by C. J. Archer
"Spoken like a foreigner," Barratt said with a humorless laugh. "There is a lot at stake here. The guilds will hold onto their power with every breath in their body, and they have friends in parliament who will not change the law. I'm afraid it's not going away." His eyes flashed as he picked up the pen and dipped it into the inkwell. He wrote something on the paper in front of him. "Unless the public demands it, of course. Then parliamentarians will have to take notice."
"Is that what you're trying to ultimately achieve?" Matt asked. "Public attention?"
"Very slowly and carefully, Mr. Glass. Perhaps one day the public will embrace magic again, but we need to reintroduce it in such a way that they're not afraid of us. The first step is to bring it into their consciousness."
"Through newspaper reports," I said.
"Through newspaper reports that show the good magic can do."
"You're not going to show the negative?" Matt asked. "Editing out the facts again?"
Barratt passed me a blank piece of paper. "Hold this, please, Miss Steele. You are correct, Mr. Glass, I have only written about the positive aspects of magic, but that's only because I haven't been presented with any negative. All the harm has come from the artless in their persecution of magicians." He smiled at me then began his melodic chant.
The fresh words rose from his page and floated through the air, dancing rhythmically, coiling, rising and dipping to the music of his spell. Then finally the words settled on the page I held flat on my palms.
"'Twenty-four Lowther Street, Chelsea,'" I read.
"My home," he said. "I live alone. Please visit me anytime—there or here. I'll be happy to discuss magic with you, Miss Steele. Or, indeed, anything you'd like."
"That is very kind of you, Mr. Barratt. Very kind indeed." I folded the page and tucked it into my reticule.
Matt scrubbed his jaw then stood. "We should go, India."
"But I have more questions." I turned to Barratt. "It doesn't sound like Dr. Hale would have killed himself. Not if he was making those plans with you. Is that your conclusion too?"
"It is," Barratt said. "He was enthusiastic about the future. You think he took his own life?"
"It's a possibility, but one I also dismiss. He didn't seem like the type. Nor do I think he put the poison into the bottle of Cure-All by accident. Why would he be using poisons, in his profession, anyway?"
His brow furrowed in thought. "You need to learn more about it."
"Thank you, Mr. Barratt," Matt said tightly. "We know what we have to do next."
"We do?" I asked, rising.
Matt thanked Barratt who in turn took my hand and bowed over it. "You're most welcome," Barratt said to me, even though I hadn't been the one to address him.
He escorted us back out to the outer office. Matt opened the door but paused. He looked as if he were warring with himself over something, then finally gave in. "If you hear of any watch or doctor magicians, contact us at sixteen Park Street, Mayfair," he said in a low voice. "I'll pay you for your troubles, of course."
Barratt blinked. "You don't have to pay me. I'll be glad to help. But why doctors, Mr. Glass? Watchmakers I understand. Miss Steele wishes to learn more about her magic. But a doctor?"
"Goodbye, Mr. Barratt," Matt said, opening the door wider for me.
We climbed into the coach and Matt ordered Bryce to return home.
"Well," I said, waving at Barratt through the window as we drove off. "That was very enlightening. I'm so glad we spoke to him. Thank you for suggesting it."
His features relaxed for the first time since meeting Barratt. He almost smiled. "I'm glad you're happy, India. It makes up for enduring his presence."
"Enduring? Whatever do you mean? I thought he was very pleasant."
"Of course you would. He was flirting with you."
"He was not!"
He arched his brows.
I couldn't tell whether Barratt's flirtations bothered him or not. Was it too much to ask that he be a little jealous of another man showing interest in me? "Is that why you were so fierce with Mr. Barratt?" I asked. "Because he was flirtatious?"
Matt simply looked out the window and my heart dipped. "He's a suspect in Hale's murder."
"Nonsense," I blurted out.
He slowly turned to face me, his jaw once again rigid. "We can't rule him out, India."
"Why not? What reason would he have to kill Hale?"
"I haven't yet thought of a motive. He did speak with Hale recently, and wrote about him. As I said, let's not rule him out yet."
I shook my head. "He is no murderer. He was very nice to us."
"He was nice to you, India. He was merely polite to me. I think he'd prefer to talk to you without me present."
I opened and closed my mouth without saying anything. The words wouldn't come out.
"Don't forget he left out important facts from his article about Hale," he went on. "I don't believe it was all his editor's fault."
"If you don't like him, why did you give him your address?" I said. "Clearly you don't want him to come calling."
He swallowed and looked down at his hands. "If he meets a watch magician in the course of his work then I do want him to come calling. I want him to tell you where to find another like you. I know you're lonely."
I bit back my snippy retort. He seemed quite forlorn all of a sudden. "I'm not lonely, Matt. Not since I met you and your friends. And the only timepiece magician I wish to meet is Chronos, so he can fix your watch."
His gaze met mine and he offered up a weak smile. "Then perhaps Barratt can send him our way, if he meets him."
"I doubt Mr. Barratt will meet him," I said with a sigh. "Chronos is not keen on revealing himself. He would stay far away from journalists."
Matt closed his eyes and tipped his head back. He rested for the remainder of the journey home.
Matt wouldn't be still that afternoon as we waited for Duke, Willie and Cyclops to return from the hospital. He paced the length of the sitting room until his aunt ordered him to leave.
"Go for a short walk to calm down before our guests arrive," she said.
That made Matt stop in his tracks. "Guests? Not my cousins again."
"You don't wish to see Hope Glass?" I asked, trying to tease him and raise a smile. It fell flat and he merely narrowed his gaze at me.
"Not at the moment," he hedged. "Why?"
I lifted a shoulder and returned to reading the letter from my friend Catherine Mason. She wished to call upon me, and I couldn't be happier. Calling on her had become difficult ever since her parents had become worried about their daughter associating with someone the Watchmaker's Guild disliked. I didn't want to make their situation any more awkward for them than it already was.
"Mrs. Haviland and her daughter, Oriel," Miss Glass said.
Matt groaned. "Again? Aunt, I told you why I cannot marry anyone, and if I could, Oriel Haviland would not be my choice."
She peered over her reading spectacles at him. "Oriel Haviland is coming because I specifically wanted her mother's presence. She and Lady Abbington are friends, and since I hardly know the countess, I thought it prudent to invite a mutual acquaintance."
"Ah, yes, the eligible widow," Matt said flatly. "The one you think is more suitable for me than Oriel."
"She does have a mind of her own, and she is very comely."
"Even so, my health hasn't changed. I won't marry anyone while I'm ill."
"You'll find a cure soon." She returned to her own correspondence, open on her lap. "Didn't you visit the hospital yesterday and speak to that clever doctor, the one who performed a miracle?"
"You don't miss much, do you?" he said with half a smile and a shake of his head.
"People tend to underestimate women of a certain age. Or just women in general." She winked at me.
I was happy to see that her mind was sharp today. It had been a few days since she'd rambled nonsensically about a knight riding a white horse and confused Matt with his father. Th
ose occurrences seemed to be growing rarer, but they still happened and worried us all, particularly Matt.
"Do I have to be here for your callers?" Matt asked, drumming his fingers on the mantel.
"Yes," she said, without looking up.
"I don't know if I'll be good company."
"You're always good company, Matthew, particularly where the fairer sex are concerned. They find you charming. Isn't that right, India?"
We certainly did. "Quite so," I managed to say.
Matt's fingers stopped their drumming momentarily as he watched me from beneath lowered lashes. I returned to Catherine's letter, my face heating, and Matt's fingers resumed their impatient rhythm.
Miss Glass put her letter down with a click of her tongue. "Will you cease that infernal tapping!"
"Let's go for a walk, Matt," I said quickly. "You seem to need to be out and about."
He nodded.
"No!" his aunt cried. "Stay here, Matthew."
"But it was your suggestion that I go for a walk," he said.
"I meant for you to go alone, to clear your head. You can't do that if you walk with someone else." She shot me an apologetic look. "I do like you, India, dear, but you can chatter too much sometimes."
"She does not, Aunt. India's words are always measured." He put his hand out to me. "Let's go while the sun's out."
Miss Glass looked pained. "You must be careful, India. You and Matthew are spending far too much time together lately. People will talk."
"She's my assistant, and that is the end of it." He stretched out his fingers. "India?"
"Don't be too concerned, Miss Glass," I said, forcing a smile into my voice. "Nobody of consequence will connect Matt and me in that way. I'm much too old and plain, for one thing."
The sudden dampening of her eyes surprised me. "Oh, India, when it comes to men, you are as naive as a girl half your age. I hope you don't take my meddling to mean that there is not a man for you. There is." The unspoken words 'Just not Matthew' hung in the air between us.
I swallowed past the lump in my throat. "I understand perfectly." I took Matt's hand and allowed him to lead me out of the sitting room as a gentleman would lead a lady onto the dance floor.
"I no longer know what to say to her," he said as we headed down the stairs. "She's not listening to me. And to be so rude to you, too. It's unforgivable."
"She wasn't rude," I said. "At least, that wasn't her intention. I thought she was quite sympathetic."
"You're far too kind to her."
It was she who was kind to me, accepting me as her companion when I was nothing more than a shop girl. But I wanted the discussion to end so didn't say as much to Matt.
We collected gloves and hats from Bristow and headed to Hyde Park. It was busy for a weekday. The late spring sunshine brought the Mayfair ladies out for a stroll, as well as nannies pushing perambulators and governesses trying to keep their active charges in check. There were few men about so Matt stood out, particularly with his height. He received several appraising glances from passersby and either genuinely didn't notice or pretended not to.
The fashionable set usually came out after five and drove slowly along Carriage Drive in an open barouche or on horseback on Rotten Row. I much preferred the quiet of the early afternoon.
"It's been some time since I've come to Hyde Park at this time of year," I said. "I'd forgotten how lovely it is. The air is almost clear here today."
"You need to get out of London more, India. This air is not clear."
I laughed and lifted my face to the sunshine, only to catch him looking at me with a serious expression. I didn't want to be serious. I wanted to pick up my skirts and deviate from the path. I wanted to run through the grass and chase butterflies. These last few weeks had been tense, watching Matt's health deteriorate and with our investigation into poor Daniel Gibbons' death. I wanted to put all that behind us.
"My aunt was right about one thing," he said, quietly. "You're neither old nor plain."
I focused forward again. "Can we end this discussion, please I don't wish to talk about it."
"Very well." But after several steps and a taut silence, he said, "Is that what you really think?"
"Don't, Matt. It's a lovely day. Let's not spoil it."
"Eddie Hardacre has a lot to answer for," he muttered.
"It's hardly his fault that I'm unwed at twenty-seven."
"Perhaps you're just waiting for the right man. As I have been waiting for the right woman."
"I hope the right woman is someone from your aunt's set or I pity you. She'll be very upset if it's not."
"Can we change the subject?"
"So it's very well for you to want to change the subject, is it?"
"You've been known to continue a discussion well after I want it ended." His smile banished the grim set to his mouth and the shadows in his eyes. He seemed genuinely happy at that moment.
I nudged him with my elbow. "What's a safe topic? Not our current investigation, since we can be overheard, and not our relationships with non-existent paramours."
"There's always the weather. You English seem obsessed with it."
"Or you can tell me why you didn't defend Cyclops's reputation yesterday when your cousins referred to him as a pirate."
"I'd like to, but I won't. His past is his story to tell, not mine. I hope you understand."
"I do, Matt, and I respect your silence. Very well, the weather it is."
We didn't talk about the weather much at all. Instead, he asked me questions about enterprise, trade and manufacturing in England. I answered as best as I could, which felt woefully inadequate. He probably knew more than me, considering how much of his day he spent reading the newspaper.
"Why this interest?" I asked as we slowly returned to Park Lane.
"I'm thinking of expanding my investments here."
"Then you need a man of business to advise you properly, not an assistant with little knowledge outside the watchmaking industry."
"I prefer to do it myself rather than employ a man of business. My lawyer will suffice for the contracts, but you can advise me on more than you know."
"Such as?"
"Such as, what do you think of the fudge I had Mrs. Potter make?"
"What has fudge got to do with anything?"
"I might invest in manufacturing it. It's very popular in America, and I doubt English tastes are all that different."
"In that case, I liked it very much. You're very enterprising for a man—" I bit my tongue and kept my gaze directly ahead.
"For a man with my condition?"
"I…I'm sorry, Matt. I didn't mean to bring up your health."
He sighed. "It's all right. I didn't mean to snap at you. I just wish you wouldn't consider my health something that should hold me back. It doesn't. At least, I don't want it to."
I tightened my grip on his arm. His muscles flexed then relaxed. "Then why are you letting it hold you back in marriage negotiations?"
His step slowed. "That's different."
"It shouldn't be."
"India, I can't saddle a wife to me while I'm ill. A husband should be able to protect his loved ones. I don't know how much longer I'll even have my strength."
The pain in his voice clawed at my heart. He hated how his exhaustion made him weak, and I hated that he thought it made him less of a man. "I disagree. A woman who loves you would be happy to have you as her husband even for a few days."
"You're too kind," he muttered. "But on this we will have to differ."
We returned to the house to find that the Havilands and Lady Abbington had arrived in our absence. Matt waited for me as I handed my hat to Bristow.
"After you," he said.
I shook my head. "Not this time. They're your guests. I am…" Superfluous, I wanted to say. "I am a little tired," I said instead. Indeed I was. Tired of seeing women vying for his attention, tired of seeing him charm them without even trying, tired of wishing I were eligible enough to be
a contender for his heart.
A small dent appeared between his brows. "Very well."
I read in my rooms until Matt knocked on my door an hour and a half later. His face was the color of ash, yet it was only a few hours since he'd last used his watch.
"Feeling better?" he asked.
I nodded and reached up to cup his cheek but checked myself and fidgeted with my hair instead. "Are the others back yet?"
He shook his head. "If they don't come home soon, I'm going to the hospital."
"How was the famous Lady Abbington?" I asked.
"It's hard to say. She couldn't get many words in. Mrs. Haviland dominated the conversation."
"I heard someone play the piano very well."
"That was Oriel Haviland, urged by her mother. Between the two of them, I hardly got to know Lady Abbington."
"Then brace yourself for another visit from her—without the Havilands, next time. Your aunt won't give up that easily."
He smiled, but it didn't chase the exhaustion from his eyes.
"Go and rest, Matt."
He nodded. "I wanted to see if you were all right first."
I folded my arms to hold myself as still as possible. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"I'm not sure. You seemed…unlike yourself, earlier."
I shrugged, unsure how to answer him. I didn't want him knowing how I truly felt about him. I wasn't even sure what I felt anyway. All I knew was that I liked spending time with him and I worried about his future. Sometimes it worried me sick.
Mrs. Bristow appeared behind Matt, and Matt stood aside to let the housekeeper pass. She held out a tray to me. On it was a covered platter.
"Miss Glass asked me to bring you these," she said, lifting the platter lid.
Two plump cream puffs the size of my fist sat on a plate, a light dusting of powdered sugar on top. "I adore cream puffs," I said. "Were these left over from the afternoon tea?"
"We didn't have cream puffs," Matt said, sounding put out.
"Miss Glass asked Mrs. Potter to make them while you went for your walk," Mrs. Bristow said. "She asked for cream puffs especially because they are your favorite."
"I wonder why your aunt would have Mrs. Potter make them just for me," I said to Matt.