by C. J. Archer
Avoiding Louisa altogether proved impossible, however. As soon as Matt left my side to assist his aunt into our waiting carriage, she moved up alongside me.
“I noticed you looking at my fiancé with a curious expression, India,” she said smoothly. “Is there something you wanted to discuss with him?”
“I was simply wondering when to expect the happy occasion of your wedding day,” I said, equally as smooth. “Today had me thinking about it, that’s all.”
“We haven’t set a date yet.” Louisa’s gaze followed the retreating figure of Oscar as he walked off, a hand clamped to his hat to stop it blowing away in the stiff breeze. He had somewhere to be and had declined the offer of a ride in our carriage and that of his fiancée.
“He’s a fair man,” she added, as if she were trying to convince me of his good qualities. “He’s earnest about magic, too.”
No, she wasn’t listing his good qualities to convince me of his suitability, she was trying to convince herself. She was not in love with Oscar, and she knew he wasn’t in love with her. Theirs would be a marriage of convenience, just as much as Lord Coyle’s was to Hope. Except Louisa was marrying Oscar for his magic lineage, not his money and influence.
“How is Fabian?” she suddenly asked.
I blinked, taken aback. “He’s very well.”
She smiled, but it quickly vanished. She grasped my hands. “Will you tell him something from me?”
“Of course, but surely you can tell him yourself. He’d be happy to see you.”
She withdrew her hands. “I doubt it. After he rejected my proposal of marriage, things became awkward between us.” Her carriage drew up and she waited for a footman to open the door.
“What did you want me to tell him?” I asked.
She accepted the footman’s assistance up the step to the cabin. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.” The footman closed the door and signaled to the driver to drive off.
“India?” Matt prompted from where he stood a little further along the pavement near our conveyance. “What did she want?”
“I’m not really sure.”
I joined Aunt Letitia inside the cabin where she sat with a blanket over her knees and her chin tucked into the fur collar of her coat. I took her hand as I sat beside her and rubbed it.
She gave a contented sigh. “Two nieces wed and one to go.”
“Finding a husband for Charity will prove a difficult task,” Matt said with a crooked smile.
“Nonsense. There’s someone for everyone. Even Charity. And Willie, too.”
I wasn’t so sure there was any particular one for Willie. She seemed to prefer to have two or more partners at a time, never getting too content with any of them. She was nothing if not unique. Perhaps too unique for Aunt Letitia’s sensibilities, however, and it was best not to bring attention to the fact.
Matt suddenly sat forward and thumped the roof. “Stop!”
We ground to a halt that almost sent Aunt Letitia and me sliding off the seat. Matt leaped out of the carriage before it had fully come to a halt.
“Barratt!” he barked. It was indeed Oscar, leaning against a wall near the entrance to a narrow lane, his body bent forward, his breathing ragged as he gulped in large breaths.
He looked up and I gasped. His nose was bloody, his eye red and starting to swell. “I was attacked.” He pointed at a figure running away.
Matt set off at a sprint after him. No amount of calling him back had an effect. He turned a corner, several paces behind Oscar’s attacker, but gaining fast.
“Be careful!” Oscar called out. “He’s got a knife!”
Chapter 2
“You should have said he had a knife before Matt set off in pursuit,” I snapped at Oscar.
He dabbed at his bloody nose with his gloved hand. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
A chilly wind nipped my cheeks. I rubbed my arms and stared after Matt, willing him to return unharmed.
“Ma’am,” called Woodall, our coachman, from the driver’s perch. “I think I should go after him.”
I was about to agree when Matt reappeared at the corner. He jogged toward us and took my hand when I went to him.
“Don’t run off after villains again,” I scolded. “Let the police do it.”
“There are no constables nearby,” he said.
Oscar dabbed at his nose. “That’s because this is a good area. They don’t think it’s necessary.”
“Your eye is almost swollen shut,” I said. “You need to see a doctor. We’ll take you now.”
“Thank you, India.”
“You can spend the journey telling us why someone attacked you,” Matt said darkly.
I stopped with one foot on the step up to the coach cabin. “You don’t think it was a random attack from a thief?”
“In the middle of the day? No, I do not.” Matt eyed Oscar.
Oscar sighed. “You’re right. It wasn’t a random attack. That thug was sent by someone.”
I gasped. “Who would do such a thing? And why?”
Matt assisted me up the step. “There’ll be a long list, starting with people who don’t like magicians.”
It was true that Oscar had made no secret of the fact he was a magician. We knew first-hand that there were a number of artless craftsmen in the city and beyond who were worried about magicians using their magic to manufacture products of superior quality. Even though that magic was temporary, and once the magic wore off the product would return to its natural quality, the artless were afraid of losing custom. It had led to tensions in the guilds as suspected magicians were forced out or, at the very least, eyed with suspicion. There had even been violent acts committed by magicians in retaliation, and against them too. It was quite likely Oscar was the latest victim.
He had a different opinion, however. “My attacker demanded I stop writing the book.”
Oscar was writing a book about magic, but some people thought it a bad idea and wanted it suppressed. Matt was one of those people. He thought it would only stir up more trouble between the two factions.
Matt wasn’t scowling at Oscar, however. Indeed, he wasn’t paying Oscar any attention. “Aunt? Are you all right?”
Aunt Letitia said nothing. She simply stared out of the window, a blank look on her face. Matt leaned forward and touched her elbow, rousing her.
“What a cold day,” she said. “I don’t think we should go for our walk after all, Harry. Father ordered you to stay indoors, anyway. Do try not to vex him today. My nerves can’t take another argument.”
“I’ll do as you ask, if only for the sake of your nerves.” Matt smiled gently at her. “We have to make one stop to take my friend somewhere then we’ll go home.”
We deposited Oscar at the residence of our friend Gabe Seaford, the medical magician, then continued home to Park Street. Matt steered Aunt Letitia up the stairs to her room. I fetched her maid and joined Duke and Willie in the sitting room. Cyclops was out visiting Catherine Mason at her watch and clock shop. He was there quite a lot lately, but they were yet to talk to her parents about their growing affection. They insisted on progressing their relationship slowly. It was most frustrating.
“What set her off this time?” Willie asked. She lounged in an armchair by the fireplace in a most unladylike sprawl, her stockinged feet angled to the warmth, her boots by the chair.
“We stopped on the way home to assist Oscar,” I said. “He endured a beating.”
Neither Duke nor Willie looked overly concerned by this news. “Did he deserve it?” Duke asked.
“Course he did,” Willie said. “It’s a wonder he ain’t been beat up more.”
“He’s not that bad,” I said, sitting beside Duke on the sofa. “His passion for living freely as a magician simply makes him do foolish things from time to time. He means well.”
“Meaning well ain’t an excuse for being stupid.”
Duke poured a cup of tea from the teapot and handed it to me just as Matt entered. �
�So how was the wedding?” he asked.
“Dull,” Matt said. “We left as soon as the couple departed for their honeymoon.”
Willie humphed into her teacup which I suspected held a nip of something stronger than tea. “I should have been invited. I’m family.”
Duke rolled his eyes. “She’s been like this all morning. Wish I’d gone with Cyclops.”
“Ain’t no one stopped you from going,” Willie shot back.
“They don’t want me there. Not when Ronnie’s out doing deliveries all morning and they can be alone. So why was Barratt beaten up? Did he offend some toff at the wedding?”
“Not that we know of,” Matt said. “The attacker demanded Oscar stop writing his book about magic. Oscar refused, so the attacker tried to force him into agreeing with a beating. I chased after him but he jumped into a hansom and got away. I did overhear him direct the driver to Hammersmith but I didn’t see his face.”
“Will Barratt report it to the police?” Willie asked without looking up from her cup.
“Why?” I asked coyly. “Will you ask Detective Inspector Brockwell to look into the case on Oscar’s behalf? I’m sure he’d be appreciative of the personal touch.”
Duke snorted. “Who? Brockwell or Barratt?”
“Shut it, both of you.” Willie set the cup down on a table beside her chair with a thud. Fortunately it was empty or the impact would have sent the contents sloshing over the sides. “Me and Jasper are finished. He made it clear I disgust him and he doesn’t want anything more to do with me.”
“You shocked him, Willie, that’s all,” I said. “Now that he’s had time to become used to the idea that you like women as well as men, he might be ready to have another dalliance with you.”
She slumped further into the chair, her arms crossed high up on her chest. She scowled at the glowing coals in the fireplace as if they were the cause of her problems with the detective inspector. The real problem was that she hadn’t been open with him about her inclinations from the start. She had assumed he wouldn’t like her once he knew. I had more faith in Brockwell. He might seem as stodgy as undercooked bread, but he was really quite broad-minded. Despite initial misgivings, he accepted the existence of magic and Willie’s restless nature and desire to be intimate with other people. He just hadn’t expected her to be intimate with women, and when he’d found out, he’d been taken aback. One could hardly blame him when it was something Willie hadn’t mentioned.
“India’s right,” Matt said. “Give Brockwell another chance.”
She made a sound in the back of her throat, but I couldn’t decipher its meaning.
Duke seemed to have a better understanding of her grunts. “Don’t be so stubborn. You should at least talk to him. I reckon India’s right, and he’ll be ready to pick up where you left off if you let him.”
Willie looked like the idea was beginning to appeal to her when Duke added, “It can’t be easy for a man to find a woman who doesn’t want to get married.”
She pushed to her feet. “Thanks, Duke. There ain’t no other reason he’d like me, is there?” She snatched up her boots and stormed out.
Duke twisted his mouth to the side as he watched her go. “I think I know what I said wrong.”
“I should hope so,” Matt said, trying not to smile. “Your error is as obvious as the lack of Christmas decorations that you three were supposed to put up in our absence.”
Duke poured himself another cup of tea then removed the flask from his pocket. “When Cyclops left, me and Willie lost interest.” He poured a dash of whiskey into his tea then offered the flask to Matt. Matt shook his head. “We did make a start on a paper garland. It’s in the library.”
“It’s quite all right,” I told him. “When Aunt Letitia is feeling better, we can make some together.”
In truth, I wanted to decorate the house myself. It was my first Christmas there; my first with Matt and my first as a married woman. While we’d ordered a tree, I’d wanted to get started on paper decorations immediately. I’d only wanted the others to assist me, but they’d said they’d make a start this morning while we were at the wedding. Thankfully Cyclops had better things to do, Willie had the attention span of a small child, and Duke followed where Willie led.
Aunt Letitia awoke from a nap feeling herself again and not like the teenager she imagined she was during one of her memory lapses. We spent the afternoon together in the library planning Christmas decorations and celebrations.
Matt received a note from Oscar thanking him for his assistance earlier and asking us not to tell anyone about the incident, including Louisa. I thought it foolish to keep something so important from his fiancée. Not only did it affect her, but it might make her feel some sympathy toward him and sympathy sometimes led to affection. When I said this to Matt he called me a romantic. The smile on his face as he said it, and the tenderness off his hands as he caressed me, implied he didn’t think being a romantic was a bad thing. Quite the opposite.
I spent the following morning with Fabian Charbonneau and a wool magician he’d found. Although he’d only lived in England for a short time, Fabian had quickly become acquainted with several magicians in the city and he’d used those new contacts to locate a wool magician to contribute to our new spell.
Like Oscar, Fabian didn’t hide his magic. I hid mine because it was more sought after than theirs. It wasn’t the fact I could mend broken watches without even trying, it was my ability to extend the magic of other magicians that made me unique. The time extension spell had been given to me by my grandfather to save Matt’s life. Since Chronos and I were the only horology magicians in the country, perhaps the world, our extension spell meant we were valuable indeed. I did not want to live a life where I was constantly pestered to extend the magic of others, particularly in a world where magicians were already feared by the artless. If the artless knew what I could do, what lengths would they go to in order to stop me?
“These words are the same as my watch fixing spell and your iron strengthening spell, Fabian.” I said, pointing to the spell Mr. Pyke the wool magician had written down for us. “And these are different. They must be the ones we insert into our spell.”
Fabian leaned over my shoulder. He smelled of sandalwood today, a new scent and much more English than his usual French florals. “I agree. Shall we try them?”
Mr. Pyke cleared his throat and emerged from the corner where he’d been standing ever since writing the spell down for us. He was a middle-aged man with slightly protruding teeth and a balding head. According to Fabian, Mr. Pyke didn’t use his magic in many of his carpets, only some, so as to avoid detection by his guild.
“Can I ask what your spell will do?” he asked.
Fabian hesitated, but I could see no way in which we could keep it a secret from Mr. Pyke. For one thing, he ought to know since he was contributing to the new spell, and for another, we needed him present while we spoke the spell to ensure we pronounced it correctly.
“We want to make a flying carpet,” I said.
Mr. Pyke looked around the room. “That explains why the furniture has been pushed back. How do you create a new spell for that?”
“Mr. Charbonneau can make iron objects fly and control their speed and direction, while I can do the same for timepieces. You cannot do that for woolen things, but your spell does make wool stronger and the carpets quite beautiful.”
“Briefly.”
“That doesn’t matter for this spell. All we need from you are the word or words that represent wool in your spell then we replace the words that mean iron or watches from our spells and voila. The new spell should make that rug fly.”
Fabian dipped the pen into the ink and added the necessary words from the wool spell to our flying spell in the notebook. “Move off the rug please, Mr. Pyke.”
Mr. Pyke flattened himself to the wall as Fabian read out the words.
Nothing happened.
“Did I say it right?” Fabian asked Mr. Pyke.
Mr. Pyke shrugged. “Your accent might make a difference.”
Fabian placed the notebook in front of me. “You try, India. Your magic is stronger than mine and you have an English accent.”
I silently read through the three lines then read them again, out loud, while picturing the rectangular Oriental rug rising.
On the second attempt, the corner fluttered before falling back to the floor.
Mr. Pyke knelt and smoothed out a wrinkle in the carpet. “You have to emphasize the second syllable, not the first.” He joined me at the desk and pointed to one of the two words we’d taken from his spell.
I tried it again, and this time the entire rug lifted off the floor. I gasped and it suddenly dropped.
Fabian cheered and Mr. Pyke clapped. “Very good, but it didn’t fly.”
“I lost concentration in my surprise at our quick success,” I said.
Fabian laid a calming hand on my shoulder. “Your success, India. Try again. See if you can make it rise to the ceiling.”
I steadied my breathing and focused my attention on the rug, on its rich red and gold weave bordered in blue and cream swirls. The rug rose from the floor but this time it kept rising at a steady pace until it touched the chandelier where it hovered for several seconds. I then lowered it, even pausing halfway to see if I could control it to a greater extent. Then I let it drift slowly to the floor where it settled into its original position.
Mr. Pyke stared open-mouthed at me. Fabian grinned and applauded.
“We did it,” I murmured.
“You did it, India,” Fabian said.
I shook my head. “You could have done it too. Your magic is strong and you can imitate the proper accent.”
“My magic is not like yours. Yours is special.”
He joined Mr. Pyke who placed his hands on the rug. “It’s very warm,” Mr. Pyke said as he ran his fingers over the weave.
I looked over the spell again then closed the notebook. “That was more successful than I expected.”
“What will you do with the new spell?” Mr. Pyke asked.