by C. J. Archer
“Oh? This isn’t a social call?” Her wide blue eyes were all childlike innocence. It made her look every bit her youthful twenty-one years.
Lord Coyle, standing behind his wife, patted her shoulder. “It is never a social call with these two. They only come to me when they want something. Isn’t that right, Glass?”
Hope gently chided her husband and smiled up at him. He stroked her cheek with his knuckles then took a seat opposite in one of the deep armchairs by the fire. It was all very sweet and loving. Or it would have been if Hope hadn’t frozen when he touched her face, as if she were holding herself in position.
“So what do you want, Glass?” Coyle asked. “Information? I must admit I’m surprised you’ve come to me again after the last time. You seemed to take great exception to Mrs. Glass owing me a favor on that occasion. You must be desperate.”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Hope’s sly smile.
Matt didn’t rise to Lord Coyle’s baiting tone, thankfully. I’d been prepared for him to say something ruthlessly cutting, or to glare sharply, at least. But he merely gave Lord Coyle’s statement a lazy flick of his fingers, dismissing it.
“Before we tell you,” he said, “I need an agreement from you that you won’t ask for anything more from us.”
Lord Coyle’s throaty chuckle ended in a rasping coughing fit. Hope rose and bent over him, patting his hand rather ineffectively until the seizure ended. It was at that point I noticed something missing. A cigar. Lord Coyle always had one either protruding from between his bulldog lips or wedged between his fingers like an extra appendage.
“Why would I do that?” Lord Coyle asked when he’d recovered and Hope was sitting once more. “I trade in information. Tell me, why would I give you something and expect nothing in return?”
“Because by asking for a favor, we will have to tell you why, and doing so will give you some information that we think you’d like to know. That will be our payment.”
What was Matt doing? Lord Coyle wasn’t going to be satisfied learning that a fireworks magician was threatening to bomb the city. He most likely knew about the Moreton family already. Granted, he might not be aware that Amelia could blow up gunpowder without using a timer or having someone present to detonate it, but would discovering that be something worthy to exchange for his help? I doubted he’d think so.
I glanced at Hope. She watched Matt intently, hanging on his every word. Admiration filled her eyes.
Her husband would not have noticed. He too watched Matt closely. “You want us to be square,” he said.
“I do. You’ll not ask for anything more of us or the police in exchange.”
“The police? Now I am intrigued.” He went to reach for something on the table beside him and, discovering it not there, cast a grim glance at his wife before regarding Matt once more. It seemed he missed having a cigar at hand.
“You cannot agree, Coyle,” Hope said aghast. “What if the information is useless to us?”
“It won’t be.” Matt put up his hands. “I’m not saying there’s anything you can do with the information, but gaining it through us will have the benefit of cutting out the middleman, if nothing else.”
“What middleman?” Hope asked.
Lord Coyle searched the table again. Finding it empty, he drummed his fingers on the surface and blew out a breath.
“Sir Charles Whittaker,” Matt told Hope. “Your husband uses him to gather information about us. Perhaps about others, too.” Matt was certainly up to something but I had no idea what.
I was as curious as Hope to find out, however.
“Mrs. Delancey gave Whittaker information about a spell India was creating with Fabian Charbonneau,” Matt went on. “India had asked her for something and she told Whittaker, who put two and two together. He then informed Coyle.”
Hope’s lips parted but no sound came out. Her narrowed gaze slid to her husband.
Lord Coyle glared at Matt. “So you have information about your wife’s spellcasting trials with Charbonneau?”
“I do. They’re working on a new spell and in doing so, had a need for a particular type of magician. That magician has since done something dangerous and we need the use of your spy network to search for her before she does something more dangerous.”
Lord Coyle finally stopped drumming his fingers. “Ah, my spy network. That is a big ask. Are you sure your information is worth it in exchange?”
“Of course.” Matt had the easy response of a man convinced, or at least good at lying. I, however, couldn’t risk it. We needed further inducement.
I sat forward a little. “By helping us, you’re not only going to find out what Fabian and I are working on, you will also be helping to save lives. Please, my lord. The city needs you. Surely you’re not so callous as to let people suffer knowing you could have done something to stop it.”
“It isn’t a matter of callousness, India,” Hope said with a tone that was both sweet and sour. “It’s a matter of fairness. You can’t expect my husband to do something for nothing. His network cannot be bought cheaply, you understand. There’s nothing like it in the country.”
“I know his service is expensive,” I snapped back.
“I’m glad you understand.”
Lord Coyle chuckled, making his jowls shake. “Now, now, ladies. Let’s not fight over this. That was a very pretty speech, Mrs. Glass. Very pretty indeed. Of course I will help.”
Hope’s nostrils flared, just as her mother’s had done on multiple occasions earlier.
“Well then?” Lord Coyle prompted. “What do you need my spies for?”
“India and Fabian have been working with gunpowder magic,” Matt said.
My breath caught in my throat. Now I understood what Matt was doing. This way we put Coyle off the scent of the real spell Fabian and I were creating.
“They wanted to create a spell that could send fireworks further into the sky and make them more spectacular,” Matt went on.
“Fireworks or bombs?” Lord Coyle asked.
“Fireworks.”
Lord Coyle stroked his long white moustache. “You must have enlisted the help of Moreton. He’s the only fireworks magician in the country.”
“His daughter,” Matt went on. “She’s a powerful magician, but is an activist for magicians’ freedom. That passion has led her to employ some methods used by the Irish Fenians—blackmail and bombs. But her magic makes her more dangerous than the Fenians.” He told them about her spell to detonate bombs from afar and her threat to blow up the bandstand in Hyde Park if India didn’t use her magic with Mr. Bunn’s. “She blew up the bandstand to show us what she was capable of,” he finished.
“Good lord,” Hope said on a breath.
Lord Coyle curled his hand into a fist on the chair arm. “She must be stopped.”
“That’s why we came to you,” I said. “The police are searching the known storage facilities of importers of gunpowder, as well as factories around London that use it. But there are probably illegal stores they don’t yet know about. We thought you would, or could find out, and have your men watch those stores.”
“I’ll do everything necessary.”
Hope turned suddenly to face her husband fully. “Agreeing so readily, my dear? That doesn’t sound like you.”
“If Miss Moreton succeeds, it will be difficult to suppress her use of magic to ignite the bombs. We can’t let the public get wind of it. It would be all over the newspapers and lead to the end of secrecy for magicians. That, my dear, would be a disaster.”
Hope seemed to realize the motive behind Lord Coyle’s quick acquiescence at the same time I did. He wanted the exact opposite of what Amelia Moreton desired. She wanted magicians to be free to wield their magic as they wished, to create the best products they could and to capitalize on their superior craftsmanship. But Coyle wanted magic to remain hidden, special, something only a few collectors like himself could afford.
In this instance, his interests a
ligned with ours. I couldn’t tell whether it aligned with Hope’s or not, or indeed if her interests were different to her husband’s. Her smooth features gave nothing away.
Lord Coyle rattled off the names of businesses he suspected stored gunpowder illegally, and committed some men to surveillance duties. Brockwell was to work directly with Coyle, however, who would then give his spies the orders personally. He wouldn’t divulge their identities.
We were finishing up when the butler entered and announced the arrival of Lady Rycroft and Charity. Hope sighed and Lord Coyle excused himself.
Lady Rycroft and Charity stared at us as we departed, no doubt wondering what we were doing there. We climbed into the conveyance and Matt directed Woodall to drive to Scotland Yard.
“Thank goodness he agreed,” I said. “Well done on diverting him so that no one owes him anything.”
“You mean lying to him.” He smiled. “I can admit what I did.”
“Very well, congratulations on successfully lying to him. I wonder what he’ll do with the information about our fictional gunpowder spell.”
He tapped his forehead. “Store it away up here along with the other bits of information he keeps. Sometimes I wonder how many he actually uses and how many simply gather dust in his mind.”
I covered my knees with the blanket and snuggled closer to Matt for warmth. “Speaking of fakery, did you sense Hope was acting? The only genuine smile seemed to be the one she gave when Coyle mentioned the favor I’d once owed him.”
He swayed back to look at me properly. “You seem surprised. You expected her to be happy to be married to him?”
“Not as happy as I am to be married to you, naturally.”
He flashed me a grin.
“She seemed happy enough on their wedding day,” I said. “I suppose I didn’t expect their marriage to deteriorate so quickly.”
“Ah, young love,” he teased. “It burns as brightly as the sun only to quickly fade and disappear altogether at sunset.”
“They are an odd couple. Both horrid people at their core, so they do have that in common.”
“A solid marriage is built on common ground, so there’s hope for them yet.”
I chuckled and nudged his ribs with my elbow. “Did you also see her surprise when we mentioned he uses Whittaker as a source of information about us? She was annoyed he’d kept that from her. I wonder if she’ll demand he divulge all his secrets the way she demanded he give up cigars.”
Matt chuckled. “I envisage Coyle spending many evenings at his club in the future. He looked lost without a cigar to plug that maw.”
I settled into Matt’s side with a sigh. It was rare to feel relieved after speaking to Lord Coyle. Usually I felt sick with worry. But as we sped toward Scotland Yard, I finally felt as though something had gone our way. This investigation would turn a corner soon. There was no way Amelia could get her hands on more gunpowder once Brockwell set Coyle’s men to watching the remaining warehouse facilities. That alleviated the immediate threat of the bombings, and it wouldn’t be long before Bunn and Amelia were caught. They couldn’t hide forever.
Yes, I was feeling much more positive about the situation now.
Chapter 9
The rest of the day and evening were blessedly quiet. Not even Lord Farnsworth called on us. Willie said he was busy trying to find out if Charity had been the one to inform the Masons about Cyclops and Catherine’s relationship. Even though the family had departed London for their country estate, Lord Farnsworth’s investigation was continuing.
“Is he flirting with the female staff?” I asked as we sat across from one another in the sitting room after dinner.
“No,” Willie said from behind the newspaper she was reading.
“So is he paying them? Or is he employing some ruse to trick it out of them?”
“Ain’t no trick and no, he ain’t paying anyone.”
I lowered the handkerchief I was embroidering. “Then how is he getting them to talk?”
“I can’t tell you. You’re too sensitive, India.”
“Me! Sensitive!” I scoffed. “Good lord, Willie, I never batted an eyelid when you told me you liked women as well as men. Not once have I had a fainting spell when you shot at someone, and never have I so much as gasped at your foul language.”
She folded the newspaper up and tossed it on the table beside her. “You’ve done all those things. That’s why I ain’t going to tell you. You’d be shocked. Then Matt would scold me for saying something that turned you paler than an iceberg.”
“Actually, I’m intrigued now,” Matt said, also lowering his newspaper. “What is Farnsworth doing that’s so shocking?”
She huffed out a breath. “All right, I’ll tell you. India, you asked me if he was flirting with the female staff and I said he ain’t. I wasn’t lying.”
“I never thought you were.”
“He’s flirting with the coachman.”
I swallowed my gasp before it escaped and waved off her statement with what I hoped was nonchalance. “Is that all? Good lord, Willie, if you think that sort of thing troubles me after everything I’ve learned about you, you don’t know me at all.”
She merely grunted. She didn’t believe me.
“What did Farnsworth learn from the coachman?” Matt asked.
“Nothing, but I haven’t spoken to him since this morning. He might find out more tonight. The coachman’s been dismissed until the family comes back to London, so he’s at a loose end. Farnsworth will use his charms to get answers.”
“Charms?” Matt muttered, picking up his newspaper.
“He can be charming, can’t he, India?”
I frowned. “I don’t find him charming, but I can see how you might. There’s a certain youthful exuberance about him. It’s as if he never grew up.”
“I guess so,” Willie said. “But he’s never had to lift a finger to get what he wants, so it’s understandable he acts like an idiot sometimes. It’s real lucky he’s just a rogue, and not an ass too. Toffs like that make me want to pull my hair out rather than spend a minute in their company.”
“It’s true he has never had to work,” Matt said from behind the newspaper. “But he hasn’t lost a single dime of his inheritance, by all accounts. In fact, it sounds like his fortune has only increased.” He peered at us over the top of the newspaper. “I’d wager he’s not as idiotic as he seems.”
Willie thought about this a little more and grunted a laugh. “I liked him before. Now I respect him, too.”
Matt lifted the newspaper to cover his face. I heard him sigh. He was probably wishing he’d kept his mouth shut.
Duke and Cyclops returned home just before Willie, Matt and I retired for the evening. They informed us over a supper of soup and bread that Coyle’s men had relieved them of their duties for the night, and Brockwell ordered them to get some rest.
“We’ll return in the morning,” Duke said.
“And the illegal gunpowder stores?” Matt asked from where he sat perched on the edge of the dining table. If Aunt Letitia walked in and saw him, she’d have a fit.
“Brockwell reckons he raided them all and confiscated supplies.”
“He’s questioning the illegal importers now,” Cyclops added. “It’s too early to say if any of them already sold gunpowder to the Moreton girl.”
“Jasper’s gonna be real tired,” Willie muttered with a shake of her head.
“He’s been taking naps in one of the empty holding cells,” Cyclops reassured her.
“Why don’t you take him something to eat tomorrow,” I said. “Ask Mrs. Potter to prepare something in the morning. I’m sure she’d be happy to.”
Willie screwed up her face. “We ain’t courting, India. He ain’t my beau.”
“Taking him food doesn’t mean you’re courting. It means you’re friends. I’d do it, but I’m busy tomorrow morning.”
She considered it and shrugged. I suspected that meant she’d not only fallen for my lie a
bout being busy but also agreed that Brockwell couldn’t interpret the gesture in a manner she didn’t intend. I was quite pleased with my effort and went to bed satisfied.
The arrival of Mrs. Delancey before luncheon wasn’t an unwelcome surprise. I needed a distraction from worrying about the progress of the investigation and she was as good a distraction as any. Indeed, she lifted my mood considerably, and it was all thanks to Willie. I only wished she was home to see Mrs. Delancey turn out the contents of her reticule onto one of the occasional tables in the drawing room.
I was so surprised to see her jewelry in all its exquisite glory that it was a full thirty seconds before I could speak. “Mrs. Delancey,” I finally said. “Is this all your valuables?”
“Good lord no.” She spread out the pieces so that nothing overlapped. There were emerald and diamond necklaces, pearl drop earrings, rings containing colorful gemstones, and a pair of cufflinks. They all had one thing in common. All contained gold.
I didn’t quite know what to say. Tell her the truth or continue with the story Willie had invented about my fake spell?
I delayed my decision a few minutes by calling for tea. Mrs. Delancey hastily put her jewelry back in the reticule before the staff returned.
“Do you need the jewels to be removed from their gold settings first?” she asked me.
“Pardon?”
“Should I have a jeweler remove the diamonds and other gemstones from their gold settings before I give it to you?”
“Mrs. Delancey,” I began. “It’s very sweet of you to offer your gold for the purposes of my experiment with Fabian, but we have enough. There’s no need to remove any of the gemstones. Take them home and enjoy wearing them as you always have.”
She bristled. “But I insist!”
“I cannot accept.”
She looked down at the bulging reticule in her lap. “But…I want more diamonds.”
“Oh?”
“I want more diamonds. Gold is lovely, but not nearly as beautiful as diamonds. I adore how they sparkle in the light, don’t you?” She clapped her hands lightly. “How thrilling that you’ve made a spell to change the form of gold into diamonds. Just think of the possibilities, India! Think of the fortune you could make.”