Rachel closed her eyes, breathing in through her nose. When she opened them, she turned her head back towards where Chris stood, awkward and still, watching this unfold. “Christopher…” she murmured. “Won’t you sit by me?”
He was at her side in a moment, sliding onto the bench beside her and across from Miss Banks. She was close enough that he could feel the warmth of her body, her thigh pressed against his. He tucked hair behind his ears and adjusted his eyeglasses, trying not to think about it very hard.
If he’d danced with her last night, could he have had her?
His hands shook ever so slightly. He folded them on the table.
“I didn’t always hate being around him,” Rachel said. “We were very close as children. He took care of me after…” She swallowed. “After we lost our parents. I was only a child. I remember our mother’s eyes. Our father’s hands. Not… not much more.”
“What happened to them?” Olivia asked.
Rachel folded her lips. “What happens to everyone’s parents? Rogue spirits. It put a fire in my brother. One that’s never stopped burning.” She swallowed. “We were never wealthy. Our parents were just factory workers, gearsetters maintaining machinery. When they were gone… it was just Garrett and I. And he was my protector.”
“Go on,” Olivia said.
Rachel looked up. “Is this really necessary?”
“We can skip ahead. I really don’t need your life’s story. For example! Norwood. Is he dangerous?”
She laughed bitterly like Olivia had told a black-humoured joke the rest of them couldn’t understand. “Everyone who chooses to work with my brother is dangerous.” She shook her head. “Not at first. They’re drawn in by him, by his magnetism. His charm. You’ve all met him! He can talk to you for ten minutes and have you believing the sky is pink! But… then you spend more time with him. You start to see that fire in him. You start to realize it will burn you alive. Most people who work with him only do it for a few missions before he’s just too much for them.” She looked up. “But others… like Arthur Norwood… they like that fire. Being close to it makes them feel… alive. They see what he’s capable of and stay anyway and move into his inner circle.”
Olivia studied Rachel carefully. “Could he kill?”
“Arthur? No. No, of course not. He’s obedient, but he’s a good sort of soul. Though…” Rachel chuckled bitterly. “Though Garrett could make strangling a kitten seem righteous. And the longer someone stays at his side, the more they’re willing to do.”
“And Norwood has been at your brother’s side a very long time.”
She bowed her head. “Th-they met when… when Livingstone took Garrett and me in, Francis was so good to us. Not just me. Garrett, too. He put us up in a home. He kept us clothed and fed. Kept us off the streets. He was kind, and he loved us both.” She shook her head. “But Francis could never bank Garrett’s fire. And it got into Arthur. When Francis realized he’d gotten his favourite nephew wrapped up bad business… he cut Garrett loose. Not in time, though. Arthur had the sickness. Loyal to my brother for life.” Rachel pushed a hand through her hair.
Chris thought of what Livingstone had said the night before. My nephew has long been an admirer of Garrett Albany’s way of looking at the world. I truly thought I had gotten through to him, but perhaps….
He pulled away from Rachel’s warmth.
“Livingstone thought he could trust his nephew,” he said.
Rachel glanced at him. And then down at her hands. “Yes,” she said. “I know he did.”
Olivia hmmed. “But you,” she said, “knew that he was still working for your brother.”
Slowly, Rachel nodded.
Chris gritted his teeth. “So you’ve been aware,” he said, turning about to look at her, sitting there, shoulders hunched, daring to feel guilty about it. “The entire time that Norwood has been here at Miller, you knew that he was acting on your brother’s wishes? Against Livingstone?” His hands formed fists. “Against Rosemary?”
“No! No, it isn’t like that. Norwood—he’s here on another matter, I think!”
“But he knows you! And he’s seen Rosie. And—Garrett knows that you are with Rosie, so—” Chris stood up. He walked away, burying his face in his hands. “Ah, Gods, are you saying that Albany has known where Rosemary is for months, now?”
“Well–y-yes, perhaps, but!” Rachel protested, turning to watch Chris go. “But I’ve been careful. Garrett knowing where she is doesn’t mean a thing until he does something with it. And I’ve tried to make sure that doesn’t happen! For example, I–I re-established contact with Garrett–something I told myself I’d never do—just so that I could keep certain of where he was at all times! And I’ve watched Norwood, I’ve watched Rosemary! When she started…” She shot a guilty glance at Chris. “When… she started lying about dancing lessons and going back to the guest house, I… I was afraid, but I checked! She wasn’t making contact with Norwood. She was making contact with Miss Banks. I just… I-I didn’t… say anything. Or tell anyone. A-about Norwood, and Garrett, because….”
“Because,” Chris said. “You have other loyalties.”
Rachel looked at him with sad eyes, so big and brown. They pleaded with him, but he shut himself away from what they asked for. “Family is family,” she whispered.
Olivia tapped long nails against the table surface. “If you’d told us—hell, told anyone—that Norwood was loyal to your brother rather than the good doctor, we would have avoided all of this.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured.
“Really? You’re sorry? Well, I’m not sure I accept that apology. It’s a bit worthless after the fact. Surely you know you’ve put a great many things and people in danger? Including your charge, Miss Buckley? Hell, Mabelle Greene would probably still be alive if we’d known Norwood’s priorities sooner!” Olivia fixed Chris with a sardonic look and clucked her tongue. “I would advise not providing this one quite such a glowing recommendation as a governess,” she said.
“I’d never let anything happen to Rosie!” Rachel cried. She covered her mouth with her hands, closing her eyes. Her features contracted in anguish.
“You almost did!” Chris shouted.
“No, I—it’s not—” She looked at him pleadingly. “Perhaps my loyalties have been split, but they’ve never been false!”
“What about you and Norwood?” Olivia demanded.
“I…” Rachel looked about between all three of them. Her hands trembled on the table. “Wh….”
“Don’t play stupid. You know him. It isn’t as if the two of you just ignored one another entirely for months! You must have spoken. So. Did you know his agenda? The mission he’d been given by your brother? The entire reason he’s here?”
Rachel opened his mouth and then closed it. “I–I didn’t…” She hung her head. “Not the details. And not until last night,” she murmured.
“Ah. Wonderful. So you could have come to one of us—or to anyone, really!—and told us what he was up to before he killed a fifteen-year-old girl and took dangerous research!”
“Arthur is an old friend, and he’d been in a fight, and we practically grew up together. I just checked on him! I just… wanted to be sure he was all right, after what happened with Mister Spencer! He’s the one who started babbling about his damned mission, about how Garrett wanted something, about how important he was to ‘the next chapter’… I tried to convince him to step away from it all, whatever it was. I told him to support his uncle. But while Arthur promised me that he wouldn’t let anything happen to Francis, he just kept saying that it was bigger than him.”
Olivia met Chris’s eyes. He thrust his hands into his pockets. He didn’t even know what to say.
“He didn’t give any additional details at all?” Miss Banks asked delicately.
Rachel’s hands clenched. “Just…” She bit her lip, looking at each of them in turn. And then shook her head and sighed. “Just that ‘the courier’ had finall
y arrived, and everything was in place. He didn’t say any more. In truth… I thought it might be one of you.” She glanced at Olivia and Chris, in turn. “You or Officer Dawson. After all… you both arrived right after Miss Banks vanished, and really, what are the odds that Summergrove would send for a truthsniffer from Darrington for some… suicidal stable master?” She focused on Chris. Her eyes pleaded with him. “That’s the true reason I said nothing about Arthur when we met last night, Christopher. Not because of loyalty to Garrett. Because I didn’t know who to trust. Part of me is always… lurking in corners, peering into shadows. Looking for someone who’s working with my brother. He’d turn anyone against me he could. If it counts for anything at all… I’m sorry that I thought he could turn you.”
She looked so sincere, so deeply, passionately willing for him to believe in her that he wanted to more than anything.
“Last night?” Olivia asked mildly.
Chris snapped his eyes from Rachel’s immediately. “I met her in the foyer!”
“And then relocated to a bedroom?”
“And then nothing!” Chris protested.
“Miss Faraday!” Rachel said at the same time, her voice utterly scandalized.
“Please.” Miss Banks slammed two flattened palms onto the table. “Can we at least attempt to remain on mission?”
Olivia shrunk somewhat back into her seat. Chris sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Rachel folded her hands carefully in her lap.
“Right,” Olivia said. She shook her head, and then directed her full attention on Rachel. “Miss Albany,” she said, all authority. “It would seem as if you’re something of an invaluable resource. If all of this is true…” she frowned. “And… it feels mostly true, aside from…” She shook her head. “We’re going to question Mister Norwood. You should be there.”
Rachel’s chin pulled down. She buried her hands in her skirts. “Now?”
Olivia shrugged one shoulder. “I hardly see the point in spot searching the entire second floor when things are falling into place, do you?”
“I suppose not,” Rachel murmured.
“Then—” Olivia began.
It was at this exact moment that Rosemary burst into the kitchen from the hallway, panting, with eyes bright. “Officer Dawson is here!” she said hurriedly. “From Summergrove! They–they found it, Em!” Without giving them a moment to recover, she was gone again.
Chris acted on instinct, following her. “They found what?”
“The spiritcell!” His sister threw back over her shoulder as she flew down the hall toward the foyer, a blur of swirling seafoam lace and tulle.
Maris was standing in the foyer when Chris skidded to a stop. She was covered in mud and water up to her waist, and a soaked and filthy carpet bag dangled pathetically from one hand. Her coppery ringlets were barely restrained in a tail high on her head. From the circles under her eyes and the wan, chalky tone of her skin, she was running on even less sleep than he was. She looked from him to Rosie, and her voice creaked when she said, “Where’s Em?”
“Here. Ah, Maris, I’m here!”
Miss Banks shoved both Buckleys roughly to the side and ran between them to leap into her lover’s arms. Maris dropped the bag and caught her, arms going around her waist as Em’s encircled her neck. “Gods!” Maris cried, as she spun her in a circle. “Ah, Gods, hells, Em, you’re safe. You’re safe.”
Neither of them seemed even slightly aware of the Buckleys as Maris took Miss Banks’s chin in her hands and Miss Banks smiled, and they kissed with a fervour and passion that made Chris’s heart ache. He ought to look away. For plenty of reasons. And yet he found he couldn’t. Not when Maris’s hands tightened, and Miss Banks clung to her, and they looked as if they were home.
They broke away and stared at one another with loving intensity for all of three seconds before Emilia shoved Maris so hard she stumbled back a step and nearly pulled Miss Banks down atop her.
“Idiot! I told you, I told you! I’m fine, don’t come after me! Is that not what I said?”
“Em—”
“This is all your fault, Maris! If you hadn’t have dragged Olivia and Mister Buckley down into this madness if they hadn’t found the laboratory, if—”
“You can blame me all you want, but—”
“Oh, I most certainly will, you impossibly stubborn nitwit! I was fine. I was fine.”
“You were not fine! People close to you are dead! You’re only lucky that I decided to do something about this, before—”
“Children.”
They all turned. Olivia stood in the entrance to the hallway, arms folded. “Don’t you think that we can assign blame at some other point in time? Apparently, Maris, you’ve managed to avert disaster. Doesn’t that seem more important?”
Maris took another step back from Miss Banks. Two spots of colour bloomed high on her cheeks. “Right,” she said, coughing and clenching her jaw. She bent to retrieve the filthy carpet bag. “It was a spot of luck I saw this thing. See the pattern?” When Chris peered, he could see something that appeared to be colourfully stitched flowers against the canvas. “I thought it looked a little delicate for the hulking man holding it down at the station. Good thing I did. The train was about to leave. Had him open it, and…” She opened the bag and produced a familiar-looking construction of copper, glass, and wood.
“Oh,” Emilia breathed, and all the wind seemed to go out of her at once. She stepped forward and took the spiritcell from Maris. She held it in her hands. “My notes?”
“All in the bag. The bloke is outside, now, though pretty far up. The police car he was riding in got stuck in the mud, and those nags that pass for Royal Unicorns can’t pull the thing loose. In any case, thought you might want to ask him some questions. We tried, but he isn’t saying a word. Nothing. Would almost think he was mute.” She turned to Olivia. “Your friend Geoffries is good police.”
“He is, isn’t he?” Olivia said, nodding once in satisfaction.
Miss Banks pawed through the bag. She withdrew a sheaf of muddy papers. The ink was smeared, and nothing was recognizable. She peered at them closely. “Maris…” She frowned. “Maris, are these the only papers you found?”
Maris walked to her side, looking over her arm at the pages. “I know they’re hard to read—”
“They shouldn’t be.” Em’s eyes were flinty. “My journals and so forth are in pen, yes. But my scientific papers, Maris, I always write in graphite.” She tore through the pages, which fluttered to the ground like a hoard of ghosts shot out of the sky. “There isn’t a single page with graphite!”
Olivia’s mouth twisted. “Oh, Gods,” she spat. “We’re bloody idiots. Please,” she begged, turning to Maris. “Please tell me that you and Geoffries didn’t let that train leave the station!”
Maris opened her mouth and closed it like a fish.
“Maris!” Emilia cried. “What were you thinking?”
“Now, listen, Em, we had the blighter in custody! Why would we hold up the train?”
Olivia groaned. “Well, fuck,” she spat. “Now what?”
aris slammed the door of the estate behind her, thunderclouds writ across her face. “Well,” she said, raising fisted hands as if she planned to fight with her own mistakes. “We got our courier to speak, finally. He says that a fat girl with braids and glasses paid him two hundred bloody royals to take that spiritcell of yours, put it in a woman’s bag, and stand in line for the train. Oh, and to not say anything to the police.” She smiled grimly. “We got over that last direction.”
Olivia directed her fist at the wall. Thankfully, she didn’t punch hard enough to break her knuckles on the raw wood, though she did wince and shake out her hand. “Well,” she growled. “We know who that is! Sister Margaret! Which is why Norwood was going to the post office at the same time she was there! I cannot believe that I missed that. Obvious, Olivia. Obvious.”
Miss Banks’s skin had turned the colour of parcel paper left in the sun too l
ong. “And the train is gone,” she said, shaking her head. “Which means that my notes are on their way into Garrett Albany’s hands right now. Bloody hells, Maris! If you had only just trusted me….”
“Does it change anything now?” Maris snapped at her.
“No, obviously—”
“Are you through with me because of it?”
Emilia blinked and then growled in frustration. “Don’t be absurd! I love you, you absolute—ugh! Stop being so melodramatic and help me fix this!” She turned on her heel and stalked off.
Maris started after her.
“Stop,” Olivia commanded. “Let her go.”
“But—”
“You need to mirror Darrington,” Olivia said. “Immediately. I hate that I don’t know her surname, but it’s a Sister Margaret, categorized N/A and recommended for the church, using falsified credentials to pass as Margaret McKenna, wildwhisperer. Short, fat, brown-haired and brown-eyed, with braids and specs and a Northern accent. Do not let her get off that train. This is our last chance to catch her before she gets those notes into the worst hands possible.”
“You shouldn’t just blockade the train station in Darrington.”
They all turned.
Rachel, pale and drawn, stood in the hallway. She swallowed. “I don’t know that name or that description. It’s possible she’s a traditionalist. Contact Vernella, too, in case she bypasses Darrington. She might try the Combses in the capital….”
“She’s not a traditionalist,” Olivia said, lips folded.
“I don’t recognize—”
“She’s working with Norwood, which makes her reformist.”
“You don’t know she’s working with Norwood!” Rachel shot back. “I—there’s Dayton Spencer to think about, too! Surely you all have heard that he’s an intimate of Avery Combs? If he was working under the same directive as Arthur was, it’s possible….”
Olivia opened her mouth to retort, and then shut it. She licked her lips. “It’s possible,” she allowed. “And that’s why we’re going to speak to Norwood to find out for sure. He’s been allowed to languish about in his room for far too long, now. For now,” she said, directing the words to Maris, “Darrington should be the focus. It’s two hours longer to Vernella, and we know that little tart is on the train, which means we know her exact timeline.”
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