The Prisoner's Key

by C. J. Archer

  Several months ago, before meeting Matt, I'd worn functional cotton or woolen dresses. Now I wore the latest fashions made by one of London's most popular modistes, soft leather boots and fine gloves. A maid arranged my hair in a style that suited me, whereas I used to pull it back tightly for the simple reason that loose hair got in the way of my work. I had changed so much that sometimes I didn't recognize myself in the mirror in the morning. The fact was neither good nor bad; it simply was.

  "I'm here to meet Mr. Fabian Charbonneau," I told the staff member at the reception counter. "Could you send a porter to his room to announce me? He's my cousin," I added, lest he think there something untoward in a woman asking after a man at a hotel.

  The receptionist inspected his ledger, running his gloved finger down the neatly written names. He shook his head. "There is no one by that name here, Madam."

  It made sense that Fabian would register under another name to avoid notice. "Room twenty-four, I believe," I said.

  He checked the register again. "No, Madam. There is no Charbonneau in room twenty-four."

  "Sometimes he goes by another name," I said with a smile.

  "I can't divulge the names of guests, madam." He looked worried that I might create a scene. "I'm sorry."

  "It's quite all right. Tell me, is the man in room twenty-four French?"

  "I don't know. He is foreign, but so are most of our guests."

  "Thank you. I'll come back later."

  "If you'd like to leave a card, I can see that he gets it."

  I declined. Fabian didn't seem to want me to know his whereabouts. If I was going to convince him that I could help, he had to listen to me and not avoid me.

  I sat in one of the armchairs for an hour, but Fabian didn't return. The receptionist was replaced by another staff member, and the porters gave up asking me if I required assistance. Indeed, they stopped looking at me altogether. When a group of four women entered the hotel and headed straight for the staircase, I fell into step behind them. None of the staff stopped me.

  I peeled away from the group on the second floor and quickly located room number twenty-four. I knocked but there was no answer. I moved down the corridor so that Fabian wouldn't see me until I chose to reveal myself.

  It was another eighteen minutes before he finally appeared.

  "Fabian," I said, rushing toward him.

  His head jerked toward me, but I couldn't make out his expression thanks to the angle of his hat and raised collar of his coat. He turned his back to me and fumbled with the key in the lock.

  "Fabian, stop a moment. I can help." I caught his arm but he shoved me off so violently that I lost my balance and fell back against the wall opposite.

  "Apologies," he muttered before letting himself into the room. He slammed the door behind him and the lock tumbled on the other side.

  Why would he do that without listening to me? The Fabian Charbonneau I knew was a gentleman and my friend. He wouldn't push me. Had his experiences with our prison system changed him so dramatically?

  Or had I got him so completely wrong?

  Chapter 6

  "You should have used this on him," Willie said, inspecting the letter opener. "That would have stopped him in his tracks." She tossed it in the air and caught it by its handle.

  Duke snatched it off her. "I better take this before you cut yourself."

  Willie had spotted me upon my return to the house and knew immediately that something was amiss. I asked her to follow me to Matt's office, and she'd summoned Cyclops and Duke along the way. There I told them and Matt how I found the letter opener at Louisa's then went on to Claridge's in search of Fabian. Matt hadn't stopped scowling since I mentioned Fabian had pushed me away to escape.

  "I'm not going to stab a friend," I told Willie.

  "You sure he's your friend?" she shot back. "Seems to me he don't think much of you if he pushed you."

  "Agreed," Matt said darkly. "When I get my hands on him—"

  "He was desperate," I cut in. "He doesn't know what he's doing. He's confused and frightened, and I'm sure he was sorry as soon as he did it." I was rambling, something I did when I was worried. I was worried about Fabian's wellbeing, but I was worried about the change in his behavior, too.

  Matt took my hand and directed me to sit. "I'll go to Claridge's and talk to him. Nothing more."

  "You're not going without me."

  "And me," Cyclops said, crossing his arms and looking as formidable as ever. "He can't treat you like that after everything you've done for him, India."

  "We're going too," Willie said. "Me and Duke."

  I took back the letter opener and ran my fingers over the numbers. "I can't believe he would send this to Louisa and not me. I can't believe he'd push me, either."

  "Did he even look sorry?" Cyclops asked.

  "He apologized, but I didn't see his face."

  "Then how do you know it was Fabian?" Matt asked.

  "Of course it was him." But even as I said it, I knew he might be right. I couldn't be completely sure if it had been Fabian. I'd seen his nose but not the rest of his face. He was the right size, but Fabian was average height and girth. "It might not have been him," I conceded.

  "Then who was it?" Duke asked.

  "That's what we'll find out," Matt said.

  "I think I'll stay home, after all," I told them. I'd be unable to convince a stranger to trust me, and I was still a little shaken. Four of them would be quite enough to confront the fellow.

  I walked with them down the stairs, still clutching the letter opener.

  "I can't believe you stole it," Willie said. "Mrs. India Glass, thief."

  "I am not," I bit back.

  "Wait until Letty finds out."

  "If you tell her, I'll have Mrs. Potter remove bacon from the menu for a month."

  She huffed. "That ain't fighting fair."

  Matt returned home alone not long after he'd left with the others. "He checked out," he said. "He'd registered under the name Robert Smith."

  "An alias," Aunt Letitia piped up from where she sat on the sofa. She peered at Matt over the rim of her glasses. "Don't look so surprised. India told me where you went and why, and I'm not at all surprised the fellow registered under a false name. He clearly doesn't want to announce his whereabouts to the world."

  "Where are Willie and the men?" I asked.

  "Checking other hotels," Matt said. "He has to have gone somewhere."

  It was unlikely the man would choose the same alias, however, and we all knew it.

  "What else can we do?" I said.

  "I think we should pay a visit to the only other person in London who knows Fabian."

  "Chronos."

  My grandfather received us at home at his Crouch End lodgings with a wild look in his eyes and ink stains on his fingers. He ushered us inside and slammed the door.

  "Come inside, quickly," he said. "Did anyone see you?"

  "There were a few people wandering about," Matt said. "Chronos, are you all right?"

  "What sort of people? Did they look suspicious? Were they on foot or in a conveyance?"

  "Both. And no, none looked suspicious, but I wasn't taking any particular notice."

  Chronos clicked his tongue. "I expected better from you, Glass. You're used to clandestine adventures. India is as naive about these things as a child."

  "What things?" I asked.

  "Come with me." Chronos led the way up the stairs only to stop on the landing and glance back to the entrance hall. "Did I lock the door?"

  "Yes," Matt said, taking my grandfather's elbow. "Come and sit down."

  Chronos waved him off. "Stop treating me like I'm old."

  He entered the parlor ahead of us. The curtains were drawn and the only light came from a gas lamp hissing in the corner. It was late afternoon and still light outside.

  "Why hasn't your housekeeper opened the curtains?" I asked.

  "I gave her the day off. No, India!" He caught my arm as I headed to
ward the curtains. "Don't open them."

  "What's gotten into you?"

  "Someone's watching me." He removed the newspaper from the sofa and indicated we should sit. "I don't want them to see what I'm doing."

  "What are you doing?" Matt asked as he sat.

  "Nothing."

  "Then what does it matter if someone is watching you?" I asked.

  "I don't know."

  "Why do you think someone would want to watch you?"

  "I don't know!" Chronos threw his hands in the air and let them fall on his knees as he sat in an armchair. "Stop being difficult."

  "We're not being difficult," I said through a clenched jaw. "We're simply asking sensible questions. You are giving nonsensical answers."

  Chronos appealed to Matt. "You have my sympathies, Glass."

  I bit down on my lip to stop myself firing back a retort.

  Matt cleared his throat. "What makes you think someone is watching you?" he asked.

  "Sometimes I see a black carriage out there." Chronos waved a hand at the curtain. "I can't see the coachman's face."

  "Perhaps he's waiting for his passenger," I said. "Perhaps the passenger is visiting one of your neighbors."

  "Or perhaps he's inside the carriage, watching me."

  "A hackney cab?" Matt asked.

  "A brougham."

  My heart leapt into my throat. "Whittaker," I said on a breath.

  "He doesn't have a carriage," Matt said.

  "He does now. I saw him leaving the Delanceys' in a brougham. He was driving. Was the horse black?" I asked Chronos.

  He nodded. "It must be him! Who is he?"

  "Sir Charles Whittaker is a member of Coyle's group. He was following me, for a while, until we warned him off."

  "Good for you, Glass." Chronos gave Matt an approving nod. "So why is he following me now?"

  "Most likely for the same reason we're here," Matt said. "Because he thinks you know the whereabouts of Fabian Charbonneau."

  Chronos frowned. "Is he missing?"

  We told him about Fabian's imprisonment for debt, his escape, and the death of his creditor. The sensational tale riveted him. Every twist saw his jaw drop a little more.

  "Scotland Yard thinks Charbonneau murdered McGuire," Matt finished.

  "He didn't!" Chronos declared. "He's no murderer. Tell your detective inspector friend that Fabian is innocent and he should look elsewhere for a killer."

  "We have told him and he is," Matt said. "But Charbonneau still needs to be found. Escape from prison is a very serious offence."

  "Not if his debts are paid. Can you pay them off, Glass?"

  "Chronos!" I cried. "You can't ask that."

  "Why not? I saved his life and let him marry my granddaughter. He owes me."

  I gave him a withering glare.

  Matt's eyes gleamed with humor, but he otherwise looked perfectly serious. "I've already offered to pay off the debt. Charbonneau declined. I may still pay the victim's widow if we don't hear from him soon."

  "Yes, yes, do that." Chronos rubbed his head, making the white strands of hair stand on end. "Then find the real killer so Fabian can come out of hiding and you two can continue your work, India." He shifted forward and fixed his gaze on me. "It's very important you keep up your studies while he's away. You have enough to revise alone."

  "How do you know?"

  "You've been working together over a week. If you haven't learned some things in that time, I question your capacity for education."

  "And I question your capacity for telling the truth."

  His gaze narrowed. "Are you accusing me of harboring him?"

  I shrugged, not quite willing to say it out loud.

  "Well he's not here," he said hotly. "You can check, if you like."

  "That won't be necessary," Matt said, rising. "I see no evidence of a second person staying here. We'll confront Whittaker now and warn him away."

  "He'll deny it."

  I wasn't quite as certain as Matt that Chronos wasn't harboring Fabian, and told him so as we drove off. "He can't be trusted. He pretended he was dead for decades."

  "Not to your face," he said.

  "And if I were hiding someone, I'd keep the curtains closed and explain it by making up a story about someone watching me."

  "My, my, Mrs. Glass, remind me never to do anything that will give you cause to mistrust me."

  I huffed out a breath. "I'm sorry, Matt, but he vexes me without even trying."

  "So I see." He put his arm around my shoulders and took advantage of a sharp corner to slide me along the seat, trapping me. "Will a kiss make you feel better?" he murmured in my ear.

  I tried to keep a straight face, but gave up as he nuzzled the sensitive patch of skin beneath my ear. "It might, if it's a very, very good kiss."

  He spent the rest of the journey making me feel better.

  The last time we'd spoken to Sir Charles Whittaker, we'd accused him of following me, so it was understandable that he greeted us with caution and an immediate defense before we'd even finished greeting him.

  "I haven't been following you," he said, eyeing Matt cautiously. "I've been home almost half an hour. Ask my housekeeper if you don't believe me."

  "And prior to that?" Matt asked.

  "I told you, I haven't been following you. What is this about?"

  "You have a new conveyance and a horse to pull it."

  "So?"

  "How does a bachelor of modest means afford a new brougham and horse?"

  The usually cool, debonair gentleman adjusted the tie at his throat and stretched his neck out of the collar. "I came into an inheritance recently. What business is that of yours?"

  "Your conveyance was seen outside a Crouch End house with you in the driver's seat. It was parked for a long time, and neither collected nor deposited passengers."

  Sir Charles gave Matt a blank look. "Crouch End? I don't know anyone there."

  "You're lying." Matt's carelessly tossed accusation made me draw a sharp breath, but Sir Charles didn't blink.

  "No, Mr. Glass. I have not been sitting in my conveyance watching anyone in Crouch End or otherwise. Broughams are common vehicles in the city. Now, if you've finished, my dinner will soon be ready."

  He tried to shut the door, but Matt wedged himself into the gap and muscled it open again.

  I angled myself so I could still see him over Matt's shoulder. "We haven't finished, as it happens," I said. "Tell me what you were doing at the Delancey residence this morning."

  "Visiting my good friend, Ferdinand Delancey. Why?"

  "He wasn't at home. You would have known he was at work by that time."

  "I didn't," he said flatly. "Sometimes he leaves late. If you don't believe me, ask Mrs. Delancey. I saw her only briefly." He glared pointedly at Matt's arm, holding open the door.

  "You know about Fabian Charbonneau going missing." Matt didn't state it as a question.

  Sir Charles hesitated then nodded. "Yes, but I don't know where he is."

  "Do you think anyone else among your collector's club circle knows his whereabouts?"

  "If they do, they're very good liars. As far as I am aware, they all want to find him."

  "Why?" I asked.

  "To help him, of course. He's a magician, and our group has an interest in protecting those like him. Mrs. Glass, if you find him, I implore you not to hand him over to the police. Bring him to me, not the others. I'll help him."

  "Help him fight the charges of murder?" I hedged.

  "Help him leave the country. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

  "That you will help a suspect in a murder escape justice?"

  "That I will give a magician his freedom without conditions attached." He said nothing about whether he thought Fabian guilty or not. He probably didn't care.

  "Are you implying that the others will only help him so that he'll owe them a favor?" Matt asked.

  That familiar sick feeling settled in my stomach again. I knew all too well
that Lord Coyle collected favors from people, as if they were objects to add to his magical collection.

  "How far will some of the members go to have Charbonneau indebted to them?" Matt pressed.

  "What do you mean?" Sir Charles said.

  "Would someone kill for him?"

  Sir Charles's chest expanded with his deep, measured breath. A thin line creased his brow, marring the smooth surface. "That doesn't make sense, Glass. Why would anyone kill his creditor when it would only implicate Charbonneau?"

  "So that they can help Charbonneau and collect their favor."

  "That is a very big leap you're making, and a nasty accusation. Be careful, Glass. You don't want to accuse the wrong person. There are some very powerful people in that club."

  Matt moved out of the doorway, and Sir Charles slammed it in his face.

  "He has a point," I said as we drove home in the murky light of dusk. "Why would anyone kill McGuire to free Fabian of his debt and prison when it would only implicate him in the murder?"

  "Perhaps the killer didn't know Charbonneau had escaped."

  "Then why place the handkerchief at the site to implicate him if he's supposed to be in jail?"

  "That could have been someone else's doing, after learning of Charbonneau's escape. Someone who did want to implicate him. That person would then offer to help Charbonneau leave the country, ensuring he owes them a favor." He looked through window back to Whittaker's house as we turned out of the street. "But first, Charbonneau needs to be found."

  It seemed rather far-fetched to me, but I could see the sense in it if there were two guilty parties, a murderer and someone who later planted evidence at the crime scene.

  Matt sat back with a sigh. "I know what you're thinking, and I agree," he said. "My theory is too convoluted."

  "But not unsound."

  "In my experience, never jump to complicated solutions if a simple one will do."

  "The problem is, we don't have a simple theory."

  Willie, Cyclops and Duke stayed out late so we didn't talk to them until the following morning after breakfast. They each reported a lack of success. No one under the names Robert Smith or Fabian Charbonneau was staying at any of the first or second class hotels in the city.