by C. J. Archer
We hadn't told her or Willie that Matt was going to see the Home Secretary today, and we certainly hadn't informed Cyclops. Cyclops would feel as though Duke had betrayed his trust, and Willie and Aunt Letitia could inadvertently add fuel to the fire if they knew Lord Rycroft was demanding Cyclops be deported. It would seem Hope and Charity were also in the dark.
It was time that those in the room were made aware.
Once I finished telling them, I had to grasp Aunt Letitia's hand and stop her from marching out of the drawing room to her brother's house.
"There's another way to fix this," I told her quietly. "Please, sit down, or you might suffer one of your turns."
"I will not," she snapped. "My mind is very clear today. Very clear indeed." She sat anyway, thankfully.
"I'll talk to Lord Coyle on your behalf," I told Hope. "I'll tell him what a terrible match it will be, and I will do my best to be as convincing as possible."
She released a breath. "Thank you, India. Thank you."
"In return, Charity will tell your parents that she accosted Cyclops in the stables, not the other way around."
A bubble of laughter escaped Charity's lips. "Why would I do that?"
"That's not my concern." I turned to Hope. "It's yours."
"Me!" Hope cried. "How can I convince her? She doesn't care two straws for me."
"True," Charity said, shrugging a shoulder.
"You'll think of something," I said to Hope. "If you want me to intercede on your behalf with Lord Coyle, that is. If you fail, I might find myself telling him that you didn't want to appear too eager to accept his proposal and that he shouldn't give up easily."
Hope gasped. "You wouldn't."
"Wouldn't I? I care more for Cyclops than I do for you." I smiled serenely. "Enjoy the rest of your day. If you don't mind, Aunt Letitia and I are very busy."
Charity swanned past us, not looking quite as victorious as I expected her to. Perhaps she was worried about how her sister would convince Lord Rycroft to leave Cyclops alone. I suspected Hope had many tricks up her sleeve, some of which would involve divulging long-held sisterly secrets. Nothing was sacred for Hope, particularly when she was backed into a corner.
She and Lord Coyle had more in common than either realized.
"Well done, India," Aunt Letitia said after they'd gone. "That was masterful. I wish Matthew had been here to see it."
"Don't congratulate me yet. It won't be easy for Hope to convince Charity to own up to her deception and then to convince her father to stop persecuting Cyclops."
"Would you really tell Lord Coyle that she wants to marry him if she fails?"
I sighed. "I wish I had the fortitude to follow through on my threat, but I suspect I would crumble. As much as I dislike Hope, condemning her to a marriage with a man like Coyle would be an awful thing to do. I will try to help her get out of it."
"I suppose. But there's no need to rush, is there? No need at all."
Chapter 12
Matt failed to even see the Home Secretary let alone convince him that Cyclops should not be deported. "He was too busy," he bit off. "I think my uncle told him to avoid me."
"That wouldn't surprise me," I said as I loaded a plate with sandwiches for him.
"Don't be too worried," Aunt Letitia said as she poured him a cup of tea. "India has set her own plan to save Cyclops in motion, and I think it will work. It's quite clever."
We told him about our meeting with the sisters, Hope's request that I get her out of the marriage to Coyle, and the condition I placed on my assistance. Matt was smiling by the end.
"My clever little bride. I shall have to watch myself with you."
"Nonsense," I said, handing him the plate.
"You'd never employ such blackmail on me?"
"No, I mean I'm not little." I let go of the plate, smiling.
We decided to visit Lord Coyle after luncheon, but not to speak to him about Hope. Her name was the first on his lips, however.
"Your cousin is a delight, Glass," he said as he led us through to the small library. It was the room he received visitors in, and was the one with the hidden door that led through to his magical collection. Unlike the Delanceys, he kept his magical objects a secret, only allowing a select few to see them. As far as I knew, only other members of the collectors club had viewed them, aside from Matt and me.
"Hope is a unique young woman," Matt said.
"Unique indeed. I've never met another lady like her, not in all my years. She's clever and witty, beautiful and well bred. She matched me on any subject, and we have discussed many, many things in our brief acquaintance. I feel as though I know her very well already."
"I'd caution you to act slowly, my lord," I said. "There are many sides to her, and I'd wager you haven't seen them all yet." I wasn't sure if I was warning him for his benefit or hers.
"If I do not act, someone else will snatch her up. I'm not a fool, Mrs. Glass, nor am I blind. I know why you're warning me; I'm too old for her. But I don't care."
Matt tensed. "Does she care?"
Lord Coyle's moustache lifted with the stretch of his lips. "Whatever reservations she has now will pass in time. We are a good match. She knows it already, I can tell, and she will see that I can give her everything she wants."
A small shiver slithered down my spine.
"We're not here to talk about my cousin," Matt said as he refused the chair Coyle offered. "We want to know if you paid back Fabian Charbonneau's debt."
"The one that landed him in prison?" Lord Coyle lowered himself into one of the armchairs with a groan. "Now why would I do that?"
"So that Fabian will owe you a favor," I said. "You like to collect them, particularly from magicians."
"Please do sit down, Mrs. Glass. You're upsetting my gentlemanly code of honor by remaining standing. If you do not sit, I will have to stand, and my knees will protest most vehemently."
"This won't take long. Please, do not get up on my account. I insist."
He pointed the end of his walking stick at a chair opposite. "Come now, let's be friends. Sit."
Matt snatched the stick off him. "She doesn't want to sit," he growled. "Answer us honestly. Did you or did you not pay off Charbonneau's debt?"
Coyle settled into the chair, filling it. "I did."
"How did you know who he borrowed from?"
"I asked him."
"You visited him in prison?"
"It was shortly after you two were there, I believe."
"Not according to the police investigation," I said. "He had no visitors after us and Louisa."
Coyle's smile was slippery. "You'll find wardens are not paid well, Mrs. Glass. They'll say anything if you slip them a few bob."
"Why hasn't Charbonneau come out of hiding and told the police that the debt is repaid and he has no reason to commit murder?" Matt asked.
"Because he didn't know I was going to repay the money lender. I didn't tell Mr. Charbonneau my plan. That would have been presumptuous."
"Nonsense," I spat. "You kept the information back from him deliberately. Why?"
Coyle heaved his shoulders in a shrug.
"Because he either knew or suspected that Charbonneau would use his magic to fashion a key and escape," Matt said. "Perhaps Charbonneau hinted that he wouldn't be in prison much longer, and you guessed why. Now you're simply biding your time, waiting for him to be cleared of the murder and come out of hiding. At that point you'll tell him you repaid his debt and that he owes you. Are you hoping he'll give you the key in return? Or will you ask for something more from him?"
"Like a favor that you can call in at a later date," I added tartly.
Lord Coyle's smile grated my nerves. "I don't owe you an explanation."
"The police should have been told," Matt said.
"Why? It's irrelevant. It doesn't clear his name because he didn't know I'd paid his debt."
"Where and when did you meet McGuire?" I asked.
"Six forty-five in
the evening in an alleyway. Not the same alley in which he later died."
"You went into an alley to meet a money lender?" I scoffed. "You're not that foolish."
"I waited in the carriage while my man fetched him. McGuire then came to me. I believe alleys were his favorite meeting place for conducting business. That's where Charbonneau first met him. Highly unprofessional, if you ask me, but if one likes to keep one's affairs a secret then I suppose they suffice."
"How did he seem?" Matt asked. "Anxious?"
"He was surprised I was there to pay off the debt. He didn't realize I knew Charbonneau."
Matt raised a brow. "That implies you and McGuire already knew one another before that evening."
Lord Coyle's fingers flexed around the silver head of his walking stick.
"How did you know him?" Matt asked.
"I didn't say that I did. You said it."
"We have reason to believe McGuire owed someone money, and that person wanted to be urgently repaid. That's why he suddenly called in his debts. He didn't ask you about Charbonneau, out of the blue, did he?"
"I wonder if that's why he was anxious," Lord Coyle mused. "Perhaps he was worried about his creditor. Some of the money lenders in this city are dangerous, Glass. You'd best stay well away from them. They shouldn't be crossed."
"Was it you, Coyle?" Matt pressed. "Did he owe you money?"
His lordship leveled his gaze with Matt's, neither looking away. The air in the small room thickened with tension, shredding my already frayed nerves.
"I'd never met McGuire before that evening," Coyle finally said. He leaned forward on his walking stick. "There is something that might interest you about that night. He tried to hurry along our meeting. When I asked him why, he informed me he had another meeting to go to where he expected another debtor to repay his debt. He seemed relieved about it."
"Why do you suppose that is?" Matt asked.
"Perhaps it would help repay this debt you seem so sure he had. As I said, some money lenders are dangerous. If McGuire owed one of them a substantial amount, he had every right to be frightened if he couldn't repay."
"Do you know of any capable of murder?" I asked.
"Murdering the fellow who owes you money isn't good for business, Mrs. Glass. If I were one of those money lenders, I would threaten McGuire in another way, such as to hurt his family or ruin his business or reputation. Perhaps if I knew something about him, something illegal or immoral that he'd done, I would threaten to expose that. But not commit murder."
The shiver ran down my spine again. This man knew how to make threats and use information to get what he wanted. I had no doubt he'd made such threats before.
"India," Matt said, holding out his hand to me. "If you have no more questions for Coyle, we should go."
I took his hand and thanked Coyle. Matt didn't say a word until we were inside our carriage and on our way to Scotland Yard. He could hardly contain his excitement.
"You look like a boy who has won a prize at the fair," I said. "What is it?"
"Coyle gave me an idea for the motive."
"You think he killed McGuire?"
"No, but I do know why one of McGuire's debtors would. That's where we've been failing. We haven't pinned down a motive for the murder. Not for Charbonneau, Stanhope or any of McGuire's debtors. After all, their debts are not dissolved upon his death."
"Is it because they couldn't repay it quickly and they hoped his heirs would return to the usual repayment plan, something that allows them more time?"
"That's a possibility, but now I have another theory, thanks to Coyle. Perhaps McGuire was killed because of the information he threatened to reveal about one of his debtors if the debt wasn't repaid."
"You think he made such a threat and his killer murdered him to ensure the secret never got out?" It was a good theory, and I warmed to it with every passing moment. "What if McGuire met his killer after he met Lord Coyle in the alley? If the killer told McGuire at that meeting that he couldn't repay, McGuire might have threatened to reveal his secret then."
"And who do we know with a big secret that could ruin his life if it became public?"
"Stanhope," I said on a breath.
It made sense. He knew his business partner very well, and knew that if his embezzlement came to light, Mr. Ingles would not only hate him but take action to remove him from the company. For a man such as Mr. Stanhope, who loved his work, it was a dire consequence. He would do anything to keep the embezzlement a secret.
Perhaps even commit murder.
Part of me felt sorry for him. He'd been backed into a corner; he was desperate. He didn't seem like a bad man, just someone who couldn't control his gambling, and that had led to his financial difficulties.
"We still don't know why he set up Fabian," I said, "or how he was able to slip away from his wife in the night."
"She could have lied for him."
"She'd have to be a good actress for Brockwell to fall for it. He's no fool."
"Some women beguile the inspector," Matt said. "Both you and Willie have him wrapped around your finger, so why not Mrs. Stanhope too?"
I had to meet her to know for certain. Brockwell might not be as immune as Matt to the charms of manipulative women, but he hadn't become detective inspector by having the wool pulled over his eyes by a woman with a pretty face.
"What do you think about Coyle?" Matt asked. "Do you think he's lying when he said he never met McGuire before that night, and that he wasn't the one who loaned him money only to call it in?"
I sighed. "I don't know. It wouldn't surprise me if he lied to our faces. Nor would it surprise me if he has a finger in the money lending pie in this city."
"It makes sense that a small lender like McGuire would be in debt to a wealthy man like Coyle. McGuire would need cash flow and Coyle could give it to him."
"For a price."
"Indeed."
We met Brockwell in his office, surrounded by photographs of the murder scene, spread on his desk. He quickly gathered them up and tucked them away beneath other papers.
"My apologies, Mrs. Glass," he said. "You shouldn't have seen that."
I dismissed his concerns and got straight to the point. "We know why Stanhope killed McGuire."
He listened to our entire explanation, only to shake his head at the end. "I like it as a motive, Glass. I do. But it's a motive that could apply to most of McGuire's debtors. I'm sure Stanhope wasn't the only one with a secret. And there is also the matter of his alibi and his connection to Charbonneau. We've so far failed to find one. Anyway, it's possible McGuire threatened Charbonneau with something too."
"Such as?" I prompted.
Brockwell shrugged. "Something magical? To inform his guild that he is a magician?"
"I don't know if that's a threat for the Charbonneaus."
"Their business is so successful, they don't need the guild's approval," Matt added. "They could go directly to their government for a license. I believe the family are good friends with important people; people much higher than the guild leader."
"Something else, then. Something that could ruin Charbonneau."
Or destroy something he wanted, I might have said but did not. All Fabian cared about was his magic research and making new spells. What if McGuire threatened to take that away?
No, it wouldn't matter. Fabian wouldn't murder anyone. Not even for that. I was sure of it. "Fabian is no murderer," I said. "I give you my word, Inspector."
Matt tapped his finger on his thigh, his brow furrowed. "It is Stanhope. I'm certain of it. I couldn't work out why he asked Ingles to lie for him and say that he was at the factory until nine. The murder happened well after nine. The approximate time of death was in all the papers the following day, and Stanhope admitted to reading them. So why did he ask Ingles to lie? It didn't make sense then, but it does now. Coyle gave us the clue."
"Stanhope's meeting with McGuire," I said, realizing his point.
Brockwell wagged
a finger at Matt. "Stanhope met McGuire earlier in the evening. It was probably at that meeting that he told McGuire he couldn't pay, and McGuire informed him that he would tell Ingles about the embezzlement. Stanhope formed his murderous plan then and there, but he didn't want us to know he even met McGuire."
"Hence getting Ingles to lie about the time he left work," I added. "Do you think Stanhope was the man McGuire met immediately after Coyle in the alley?"
"It's likely," Matt said.
Matt and I exchanged nods of agreement, but Brockwell shook his head. "It is also possible that Stanhope asked Ingles to lie about the time he left the factory simply because he was afraid we'd jump to this very conclusion. That if we learned he met McGuire early in the evening, we would also assume he killed him later."
"Why are you defending him?" Matt asked.
"Because I have met his wife, and I'm certain she didn't lie to me. Nor does it explain why Charbonneau's handkerchief was placed at the scene of the crime. Let us assume, for the sake of argument, that McGuire told Stanhope about a French fellow who also owed him money. Let us also assume Stanhope knew the Frenchman was in prison and found out where he lived, and even that he went there to steal the handkerchief. How did he know Charbonneau was planning to escape? Or indeed, that he had? It is a mystery, is it not?"
"Then you'd better put on your hat and solve it, Inspector." Matt stood abruptly. "India and I will continue to do what we can. I propose we call on Mrs. Stanhope."
"No!"
"We'll wait until her husband is out—"
"Absolutely not!" Brockwell slapped both hands on the desk in a most uncharacteristic display of emotion. "Mrs. Stanhope is a good woman and should not be bothered any more than she already has been."
"You're too chivalrous for this job, Brockwell."
"It is not chivalry, Glass, it's common sense. I have questioned her thoroughly and she kept to her story. I saw no cracks in it, no doubt in her mind. Unless we have new, solid facts, I will not question her again. Nor will either of you. Is that understood?"
I grabbed Matt's arm and dug my fingers in, hard. "It's very clear, Inspector. We'd best be on our way."
