The Thief on the Winged Horse

by Kate Mascarenhas

  They were approaching the door to the workroom, where Alastair was letting himself in. He’d regard such talk as seditious. Perhaps sensing as much, Larkin changed the subject. He said to let him know when she was closing up the shop, and he would leave with her. This struck her as official. He fell into step beside Alastair, discussing the work for the day ahead, and they parted ways from Persephone at the counter. She was hanging up her coat when Larkin doubled back to kiss her.

  “Go away,” she said. “I’m busy.”

  Which was true, but he laughed on his way to the paternoster, so he must know it was meant affectionately. She had a plan to implement. It was important to act quickly, while she was alone on the shop floor.

  First, Persephone removed, at random, twelve of Kendricks’ dolls from the shelves. She took them to the stockroom. Their absence wouldn’t be missed immediately: in the ordinary way of things, there were always more dolls than were available on the shop floor and they were displayed in rotation. But she did not take a replacement twelve dolls from the stores. Instead she returned to the counter and picked up the bag of her own dolls. She arranged them in the blank spaces that were around the room, and photographed them. Finally, she included the photos in the product list which she distributed, every week, to their collectors.

  She sat back. Without Alastair’s knowledge or support, she had become a Sorcerer. Her dolls were made; they were enchanted; and they were on sale. It was simpler than she had anticipated. She had done what was in her control, and could now only hope for a buyer before Alastair found out.

  38

  Conrad slept late the day after Briar was arrested – later, even, than he usually did. Hedwig barely slept at all, but it wouldn’t do to let Conrad see it. She brightened her appearance with judicious make-up in readiness for when he finally rang the bell for his morning tea.

  His mind, however, was not on her anyway.

  “We must discuss Persephone,” he said. “She should be summoned here right away, Hedwig – right away, I tell you! Do you believe she could possibly have been ignorant of Briar’s crime?”

  Hedwig did not; but if Conrad punished Persephone for knowing and saying nothing, Briar would surely be angry. And Hedwig feared an angry Briar was all the more likely to deny he acted alone.

  “I find it very possible that he acted without her knowledge,” Hedwig said. “They are barely on speaking terms these days.”

  “Hm.”

  “You’re right, undoubtedly, to raise the question of her innocence. I’m sure the Inspector will consider her involvement too. Perhaps we could leave her questioning to the police?”

  “No, I must speak to her myself – it’s imperative I do so. We can’t allow her to think she’s escaped my notice. That wouldn’t be proper leadership, Hedwig.”

  “I’ll telephone Kendricks now, and ask her to report as soon as she has finished for the day.”

  *

  Persephone arrived shortly before six, with Larkin, who hadn’t been invited to attend.

  “I doubt Conrad will let Larkin in with you,” Hedwig said, as the pair took their seats on the pew in the hall.

  “Larkin will wait for me,” Persephone said shortly. “I won’t be here long.”

  “Very well.” Hedwig also thought it best if the meeting were as swift as possible. And if Conrad did decide to be punitive, it would be as well to have two witnesses to Hedwig’s greater reasonableness. “Conrad will see you at the stroke of the clock. Would you like refreshments?”

  “I wasn’t expecting hospitality.”

  “Tea would be very nice,” Larkin added.

  Hedwig left them alone while she made tea in the kitchen. On her return she hovered in the doorway, observing them. Persephone was now sitting with her back to the pew’s armrest, her feet on the seat, her knees drawn up to her chin. One lace of her black boot trailed.

  “Have you ever worked with plastic?” Persephone was asking Larkin.

  “No, although I knew people at college who did, with 3D printing mainly.”

  “I wouldn’t know where to begin with that.”

  “Learning CAD, I expect. It’s a popular option for fashion dolls. Did you play with any fashion dolls when you were a child? The ones made by Pedigree or – what was the other one? – Hasbro.”

  They were just making shop talk in hushed voices, but Persephone slid her booted foot into Larkin’s lap, and he tied the lace for her, before running a single finger along her shin. The gesture made Hedwig feel like an intruder.

  “I only ever had dolls from Kendricks,” Persephone said. “I do remember seeing fashion dolls on TV adverts and being curious about them. They were so shiny and bright. Hedwig had some, I remember, but I’m older than her so I never asked if I could play with them – I would have been mortified – even though I wanted to.”

  “When I was eight I pinched a fashion doll from a doctor’s waiting room,” Larkin said.

  Persephone laughed. “You wanted one that badly?”

  “I guess so. My mother would never have bought me a girl’s toy – god, she would have been aghast. So I think I rather liked risking her disapproval. The doll had lost her clothes somewhere along the line. It frustrated me that she couldn’t stand up. The design had no stability at all. Every doll I’ve ever made could stand unsupported. But even though she wasn’t very functional I was fascinated with her. She was marked with felt tip scribbles in a few places. At the top of her legs the plastic had deformed slightly – I think it reacts with the air over time – and a previous owner had chewed the feet.”

  The clock struck six, giving Hedwig an entry point to interrupt.

  “It’s time to go in,” she said. She brought the tray to them, so Larkin could take his cup of tea. He moved his head in her direction without taking his eyes from Persephone. Sticky eyes, Hedwig’s mother had always called that.

  Hedwig backed into the drawing room door. Persephone followed.

  Inside, Conrad made an initial show of continuing to read the novel he had on his lap. He waited just long enough for the silence to become uncomfortable, then closed the book with his finger marking the page.

  “Be seated, niece,” he said.

  Persephone took the chair opposite.

  “Why did you provide an alibi for your father?” Conrad began.

  “I told the police the truth. But I did go to bed as soon as I came home from the party, and Dad must have taken advantage of that. He must have come back here while I was asleep.”

  “Convince me that you had nothing to do with the theft of the Paid Mourner.”

  “You’ve known me all my life,” Persephone said. “Have I ever indulged Dad in a vendetta?”

  “No, but even disapproving daughters don’t want their father to go to prison. Perhaps you didn’t aid him in the theft, but you aided him in its concealment.”

  “Normally, disapproving brothers don’t want their twin to go to prison either,” said Persephone coolly.

  Hedwig winced. Was Persephone confessing that she equalled Conrad in her antipathy towards Briar?

  “Touché,” Conrad said.

  Persephone smoothed the fabric of her skirt. “I don’t like him suffering. But the eyot will be better off without him.”

  Conrad chuckled – callously, in Hedwig’s view. “The cock will crow three times, eh?”

  “Yes, I’m very disloyal. I have been for weeks. Surely Hedwig explained I haven’t spoken to my father in some time?”

  “I have,” Hedwig said, glad of the opportunity to interject in Persephone’s support. “It is my firmly held belief that Briar acted alone.”

  Persephone rephrased her question to Conrad. “Why would I protect Dad from the police when we’re estranged?”

  “What caused the rift?” Conrad seized on the reference to discord between man and daughter. “Was it that you knew he was a criminal, and he compelled you to lie for him?”

  “No. He drank too much in the Tavern and when I suggested it was
time to go home, he punched me in the face.”

  Finally, Hedwig noted, Conrad looked sheepish.

  “So you say,” he replied, but his words lacked conviction. Persephone’s account was plausible in its simplicity.

  “Ask Larkin for confirmation,” she said. “He saw it happen.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” Conrad reopened his novel. “I’m sure the police can ask any questions of you that they need. You may continue to live and work on the eyot.”

  Persephone stood up to leave. “Thanks for your generosity.”

  He looked at her sharply. “Know I’ll be watching you for any signs of insubordination. Do you understand, Persephone Kendrick? If I see any sign that you have acted, or intend to act, against my interests then my generosity will come to an abrupt end.”

  “I understand perfectly.”

  Hedwig saw Persephone out, and Larkin with her. It was to be hoped that Persephone had taken in Conrad’s warning, and would obey it. For now Briar had nothing to respond to angrily in Conrad’s actions. That might change if Persephone failed to stay in line.

  *

  At Conrad’s behest, Hedwig was to visit the houses of the eyot to inform people that the Paid Mourner would imminently be released by the police. Alastair topped the list. As the Head Sorcerer, he was always the first to be notified of any events.

  He lived in the second biggest house after Conrad’s, though its style differed in keeping with its later date. While the façade of Conrad’s house was relatively plain, Alastair’s displayed some Regency flourishes, including wrought iron railings beneath every window. Hedwig was just opening the garden gate when she saw a figure vault over the railings on the ground floor.

  Hedwig fell to her knees in horror. The figure wore a Volto Larva mask, and was running towards her. She shielded her head.

  “Sara!” shouted a voice from the doorway. Rieko’s voice.

  Daring to look up again, Hedwig saw Rieko stride across the garden, and rip the mask away from the figure. This was no thief; a child stood there unmasked. Alastair and Rieko’s daughter, Sara, no more than ten years old. The mask had thrown Hedwig into such immediate panic she had failed to distinguish a small girl from a grown man.

  “Where did you get this?” Rieko was demanding.

  Sara shrugged. “I found it in the mud, near the quince orchard.”

  “Briar must have dropped it there,” Hedwig supplied. “On the night the Paid Mourner was taken.”

  Unsteadily, she rose and dusted the soil from her knees.

  “I’m sorry, Hedwig,” Rieko said. “You look terribly shocked. Will you come in for a cup of tea?”

  “No.” Hedwig shook her head. Sara was looking at the ground, guilty for the effect her dressing up had wreaked. “I was just coming with a message from Conrad to Alastair. The doll will likely be released by the police in the next few days. We will be hosting a party to welcome her, and Alastair’s presence will be required.”

  “That’s good news,” Rieko said politely. “I will let him know.”

  The mask was still in her hand. She took it back into the house, Sara following with a glance back over her shoulder.

  39

  Two of Persephone’s dolls sold through the shop within a day of the updated list going out. Although she was initially tempted to substitute another two of her own to the catalogue, she didn’t want to push her luck. She put one of Alastair’s dolls, and one of Dennis’s pieces out instead. In the meantime, she intended to infiltrate some of the other Sorcerers’ duties.

  In addition to making dolls from scratch, the Sorcerers helped restore private collections, some of which dated back to Lucy Kendrick’s days. One of their repeat customers – Julian Brown, a softly spoken man with broken thread veins across his nose – had called into the shop for this reason.

  He placed a cherrywood box upon the counter. It was about five inches square. Marquetry spelt out the name Kendricks across the side, and the top was decorated with a swirling circular pattern.

  “I picked it up for a song because the box no longer opens,” he said. “The wood must have swelled. But listen—”

  He tilted the box, and Persephone heard the contents softly hit the sides.

  “Logic would suggest those are dolls in there,” he said. “Given the provenance of the box.”

  “Probably not a good idea to shake them,” Persephone cautioned.

  He shot her an exasperated look. “Could I speak to one of the Sorcerers directly?”

  She shrugged, then telephoned up to the top floor. Dennis said he would come down. While they waited, Persephone told Mr Brown: “If the contents are enchanted, it’s not strong enough to detect the enchantment through the box. That tells us something about the materials. If the dolls were iron, we’d feel the enchantment clearly when we touch the lid. If they were wood, we’d pick up a weak sense of their enchantment. I’m betting they’re made from cloth.”

  “How long will Dennis be?” Mr Brown persisted.

  At that moment she heard Dennis hop off the paternoster.

  “Julian,” he greeted their customer. “What do we have here?”

  “That’s what I’m hoping you’ll help with. You must have the tools to open an old box of yours without damaging it? Whatever’s inside may need restoring, too.”

  “I’ll see what we can do. From the lettering on the box, I’d guess it’s from 1920 at the very latest. Might be as early as 1900. There’s probably a date on the inside of the lid. As for the dolls – bit hard to quote for repairs, when we don’t know the extent of their wear and tear, or even what they’re made from.”

  “I have some thoughts on that. You see the enchantment isn’t detectable through the box. So they can’t be iron, or even wood. They’re probably cotton.”

  “Mr Brown, wherever did you get that nugget of information?” asked Persephone.

  The two men ignored her.

  “That’s right enough,” Dennis said. “I’ll tot you up an estimate now, based on a cotton doll, and we can revise it if need be once we’ve had sight of the blighters. Fair warning – we’ve got a backlog, so I won’t get to look at it until well into the New Year.”

  Persephone took out her sketchpad from below the counter. She had taken to drawing the dolls she planned to make during quiet periods in the shop, and it was clear that her input wasn’t currently required by Julian Brown or Dennis. As the estimate was written up, and accepted, she grew more absorbed in her work. She was startled to hear the shop bell ring when Mr Brown departed.

  “File this, would you, Seph,” Dennis said, passing her his copy of the quote.

  She slid it onto her pad, but not before the underlying pencil sketch caught Dennis’s eye.

  “Very pretty,” he said. “Nice that you’ve got a hobby.”

  Persephone put the pad under the counter. “My work’s getting better all the time.”

  “Hm. I heard you’d got a bit upset with Alastair, over the dolls you’d brought in. I wouldn’t take him to heart, love. It’s his job to be picky about quality control, but there’s nothing to stop you doing whatever you like as a pastime.”

  “It’s Alastair’s loss,” Persephone said, although she’d always thought it’s his loss was a hollow saying. Clearly she was the person most negatively affected by Alastair’s decision. It was nothing to him; he could continue in unchallenged mediocrity. But she thought of her two sales, and she allowed herself a satisfied smile.

  “That’s the spirit.” Dennis hesitated. “And everything’s all right, you know, since the Paid Mourner turned up?”

  “I haven’t spoken to my father yet, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  “No. Understandable. Are you moving back into his cottage? You’d have it to yourself.”

  “That assumes he’s not coming back.”

  Dennis looked uncomfortable. “I just thought you’d be more at home there. Can’t be much fun, living out of one room at the Tavern.”

  �
��I’ve settled in very nicely.”

  “Yes. I’d noticed you and Larkin get on.”

  Persephone picked up the estimate, and headed for the wooden filing cabinets at the back of the shop. While her back was turned, Dennis said: “You will be careful, won’t you?”

  “Dennis – don’t.” The last thing Persephone wanted was a birds and bees talk from her ageing godfather.

  “Don’t be smutty. I don’t mean like that. I mean be careful what you discuss with him.”

  She pretended to be leafing through the alphabetised tabs. “What do you mean?”

  “Our sorcery. He wants it, Seph, and Conrad says he can’t have it. Not yet. Don’t let him wheedle anything out of you.”

  Persephone turned back round to face him. “Do you think I’d reveal everything just because he drops a pretty compliment?”

  She’d drive a much harder bargain than that.

  “I mean nothing of the sort,” Dennis said. “You’re a sensible girl. But you’re also human.”

  “Thanks for the advice,” she said. “I’ll bear it in mind.”

  “And it’d be a shame if Conrad ended up punishing you, as well as Larkin, for any infringement.”

  The phone rang, and Persephone gladly picked it up. It was only a recorded sales call, but she faked her side of a conversation in the likelihood Dennis would return to his workbench. He did so, taking the cherrywood box with him.

  As soon as she heard his foot on the paternoster, she put the receiver down. The filing cabinet drawer was still open with the estimate resting on the top. Force of habit prompted her to check the figures before putting it away. The total was incorrect; it was a hundred pounds too low.

  Sighing with exasperation, she followed Dennis into the paternoster, taking the estimate with her. At the top he was nowhere to be seen.

  “Where’s Dennis?” she asked Alastair, who was at his own workbench with a paintbrush in his mouth. He didn’t answer, but merely nodded in the direction of the storeroom.