by C. J. Archer
Coyle's snowy mustache twitched. His sharp eyes flicked to me. Behind him, his friend looked uncertain how he ought to react. "Magic?" Coyle bellowed. "What rot is this?"
"Fairy stories," the other gentleman scoffed. "He's mad."
"My lord, you know I'm not," Pitt cried. "Please." Sweat dripped down his face and he licked his lips again. "You have to help me so that I can continue to provide you with your magic—"
"Enough!" Coyle bellowed. "You are trespassing on my property! Get out!"
Pitt's gun pressed into the side of my head, the cold, hard steel shocking against my hot skin. The gun no longer shook. It would seem a kind of calmness had descended over Pitt. Had he sensed the inevitability of the end, as I had? Lord Coyle would not give in. He was not the sort to be bullied, nor did he want his friend to know of his interest in magic, it seemed. When people like Lord Coyle wanted to keep secrets, they kept them at all costs. Even if the cost was my life.
"I want transportation out of the city, money and a letter of recommendation," Pitt demanded with an evenness that hadn't been in his voice until now. "Or her death will be on your conscience."
I closed my eyes and my lashes dampened from my tears. My watch chimed, as if in sympathy for my plight. It chimed again, louder, and I opened my eyes. Movement in the shadows at the top of the grand staircase caught my attention. Someone lurked there behind the large potted palm, watching, but I could not make out a figure.
"Give him what he wants, Coyle!" the other gentleman begged. "He's going to kill her, for God's sake."
Coyle said nothing.
And Pitt's patience had worn out. He adjusted his grip on the handle. "It seems you and I are both expendable, Miss Steele," he murmured in my ear. "I am sorry."
The click of the cocking gun was drowned out only by the chime of my watch.
I let my watch fall from my hand. Its chain slipped through my fingers. But not down. Sideways.
And then the gun went off.
Chapter 17
It felt as if my insides dropped away. Black spots danced in front of my eyes but quickly cleared. My first thought was that death didn't hurt like I expected it to. And why was it snowing inside Lord Coyle's house?
"India! India!" Matt's voice. Here. Why?
I spun around, searching for him, but only managed to make myself dizzy. I lost my balance and fell, but he caught me. His arms enveloped me. He pressed my cheek to his chest so I could hear the rapid, erratic beat of his heart. He'd forgotten my injuries, however, and the sharp pain in my shoulder snapped me out of my stupor.
I pulled away and blinked. It was definitely Matt, and he was unharmed, although the wretched look in his eyes, coupled with the exhaustion, made my heart ache. But how did he know to come here?
Questions would have to wait. Lord Coyle, the other gentleman and the butler knelt over Mr. Pitt, jerking and writhing on the floor, his face distorted into a grimace. My watch was wrapped tightly around his wrist and Lord Coyle now held the gun.
"What's he doing?" the butler asked.
"A fit," the gentleman said. "Timely."
Coyle's hand hovered above my watch. He reached out a finger to touch it but withdrew it quickly without doing so. He glanced up at me, his wide eyes full of wonder and an odd little smile on his lips.
I pulled away from Matt, bent and unwrapped my watch from Pitt's wrist. I looped the chain around my neck since I'd left my reticule behind in the hack. Coyle's gaze followed my every move.
"Send for the police," Matt ordered the butler. "We can be found at sixteen Park Street if we're required for questioning."
"Wait." Lord Coyle struggled to his feet. "Miss Steele, may I look at that watch of yours?" He reached for it, but I pulled away.
Matt put his arm around me and escorted me outside into a dull day, the sky a monotonous shade of gray. We walked home, since it wasn't far, and I was glad. I needed the air and the exercise to help clear my head. Matt let go of my waist when we reached Hyde Park Corner but gave me his arm to hold. It rippled with taut muscle and an anger that shooting the ceiling had not assuaged. He probably would have preferred to shoot Pitt but his proximity to me had meant he could not.
"It was you who fired?" I clarified.
"Yes." It was a full four minutes before he spoke again. "Are you all right?"
"I think so." My bruises from the day before ached like the devil, but I hadn't acquired any more injuries from this ordeal. "Did you follow the hack to Coyle's house?"
"I climbed onto the back and rode with you."
"You did? I didn't see you."
"Nor did Pitt, it seems. I wasn't entirely sure until we reached our destination."
He must have managed it while the coach moved off and Pitt lost his balance.
"I entered Coyle's house via the service entrance and convinced the footmen who accosted me to let me go. Once he realized what was happening above stairs, he obliged. I took the service stairs to the first floor and bided my time. Almost too damned long," he ended with a growl. "There was no clear shot."
"Hence the distraction of shooting the ceiling."
"I'm not sure whether that provided the biggest distraction or your watch did." He ushered me along the Hyde Park path, his pace must faster than the stroll of other pedestrians. "In the end, I wasn't really needed."
"You were needed," I said, quietly. "You were—and are—needed very much, Matt." I leaned into his arm and was gratified to feel the tension leave him along with a deep sigh.
He slowed his pace. "I'm sorry. I'm walking too fast. I just want to get you home."
"We're safe now. Pitt is either dead or under arrest." I pulled away suddenly. "What about Oscar Barratt? Is he…"
"Alive but injured. Pitt shot him in the shoulder. It's unclear whether he wanted to kill Barratt or merely hurt him."
"Kill him," I said heavily. "He admitted as much to me."
I told him what Pitt had said, finishing when we arrived home. I was immensely glad that everyone else was out. I couldn't face explaining the events of the afternoon to them all. It suddenly felt overwhelming, coming on top of the coach accident and Bryce's death.
He steered me into the library and poured me a brandy. He wrapped my fingers around the glass with gentle, sure hands, and poured another for himself. Finally he sat in an armchair and expelled a slow, measured breath.
"If Brockwell comes this afternoon, I'll put him off until tomorrow," he said. "You're in no state to speak to him."
"I'm fine."
"You're still shaking."
I clutched the glass tighter but that only made the brandy ripple more so I set the glass down on the table beside me. I touched my hair, only to realize it had come loose from its pins. It must have happened when Pitt pushed me into the hackney. I removed the rest of the pins then teased it out with my fingers.
Matt swallowed then drank deeply.
"What do you think Coyle's involvement was in all this?" I asked.
Matt watched me from beneath hooded eyes, his finger skimming his top lip. He took a moment to answer, then said, "I think he's a customer of Pitt's, with a keen interest in keeping Pitt out of jail but not enough interest to want to get tangled up directly. Pitt crossed a line by begging Coyle for help in his house. Helping anonymously is one thing, but doing it in front of a friend and us? Coyle's not the sort of man to declare his hand."
"Pitt must have realized Coyle was keen to protect him, even to the point of sending someone to scare us off, and assumed he could turn to him now. But he underestimated his worth to Coyle."
"No doubt Coyle will come away from this looking like a victim."
I touched the watch hanging around my neck and closed my eyes, allowing its familiar warmth to seep into my skin.
A moment later—or was it longer?—Matt's voice filled my head. "India. India, wake up."
I sat up and smothered a yawn. "I'm not asleep."
His mouth lifted at the corner in that half smile I liked so much.
He crouched at my side, his hand over mine, his thumb caressing. It was a reassuring gesture and just what I needed. "Mrs. Bristow ran a bath for you," he said. "It's ready."
"Oh. That was kind of her."
He helped me out of the armchair, drawing me close. His hands gently steadied me at my elbows. He smiled down at me and my insides melted. Did it really matter that he was too far above my station? Did it really matter if his aunt would never speak to me again if I begged him to lie with me? I could live with myself if I disappointed her, if I had Matt's affections.
No. I could not. I was a fool for even contemplating going against her wishes. I had too much to lose here, too many friends who'd become dear to me. I didn't dare risk the loss of their friendship over an infatuation with a handsome man who was not mine for the taking and never could be. I was a shop girl, and he the heir to the Rycroft title. Gaps that wide were never closed with marriage. Affaires de coeur, yes, but not a wedding.
I pulled away and thanked him, although I wasn't really sure what for.
He smiled. "Enjoy your bath."
Detective Inspector Brockwell peeled back a page of his notebook and read the small, neat writing. "Hmmm," he said, then lifted the next page slowly, as if he wanted to savor the anticipation and prolong the moment. He read that page too, top to bottom, and repeated the act of page-turning and reading another three times.
It set my teeth on edge. How Matt sat there, one leg casually crossed over the other, and watched Brockwell without batting an eye, I couldn't fathom. Yesterday, he would have torn the notebook from Brockwell's hands, ripped out the pages and flung them back at him. Today, he accepted Brockwell's snail's pace as if he had all the time in the world to wait for the detective to get to his questions.
Willie cracked a moment before I did. "You going to sit there all day like a sorry drunk nursing his bourbon, or you going to ask what you came to ask?"
Brockwell closed his notebook and regarded her. "What do you have to do with any of this again? Please remind me. I seem to have forgotten."
Air hissed between her clenched teeth. "I'm Matt's cousin. I ain't got nothing to do with nothing. I'm just interested."
She wasn't the only interested party in the drawing room. Aside from her, Matt, and myself, Cyclops and Duke had come to hear what Brockwell had to say. The only member of the household missing was Miss Glass. She'd taken a turn after we gave them all a brief account of the previous day's events.
Brockwell had arrived mid-morning. We'd expected him the evening before, to question us, but in-keeping with his nature, he'd waited until today.
Fortunately his delay wasn't a sign of his reluctance to arrest Pitt. He'd informed us that Pitt was indeed alive and had been detained at Lord Coyle's house by the servants until the constables and Brockwell arrived. Having been summoned to the office of The Weekly Gazette, it had taken a little longer for word to reach Brockwell, but he'd soon taken the situation in hand and arrested Pitt, on Lord Coyle's urging. My watch's involvement was not mentioned.
I had already established that Oscar Barratt was going to fully recovery, despite a bullet wound to the shoulder, and the other newspapermen in the printing room had not been harmed. Lord Coyle had given his account of events, but he'd been vague on the particulars leading up to Pitt's arrival at his house with me at gunpoint.
"Mr. Pitt has confessed to the murder of Dr. Hale," Brockwell told us. "But he has not told us why."
"Does the reason matter?" Matt asked. "He has confessed. It's enough for a jury to convict him."
"True." Brockwell pocketed his pencil and notebook, the slow movement driving Willie to mutter under her breath. "But I would like to know, nevertheless."
"Then you must question Mr. Pitt more thoroughly," Matt said. "I cannot provide the answer for you."
"You see, he had no reason that I can see to murder Dr. Hale."
"The inheritance?" Matt said with a shrug.
"But Hale was worth more to him alive than dead. His name helped him make a fortune with the Cure-All. Poisoning the bottle of Cure-All sabotaged his own product. So again, I wonder why."
Willie threw her hands in the air. "People kill each other all the time because they rub the wrong way."
"Usually in fits of anger or frustration, with fists, knives or guns. Poison is far more calculating."
"Murdering someone out of frustration I can believe."
"I'm afraid I cannot give you the answer," Matt said.
"Then how did you know Pitt was guilty?"
"We didn't, not until we arrived at the office of the Gazette and learned that he attacked Barratt." The lie rolled smoothly off his tongue and I could see from Brockwell's face that he believed him. Matt was back to his old, assured self, in full control of his temper and emotions once again. Looking at him now, with his smooth forehead and easy manner, it was almost impossible to fathom that he had another side lurking beneath the charming façade. "It was merely our ill fortune that we were there at that time," he went on. "As I informed you after the accident, Miss Steele and I had given up the investigation. The risks were too great."
"Did Pitt confess that it was he who shot at your carriage, or threatened Miss Steele?" Brockwell asked.
"No." Matt said nothing more. It would seem he wasn't going to tell Brockwell about Coyle's involvement. I wasn't entirely sure it was a good idea to withhold the information. Coyle ought to face the repercussions of his actions, but I knew that pinning them on him would be almost impossible.
"It must have been him." Brockwell shook his head as if he couldn't quite believe Pitt had it in him. "Must say, I am surprised. I can see him attempting to bribe me to overlook evidence, but not shoot at you."
Matt leaned forward, the first sign of interest he'd shown in the conversation since Brockwell arrived. "Bribe you?"
Brockwell gave him a flat smile. "Now that it's over, I can tell you that he did. An anonymous letter arrived at Scotland Yard, addressed to me, urging me to find no guilty party in the case of Dr. Hale's murder. It must have been Pitt who sent it."
More likely it had been Coyle.
"You were offered money?" Matt asked.
"A considerable sum," Brockwell said.
"And you didn't take it?" Willie sounded as if she couldn't quite believe someone would walk away from easy money.
"No, Miss Johnson, I did not. I'm not a rich man, but my income is enough for a bachelor to live comfortably."
She nodded her appreciation and studied him again as if she were seeing him anew.
"Solving the puzzle is what drives me," Brockwell went on. "That and the satisfaction of seeing people like Pitt pay for their crimes." He stood and patted his pocket containing his notebook and pencil. "I have everything I need, for now."
Matt rose and put out his hand. "We haven't always seen eye to eye but I think I have a better understanding of your process now."
Brockwell shook his hand. "I hope so."
Bristow arrived after Duke pulled the bell and escorted Brockwell out.
"Maybe he ain't so bad," Cyclops said, resuming his seat.
"He's only doing his job," Willie agreed. "Ain't his fault if Sheriff Payne is trying to pull the wool over his eyes. Just as long as he does his duty and investigates proper, you ain't got nothing to worry about there, Matt."
Matt watched the doorway through which Brockwell had exited. Then he turned to me. "What do you think, India?"
"Me?" I looked at him aghast. "I don't think I'm the best person to ask about someone's integrity."
"I disagree. And anyway," he added, cutting off my protest, "I'd like your opinion."
He'd said just the right thing to draw it out of me, and he knew it too, if his small smile was an indication. "Well," I began. All four sets of eyes watched me. I cleared my throat and met Matt's gaze dead-on. "Just because Brockwell can't be corrupted doesn't mean he always gets to the truth and arrests the right man."
"Precisely." He slapped his hand down on the chair arm
and pushed himself up. "India, are you feeling up to a shopping expedition?"
Every time we went shopping, he bought me sweets, dresses, hats or trinkets. And every time, I fell a little bit more in love with him. Not because of the sweets, dresses, hats or trinkets, but because it was time spent alone together, just the two of us, and we were able to simply talk. The more we talked, the more I realized I liked him beyond his good looks. I liked him because he was amusing and kind, clever and curious, and interested in what I had to say. An intoxicating combination for any woman, and that was without throwing his fortune and position into the mix.
"I think I'll stay home," I said, ignoring the regret pinching my gut.
"Pity." He shrugged, as if it made no difference to him. "I hope I don't choose the wrong watch." Damn him for always knowing the right thing to say. He held out his hand to me, his eyes sparkling.
I placed my hand in his. "Unlike Inspector Brockwell, it seems I can be bribed."
"Would you like to visit Mr. Barratt?" Matt asked, handing me back into the carriage.
I paused on the step and stared at him. He was still taller than me, despite the step, and with the hazy sun behind his head, I had to squint to see him properly. I could almost hear Catherine's voice telling me I'd get wrinkles so I tried to widen my eyes. I ended up blinking furiously in order to see him at all.
"I... I don't know," I said. "Why?"
"Because he's injured and I suspect you have things you want to talk about." He leaned closer. "Magic things. And your appointment for this Friday night."
A bubble of laughter escaped my lips. "Appointment?"
"You know what I mean. Well? Do you want see him or not?"
I shook my head and climbed into the cabin. "Not yet. He'll need time to recover. I imagine he's still in some pain. I'll write him a note freeing him of his obligation to take me to the theater. He can't possibly go yet."