The Prisoner's Key: Glass and Steele, #8

by C. J. Archer

  Lord Coyle grunted a laugh.

  "May I ask how you have assisted my brother, sir?" Maxime asked Coyle.

  "That is not your concern," Coyle said.

  Maxime bristled. "He is my brother, my family. It is my concern."

  "If you were so worried about him, why didn't you come to his assistance?"

  "I am here now."

  "You're too late to do any good."

  I swallowed my gasp. These two men were both powerful in their own countries. They were probably rarely challenged or doubted. Neither was going to back down from this war of wills.

  "Lord Coyle is right," Fabian said to his brother. "You are too late, Maxime. You may return to France. I am out of prison, out of danger, and only wish to continue studying magic with India."

  Maxime's nostrils flared then he spoke in rapid French. Fabian's response was to shake his head. "Fabian!" Maxime shouted.

  "Seems these two have some family issues to resolve," Lord Coyle said. "I shall leave them to it."

  Fabian and Maxime continued to speak in French, this time directing their gazes toward Lord Coyle. Coyle must have understood because he paused inside the doorway.

  Chronos held his breath. "In English," he said. "So India can understand. Your parents should have taught you some of the language," he muttered to me.

  "Now is not the time," I whispered back.

  "My brother asked me why I owed Lord Coyle," Fabian explained. "I told him Coyle paid off my debt, so I do not have to return to prison. He then suggested he pay Coyle back."

  "And I am going to refuse the repayment," Lord Coyle said cheerfully.

  Maxime cocked his head to the side and gave a tight smile. "No, sir, you cannot refuse. I will have my bank—"

  "I said, I refuse," Coyle bit off, all cheerfulness withered away. "This is my decision. You will accept."

  "Why?" Fabian asked. "I will still give you the key in gratitude, and you will have your money too."

  Lord Coyle's fingers tightened around the walking stick head.

  "Because he doesn't want the key," I said. "Or the money. He lied earlier. He is hoping your gratitude will continue, Fabian, and that you will one day feel obliged to grant him a favor of his choosing. Isn't that so, my lord?"

  Lord Coyle didn't get a chance to answer before Maxime's temper exploded.

  "No! This is not how a gentleman behaves. This is not how my family does business."

  "This is not business," Lord Coyle said lightly. "It is something far more substantial."

  Maxime stabbed a finger at Coyle. "I will pay you back. My brother will owe you nothing, not even the key he talks of. Is that understood?"

  Lord Coyle brushed Maxime's finger aside. "I refuse your offer."

  "You cannot refuse!"

  "Maxime," Fabian warned. "Your temper…" He spoke to his brother in calm, soothing tones in French but it had no effect on Maxime.

  Maxime's chest rose and fell with his heavy breaths and he clenched his fists. Would he hit Coyle? I found myself disinclined to interfere, and I almost wished Fabian would stay out of it and see how the situation played out.

  Lord Coyle looked unperturbed by the pending eruption of fury. "Now I see why you wished to escape your family," he said to Fabian. "I cannot imagine the pressure this fellow put on you to marry the woman of his choosing."

  Fabian winced and glanced anxiously at his brother.

  Maxime's face turned red and a vein in his throat bulged above his collar. He stepped up to Coyle, stopping within inches. Coyle didn't move, but simply continued to smile in that nasty, conceited way of his. He may not be as young as Maxime, but he was a large man brandishing a walking stick. He was also influential and could have Maxime thrown in jail in a trifle for assaulting him.

  "You will accept my repayment of the debt," Maxime said through a clenched jaw. "I will not ask again."

  Coyle took his walking stick in both hands and pressed it lengthways against Maxime's chest, pushing him away.

  Maxime stumbled backward but quickly recovered. He uttered something in French, spitting out each word as if they were poison.

  "Non!" Fabian shouted, glancing frantically around.

  The sound of grinding metal came from outside. It grated my nerves, hurt my ears, and sent a shiver up my spine. I looked through the door toward the sound and let out a gasp. A foot-long rod of the wrought iron fence came flying toward me.

  Maxime wasn't speaking French, he was casting a spell.

  I ducked but it changed course before reaching me and smacked into Lord Coyle's chest with such force that he took a step back into the hat stand, sending it to the floor with a crash. He fell against the wall which thankfully held him. He stared at Maxime, his mouth ajar, his jowls wobbling either in indignation or shock, I couldn't tell which.

  Fabian helped him to stand. "Please, sir, accept my apologies. My brother has a terrible temper when he does not get his own way."

  I had a sudden image of the two of them fighting as boys, hurling iron implements at one another. Their poor mother.

  "There is more iron out there," Maxime spat. "Do not tempt me to use it."

  Lord Coyle eyed the fence and made to leave.

  "Non," Maxime said. "Accept my money."

  Coyle cleared his throat. "I accept your offer." He pulled a card out of his pocket and instructed Maxime to get in touch with his man of business. Then he left, but not before inspecting the fence.

  I closed the door and leaned back against it, my heart pounding in my chest. The flying magical piece of ironwork reminded me too closely of the papers Melville Hendry had flung at me mere weeks ago. The situation could have ended up far worse, if Maxime had chosen so.

  Fabian picked up the rod. "My humblest apologies, Mr. Steele. This should not have happened in your home. Please forgive us."

  "Forgive me," Maxime said with a bow for Chronos. "I am to blame. Please, accept my apology."

  "You have quite the temper." Chronos sounded awed and not at all worried by the power he'd witnessed. "It's no wonder your company is so successful." He waggled his fingers at the iron rod. "That spell…does it only make iron fly? Or is it also used to bend iron?"

  "That spell is different," Maxime said.

  "You should try to incorporate some of the words into other known spells," Chronos said to Fabian. "Maxime, did you know my granddaughter can do what you just did without a spell?"

  Maxime shook his head but seemed disinterested in my capabilities. I suspected the art and science of magical spells didn't excite him in the way it did his brother.

  "Mrs. Glass, you look pale," Maxime said. "Did I frighten you?"

  "I'm all right," I said. "Somewhat…surprised, but otherwise all right."

  Maxime dipped his head. "I do not lose my temper often."

  "Thank goodness for that."

  "I do not like to be manipulated."

  "Nor do I," Fabian told him darkly. "And yet that is what you have been doing to me ever since you told me I must marry the woman you chose."

  "That is different."

  "No, it is not. I will not return with you, Maxime. I want to be here in London, learning more about magic with India."

  Maxime threw his hands in the air. "And what of your family? Your responsibilities? You are a Charbonneau, Fabian. You cannot do as you please."

  Fabian crossed his arms, immovable. In light of his brother's recent display of temper, it was quite brave of him to continue to defy the family's wishes.

  Maxime growled something in French that made Fabian gulp. He remained immovable, however, and that seemed to antagonize Maxime more. If I didn't do something quickly, Chronos's fence might be entirely ruined.

  "The tea is getting cold," I said lightly. "Come through to the parlor and let's have a nice, quiet talk."

  Tea seemed to have a calming effect on the brothers. The moments it took me to pour and offer the biscuits allowed them to take a few deep breaths. Now all that remained was getting them t
o agree.

  "I will not marry her," Fabian said again. "You cannot make me."

  Maxime shook his head in disappointment. "The family will withhold your allowance. How will you live?"

  Fabian shrugged. "I will find work."

  "You are not qualified to work in any capacity."

  "I can teach French. I am also a good dancer."

  "French dancing instructors are all the rage among London's debutantes," I said, knowing nothing of the kind. "Fabian won't have any difficulty finding work. My husband's family will see to it."

  Chronos smirked.

  Maxime sipped his tea and nibbled on a biscuit. "You will abandon your family for this? Your friends?"

  "I am not abandoning anyone," Fabian said. "I love you and our parents. I do not love the company or the American you wish me to marry."

  "You might if you knew her."

  "I will never love her more than I love magic." He indicated the stack of papers we'd been studying. "Is that fair to her? Or me?"

  Maxime sighed. "You were always strange, even as a boy."

  "Because I did not like money, as you and Father do? Because I love magic best?"

  Maxime lifted his chin in a nod. "You are certain this is what you want, Fabian?"

  "It is, but I do not want to lose you, Brother. I do not want to upset our family. Please, say you understand and forgive me, and we will part on good terms."

  "I do not understand you." Maxime set down his cup and rose. "But I do forgive you."

  Fabian stood and they embraced, kissing each other's cheeks. When they parted, Fabian was beaming, but Maxime's smile was less certain. I suspected he was worrying about how to tell his family of Fabian's decision and what to do about the betrothal.

  "I will restart your allowance," Maxime said as he sat again. "There is only one thing I ask of you in return."

  "Yes?"

  "Do not give the key to that man, Coyle. I do not care if it angers him. Give him nothing."

  Fabian laughed and nodded. "As you wish."

  "He will expect you to owe him," Chronos warned.

  "He always did," I said. "The key was merely a token. The real repayment will come in the form of a favor he'll call in one day."

  "I will not bestow him with a favor that I do not wish to give," Fabian assured me.

  His sentiment was admirable, and one I also held with regard to the favor I owed Coyle. But knowing Coyle, he wouldn't give us a choice.

  Fabian and I didn't resume our studies after Maxime departed. Neither of us was in the right frame of mind for sitting still and thinking. I suggested we pay a call together on someone else he ought to thank for his freedom.

  "Bring the key," I said. "If you don't mind donating it, that is."

  Mr. Delancey was home for luncheon, which had not yet been served when we arrived. He and his wife enthusiastically invited us to join them, but we declined.

  "I wanted to offer you this token of my gratitude." Fabian opened his palm to reveal the crooked and bent key he'd fashioned from the sliver of the iron bar in his prison cell.

  Mrs. Delancey gasped. Her husband reached for the key, his smile stretching from ear to ear. "Is this it? Is this the very key?" he asked.

  "It is," Fabian said, somewhat bemused.

  "Magnificent," Mrs. Delancey murmured. "It's lovely."

  I pressed my lips together to hide my smile.

  "India says you gave her important information that led to finding the killer," Fabian said. "I would not be free if not for you, Mr. Delancey. Thank you."

  Mr. Delancey shook his hand. "A pleasure. I would do it again."

  "I helped," Mrs. Delancey said. "He wasn't going to tell you anything, but I prompted him. I knew it was important."

  Fabian took her hand and gave it a lingering kiss. "You are most generous and kind, Mrs. Delancey. Thank you from the bottom of my heart."

  She blushed and giggled. "He's so French, isn't he, India? So exotic and foreign."

  Her husband studied the key on his outstretched palm. "Where shall we put it, my dear?"

  "Somewhere prominent. In a glass cabinet, of course, with a plaque."

  "A silver plaque."

  "Gold. Most definitely in gold. It is the best kind of metal, after all."

  "But different magic," Fabian told her. "My magic is iron and metals that contain an amount of iron."

  "Yes, however gold looks better."

  We left them to their luncheon and returned to Chronos's house, but I didn't alight from the carriage along with Fabian. We said our goodbyes, and I returned home to eat sandwiches in the dining room.

  The others had already eaten but joined me when I told them I'd experienced a most eventful morning. The tale of Maxime's temper elicited various responses. Willie thought it exciting, Duke and Cyclops less so, and Aunt Letitia turned her nose in the air.

  "The French are all mad," she muttered.

  Matt, however, remained silent. He merely sat beside me, idly stroking his top lip in thought, his eyes hooded.

  "Maxime was in complete control," I assured him. "The iron rod would never have hit anything but its intended target. You needn't worry, Matt. Besides, he's leaving tomorrow, and you know Fabian is not like his brother. He doesn't have a temper at all."

  He offered me a grim smile. "I wasn't thinking about the Charbonneau brothers. I was thinking about Coyle."

  "Oh?"

  "Do you remember what he said when we first told him about the murder? It was he who gave us the idea that someone had loaned money to McGuire and called it in, and he who suggested the killer might be desperate to stop McGuire revealing information that could ruin him."

  "I remember," I said. "Talking to him helped us focus our efforts on Stanhope."

  "Precisely. You could say that he steered us in that direction."

  Willie swore, earning a glare from everyone in the room. She was too busy gawping at Matt to care. "You reckon he already knew Stanhope was the killer back then?"

  "It's possible," Matt said.

  "How could he know?" Duke asked.

  Matt didn't have an answer for that. None of us did.

  "Does it matter that he knew?" Aunt Letitia asked. "Stanhope turned out to be the killer, after all. The means justify the ends, surely."

  "That's a bit Machiavellian," Cyclops said.

  Willie screwed up her nose. "A bit what?"

  "Why didn't he just tell you he knew it was Stanhope?" Duke asked.

  "Because Coyle wanted us to draw the conclusion ourselves," I said. "Perhaps so we wouldn't find out he was the one to call in McGuire's debt, setting Stanhope on a path to murder."

  "He manipulated you," Cyclops added with a shake of his head. "Or tried to. You worked it out anyway."

  "I don't like being manipulated."

  Matt's jaw firmed. "Nor do I, but we cannot confront him."

  "Why not?" Willie asked. "My Colt'll make a strong statement."

  "Keep your gun to yourself," Duke told her. "You can't threaten to shoot Coyle or he'll get you thrown in jail."

  Willie crossed her arms and sank in the chair. "England's got too many laws."

  Duke chuckled. "Don't say that to Brockwell. He lives and breathes laws."

  "Why won't you confront Lord Coyle?" Aunt Letitia asked Matt.

  "Because he's too dangerous," I said.

  "Because a player never reveals his hand," Matt countered.

  Hope's arrival in the mid-afternoon was welcome. It saved me from visiting her, where I would have to attempt to speak to her without Lord and Lady Rycroft noticing. One look at her face told me all I needed to know, however.

  It wasn't good news.

  "Charity won't say a word to our parents," she said to Matt and me in the drawing room.

  The others had all gone out for the afternoon, which was probably just as well. Willie and Aunt Letitia could barely be in the same room as Hope without offering snide comments, and Duke was little better.

  "Then you h
ave a problem," I said. "Our agreement was that you would convince her to tell them the truth and I would convince Lord Coyle that he shouldn't marry you. I won't be doing my part until you do yours."

  Her brow crumpled into a distressed frown. "Please, India, you have to help me. My parents are more set than ever that I should marry him, and he is very keen. He sends me messages every day and tokens of his love. This morning his footman delivered an amethyst necklace."

  "Our agreement—"

  "I know what our agreement is!" She rubbed her forehead. "Matt, will you speak to him for me, or to my parents?"

  "Once Charity speaks to your parents about Cyclops, I will, but until then, no," he said.

  "Please."

  I folded my hands on my lap and didn't dare look at Matt. I wasn't immune to her plea. Far from it. My feelings about her situation were entirely sympathetic, despite everything she'd done to us in the past. Being married to Lord Coyle would be an unimaginable sentence for a girl like Hope.

  But I wasn't going to tell her that.

  "I'm sorry," I said. "You must go home and try again."

  "My parents didn't believe me! Not when Charity is telling them the opposite."

  I merely shrugged.

  "She won't change her story. Not for me. She hates me. She can't wait for me to marry that man and gloat at my misfortune."

  "Try again," Matt said, standing.

  She took the hint and left, her eyes filled with tears.

  "Do you think she's truly that upset?" I asked him. "Or is it all for show?"

  "It's hard to tell with her, although she is opposed to marrying Coyle."

  "Vehemently opposed. I feel a little sorry for her. I wouldn't want to marry Coyle, either."

  "Fortunately you don't have to." He touched my chin, tilting my face, and kissed me.

  We were interrupted a few minutes later by the return of Willie and Aunt Letitia.

  "Bristow told us that Hope was here," Aunt Letitia said. "What did she want?"

  "To tell us that Charity won't give in and to ask us to plead her case with Coyle," I said.

  Willie grunted. "I hope you told her you ain't saying nothing to Coyle until Cyclops is off the hook."