. He stared out the window, however. Was he thinking over what had happened in Lady Buckland's house? Wishing he could strike Milo? Or looking for Payne?
"I'm fine," he said, turning to me and offering a smile that didn't quite meet his eyes. "She gave us the information we need to continue. We now know Dr. Millroy went to the Bethnal Green doss house that night. I suspect he learned that Wilson had a family in Bright Court. All we have to do is find his records and we'll discover which of the Bright Court residents is related to Wilson, just as Millroy did twenty-seven years ago."
"But we already looked and there were no records for Mr. Wilson at the Bethnal Green shelter. There could have been another doss house in Bethnal Green at that time."
He scrubbed his hand over his jaw and chin. "We'll return to the same one and look again. Maybe his details were misfiled. If we have no luck, we'll ask some locals if there used to be another doss house in the area."
"What if his details weren't misfiled?" I asked as an idea grew on me. "What if they were filed under another name? Not everyone is convinced that Wilson is the real name of the vagrant. 'Not quite right' is how everyone seems to put it."
He nodded slowly. I waited for him to say something, to mention the very obvious problem facing us now, but he did not. It would seem I had to bring it up.
"Lady Buckland did not tell us how to find Phineas."
"No," he said flatly.
"Perhaps we'll ask her again in a day or two. She might soften her stance if we wear her down."
"Or we could just break in and search through her house."
"Matt!"
"She's bound to have information somewhere relating to her son. Some paperwork from the orphanage, a letter. A mother wouldn't throw that sort of thing out."
"Matthew Glass! It's one thing to break in to a shop when no one is inside, but this is the home of an elderly lady who doesn't leave her house. Not to mention she has servants who'll protect their mistress."
"Don't worry about Milo."
"I am worried, as you ought to be. He doesn't look like someone you should cross, particularly not in her house. I'd say he has her wrapped around his little finger, and she no doubt pays him handsomely for…services."
"You're blushing, India."
"I am not!"
He shot me a sly smile. "Don't worry, India. I won't ask you to join me in the search."
"This is not a joke!"
His smile faded into a frown. "No one will get hurt, either her or me. I can't make any promises about Milo, but I'll be careful. I've done this before."
"Yes," I said hotly. "Back in America, where you just happened to get shot by your own grandfather!" I crossed my arms over my chest. "Didn't that teach you not to do anything rash?"
"I can't back away from this, India. You know why I can't."
"We can wear her down," I said lamely. " One day at a time, one question at a time. She'll give in, Matt."
"I can't wait for that."
"I'll befriend her or…or you'll charm her. She liked you. She'll do anything you ask of her if you play your cards right. You're an excellent card player."
His sad, crooked smile twisted my heart. He leaned forward and touched my hands. "I don't have the time. My watch is slowing down."
"But I extended the magic."
He lowered his head and his hair fell across his eyes. "A little."
"But not enough," I said heavily.
I took his face in my hands, forcing him to look up. The exhaustion had come over him suddenly. It was as if stepping into the carriage meant he could remove the mask of healthfulness he presented to the world. I ought to be pleased that he allowed me to see him as he was but it only made me feel sad to my bones.
I stroked his cheeks with my thumbs. His eyes glazed over then closed, and his breathing became unsteady. It took all my strength of will not to kiss him.
"India," he purred in a rich, modular tone.
I withdrew my hands and focused on drawing the curtains, not looking at him. Not until I heard his sigh and his watch case open. His glowing veins lit up the cabin in an ethereal light that grew brighter as the magic spread through his entire body. When it reached his hairline, he closed the case and returned the watch to his pocket.
"Better," he announced.
We both knew he needed to rest as well, but that would have to wait. We were not far from the Bethnal Green shelter.
"Do you think she regrets giving up her son?" I asked, reopening the curtains and banishing the lingering effects of the glow.
"Sometimes, perhaps, when she allows herself to dwell on it. She certainly wishes it hadn't ruined her relationship with Millroy. Hardly surprising that it did, though. Not only did he finally have a child, but that child has a strong possibility of inheriting his magic."
"I wonder what Phineas is doing now that he's grown."
"If he did inherit his father's power, it's likely he's in the medical profession in one form or other. He'll be drawn to healing."
"He probably isn't aware of his magic," I said. "Without his father to inform him, who will know?"
"He'll get a shock when we tell him."
He sounded so sure that we'd find him that I had to smile and agree. I couldn't bear to see him lose hope entirely. At least we had something to go on, a task to perform next. While I didn't like the idea of breaking into Lady Buckland's house, it did seem like the only course available to us. It was better than sitting idle. While we waited for nightfall, we at least had something to go on with—finding Dr. Millroy's killer. We still needed the diary.
The Bethnal Green shelter was so quiet that we initially thought it closed. Our knock was answered by the bespectacled volunteer we'd met on our first visit. She remembered us—or rather she remembered Matt, if her shy smile and blush were any indication. Thankfully she hadn't been present the night we'd lied our way into the cellar.
"Mr. Woolley is in his office," she said, stepping aside.
"We don't wish to speak to Mr. Woolley," Matt said. "We need to see your records. It's imperative, Miss…?"
"Garnet."
"It's important we check them, Miss Garnet."
"Actually my first name is Garnet."
"I am sorry," Matt said.
"It's an easy mistake to make."
My heart tripped over itself. My God, it was so simple I couldn't believe we hadn't realized we'd made a similar mistake! The vagrant's name wasn't Mr. Wilson. His first name was Wilson. We'd assumed it was his surname.
"We must see those records, Garnet," Matt went on. His urgency made his voice hard, his eyes harder.
I touched his arm to calm him a little. "Garnet," I said sweetly, "Mr. Woolley has refused us access before, and we don't wish to try that route again. It's much too frustrating, and I know he won't budge. He doesn't care, you see." I thinned my voice and dabbed at the corner of my eyes with my little finger. "He doesn't understand that this is my only way of finding out more about my grandfather. He died a tragic death but we know he spent nights here. He was such a lost, unhappy soul, but he wasn't without family who loved him. It's that family I've been attempting to trace for years. My own branch has lived comfortably, but I know I have cousins who have not, and I'd like to find them and help them if I can. Please, Garnet. Please let me do this for my poor departed grandfather." I thought I acted rather well. I even managed to conjure up real tears. In a way, it wasn't far from the truth—Wilson had died tragically and we were searching for his family.
Garnet chewed on her lip and glanced toward the door behind h
er that led to the men's ward. The rectangle of afternoon sunshine fell across the spotless floor tiles, probably scrubbed by Garnet's own hands. Volunteers like her were a marvel, true angels on Earth, helping the helpless and hopeless. I felt a little guilty for lying to her.
I wasn't sure which way she would fall, for or against my plea, and I never got the chance to find out. Matt fished some coins out of his pocket and opened his palm. They were all sovereigns and half sovereigns.
Garnet blinked wide eyes at him.
"A donation," he said.
"Such a generous sum." Garnet hesitated briefly then held out both her hands.
Matt tipped the coins into them. "There's no need to trouble Mr. Woolley."
"I should come with you to make sure…"
"Of course. Shall we?"
She dropped the coins into her apron pocket and led the way. The men's ward was clean and the beds ready for the homeless who would come seeking shelter at nightfall. The door to Mr. Woolley's office was shut, and there were no other volunteers in sight, although a woman's voice came from the adjoining female ward. We exited a door at the back of the vast space and I found myself in the dimly lit corridor that led to the kitchen and cellar.
Garnet opened the door to the cellar and lit the lamp hanging from a hook using the box of matches on the nearby ledge. Closer inspection revealed it to be the lamp we'd left behind in our haste to escape last time.
"His first name is Wilson," I whispered to Matt as we followed Garnet down the stairs.
He paused before resuming his pace again. He nodded once and headed directly for the row of filing cabinets. He made a show of reading the labels.
"Sixty-three," he announced for Garnet's benefit.
There were far too many records to search every single one for a man whose first name was Wilson. It would take an hour at least. Garnet would grow suspicious after five minutes. A granddaughter ought to know her grandfather's name. I had to think of something.
"Garnet?" The voice of Mr. Woolley boomed down the stairwell. "What are you doing? I saw you entering with two people. Who are they? Garnet?"
