by C. J. Archer
"The furs for the hats have to be removed from the carcasses," he said. "They must do it on the premises." He shot me a worried look. "Do you want to return to the carriage?"
"It won't help. That smell is in my clothes and hair now."
He placed a hand at my lower back. "This won't take long."
He stopped a man carrying a clipboard and asked if he knew of a supervisor named Pilcher. He did not but directed us to the clerks' office. The sounds of the machines were louder inside the office and Matt had to raise his voice to speak to the bespectacled man behind the desk.
"I'm looking for a fellow named Pilcher. I was sent here by his old neighbor who told me he was a supervisor on the factory floor. Do you know him?"
The clerk frowned a moment then his forehead cleared. "I recall the fellow. He left some years back."
My heart plunged, although I'd prepared myself for this outcome. At least leaving voluntarily was better than being dead.
"He didn't last long after he got promoted," the clerk added. "He used to work as a machinist in the silk-hat room, then as supervisor. He was an excellent employee, so we moved him to the japanned hats department, with a view to training him in all areas of the business so that he might rise through the company. But he didn't take to it, or to beaver hatting either. We tried him in other departments too—shellac, wool carding and blowing, among others—but he never did show the intuition we saw on the silk hat floor."
"Why not move him back there?" I asked.
"He resigned before we could."
"Do you know where he works now?" Matt asked.
The clerk shrugged. "I don't recall."
"What about his mother, Abigail Pilcher? She used to do piece-work for Christy's from her home."
"I don't remember all the piece-workers. They come and go."
"Apparently she was very good and got her son the job here."
"Mr. Danver is in charge of the piece-workers." The clerk called out to one of the other clerks passing by and asked him if he knew Abigail Pilcher.
"She hasn't worked for us in years," Mr. Danver said. "Pity. She was fast and did good, clean work."
We thanked the clerks and returned to our carriage. Matt gave the orders to drive us to St. Mary's church in Chelsea. He sat opposite me and tipped his head back before closing his eyes and drawing in a deep breath.
"We'll find them," I told him.
"Does it really matter if we don't? She may know nothing about the disappearances. Her leaving the convent at that time could be a coincidence."
"You don't believe in coincidences."
He cracked open his eyelids and smirked. "Did I say that?" He folded his arms and closed his eyes again. "This does seem rather a large coincidence and less likely."
"We will find her," I said again. "But at least we know where to find the priest."
He didn't answer me and I remained quiet for the journey back across the river so he could rest. It was not a long drive, however, and we arrived at the church in good time. It was near the convent but far enough away that we would not be seen by any nuns who happened to be peering out of windows.
Father Antonio wasn't in the church or at home in the rectory, and his housekeeper didn't know when he would return. We left a message saying we needed to speak with him, but I doubted he would go out of his way to contact us. The nuns had probably already informed him of our impertinent questions.
We didn't discuss this delay but I could tell it weighed on Matt's mind as it weighed on mine. He was not his cheerful self and went straight to his rooms to retire upon arriving home. I was glad I didn't have to order him to rest and bear the brunt of his frustrations.
I found Miss Glass and Willie in the sitting room, talking quietly and, of all things, knitting. Well, Miss Glass was knitting while Willie tried to untangle a ball of white wool.
"If she was here, she'd be warning you too," Miss Glass said.
They both looked up as I entered.
"You tell her, India," Miss Glass added. "Tell Willie that her own mother would be warning her to be careful of strange men."
"My ma wouldn't care." Willie gave me a sad smile. "We were just talking about our lovers, India, and how they don't always turn out to be what they promise."
"That's certainly a conversation I can contribute to," I said wryly. "Indeed, I'm quite the case study."
"Eddie Hardacre were just one," Willie said. "I've had more disappointments than I can count." She glanced at the door as if expecting Duke to be there, ready with a sarcastic comment.
I gave her a sympathetic look. "Has your current fellow turned out to be a disappointment?"
"I ain't never said I got me a fellow."
"We're not blind, Willie."
"You sure about that? Anyway, Letty were just about to tell me about her lover."
"I was not." Miss Glass clicked her tongue as she dropped a stitch. "You're not holding the wool properly, Willemina."
"Go on, Letty. Tell us about him." Willie leaned in and whispered, "Your secret'll be safe with us girls, eh, India? We won't tell a soul, cross our hearts." She crossed her heart, earning a scowl from Miss Glass for jerking the wool.
"Do tell us," I pressed, unable to help myself. I got the feeling a gentle nudge would get her to divulge the story.
"Go on, out with it," Willie said. "We young ladies need your guidance, Letty. Without it, gosh, we'll be prey for all manner of bad men. Look at what happened to India."
Miss Glass set down her needles in her lap and took the wool from Willie. "It's more of a tale about my former friend, Penelope, and how she…" She lowered her head, but her back remained ramrod straight. "She's the worst kind of woman. A wart on humanity."
Willie blinked at her, suddenly serious. "She hurt you, didn't she?"
"She reminds me of Lady Buckland," Miss Glass went on. Lady Buckland had been Dr. Millroy's lover and the mother of his child, Phineas. Even in old age, she seemed rather lecherous toward her young footman.
"A mistress?" I asked.
"A husband stealer."
Willie and I exchanged glances. Miss Glass had never married, but perhaps she'd come close and Penelope had lured her intended away. If he could be lured then she was better off without him.
She put her knitting in the basket at her feet. "I'm going to dress for dinner. You two should as well."
"Why?" Willie asked. "We expecting guests?"
"No, but guests or no, your day clothes are not for evening wear. Honestly, Willemina, you're quite the cowboy. India will change, won't you, India?"
"If it's what you prefer," I said.
"Good girl." She patted my shoulder as she passed.
"'If it's what you prefer,'" Willie mimicked in a high voice once Miss Glass was out of earshot.
"What's eating you?" I asked. "You seem out of sorts."
"Nothing's the matter." She shot to her feet and strode to the window where she drew the curtain on the darkening street. "Nothing at all," she added, quieter.
"Nonsense. I'm not as blind to reading the signs as some people think. Has your man said or done something to upset you?"
She snorted as she drew the other curtain. "You got it wrong, India. I'm just frustrated. I ain't patient like some."
I sighed. "I understand entirely. Our lack of progress is frustrating me too, and Matt, although he pretends not to be affected. I know he's worried though, particularly with his watch slowing even more."
She plopped down on the sofa and buried her face in her hands. "God forgive me, I'm selfish. I've been so distracted lately, I weren't even thinking of Matt."
"Then what were you talking about?"
Duke and Cyclops entered, looking bored. "So this is where you two are hiding," Duke said. "Thought you were out, Willie."
"I got home a while ago. Where've you been?"
"Library," Cyclops said.
"You two? Reading? What's the world coming to?"
"Don't change the subject," Duke said. "
Why'd you come home early? And why the long faces?"
She crossed her arms. "Ain't no business of yours."
"Your lover quit, eh?" He chuckled. "Got tired of you spouting off about this and that?"
She sprang up and ran at him, teeth bared. Thankfully she didn't make a sound to alert the servants. Duke caught her and, with Cyclops's help, held her at bay.
"Calm down!" Duke snapped. "It was just a lark."
She shoved Duke's chest and both men let her go. She stormed back to the sofa where she sat with a flounce and petulant frown.
"Stop it, the lot of you," I said. "You ought to be ashamed of yourselves. You're supposed to be friends."
Duke retreated to the mantelpiece, not taking his wary gaze off Willie. Perhaps he thought she'd charge again. "You're right. Sorry, Willie."
She looked up, surprised. "Accepted. I'm sorry too, but you got no right, Duke. I ain't putting up with your lip no more."
Cyclops caught my eye. He arched his good eyebrow in question.
I sighed. "Everyone is a little testy this evening," I told him. "It's the lack of progress that's doing it. I ought to warn you that Matt's nerves are stretched thin too. We continue to meet delays in our investigation. Indeed, the more we investigate, the further away from finding Phineas Millroy we get. At least, that's how it seems."
"You got to stay strong for him, India," Willie urged. "Be his anchor."
That was all well and good, but who was going to be my anchor? I felt all at sea, drifting further and further from shore.
"We all do," Cyclops told her. "Lumbering it all on India ain't fair, considering she and him aren't…" He coughed and looked away.
"Getting married," I offered. "No, we're not. I've made it clear to him, and I'd like to end any speculation and gossip here and now. Matt and I are not together and never will be."
"I'm glad," Willie said. "On account of him needing to go home to America when this is done. But does he know it? Because it don't always look like he does."
"I've told him."
She huffed. "Being told and knowing ain't the same thing."
"No," I said quietly. "They are not."
* * *
Dinner was a strained affair, and I was glad when it ended, even though most of us retired to the drawing room. Miss Glass went to bed early, easing the tension somewhat. Although she knew all our magical secrets, somehow it was easier to discuss them without her there. Nobody wanted to worry her more than she already was.
Matt poured brandies, and Willie pulled out a cigar from her breast pocket. She slid it beneath her nose and drew in a deep breath.
"You are not going to smoke in here," I said. "Miss Glass will smell it in the morning. Go to the smoking room."
She took her glass from Matt and stormed out without a word.
"Is it just me or is she upset about something?" Matt asked, watching her go.
"Her lover's had enough of her irritating ways," Duke said.
"You're the only one who finds her irritating," I told him. Everyone just looked at me. "You're right, that's not true. But I do think Duke is partly right and the problem is with the gentleman she's been seeing at the hospital."
Duke grunted and drank the entire contents of his glass in one gulp. "Another," he said to Matt.
Matt hesitated then obliged. "Did India inform you how our afternoon went?"
"Aye," Cyclops said. "You ain't getting far."
"We still have the priest to talk to yet," Matt said. "I think we'll learn a great deal from him."
"How?" Duke accepted the glass. "He ain't going to tell you what he heard in the confessional."
"We might be able to convince him."
"How?"
Willie strode back in, holding the unlit cigar and tumbler in one hand and a newspaper in the other. She thrust the newspaper into Matt's chest. "Bristow just got the evening papers. Read it." Her gaze slid to me.
That was enough to have me crowding around Matt along with Duke and Cyclops to get a better look. My insides tightened when I read the masthead—The City Review. A journalist from that newspaper had teamed up with the Watchmaker's Guild master, Abercrombie, and threatened to print an article demonizing magicians. While I hadn't forgotten their threat, I'd set it to the back of my mind as we searched for a medical magician.
The page was opened to the article in question. A quick scan of the first three paragraphs proved that they were not going to hold back in their judgment. "Evil," "sinful," and "un-English" they called magicians, drawing on their readers' religious and patriotic fervor to stir up hatred and fear.
"Lies," Duke spat. "All damned lies."
"They're drumming up sympathy for tradesmen and shopkeepers," Matt said quietly.
"'Depriving honest, hardworking people of their livelihood,'" Cyclops read. "'And starving their children in the process.'"
As if that wasn't bad enough, the article took an even more serious turn by mentioning the death of Wilson Sweet at the hands of two magicians, Dr. Millroy and my own grandfather, Gideon Steele. I clamped a hand over my mouth to stifle my whimper but forced myself to read to the end. The journalist, Mr. Force, mentioned how the two men had colluded to experiment on the "humble" Mr. Sweet to "play God and extend his life, only to end it instead."
Although the article stated that Dr. Millroy was a medical magician and Chronos a horology one, it did not specifically mention that magic was only fleeting unless that horology magician used a specific spell. Some readers—namely, magicians—would read between the lines, however, and realize that had been my grandfather's role in the experiment.
I sat down with a groan. "Anyone who didn't suspect I was a magician will now connect Gideon Steele to me. My secret is out."
Matt touched my shoulder. "Not everyone will believe this."
"Enough will. Many more will wonder. Matt, I'm sorry. This is all my fault; that article is in retaliation to Oscar Barratt's, and he wouldn't have written it if I hadn't gone to him that day. And now I've brought suspicion to your door too simply by living in the house."
"If you think that means you ought to leave, think again." He squeezed my shoulder, as if his stronger grip could keep me there.
"I'm not thinking it," I assured him. I didn't add that I had nowhere to go, with the cottage now being leased.
"Don't worry about us," Cyclops told me. "We can take care of ourselves. But you be careful, India. There might be some watchmakers who resent your magic."
"But she ain't a practicing watchmaker!" Willie declared. "It's not them she has to worry about anyway. It's magicians thinking she can extend their magic. Those folk will come looking for her, mark my words."
"And that will stir up trouble with all manner of artless craftsmen and the guilds," I added heavily. "Not just the watchmakers."
Matt's fingers tightened. "Enough," he said to his friends. "You're frightening her."
"Better she's frightened and aware than ignorant and exposed to danger," Duke said.
"The question is, what do we do now?" I asked.
"Nothing," Matt said emphatically. "A counter article will only lead to another response from The City Review and that will only serve to keep the story alive. The sooner it dies, the better."
I agreed, in part, but I wasn't sure Oscar Barratt could leave it alone.
I was right. The man himself arrived at our door a mere half hour later. He strode into the drawing room ahead of Bristow, still carrying his hat. "Have you read it?" he asked without so much as a greeting.
"We have," Matt said, a hard edge to his tone beneath a calm shell. "Hand your hat to Bristow or he'll think himself superfluous."
Oscar hesitated then did as told and Bristow left with the hat, shutting the door behind him.
"Drink?" Matt asked our visitor.
Oscar nodded and took the seat I offered him. He stroked his short goatee beard and rested his injured arm on the armrest. He still wore it in a sling. He'd been shot in the shoulder by Mr. Pitt, the man
who'd killed Dr. Hale, but it had not hindered him too much. Indeed, his work had only intensified after his article exposing magic appeared in The Weekly Gazette. The last time I'd seen him, he'd told me of all the correspondence he'd received from the public. I'd been furious with Oscar for exposing magicians, but he'd managed to soften my stance a little with his solid reasoning and desire for we magicians to live a normal life, free to practice our magic. His heart was in the right place, at least, and I couldn't remain angry with him for that, particularly when I agreed, in principle. Not that I would tell Matt. He was vehemently opposed to exposing magic.
Matt handed Oscar a glass of brandy then tossed the newspaper in his lap, open to the page with Force's article.
Oscar flinched. "What do you make of it?" he asked.
"What do we make of it?" Willie pushed out of the chair and stood over Oscar. His eyes widened and he pressed back into the chair. "It's all your fault, Barratt, that's what we make of it."
Oscar picked up the newspaper and placed it on the table near the lamp beside him. "I didn't mention India in my article. I didn't name any magicians. Nor did I mention that magic is fleeting. This…" He tapped the newspaper. "This is not my doing. It's Abercrombie's and the reporter, Force. If you're looking for someone to blame, blame them."
"Be assured," Matt hissed, "they will not escape my wrath either."
Oscar swallowed heavily.
"But you started it, Barratt," Willie said with a pout. She stomped back to her chair and threw herself into it. "You should take some responsibility for that. A real man would. God damned men," she muttered into her chin.
Duke and Cyclops exchanged grimaces.
"I'll fix it," Oscar said. "I'll write another—"
"No!" Matt slammed the heavy tumbler on the table beside Oscar. Luckily it was empty or the contents would have splashed out. "You will not write another thing about magic. Is that clear?"
Oscar's jaw hardened. "I'll write what I see fit to write, Glass. As long as my editor wishes to publish my articles about magic, I will continue to write them. It's not up to you."
Matt glowered back at him, his jaw equally uncompromising. It was like watching two gladiators circle one another in the ring, taking the other's measure, looking for weaknesses. Physically, Matt was the stronger of the two, particularly with Oscar's arm in a sling, but I knew from experience that Oscar could not easily be swayed. Not only did he dig in when he set his mind to something, but he refused to even consider alternatives.