He slaps his hand on his knee, acting as though I've said the funniest thing he has ever heard. "Oh, Natalie… can I call you Natalie?" He carries on before I can reply. "What crimes? What risk? I know you and your little miniature dragon came to my museum weeks ago. I had a moment of anxiety, but then, nothing happened. Where are the police? If I'm guilty, why am I walking freely through the streets of Oxford?"
Kate points her finger at him, once again drawing his attention. "We know what you've done, Beadle. The thefts, the fire and even your role in Andrei's death. You won't get away with any of it."
"Won't I, though?" Beadle smirks cruelly. "The magic is helping me, Kate. I can waltz in and out, take anything I want from here, and who is going to stop me? It is as much my birthright as yours, Kate."
My hand clenches into a fist. I imagine rearing back my fist and then bloodying his nose. But I force my fingers to loosen before I lose all control. Oswald is determined to provoke us. I may be seething inside, but I'll be damned if I let him see it. He'd love nothing more than a chance to play the victim.
Kate fluffs her hair out of her face, releasing her pent-up frustration. She rolls her shoulders and sighs, once again in control. She cannot, however, hide the fury in her eyes when she turns to Beadle and asks, "What is your goal here, Beadle? To steal enough of the magic to make your little museum of horrors into a reputable institution?"
Oswald leans forward, getting in Kate's face. "Once again, you're underestimating me. I've already accomplished that task. My little museum, as you call it, now has visitor numbers which would rival yours. Our event bookings are sold out for months. And as for donations, I've got enough raised now to move to a larger building."
Kate and I rear back in shock.
"Surprised? The magic works fast. I'm not here for my gain. I'm here for your loss. Grandpa Hobbes is right. Oxford has benefitted from a magical advantage for far too long. While I've been building up my own connection to the magic, Hobbes has been working on a way to strip yours."
"You won't get away with it, Beadle," Kate growls. "There are too many of us here. We will stop you, and we certainly won't let you hurt anyone else."
Although Kate's voice drips with conviction, Beadle merely arches an eyebrow at her. He rises from his chair, still chuckling. "If there is one thing I've proven beyond a shadow of a doubt, Kate, it is that there is nothing you or any of your ridiculous Eternals can do to stop me."
He turns his back and walks away, but halts, as though suddenly remembering something. He twists around and calls out one last remark.
"Enjoy your time with your new boyfriend, Kate. Bartie, is it? Your lifetime together might not be as Eternal as you think."
Chapter Ten
Oswald Beadle breezes out of sight, leaving Kate and me sitting shellshocked at our table. My breath shudders out as I struggle to regain my balance. How could a simple dinner out turn into such a moment of horror? And how did Beadle even know where to find us?
I spin in my chair, frantically searching the surrounding area for any signs of the crow or Beadle's other Eternals. By now, the restaurant garden is packed with locals and tourists enjoying the warm evening. I start to rise from my seat, angling for a better look at the far side of the garden, but I manage to wrest myself back down. If an Eternal is following us around, realistically, what can we do about it? It isn't worth driving myself around the bend worrying about.
The clink of the ice in Kate's glass attracts my attention. She takes a shaky gulp, also struggling to find her own inner calm. As she carefully places the glass onto the table, she mutters, "God, Nat. That was awful. He was awful, even more so than I remembered."
"I suspect he's gotten worse, Kate," I sigh. "If you thought he was a self-entitled, boorish jerk before, I can't imagine that the magic has wrought any improvements in his personality."
Kate frowns glumly. "I need to tell Bartie…" her voice trails off as she covers her mouth with her hand. "Bartie! Do you think Beadle meant it when he said he intends to rip the magic from Oxford?"
"I'm positive he meant the words, but whether or not he can do it… that's the million-pound question." I snatch up my handbag and extricate myself from the picnic bench. "Let's go, Kate. We need to speak with the others right away. We can pay our bill on the way out and regroup at my house. Do you know where Bartie is now?"
Kate slips her handbag strap over her head, draping it across her body as though it is a sword and she is heading into battle. Her gaze is murderous. Whatever fear and shock she felt initially has been completely replaced with her inner fire. "Bartie should be at my house. I'll stop by there and get him and then we'll meet at yours. What about Mathilde? Should we call her?"
The question throws me for a loop. "Err, no?" I reply, making it more of a question than an answer. I grapple with conflicting thoughts, shoving them into some semblance of order. "No," I say more confidently this time. "This isn't urgent enough to justify interrupting her date, and anyway, what would she say to Trevor to make her excuses? We'd be putting her in a no-win situation."
Kate groans, "Ugh, you're right. I'll text her later and ask her to give me a call."
Out front, we split up, heading in separate directions. If there was ever a moment in which I wished I had the power to blink myself from one location to another, this would be it. Instead, I've got a twenty-minute walk in front of me.
The itch between my shoulder blades convinces me that walking the mile and a half home alone might not be the wisest choice. I take a moment to find my mobile within the depths of my handbag, pressing the button to call Edward as I fall into step behind a large group of tourists chattering away in a foreign language. The singsong lilt of their voices wraps me in a cocoon of safety while I wait for Edward to answer.
I muffle my voice with my hand, murmuring a quick explanation to Edward and asking him to send H off to find my grandfather. With any luck, we'll all arrive at my house at the same time. Edward promises to leave right away and turn on the kettle. When facing a challenge of epic proportions, any reasonable English person requires a strong cup of tea.
Next on my list is Harry. I half hesitate, my finger hovering above my mobile screen. She isn't a prefect. Is it right for me to drag her even deeper into the situation, particularly if there is a risk of danger? The beeping of the crosswalk lights hammers into my brain.
"What would Harry want me to do?" I ask myself under my breath.
She'd want me to call her. Obviously. And she'd probably be annoyed that she was second on my list. I let my finger fall onto the screen, landing on her name in my favourites list.
When she answers the phone with a breezy hello, I can hear a canned laugh track in the background.
"Sorry to drag you away from your television, Harry, but there's been an urgent development in our situation with Beadle and Hobbes and we need to meet up. Can you come to my house? Now?"
Something in my tone must hint at the seriousness of my request, because Harry doesn't ask any questions. I hear the creak of the chair as she stands up. "Let me get out of my pyjamas and I'll be on my way."
I spare half a second to wonder what she'll tell Rob, her husband, before deciding it isn't worth worrying about. Harry is quick on her feet, and will no doubt spin some tale of relationship woes or party planning catastrophes while sashaying out the door.
My walk takes me past the Ashmolean, its grandiose facade lit in a shower of spotlights. Although several months have passed, I cannot look at the building without thinking of that night of the fire, and the frantic dash of the firefighters as they rushed towards the burning building. Nor can I forget the tears and terror on Francie's face when Trevor and the other detective led her out of Kate's office.
There must be a way to not only stop Beadle, but to see him pay for his crimes, and Hobbes must be punished as well.
My mind skips a beat. How do we stop an Eternal? Kate hinted at a larger magical world, one which extends beyond the boundaries of Oxford. Does it have courts? Jails?
A police force of its own? Question after question overwhelms me. I struggle to reign my thoughts back in.
How far will Beadle and Hobbes go to achieve their revenge on the town and the people who ruined their lives? The video footage from the Ashmolean warehouse proved that Beadle had zero remorse for his role in sending Andrei to his death. Did he rationalise the cost of Andrei's life, thinking it a fair reward for Andrei's bad actions? Or was it simpler than that? Has Beadle been pushed so far that he doesn't care who gets hurt?
I speed my steps, my mind jumping from one horrible possible outcome to another. Bartie, my grandfather and the other Eternals — gone from our lives forever. H, permanently trapped inside a cat's body, no longer able to communicate with us. Kate, Harry, or Mathilde injured.
My hand shakes as I try to slide my key into the lock. Edward must be standing nearby and hear my attempts. He throws the door open and pulls me into his arms. I sink into his embrace, not caring that we're spotlighted in the open front door.
When my heart stops racing, I blink back my tears and peel myself off his front. Edward closes the door, blocking out the world, while I rid myself of my handbag and shoes. Together, we move to the sofa, Edward sliding an arm over my shoulders after I curl up, leaning against the armrest.
"Are you okay now?" Edward asks, his tone gentle. I nod, savouring the warmth and safety of his arm. In a moment, I will go back to being the strong and determined woman that I am, but first I need a second to gather myself and block the video of terrible outcomes playing in my mind.
We sit in silence, Edward somehow understanding that I don't need platitudes or empty reassurances. Nor am I expecting him to take charge, dictating tasks for the rest of us to do. Without me saying a word, he knows that the only thing I need right now is a partner.
Gradually, I feel my fears slip into the background, my head clearing enough to remember I have another urgent task. By the time the doorbell rings, I'm back to my normal self, paper in hand and pens at the ready. There are plans to be made.
Beadle can be caught. Hobbes can be stopped. Kate, Mathilde, and I are the prefects. With the power of the Eternals standing behind us, we can accomplish anything.
❖
Darkness begins to fall. My grandfather leans over, drawing the curtains closed. He's sitting at his favourite spot on the window seat, with his back against the cushions and his feet propped up. I imagine us here on the weekends this winter, a fire roaring in the fireplace, him at his perch and Edward in his armchair. H and I curled up on the sofa, all of us immersed in one book or another.
My grandfather's stern expression reminds me that now is not the time for wool-gathering. I let my eyes scan the room, checking that everyone is ready to begin our strategy planning session. Edward sits across from me, one leg crossed over the other, confident in his leather chair. Kate and Bartie practically cling to one another on the sofa, while H stands at attention on the armrest. Harry is closest to me, looking ready for battle despite her hastily assembled outfit. There is an empty seat on the sofa where Mathilde should be, but I imagine she's here in spirit if not in form.
My grandfather taps his knuckles against the wall, bringing us to order. "Alright, Nat. We're all here now and I've closed the drapes against any spying eyes. Start from the top and tell us everything you can remember from your conversation with Beadle."
Taking turns, Kate and I piece together the conversation, filling in the gaps for one another when our emotions cause us to draw a blank. H digs his talon into the sofa in his rising fury, while Harry grows more determined, the angles in her face sharpening as she tightens her jaw.
When we finish, the silence is so profound, you could hear a pin drop. H is the first to break it, shooting sparks from his nostrils.
"Tossers, tha whole lot of 'em. Don't ya worry, Nat. They won't get past me, Mols and tha other Eternals at Somerset."
I hold up a hand to halt him before he can go any further. "Actually, I think that might be part of our problem."
My grandfather gapes at me. "What do you mean?"
"We all know that Oswald Beadle is responsible for the theft of antiques and paintings from Iffley, St Margaret, and Barnard Colleges, as well as the fire in the Ashmolean's archives," I tick the break-ins off on my fingers. "However, we can't prove it. We can't prove any of it. He's identified every weakness in our security systems and exploited our lack of awareness to turn Oxford into his personal playground."
"All the more reason to plug the gaps, Nat," my grandfather replies.
"If we wanted to stop him from taking anything else, you'd be right." I shift my gaze to Kate. "But Beadle told us tonight that his goal isn't to stretch the magical border — it is to rip it away completely. If it were him alone, I wouldn't be much concerned. However, he has Thomas Hobbes to help him."
I pause, gathering my thoughts before continuing. "The university has loaned dozens of scientific apparatus, artefacts, antiques and paintings to Harold's production — all of it dating back to the time when Wren and Wilkins discovered the magic of Oxford. We dangled their names, assuming Hobbes would want to damage their legacy. But what if it is more than that?"
Kate tilts her head, her gaze assessing. "What do you mean?"
"I keep running through Beadle's words. He didn't threaten us with thefts, fires, or anything else which might damage the priceless works on display."
"You're right," Kate agrees, sitting up straighter. "His only threat was to rip away the magic from Oxford. And he said Hobbes was working on a way to do that."
I nod, pleased she's catching on. "We know from reading Wren's journal that it was an experiment gone wrong which led to their discovery of the magic in the first place. What we don't know is how they stabilised the connection. There has to be something more than using metal rods. What if the answer lies within the equipment or artefacts sitting in Somerset right now?"
Edward leaps to his feet and begins pacing. "It would certainly explain Beadle's confidence. If Hobbes thought that he knew how to create his own magical border, and to undo whatever it was Wilkins and Wren did, Beadle would leap at the chance to confront you two. He'd want to make sure you knew he was behind your lost connection to the magic."
"Since the film production moved from the Botanic Garden to Somerset College, we've had no sign of Beadle, Hobbes or even the crow." I nod at H, still seething on the armrest. "H and Somerset's Eternals have done too good a job keeping them out of the college. Beadle needs us to make a mistake, so he can find a way inside."
"And that's why he barged in on our dinner this evening," Kate adds. "He wanted to throw us off-balance. He threatened Bartie, likely hoping we'd split some of our security away from the college to protect him instead."
"I don't need any protection," Bartie states, stone-faced in his determination. "I won't hide in fear from a snivelling weasel suffering from delusions of grandeur. None of us will."
Wanting to break the tension in the room, I shuffle through my stack of papers, picking out the one I want. "I'm sure none of you will be surprised to know I've been jotting down some ideas."
As I hoped, everyone chuckles.
I skim through my notes, finding the place to start. "We've been protecting the right thing — the magic — but we've been going about it in the wrong way. We need to loosen our security at Somerset and give Beadle hope that he and his team of Eternals can get inside. We have to be able to catch them in the act."
Kate wrinkles her brow but doesn't disagree immediately. She does, however, raise an important question. "So, we set the trap, let them inside, and then hope it all goes off according to plan? That might work for capturing Beadle, but not Hobbes."
I hold up a finger, stopping her. "That's where the second part of my idea comes into play. And I have you, Kate, to thank for it."
"Me?"
I nod, explaining, "It was our discussion about summer holiday plans. It never dawned on me that Eternals could be somewhere other than Oxford. I always assumed th
at it was a 'what you see is what you get' kind of thing."
Edward and Harry both spin their heads my way. Harry stares as Edward asks, "Wait. It's not?"
This time, Bartie steps in. "We have our own plane of existence, and Oxford has, for lack of a better term, a door into it. A door for us, that is. We can cross through here, thanks to Wilkins' and Wren's discovery. But we aren't trapped in these places."
I jump in before Edward can ask another question. There's plenty that come to my mind as well, but for now, we need to stay focused on the matter at hand. "Exactly! Wilkins and Wren lived some of the best years of their life here in Oxford. They died knowing that Eternals exist. I'm willing to bet that when death came for them, they found a way to remain behind. Just like you did, Grandfather. Somewhere in that other world, Wilkins and Wren are likely to be still around… and we should try to find them."
My grandfather rubs his chin, deep in thought. "My word, Nat. How did we not think of this sooner? I can't imagine you're wrong."
H flaps his wings, lifting above the sofa in his effort to leap into the conversation. "Iffen yer right, Nat, 'ow are we goin' ta find 'em?"
"Grandfather? Bartie?" I glance between the two, hoping one of them will have the answer.
"They could be anywhere," Grandfather mumbles, still rubbing his chin.
"I wouldn't have the first clue where to look," Bartie comments, frowning in frustration. "We need an expert historian. Mathilde, maybe?"
Harry shoots up from her chair, her eyes wide. "Not Mathilde. Molly! Who better to find them than someone who knew them personally? We've heard her talk. She likely knows those men better than they know themselves."
I flip through another couple of pages, snagging one and holding it into the air. There is one word written on it, in large block print. "Molly!"
Harry leans over and pats me on the back. "Great minds think alike, Nat."
Edward stops his pacing but doesn't sit. Instead, he stays at the front of the room, leaning against the bookcase. "If Molly can find Wilkins and Wren, I feel confident we can prevent Hobbes from doing any lasting damage to our connection to the magic. After all, they know better than anyone how Oxford's connection to the magic works. But we still have the problem of Oswald Beadle. Yes, we can give the appearance that we've loosened the security around Somerset, but catching him? You're talking about a sting operation."
Sabotage at Somerset: A charmingly fun paranormal cozy mystery (Oxford Key Mysteries Book 4) Page 15