by C. J. Archer
"Various companies," Mr. Ingles said, frowning. "The vat manufacturers supply the vats and pipes, there's a barrel maker, of course, and crushing machines, coppers. The list goes on. Why? What does this have to do with your investigation?"
"Nothing. I just like to learn about these things." Matt smiled, and Mr. Ingles smiled too, his concern alleviated. "Are the suppliers English?"
"Most likely, although I can't say for certain. Hubert would know."
We thanked him and walked off, neither of us speaking until we reached the carriage. Matt gave our coachman instructions to drive to Scotland Yard. The traffic crossing the bridge slowed our journey but neither of us minded. It gave us time to be alone.
We should have closed the curtain, however. The carriage came to a complete stop on the bridge approach. A pedestrian passing by rapped on the window, startling us.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourselves, behaving like that in public," she scolded.
Matt pulled the window down. "Madam, the lady is my wife. If you do not approve of a husband kissing his wife, avert your gaze and walk swiftly on. All you've achieved is to call attention to us. Not that I mind. I rather like the world knowing that I adore my wife."
She huffed, hurrying off with pinched lips and flushed cheeks. We finally moved ahead too, but neither of us was in the mood to resume our kiss.
"Ingles and Stanhope are right," Matt said. "There's no reason for any of McGuire's debtors to kill him. Their debts still have to be paid back."
"That absolves Fabian of the murder too."
"Except for the matter of his handkerchief being found at the scene."
"We're back where we started, with no suspects," I said on a sigh.
"Except Mrs. McGuire."
I sighed again. "I don't want it to be her, but I agree that she is our main suspect. Not only did her husband hurt her, she's also the beneficiary unless a will states otherwise. Now all McGuire's debtors owe her. The sum is considerable."
"She has two motives for murder," Matt said. "She frees herself from a tyrant and sets herself up financially."
It was a sobering and disheartening thought.
Chapter 8
"Mrs. McGuire is a small woman," Matt said. "It's hard to think of her as physically capable of stabbing a man. He'd be able to fight her off."
"Not if he didn't realize until too late," I said. "If they were being intimate, she could have hidden the knife and stabbed him by surprise. There was only one stab wound, according to the reports."
"I'm not sure what handbook on wifely duties you read before our marriage, but intimacy between husband and wife in an alley is not common. Just in case you weren't aware."
I nudged him with my elbow and fought back a smile. "We're discussing murder."
"Right. Sorry. I'll be more dignified lest a busybody raps on the window again."
"What are your impressions of Stanhope and Ingles?" I asked.
"Ingles seemed nervous," he said.
"I thought so too. Mr. Stanhope was nice enough. I wonder if his wife would vouch for him being home at the time of the murder."
"Brockwell will ask her."
We handed over Mr. McGuire's ledger to the inspector in his office and received a genuine smile from him as thanks.
"You did it," he said. "Well done, Mrs. Glass, I knew it was the right thing to do to come to you for assistance with Mrs. McGuire. You are an excellent private inquiry agent."
"Thank you, Inspector." I felt like a traitor for taking all the praise when it was Matt who'd retrieved the ledger, but I couldn't tell him how we'd really gained entry into her house. His policeman's ethics wouldn't approve.
"How did you get Mrs. McGuire to trust you?"
"Being a woman helped."
"No doubt." He opened the ledger and skimmed down the first pages, skipped to the last entries, then returned to the list at the front, just as we had done. He tapped his finger on Mr. Stanhope's entry. "This one has an asterisk."
"We took the liberty of calling on Hubert Stanhope at his place of business," Matt said. "We hope you don't mind."
Brockwell slammed the ledger closed. "Don't mind! Glass, you had no authority to interview my suspect."
"He's not really a suspect," Matt said. "His debt isn't dissolved."
"Nor is Fabian's," I cut in. "Mr. McGuire's beneficiary inherits them. Is that his wife?"
Brockwell nodded. "I still object very strongly to your interference. I asked Mrs. Glass to retrieve this from Mrs. McGuire, nothing more."
"We wanted to find a connection between the killer and Charbonneau," Matt said. "Considering the people who know about him in London also know he's a magician, it seemed logical that the killer is also a magician. Mr. Stanhope is a partner in a successful vinegar manufacturing business, so it's possible magic is involved in the process. Alternatively, it could be the equipment which contains metal magic. If we could prove the equipment came from Charbonneau Industries in France, we would have our link."
"And did you prove anything of the sort?" Brockwell asked, clipping off each consonant.
"No."
"We had to try," I said in an attempt to remove the scowl from his brow. "Fabian is our friend."
"You should not have spoken to anyone without talking to me first," Brockwell said. "Is that understood?"
"Come now, Inspector," Matt said smoothly. "Not only have we worked together with great success in the past, you're a very special person to my cousin. Can we not help one another?"
Brockwell's cheeks pinked. "Leave Miss Johnson out of this."
Matt put up his hands in surrender.
Brockwell opened the ledger again and read a few pages. "We've been trying to pin down McGuire's movements on the night of his death. Without Mrs. McGuire's assistance, we have not had much success. A neighbor saw the victim entering his own home at about six and we know he was drinking at the local pub from nine until midnight."
"He could have been accosted by a ne'er do well on his way home," I said. "It could have been an entirely random attack."
"That is certainly a possibility, but McGuire wasn't on his way home from the pub. The alley where the murder took place is in the opposite direction from his house."
"He was meeting someone," Matt said, nodding slowly. "Was anything found on his person to indicate he had an appointment?"
"No, but if he kept that sort of thing at home, we don't have access to it until Mrs. McGuire lets us in."
"I'll visit her again," I said, being very careful not to look at Matt. I didn't want him sneaking into her house a second time. The disguise of sanitary inspector might not work again.
"Thank you, Mrs. Glass. Tell me, in your professional opinion as a magician, do you think the Ingles Vinegar Company uses magical equipment from France?"
"It's impossible to say, Inspector. Perhaps you can check Mr. Stanhope's books to see if they use a French manufacturer."
"An excellent idea. Thank you for the suggestion." He came around the desk and put out his hand to assist me to my feet. "As always, you've been very helpful. I'm glad I came to you."
The moment we were in the carriage and the door closed, Matt turned to face me. He looked a little bemused. "Have you noticed how he still flirts with you but he gives me short shrift?"
"Don't be ridiculous," I said. "He's simply being polite."
"Polite to you and the opposite to me."
I snuggled into his side. "Are you still jealous, even now? Matt, that is sweet."
He grunted. "I'd be more worried about Willie's jealousy, if I were you."
Duke was asleep when we arrived home, having undertaken the night shift at Chronos's house. Cyclops was watching it now, and we found Willie keeping Aunt Letitia company in the library. Aunt Letitia sat with a large atlas open before her, while Willie studied it over her shoulder.
"See!" Willie cried, stabbing her finger on the page. "Tombstone. I told you it was real."
Aunt Letitia made a miffed sound thr
ough her nose and slammed the book closed. "Ridiculous name." She beckoned me to take her hand and assist her to stand. "Shall we go through preparations for tonight's dinner, India?"
"We already have," I said. "Mrs. Potter has it all in hand."
"Forget the food. That's not as important as the setting."
"There'll be roses as centerpieces and the wedding china will be used. Mr. and Mrs. Bristow will have the dining room looking elegant and refined."
"Yes, yes, that's all well and good, but are you certain Hope will be placed beside Lord Coyle? It's imperative she's given the best opportunity to shine."
Willie snorted. "Ain't no problem with her shining, but scratch the pretty surface and you see the ugly base metal underneath."
"We don't have to worry about her base metal showing tonight. Hope will do her duty and charm him. The sooner we secure Coyle, the better."
"Before the gold rubs off," Willie agreed.
"Very astute. I'll have to think of some conversation openings just in case the evening stalls."
"I'll help you," Willie said. "There's paper in the sitting room."
They headed off together, leaving Matt and I staring after them. "Sometimes those two astound me with their similarities," Matt said.
"Sometimes those similarities worry me," I added. "They're rather diabolical together. I almost feel sorry for Lord Coyle."
Matt grunted. "Save your sympathies for the both of us. We have to sit through this dinner."
Bristow entered with Oscar Barratt. The last time we'd seen the ink magician and reporter for The Weekly Gazette, he'd been angry that the printer he'd secured to print his upcoming book on magic had canceled the contract. Oscar blamed Matt at first, accusing him of threatening to expose the printer to his guild, thereby putting his printing license in jeopardy. We'd assured him it wasn't Matt, but someone had certainly threatened him. We suspected Lord Coyle. His lordship didn't want magic exposed in such a public way for fear it would diminish the value of his collection.
"You look happy," I said as we settled into the armchairs.
"I have news," he announced. "I wanted you to find out through me, India, before you hear it from someone else. The book will go ahead after all. I've found a new printer."
I wasn't sure what to think or feel. On the one hand, I was hopeful that a book about magic would be the beginning of the end of persecution from the guilds. It would show the world that magicians were not to be feared.
But I suspected it would have the opposite effect and lead to public clashes between magicians and artless guild members. Former friends would become enemies, livelihoods would be affected, and neither magicians nor the artless would be completely happy with the outcome.
"I'm…pleased for you," I said carefully. "But my concerns haven't changed. I don't think it's a good idea yet. England isn't ready for magicians."
He waved away my concerns, and that was the end of that.
Except Matt wasn't prepared to let the matter end. "Are you using the same printer?"
Oscar hesitated before shaking his head. "This is another fellow. We had to offer him more money, but we felt it was worth it."
"'We?'" I asked. "Do you mean Professor Nash?" The professor of history had a keen interest in magic and was writing a chapter in the book about its origins and history. I'd met him through Lord Coyle and his collectors' club friends, but he wasn't a member, merely an occasional lecturer. Unlike Coyle and his ilk, Nash wanted magic to be exposed to the wider public for the same reasons as Oscar.
"Not Nash." A smile played at Oscar's lips, not quite forming but not disappearing altogether either. "My benefactress is Lady Louisa Hollingbroke. I believe you two are friends, India."
"Louisa!" I blinked hard. "When did you meet her?"
"She came to the Gazette only yesterday. She said she'd read my articles and enjoyed them, and she wanted to help me get the word out about magic. I explained to her the lack of support from my editor, and all the editors in the city, then told her about my book. She offered me some money then and there. This morning we went to her bank to retrieve the funds then on to a printer I know and gave him a substantial advance payment. He agreed to print the book when it's ready. It all happened very quickly."
"That's Louisa," I said weakly. "She operates swiftly and without mercy."
"Is that all she offered?" Matt asked.
Oscar frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Is that the only reason you're so happy?" I asked. "Because you've secured a new printer?"
"Yes." His frown deepened. "Should I have another reason?"
I wasn't quite sure how much to tell him, but I did feel I needed to warn him as we'd warned Gabe. "Be careful with her. She'll do anything to get what she wants."
"As long as our interests align, as they do with the book, then it doesn't matter if she's as ruthless as Attila the Hun."
Matt huffed a laugh. "You have a way with words that must make the ladies swoon, Barratt."
"From what I know of Lady Louisa, she would appreciate being compared to one of history's great rulers." He rose and buttoned up his jacket. "Please keep this news to yourselves. Not only do I not want the guilds to find out about the printer, but Lady Louisa also doesn't want her friends learning of her involvement with me. For some reason they don't like me. Don't know why. I'm charming." He winked.
I couldn't help my laugh. Oscar and I didn't always agree, but when he was happy, he was good company. His moods depended on the success of his work, however, and whether he was able to spread knowledge of magic through articles and, now, his book.
"We have no interest in telling anyone," I assured him.
"Speaking of Louisa, she told me she's a friend to Fabian Charbonneau. She said he was sent to Newgate for not repaying a debt but escaped and is now a suspect in the murder of the money lender he borrowed from. What a story."
"What else did she tell you about him?" Matt asked as we walked Oscar to the front door.
"Just that he came to London to work with you, India, and no one can find him now. She hoped he would go to her but he hasn't. Do you know where he is?"
"No," Matt growled before I could answer. "And we don't appreciate you coming here fishing for information about his whereabouts."
I was about to protest that he was being unfair, and that Oscar wasn't doing anything of the sort, but realized he was probably right. Oscar had no need to visit to tell me about the book.
"Just being friendly," Oscar said lightly. "If you need help hiding him, let me know. I have discreet friends."
"Mr. Barratt is leaving," Matt said to Bristow. "Please see that he does." He put out his hand to me and we didn't linger to see Oscar go.
"He doesn't get better on longer acquaintance," Matt muttered as we headed up the stairs. "I wish Louisa had proposed to him. They deserve one another."
"She could be waiting to get to know him," I said. "Or she could be waiting to see if she advances with Gabe first."
"Perhaps Oscar's magic isn't strong enough, like Fabian's, or rare enough, like Gabe's. Oscar can't do much with his ink magic unless he wants to drown someone in it."
I circled his arm in mine, hugging it. "I have the afternoon free before our guests arrive. I think I'll pay Louisa a visit. Perhaps she'll divulge her marital plans to me."
"And I think I'll spend a more enjoyable afternoon listening to Willie and Aunt Letitia plotting every minute of the evening."
Louisa was at home, but I had to wait for her caller to leave before I could speak to her privately. She introduced me to her guest as the future Lady Rycroft, which I didn't think was necessary. It did generate an instant change in the way the lady regarded me, however. As plain Mrs. Glass, I barely even rated a glance and a slight upturn of the top lip, but as the wife of the heir to the Rycroft title, I was smiled at and included in the conversation.
Louisa looked pleased with herself. "Thank goodness you showed up when you did," she said after the visitor departed. "You
saved me from London's most notorious matchmaker."
"Is she trying to find you a husband?"
"She already has one in mind, and he just happens to be her nephew who came of age over the summer. She wanted to know if I'll be staying in London this autumn and winter and if not, would I like to visit her at her country estate." She pulled a face. "No doubt the nephew will just happen to arrive while I'm there."
"Is that so awful?"
"It is when I have no intention of marrying him."
"Why not? He might be charming and handsome. Perhaps you should meet him."
"He'll be just like all the others," she said.
"Do you have many suitors to choose from?"
"Dozens. That's the benefit of having a fortune, you see. I can take my pick of eligible young bucks from the best families. The problem is, none of them interest me."
"Because they're not magicians."
She smiled into her teacup. "You do know me well, India."
It was too late to back away from the topic now. I was in it up to my neck. "You proposed to Fabian and have intentions of doing the same to Gabriel Seaford."
"Fabian turned me down, and Dr. Seaford is making all sorts of excuses to avoid seeing me again." Her tone was bland, almost unemotional, but her eyes flashed. "You wrote to him, warning him not to become friends with me. Didn't you?"
I swallowed.
"Don't look so worried, India. I'm not going to throw you out, or throw anything at you. Indeed, I suspected he would ask your opinion of me. I had hoped you would give me a favorable report, but it would seem we're not such good friends, after all."
I gulped down the rest of my tea and gathered my jangling nerves. I'd come to confront her and this frosty reception wasn't unexpected, yet I felt worse than I imagined. "I didn't like you using my name to gain his friendship. It's clear that you want to marry him simply because he's a magician. He didn't need my warning to know that. It was quite obvious to him that something was…amiss in your approach."
She laughed softly. "I'm not terribly put out by Dr. Seaford's lack of communication anyway. He wasn't quite right for me. He didn't want to talk about his magic, and I strongly suspect he'll refuse to use it again. A pity, since his magic is so rare, but not unexpected considering the implications. I want someone who is not only willing to talk to me about their magic but to learn together, similar to what you and Fabian are doing."
