The Ink Master's Silence: Glass and Steele, #6

by C. J. Archer

  "No one has harmed me in Matt's presence. He can take care of us both."

  "Even so, it only proves to me he does not care for you. Of course, I comprehended the situation after reading the announcement of his engagement, but before that…" His lips flattened. "I thought you were more than Mr. Glass's assistant, but I am happy to be wrong." He took my hand in both of his. I was so shocked, I didn't pull away at first. "I know you perhaps have some lingering feelings for him, but, if I may be so bold, I ask you to be careful. Don't follow him blindly. He doesn't care for you. Not enough."

  I snatched my hand away. "Do not presume, Inspector. You don't know the full story." I strode off to the carriage, not waiting for Matt.

  He climbed in after me. "What did he want?"

  "To urge me not to blindly follow you into dangerous situations."

  "Is that all?"

  "All?" I echoed. "What were you expecting him to say?"

  "I thought he'd invite you to the theater." The corner of his mouth lifted in a wry smile. "It seems I don't have to worry too much, after all."

  "About Brockwell?" I smiled, despite myself. "No, you don't need to worry about him."

  "I admit I grew even more worried when he called you sensible. What woman can resist a man who showers her with compliments of that caliber?"

  I fluttered my eyelashes. "You should take a leaf out of the inspector's book, Matt. He does know how to treat a lady."

  "Is that so? Do I have to challenge him to a duel to win your hand?"

  "It'll come as quite a surprise if you do. He thinks you're marrying Patience and that I am merely your assistant."

  His smile slipped and the shutters came down. He turned to look out the window. I swallowed hard and looked the other way.

  Chapter 11

  Matt didn't join me for luncheon so I went looking for him. I had a niggling concern that he would heed Brockwell's warning and leave me out of the investigation. I eventually found him mucking out one of the stable stalls. Duke sat on a bale of hay not far away, his booted foot propped up on a water trough. Cyclops leaned against a wall, his ankles and arms crossed.

  "Where's the stable boy?" I asked, checking the second stall. Both horses shared it while Matt cleaned out the other.

  He straightened and leaned on the broom. He looked far too handsome for his own good, dressed in a working man's trousers, his shirt open at the collar with the sleeves rolled up. Sweat dampened his brow and made the shirt cling to his muscular frame. I eventually dragged my gaze up to his face, only to find a wicked gleam in his eye as he watched me.

  "You look hot, India," he said. "Perhaps you should take a seat."

  "It is rather warm in here."

  Duke shifted aside, and I sat on the hay bale next to him.

  "The stable boy came down with a fever," Matt said, returning to his chore.

  "We were about to help," Duke said.

  "After we eat," Cyclops added.

  "And give him our report." Duke cleared his throat. "I've just come from Hendry's paper shop. Willie's still watching him in case he gets more visitors."

  "More?" Matt prompted, once again pausing. "Customers?"

  "I don't think so. Ordinary customers came and went, but these two separate callers received special treatment. He escorted them to the door when it came time for them to leave. He was angry with 'em. His first caller was a man. Hendry called him Professor."

  "Nash!" I said. "How intriguing. And his other visitor?"

  "I thought she was just a customer when I saw her carriage pull up," Duke went on. "I took no notice of her until she left and Hendry slammed the door in her face."

  "Did he call her by name?" Matt asked.

  "No, but her carriage had this symbol painted on the door." He plucked a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to me.

  "It's Rotherby Bank's symbol," I said, studying Duke's drawing of a hawk's head in profile surrounded by a wreath of leaves.

  "Delancey's bank," Matt said. "Hendry's caller must have been Mrs. Delancey. You say he argued with her?"

  "Not argued, just made sure she left his shop and scowled a lot. That man's angry, Matt. He's real angry."

  I folded up the piece of paper. "So would you be if you lost friends over Oscar's articles. I consider myself fortunate that I have good friends who look beyond my magic."

  Cyclops pushed off from the wall and hefted a bale of hay in his arms. "If his friends are scared of him now, they weren't never his friends in the first place."

  "Amen." Duke nudged me with his elbow. "You're the sweetest thing there is, India. Besides, I come from a country where women like Willie carry guns. That's something to be scared of."

  I laughed.

  "Want me to continue watching Cox today?" Cyclops asked, depositing the bale at the other end of the stables.

  Matt shook his head. "There's no point anymore. If Coyle really did have something on him, it must be so deeply buried that we won't be able to uncover it within the week. Besides, now that we've made our decision to leave, I find I don't care as much." He shot me a small, secret smile.

  I returned it as best as I could, despite the lump forming in my throat.

  "Go on, Matt," Duke said, rising. "Me and Cyclops will finish up here. You got to clean up and go interrogate Nash and Mrs. Delancey."

  Matt passed him the broom. "What about your lunch?"

  "This won't take long." He looked around at the almost clean stall. "If you didn't get distracted so easy, you'd be done by now."

  Matt clapped him on the shoulder as he passed then held out his hand to me, only to retract it. He headed for the door.

  I sprang up and hurried after him. "You're not going without me, are you?"

  "I wouldn't dream of it." He wiped his hand on a rag hanging from a hook by the door and smirked.

  "I'm going to take Gabe's suggestion and have my aunt assessed by a doctor specializing in the mind," Matt said as we drove to the university.

  "You're that worried about her?" I asked.

  "I want to know if she's fit to travel."

  "Oh. You want to take her with us."

  "I've decided I can't leave her here. Even if she lives in my house, my uncle will find a way to make her miserable. He can't be trusted now, but when I abandon Patience, he'll be furious. He'll take out his anger on Aunt Letitia. Besides, even with a companion, she'll be lonely."

  He had a point about his uncle's revenge. Miss Glass would make an easy target without Matt's protection. "I agree. We have to take her with us, if she can accept our relationship. But she might not like leaving her friends, her home and everything she knows. It'll be hard to say goodbye." I turned to the window, tears burning my eyes.

  "Or she might see it as the adventure she was always meant to have. She regrets not going with my father all those years ago. I want her to have that— India?" He swapped seats to sit beside me and took my hand. "Why are you crying?"

  "I'm not." I wasn't crying. My tears hadn't spilled, but he'd seen them welling nevertheless.

  "If you really don't want her to come, I won't ask her."

  "It's not that. I'm in favor of her coming with us."

  He touched my jaw, forcing me to look at him. "Then what is it?"

  "It's nothing. Just some nerves. They'll fade once we begin our journey." I sucked in a deep breath and gave him a crooked smile, the best I could manage. "I just want to be with you, Matt. I don't care where that is."

  He cupped my cheek and kissed me with an aching tenderness that didn't help banish the tears.

  Professor Nash's lecture was attended by ten students, half of whom were female. In a university where most of the students were men, having half an audience of women was quite a feat, even if the total number was small. Indeed, calling the gathering a lecture was a stretch. The large lecture halls we'd passed had been filled with the more popular medical science topics. We'd had to ask for directions from several students and staff members before locating Nash in the dra
fty room at the back of the campus.

  We listened to him for a few moments before he saw us. He spoke eloquently and enthusiastically on the life of a particular French king, capturing the attention of his students. They hung on his every word, as if he were giving them answers to life's eternal questions. He was different in almost every way to the man we'd met in his gloomy room. He became animated as he strode around the room like an actor on the stage, flinging his arms wide to illustrate a point or lowering his voice at a crucial moment, making it necessary for his students to lean closer to hear. They were transfixed, and many jumped when he slapped his hand on the desk to punctuate the end of his story.

  They applauded him then gathered their belongings to leave, albeit reluctantly. Three young women remained behind after the others left, but he dismissed them when he spotted Matt and me.

  "His enthusiasm is refreshing," one of them gushed as she filed past us.

  "He's so passionate," her friend said.

  The third glanced back and waved at him. He waved back, smiling.

  "Your students seemed to enjoy your lecture, Professor," I said.

  "I try to make it interesting. History is fascinating and rich with powerful stories that we can learn from. It's my duty to pass those stories on to the next generation. I'm only glad the current crop of students seem to think history is a worthwhile subject to spend their time learning. I think they take something away from my lectures."

  "Going by their blushes, I'd say so," Matt said, closing the door.

  "Blushes?"

  "Nothing," I cut in. "We're here to ask you about your visit to Mr. Hendry, the paper maker, earlier today."

  "How do you know I was there?"

  I left that question for Matt to field, but he answered with a question of his own instead. "Did he ask you to call on him?"

  "No." Nash sat on one of the front row chairs. "I decided to ask him about his magic." He held up his hands in surrender. "I know, perhaps I shouldn't have, but I couldn't help myself. I wanted to know more about his magic, and I thought he might be curious about the history of the art."

  "And how did it go?" Matt asked.

  "If you've been spying on me, then you already know. He ordered me to leave. He didn't tell me a single thing about himself or his spells, and he didn't want to know about magic history." He shook his head. "Such a shame. If magicians lose connection with the past, all those wonderful stories will be gone within a generation. Their spells too."

  "Some of the stories aren't so wonderful," I said. "Villages flooding after rivers flow off the map, for example."

  "On the contrary, Miss Steele. It is wonderful in its Biblical grandness. Not to mention that the story itself serves as a warning about the misuse of magic. That alone means it’s worth remembering."

  He had a point.

  "What did you plan to do if he told you about his magic?" Matt asked.

  "Make notes," the professor said. "If magic ever becomes accepted by the artless, I plan to write a book. If Hendry had some anecdotes about magic, I would have asked his permission to include them."

  "How would he know any stories when magic is all but forgotten except by scholars like yourself?" I asked.

  "It's not unreasonable to think some stories have passed down through families."

  Such as the story of maps coming to life; Mr. Gibbons, the magician cartographer, had once told it to me. The professor was right, and it was very likely more stories were known. It was only a matter of time before they were dug up and published.

  "Hendry was very rude." Nash sounded put out. "I'd hardly told him my reason for being there when he shouted at me and ordered me out."

  "He's been under some pressure lately," I said.

  "That's no excuse. I could have been a friend to him. We both have an interest in magic, after all."

  "No, Professor," Matt said. "You have an interest in magic. He is a magician. One does not equal the other."

  We left him contemplating that and made our way to the Delanceys' house. We were about to alight from the carriage when we spotted Isaac Barratt hurrying down the front steps. He pulled his hat low over his eyes and bent his head into the wind. He did not see us.

  Matt opened the window to ask the driver to follow him at a distance. When Isaac caught a hansom, Matt urged the driver not to lose it.

  I clutched the hand strap by the door and braced myself as we drove at a brisk clip. Our larger coach had difficulty navigating the busy roads where the smaller, lighter hansom easily dodged the mid-afternoon traffic. We managed to keep up, however, at the expense of my nerves, and stopped outside Brown's Hotel in Albermarle Street, Mayfair.

  I smiled as Matt assisted me from the carriage.

  "This place brings back fond memories," he said, looking up at the impressive colonnaded facade, the gold lettering above the door, and the elegant balconies. "Do you remember?"

  "As if it were yesterday."

  I'd never tasted tea as refreshing as that served in Brown's restaurant, and never had such interesting company as the stranger sitting opposite me, looking as delicious as the food. The stranger I'd quickly fallen in love with and who now loved me back.

  My grip tightened around his arm. "Imagine if I had never agreed to help direct you to London's watchmakers that day."

  "It doesn't bear thinking about."

  We spotted Isaac entering the hotel. The porter greeted him by name and Isaac walked straight past the front reception desk. He wasn't visiting someone else; he was staying at the hotel.

  Matt hailed Isaac before he reached the staircase.

  Isaac groaned. "Come to arrest me?"

  "We are not the police," Matt said.

  "Then I have nothing to say to you."

  "We are working closely with them, however."

  "I don't have time for this." He went to walk away, but Matt stepped in front of him.

  "We are trying to help your brother," I said. "Someone is threatening him. They possibly tried to kill him."

  Isaac snorted. "He's being overly dramatic, as usual."

  "We've seen the letters," I shot back. "They are very real. Your brother's concern is very real."

  He threw his hands in the air. "What did he expect would happen by writing those articles? That people would pat him on the back? That magicians and artless craftsmen alike would congratulate him?"

  "Naivety isn't a reason to abandon him now, when he needs you the most."

  "You say naivety, I say stupidity and impetuousness." Isaac huffed out a bitter laugh. "It wouldn't surprise me if he wrote those articles purely to spite me. He has detested me ever since… Well, for some time. He'd like nothing more than to ruin me."

  His nastiness rendered me speechlessness. I would have loved a sibling, and I couldn't imagine ever clashing with a family member so badly that I wound up hating them. Yet the rift between these two seemed so wide it would be almost impossible to bridge.

  Isaac tugged on his cuffs and eyed the staircase behind Matt. "Oscar should have realized this would happen. It's his own fault he attracted such animosity."

  "What's done is done," Matt said.

  "A retraction could still be printed."

  "You know Oscar better than anyone," I said. "Do you think he'd print a retraction?"

  Isaac grunted. "No, Miss Steele, I do not. He's far too stubborn to admit he made a mistake."

  "Not everyone thinks those articles are a mistake."

  Matt's gaze bored into me.

  "Not you too," Isaac said on a groan. "Look, Miss Steele, you clearly don't understand the implications because you were not named. My brother told the world what he is, and so everyone now assumes that I am an ink magician too."

  "You should be proud that you are."

  He tugged on his cuffs again, drawing Matt's attention to them. "My suppliers are abandoning me out of sympathy for artless ink manufacturers. Some customers are canceling their orders, scared of what magic ink will do, as if it will grow tentacl
es and eat them alive or some such nonsense. More will follow."

  "Those who want quality ink will flock to you."

  "Will it be enough to replace the publishers who flee? I doubt it. The Stationers’ Guild is already running a campaign against me. They have a lot of members here in London. I'll be ruined."

  "Is that all you care about? Your business?"

  He squared up to me. "Without my business, I lose everything. Think on that for a moment, Miss Steele. You clearly have an alternative way of making a living, as does Oscar. Most magicians do not. I do not."

  He was right, and I couldn't blame him for being worried. Oscar and I had no right to dismiss his concerns. "I am not unsympathetic," I said.

  "Then don't side with my brother or you soon will be."

  "That's enough," Matt said quietly. "We didn't come here to argue with you."

  "Then why are you here?"

  A couple passed us coming down the stairs, halting our conversation. Matt indicated a cluster of armchairs off to one side in the large foyer, but Isaac refused to move.

  "Step aside, please, Glass," he said. "I'm busy."

  "Not until you tell us why you were at the Delancey residence," Matt said.

  Isaac went very still. "I don't have to tell you that."

  "Then we can assume you're guilty of something."

  "From a visit?" He moved to the side and paused, expecting Matt to block his way again. When he didn't, Isaac passed him and trotted up the stairs.

  "I do not like that man," I said, watching him go.

  Matt indicated I should walk with him back through the foyer. "He and his brother make quite the pair."

  "Oscar is not so bad."

  "You only say that because he flirts with you and Isaac doesn't."

  I laughed but he did not.

  We drove the short distance back to the Delanceys' house only to be informed by the butler that Mr. Delancey was not at home. Mrs. Delancey was available to receive us in the drawing room, however.