by C. J. Archer
He pressed his fists onto the bed on either side of me and leaned in. “I’ll wear a hooded cloak.” He kissed me on the lips then left.
It took me an age to fall asleep, but eventually I did only to be awoken again by Matt’s return. “Well?” I asked sleepily.
“I found Brockwell at home,” he said, climbing into bed alongside me. “He thanked me for the information.”
“And?”
“And Willie wasn’t happy about the interruption.”
I sat up. “Willie was there? I thought she was going out with Duke and the inspector was too tired.”
“It seems Duke decided to pay a call on his merry widow after the card game and Brockwell wasn’t so tired after all.” He looped his arm around my waist and flipped onto his back, positioning me so that we were chest to chest. He ran his hands along my body beneath my nightgown. “We were interrupted earlier by your inconvenient cleverness,” he said huskily.
“What’s Brockwell doing about Mr. Carpenter the younger?” I asked.
His fingers lightly stroked my back. “Do you want to talk about that now, or…?”
“I’d like to talk about it now.”
“Spoil sport. Very well. Brockwell said he’ll pay Carpenter a visit first thing in the morning.”
“Why not tonight?”
He shrugged. “Willie was there?”
“Good lord, this is an important investigation. I expect Brockwell to set aside his manly needs and put police work first.”
He thought about it a moment then shrugged again. “I have no response that will put either Brockwell or myself in a good light, so I’ll refrain from answering.”
“Men,” I muttered.
He grinned. “I know. We’re incorrigible. And you are naked beneath that nightgown, so kiss me.”
He didn’t wait but lifted his head off the pillow and met my mouth halfway.
I peeked under the covers at a naked, sleeping Matt then tiptoed to my dressing room. I put on a simple day dress and slipped out of the bedroom just as the household clocks struck nine. I was heading to the dining room for breakfast when Willie returned home.
“I was hoping you’d bring news,” I told her as she slapped her hat into Bristow’s waiting hands. “Have you spoken to the inspector since he went to speak to Carpenter?”
She handed her gloves to Bristow and flung her coat over his arm. “It’s only nine, India. He just left home.”
“Just left! Good lord, we’re in the middle of an important investigation. You shouldn’t distract him.”
“You seemed to want me to distract him last night,” she said with a wink and a smug smile.
“Yes, but only for a short while.”
She hooked her thumbs through her belt loops and rocked back on her heels. “Ain’t no such thing as a short while with Jasper.”
I groaned and followed her into the dining room where Aunt Letitia was sitting reading a copy of The Ladies Journal. “What do you mean there’s no such thing as short?” she asked Willie without looking up. “You aren’t tall, you know.”
Willie chuckled. “Right you are, Letty.” She helped herself to breakfast at the sideboard and sat with her plate and coffee cup beside Aunt Letitia. She peered over Aunt Letitia’s shoulder as she bit into her toast.
Aunt Letitia pulled a face. “Do you have to do that here?”
“What? Eat? Aye, I do. It’s the dining room. Do you want me to eat in bed?”
Aunt Letitia’s nose wrinkled more. “Don’t be vulgar.”
Willie snorted. “That’s the least vulgar thing I’ve said all morning.” She stabbed a finger on the open page. “That’s vulgar! Show India the picture. It’s the most disgusting thing I’ve seen all week.”
I peered over Aunt Letitia’s other shoulder at the colored sketch of a fuchsia pink and lime green striped dress with ribbons in a row down the front and on the sleeves and swathes of material caught up with ribbons along the hem. “There are too many ribbons,” I agreed.
“It would suit Hope,” Aunt Letitia said.
“That it would,” Willie said, wrinkling her nose as Aunt Letitia had done.
“She doesn’t know when to stop when it comes to ribbons.”
“Or old rich men.”
They both giggled, and were still going when Matt entered, yawning. He went straight to the sideboard and poured coffee into one cup and a tea into another. “What’s so funny?”
“Hope,” I said.
“That wasn’t the answer I was expecting.” He set his two cups on the table and returned to the sideboard to load up a plate. “Are Cyclops and Duke here or out with the police?”
“Home, according to Bristow,” I said. “And apparently Brockwell has only just left for Scotland Yard. It seems he slept in.” I gave Willie a pointed glare.
She shook her head rapidly then jerked it at Aunt Letitia.
Aunt Letitia flipped the page of her journal and muttered “Oh dear.” I wasn’t entirely sure if the utterance was in reference to Willie’s nocturnal activities or for the rather ugly dress on the page. It was covered in large tassels and was an unfortunate shade of brown.
Cyclops and Duke joined us for breakfast and we talked quietly about the investigation, being careful not to mention anything that might upset Aunt Letitia’s delicate sensibilities. We couldn’t avoid mentioning gunpowder, bombs or magicians altogether, however, but she remained quiet throughout the conversation while reading her journal.
Bristow entered carrying the mail on a salver. “This just arrived, madam,” he said to me.
Everyone went very still and stared at the single letter.
“Open it, India,” Willie said.
I drew in a deep breath and opened the letter. My heart leapt to my throat. “It’s from them,” I said weakly. “It’s another threat.”
“Read it out,” Matt said.
I glanced at Aunt Letitia.
She closed her journal and rose. “I have to dress for church. Polly can accompany me this morning.”
I waited until she’d gone before taking a deep breath. “It says: ‘Be on platform four at Brighton Railway Station by two PM today or a bomb will be remotely detonated. Your appearance is confirmation of your acceptance of our terms, namely you will use your extension spell with Bunn’s leather magic. Come alone’.”
Matt had joined me as I read out the letter and peered over my shoulder. “Brighton,” he echoed. “If they want you to appear in Brighton then they are probably there too, ready to detonate the bomb if you don’t show. How did they get out of London?”
“Incompetent police work,” Duke muttered.
“If Bunn and Amelia Moreton were in disguise they’d be impossible to spot in a crowd,” Cyclops countered.
“Does it say anything else?” Willie asked. “Like where the bomb will go off?”
I shook my head. “I have to do as they say and go to Brighton.”
Matt strode to the door. “Brockwell can send a telegram to the local constabulary and have them search the railway station.”
I rose and raced after him, clutching the letter. “Bunn and Amelia will be expecting that and will be well and truly hidden. They want me there at two PM today. We don’t have time to go to Scotland Yard and wait for the Brighton police to gather their forces. If they fail to find Bunn and Amelia…” I pressed a hand to my stomach. I felt sick. “Matt, I have to go to Brighton and I have to leave soon or I won’t make it in time.”
Brighton was an hour and a half journey by rail. Factoring in the time it took to get to Victoria Station here in London, as well as purchasing a ticket and waiting for the next scheduled train, there wasn’t much time to spare.
“Bristow!” I called. The butler bustled out of the shadows. “Bristow, do you have a railway timetable at hand? I need to get to Brighton in a hurry.”
He bowed and hurried off to the service rooms at the back of the house.
Matt snatched his coat off the hook and grabbed his hat. He
opened the front door.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“Scotland Yard. There’s no time for Woodall to prepare the carriage; I’ll get a hack.”
“It won’t work, Matt. You will reach Scotland Yard in time and they will send a wire to Brighton immediately, but what if the police fail to find Amelia and Bunn before two? By then, it’ll be too late for me to get to Brighton. I have to leave immediately.”
Matt swore under his breath and squeezed the bridge of his nose.
“Do both,” Willie said. “You go to Scotland Yard, Matt, and me, Duke and Cyclops will go with India to Brighton. She’ll be safe with us. I’ll take my Colt and Cyclops has got big muscles and hard fists.”
“And I’ve got the smarts,” Duke added, tapping his forehead.
Cyclops and Willie eyed him sideways.
“I think that’s a good idea,” I said to Matt. I pressed the letter to his chest and leaned into him. “Take this.”
He kissed me quickly and took the letter. He was about to leave when Bristow rushed toward us. “Stop!” he bellowed, brandishing a newspaper over his head. “Wait, sir. You must read this.”
He handed me the newspaper and I read the headline in bold type on the front page. My heart dropped to my stomach. “Oh God,” I whispered.
Matt took the newspaper. “’Train derailment on the Brighton main line kills two.’” He skimmed the article. “The line will be closed in both directions for days while they remove the wreckage.”
Willie swore loudly and I felt like swearing too. We could not possibly reach Brighton before the deadline.
Chapter 13
“A coach is too slow,” Duke said heavily. “Even if we traveled as fast as the horses can go, we wouldn’t reach Brighton before nightfall, let alone by two.”
I met Matt’s worried gaze and felt the tears burn my eyes. A sense of deep hopelessness washed over me.
He cupped my cheeks in his hands and dipped his head to peer into my eyes. “You won’t be going to Brighton, but you can come with me to Scotland Yard. All is not yet lost. All right?”
I nodded. At least he didn’t ask me to stay home while he went. Doing nothing at this moment was not going to help my frayed nerves.
He planted a kiss on my forehead. “Bristow, help Mrs. Glass into her coat then tell Woodall to meet us at Scotland Yard. We don’t have time to wait for him now.”
Cyclops, Duke and Willie accompanied us to the Yard where we showed Brockwell the letter. He already knew about the train derailment.
“I’ll wire Brighton now,” he said, striding off down the corridor.
“And after that, we’ll head to Bloomsbury,” Matt said, following. “We have to speak to Carpenter again. His children could be the connection to Bunn and Miss Moreton. Did you find out anything about them?”
“His daughter married and moved to Bristol,” Brockwell said. “His son lives in Clerkenwell and works for his father at the workshop. He has no known properties of his own and leases rooms in an old building.”
“Did you pay him a call?”
“First thing this morning. My men searched the premises and found no sign of Mr. Bunn or Miss Moreton. Mr. Carpenter was shocked by our intrusion and equally shocked that we thought him capable of harboring such persons.”
“And you believed him?” Matt scoffed.
Brockwell didn’t appear to hear him. He kept walking, his strides long and purposeful. It was the quickest I’d ever seen him move.
We found the younger Mr. Carpenter at home in Clerkenwell within walking distance of his parents’ house. The tenement was in good condition compared to some, and while the area was quite poor, it was not a slum by any stretch of the imagination. The surrounding streets were relatively quiet, most people having gone to church or remained home out of the grim weather.
Mr. Carpenter opened the door and seemed to deflate upon seeing us. “I answered your questions this morning,” he told Brockwell. “What do you want now?”
He was a rather non-descript man of medium height and build. His neatly combed brown hair was parted down the middle and he appeared to be trying to grow a beard, but it was a little patchy. He couldn’t have been older than Matt.
“We need you to get word to Mr. Bunn or Miss Moreton immediately,” Brockwell said. “There has been a train derailment and Mrs. Glass cannot reach the required destination of Brighton in time.” He indicated me.
Mr. Carpenter’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about? I’ve already told you, I have nothing to do with those people. Now please leave.”
Matt stepped forward and Mr. Carpenter flattened himself against the wall. He stared unblinking up at Matt, a towering figure of fury. “We know you harbored them here then helped them escape the city. That’s why no sign of them was found this morning when the police searched the premises. After we called on your father yesterday, you sent them away.”
“To Brighton,” I added testily. “Where they are now demanding I go and agree to their terms or they’ll blow something up. Mr. Carpenter, you must help us. I cannot get to Brighton with the derailment!”
“What derailment?”
Willie pushed through and slapped the newspaper into Mr. Carpenter’s chest. “That derailment.”
Mr. Carpenter rubbed a hand over his jaw as he read then passed the newspaper back to Willie. “I told you, Inspector. This is nothing to do with me.” His thin voice said otherwise.
“Mr. Carpenter!” I snapped. “A bomb will go off if I don’t get to Brighton by two. Do you understand? Without the rail service, I can’t reach it in time. We have to get word to them and ask them to delay the meeting.”
“Or give themselves up,” Matt snarled. “They’ll be caught anyway but a judge might be lenient if they surrendered.”
Mr. Carpenter swallowed hard.
“Son?” came a voice from the hallway behind Mr. Carpenter. “Son, who is it?” Mr. Carpenter Senior appeared only to stop dead when he saw us crowding the entrance. “My son has nothing to do with those people,” he snapped at Brockwell. “He already told you this morning, Inspector. He’s innocent. He’d never—”
“Enough!” Matt pointed a finger at Carpenter Junior. “You’re artless but your children are not. We know you helped Bunn and Amelia Moreton when they were in hiding and you helped them escape London yesterday.”
“He did not!” Carpenter Senior replied. “Tell them, Son.”
Carpenter Junior folded his arms over his chest. “I’ve answered the inspector’s questions, now I ask you to leave. My wife and children will be home from church soon.”
“Then you don’t have long to answer me,” Matt growled. “Not unless you want them knowing what you did.”
Mr. Carpenter thrust out his chin. “This is harassment.”
“What’re you going to do?” Willie said, puffing out her chest. “Tell the police?”
I chewed the inside of my lip and cast a glance past the younger Carpenter to his father. He looked troubled by our presence but defiant. His son, however, looked worried beneath his bravado. More worried than an innocent man ought to look, in my opinion. I suspected Matt and Brockwell both knew it too, being far more experienced with guilty persons than me. Neither looked like they would back down without the answers we needed.
Mr. Carpenter Senior laid a hand on his son’s shoulder. “You don’t have to speak to them. You’ve done nothing wrong.” To Brockwell, he said, “There is no possible way my son would harbor such dangerous people. He’s an honest family man and a hard worker. He’s also artless. Why would he help them?”
“He’s artless but his children are not,” I said. “Isn’t that right?”
The elder Mr. Carpenter shrugged. “So?”
“So he thinks magicians should be able to live freely, as do Mr. Bunn and Miss Moreton. He wants magicians to share their magic so that your business can flourish even more. In time, it will be a thriving company to pass on to his children. Children who he hopes wo
n’t have to worry about persecution for their magic.”
Mr. Carpenter Senior glanced at his son. When the son didn’t deny the image I painted, he frowned at him.
“It’s a lovely picture,” I went on. “But a false one. The world isn’t ready for magicians. Not when they use methods like this to get what they want. Mr. Bunn and Amelia are not setting magicians free through their actions, they’re making life more difficult for us. They’re giving the artless further reason to fear us, and when the world fears people there are consequences, sometimes dangerous ones. Is that the future you want for your children? I know I don’t.”
That stubborn chin lowered ever so slightly but didn’t recede altogether. “You’re overreacting, Mrs. Glass. The bomb threat is just that, a threat. I’m sure nothing will come of it.”
“They blew up the bandstand at Hyde Park!”
“There was no one there, as I recall. The police cleared the area.”
“Because we knew the location of the bomb in advance,” Brockwell bit off through clenched teeth. “This time we do not. If Miss Moreton detonates it from some distance away, without being there herself, how does she even know if there will be innocent bystanders nearby?”
Mr. Carpenter’s jaw went slack.
“Son?” his father muttered. “Son, you didn’t harbor those people. Tell them you have nothing to do with this situation.”
The younger Mr. Carpenter lowered his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
His father staggered backward. “What have you done?”
“I did it for my children! So they could live a good life—a free life. Do you think I want them living like you, hiding away in your pathetic little workshop making simple furniture for ordinary folk?”
Mr. Carpenter Senior stared at his son as if he were a stranger. “I like my workshop. I don’t use magic in the pieces I create there, only in those I make for private use which are not for sale. I can’t risk the other furniture makers in the guild becoming suspicious.”