Chapter 10
I thumped Willie to wake her, then cut her off mid-grumble. “Thurlow’s coming.”
She shot to her feet, sending her hat tumbling to the veranda floor. She pushed back the flap of her jacket to reveal the gun tucked into the waistband of her trousers. “Turn around and walk away, Thurlow, and I won’t shoot you.”
Thurlow’s condescending smile was all crooked teeth vying for space in his mouth. Both of his men laughed, while the two bodyguards revealed their own weapons. Willie’s fingers twitched.
Thurlow bent to pick up her hat then approached her cautiously, hat extended, as if she were a dangerous creature. Once she’d snatched it off him, he stepped back, hands in the air. “Don’t startle the wildcat, gentlemen.”
The men chuckled.
Willie slapped the hat back on her head. “They ain’t gen’lemen. Neither are you. What do you want, Thurlow?”
“I simply want to say hello to the lovely Miss Ashe.” Thurlow turned his smile on me. “May I say you look as pretty as ever. That dress is very fetching on you.”
Willie made a sound of disgust in her throat.
“Thank you,” I mumbled. Too many years of having manners drilled into me meant I couldn’t ignore a compliment, even from him.
“I’ve been weighing up whether to call on you at the library,” he went on.
“Lucky you didn’t,” Willie said. “Gabe doesn’t want you anywhere near her. Or any of his friends.”
“He doesn’t own Miss Ashe. She has a will of her own and a clever mind. Not to mention a classic beauty that— Ah! The man himself.”
Gabe joined us, fists clenched at his sides, his body rigid with barely contained fury. Alex was just as tense, but his wary gaze was on Gabe. He was more worried about Gabe’s anger boiling over, than Thurlow causing harm. Epsom might be the preferred territory for his gambling operation, but if Thurlow caused a scene on the pavilion veranda, he’d draw unwanted attention to himself. Here, there were other people’s rules to play by.
“Step aside,” Gabe snarled.
Thurlow hesitated before doing as instructed. He removed his hat and gave me a shallow bow as I passed him. Gabe stayed at my side, ensuring Thurlow didn’t get too close.
I stopped on the first step, however, after a brief internal debate. In the end, my curiosity won over my apprehension. “How do you know the Hobsons?”
I felt Gabe’s gaze on me, but I focused solely on Thurlow. I would explain to Gabe later.
Thurlow’s response was smooth, prepared. “I had business to conduct with them. They chose to meet me here.”
“What sort of business?”
“I wish I could tell you, but I’m afraid our agreement depends on confidentiality.”
“Who introduced you?” Gabe snapped.
“I don’t recall.” Thurlow pointed his hat at me. “I do recall your name coming up, Miss Ashe. My, my, you’ve made an enemy there. I’d be careful if I were you.”
“Ivy isn’t vengeful,” Gabe said.
“Not Miss Hobson. I’m referring to her mother. Mrs. Hobson couldn’t mention Miss Ashe’s name without spitting with rage.”
“Why were you discussing Sylvia with them?”
The gold rings on Thurlow’s fingers flashed in the sunlight as he waved a hand in dismissal. “Her name came up in passing.”
Gabe looked like he wanted to press further, so I touched his hand to get his attention then trotted down the steps. He followed, with Alex and Willie bringing up the rear.
No one spoke until we were out of earshot.
“Why the Hobson women ?” Alex asked.
“Why not the women?” Willie shot back. “They’re capable of doing business with pigswill just as much as men.”
“The women in that family are more intelligent than the men,” Gabe said. “But I can’t think of a reason for them to be talking to Thurlow.”
“They didn’t look happy about the meeting,” I said. “If I had to guess, I’d say they didn’t want to be here.”
“Nobody wants to speak to Thurlow unless they have to,” Willie said. “He looks and smells like he crawled out of the sewer.”
Alex nudged her with his elbow. “What’s your opinion? Did Ivy and Mrs. Hobson seem angry to you? Annoyed? Scared?”
Willie sniffed, then wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “I agree with Sylvia.” She glared at me in warning to ensure I didn’t tell them she was asleep.
We passed through the main gate and headed for the Vauxhall. Gabe looked a little distracted as we approached the motorcar. “I’ll pay them a call and ask?—”
“You will not,” Alex growled. “Ivy is no longer your responsibility.”
Willie agreed. “She and her mother are capable of taking care of their own business. They don’t need you, Gabe.”
He glared at them both across the vehicle before asking me for an opinion. “Why do you think they were speaking to Thurlow?”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to tell him. He might not like it.
He frowned. “Sylvia? What is it?”
“If you have an opinion, you have to tell us,” Willie said. “We can’t afford to be in the dark with Thurlow. It gives him an advantage.”
“I may be wrong,” I began. “It’s just a theory.”
Gabe urged me on with a nod. “I want to hear it anyway. You have good insights.”
“Thurlow was warning me. There must be a reason for that warning.”
He cast a look towards the main gate, as if he wanted to march back into the racecourse and force Thurlow to answer his questions. “Such as?”
“Mrs. Hobson has been making enquiries about me, not just with Hope, but with other ladies, too. That in itself isn’t that strange, but there’s more. My last encounter with Ivy was odd. Looking back, she seemed to be fishing for information about me. At the time, I thought she was making conversation, but the questions she was asking weren’t ones you’d ask a mere acquaintance.”
“What sort of questions?”
“She wanted to know where I used to live. I mentioned Birmingham, but not the other cities. She even asked me about my father, although she already seemed to know I’d grown up without one.”
“Definitely fishing,” Alex said. “Those are the sorts of questions you ask someone when you want to look up publicly available records. You have to know where they were born to find the birth records, which will have parents’ names listed. It’s the first step any private investigator takes when looking into someone’s background. The Hobsons must have hired Thurlow to investigate you, Sylvia, but he felt compelled to warn you because—” Alex glanced at Gabe. “I don’t know why.”
Gabe wasn’t convinced. “Why hire a man like Thurlow when a private detective could do the same thing and be easier to control? Hiring Thurlow to investigate Sylvia’s background is like using a drill to make a pin hole in fabric.”
He waited until I was seated in the motorcar then closed the door. He placed both hands on it. With the Vauxhall’s top down, he was able to lean inside. “I’m sorry.”
I frowned. “Why? This isn’t your fault.”
“I brought Ivy and Mrs. Hobson’s ire down on you.”
“You weren’t to know they’d stoop to something like this.”
He didn’t seem to hear me. “I should have handled the breakup better and kept you well out of it. Mrs. Hobson obviously still thinks you were the reason for it, despite me telling her and Ivy otherwise.”
I placed my hands over his. “Gabe.”
He slipped free and took his place behind the steering wheel while Alex cranked the engine.
Beside me, Willie was surprisingly silent. Perhaps she wasn’t as unsympathetic as she pretended to be. Or perhaps she was relieved he was pushing me away and knew there was no need to pipe up.
I ought to be relieved too. After our kiss at the Buttonhole, I’d decided to keep him at arm’s length to keep him safe, so it was hypocritical of me to suggest he didn’t need to keep me safe now that our positions were reversed.
But I was not relieved. I hated the distance widening between us. I hated that I might never have the opportunity to touch him or kiss him or simply to talk to him again. He’d become a very dear friend, and more. Cutting him out of my life was going to be painful. But it was a pain I had to endure, for his sake.
Since the stables where Mr. Arlington trained a number of horses for wealthy owners wasn’t far from the Epsom Downs racetrack, we went there first. We drove past the gated driveway to the main house, which we couldn’t see from the road, and instead followed the signs to the Yew Tree Lodge training facility. The gravel drive led us to a U-shaped stable block surrounding a courtyard. There were at least twenty stalls, all with the top half of the doors opened for air. Behind the closed doors at one end must be the tack room, feed rooms, and staff areas.
The heads of the more curious horses appeared at the sound of our tires crunching on the gravel. Our arrival also caught the attention of several of the staff, two of whom welcomed us with friendly smiles. Given the Vauxhall Prince Henry was an expensive motorcar, they must think Gabe was a wealthy racehorse owner in need of a trainer.
Gabe didn’t give them our credentials or mention the reason for our visit. He asked to speak to Mr. Arlington. A stable hand led us to a fenced ring where a horse was being put through its paces while two men and a woman watched on. In the distance, two more horses grazed in a field, and beyond it was a wooded area. After the bustle of the city, it felt peaceful. It made me realize how taxing the previous weeks had been since Gabe’s stabbing at Rosebank Gardens hospital.
As we drew closer, it was clear that Mr. Arlington must be the elder of the two gentlemen. The other was middle-aged, as was the woman. She wore clothes similar to that worn by the women who worked in the land army during the war—a belted tunic with deep pockets, brown jodhpurs, and long sturdy boots.
Gabe extended his hand. “Mr. Arlington? My name is Gabriel Glass and this is Alex Bailey. We’re consultants for Scotland Yard, specializing in magical investigations. These are our associates, Willie Johnson and Miss Sylvia Ashe.”
Mr. Arlington greeted each of us amiably, his curiosity imprinted on his weathered features. The white of his hair, moustache, boater and light summer sports jacket contrasted with his tanned skin and the jade-green neckerchief he wore. He introduced us to the others—his daughter and son-in-law, Mr. and Mrs. Syme. “I train thoroughbreds, Mr. Glass. How may I be of assistance with a magical investigation?”
“You once employed a groom named Arthur Cody. Do you remember him?”
Mr. Arlington shook his head then referred to the Symes. “Do either of you?”
Mr. Syme nodded. “I do. He worked here for a number of years until his arrest.”
“ That fellow. I’d forgotten his name. He was a cocaine addict.”
“He imported and sold cocaine,” Mr. Syme corrected him.
“You’ve worked here a while?” Gabe asked the younger man.
“Since I was twenty. That’s how we met.” He nodded at his wife.
If I had to guess, I’d put her age at about five years more than his. There was an earthiness about her that reminded me of Willie. She wore no makeup, her hairstyle was simple, her clothes practical. Like her father, her face bore signs of years in the outdoors. Her husband was just as practically dressed, with his trousers legs tucked into long boots and shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows. He’d folded his jacket over the fence and loosened his tie. He seemed annoyed by our questions, or perhaps he was annoyed that we were taking him away from his work. The groom leading the horse through its paces in the ring had stopped while we talked.
“Before you ask,” Mr. Syme went on, “I had no idea Cody was involved in the cocaine trade until his arrest. I can also categorically say that he didn’t dope any of our horses.”
“Mr. Glass didn’t suggest that he did,” his wife pointed out.
“He was about to.”
“Do you know any of Arthur Cody’s associates?” Gabe asked.
They looked at each other, but it was Mr. Arlington who answered. “He was probably friendly with the other grooms. That doesn’t mean they were involved in his sideline, I must stress.”
“The police spoke to all of the grooms, as well as the family, at the time of Cody’s arrest,” Mr. Syme said. “If there was any doubt about our involvement, someone would have been arrested, but no one was. You can check with your Scotland Yard colleagues if you don’t believe me.”
“No need,” Alex said. “I was one of the officers who arrested Cody at Epsom Downs.”
“There you have it. I’m sure your team did a thorough job and would have arrested everyone involved.”
“What about Cody’s family?” Gabe pressed.
Mr. Syme shrugged. “I don’t recall if he had any.”
“Do you know if he associated with any bookmakers?”
Mr. Arlington puffed out his chest. “No one from Arlingtons is allowed to associate with bookmakers, whether they’re grooms, trainers, or family. We’re an honest business, and any suggestion otherwise is slanderous.”
Mr. and Mrs. Syme drew closer to Mr. Arlington, flanking him. Closing ranks? Or were they simply offended on his behalf?
Gabe apologized. “Sometimes we have to ask difficult questions. I’m sorry to have caused offence.”
Mr. Arlington nodded, although he remained stiff, the amiability gone. His tone was curt as he said, “It’s no secret that corruption is rife in our industry, but I get offended when outsiders think all of us are cheats. We pride ourselves on honesty here. That’s why the arrest of that fellow came as such a shock. Rumors swirled around the tracks at the time that he was doping our horses, but I can assure you that’s not the case. Ask our veterinarian, if you like. Mr. Wellington is a strident opponent of doping. He’d tell you if there were ever any signs that our horses were given cocaine before races.”
“He didn’t work for us when Cody was here,” Mrs. Syme added, her tone calmer than her father’s. “Even so, he wouldn’t have accepted us as a client if he thought we’d ever doped our horses. He’s vehemently opposed to any form of cruelty towards them. I can fetch the address and telephone number of his practice, if you want to ask him yourself.”
“It’s all right,” Gabe said. “We met him earlier.”
Had the vet telephoned Mr. Arlington to warn him we might question him about his former employee?
I didn’t think he had. Mr. Arlington and the Symes seemed genuinely surprised to see us, as well as offended that we asked questions about their prior knowledge of Arthur Cody’s doping. I’d also believed Mr. Wellington when he spoke about the cruelty of the practice. The thought of harming horses was clearly abhorrent to him.
Mr. Arlington narrowed his gaze at Gabe. “Goreman sent you here, didn’t he?”
“Father,” Mrs. Syme chided.
“He’s the one who told you Cody worked here. Admit it! It was that dog, wasn’t it?”
“Does it matter?” Mr. Syme asked his father-in-law. “Arthur Cody did work here.”
“Goreman can’t be trusted!”
Mr. Syme clasped Mr. Arlington’s shoulder. “If it comes to another investigation, we’ll prove our innocence again. We have nothing to hide.”
Mr. Arlington grunted and turned his back on us. He barked orders at the groom studying his fingernails as he stood beside the horse.
Mr. Syme exchanged glances with his wife.
She invited us to walk with her back to the stables, but waited until we were out of earshot of the others before speaking. “My father gets upset about the topic of doping. We had to put up with the rumors swirling about us being in league with Arthur Cody after his arrest. It took a toll on my father.”
“On all of you, I’m sure,” I said.
“It was a strain. My mother had died a year before that business; without her anchoring him, my father wasn’t the same. It was the beginning of the end, really. He has relied on my husband and me more and more ever since. We run the business now. My husband is an excellent trainer, and I take care of the administrative side of things.”
“It’s just the two of you in the family?” Alex asked.
“We have a twelve-year-old son. He’s a delight to my father. He spoils him dreadfully when he comes home for the holidays.” She smiled. “The benefit and curse of being the only grandchild.”
“When did you say your husband started working here?” Gabe asked.
“In 1890. He’s a remarkable man. He used to be a groom, but he had such a rapport with the horses that my father promoted him to assistant trainer, then trainer when a position became available.”
There’d been no mention of a Syme in Daniel’s invisible ledgers. That didn’t mean the name hadn’t been there at one point. It was possible it had disappeared once the magic ink faded.
We’d reached the motorcar, and Gabe opened the door for me. I climbed into the back seat, politely thanking him while not daring to look at him. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him flinch as I brushed past him.
“You worked in the land army?” Willie indicated Mrs. Syme’s clothing.
“I did.” She admired Willie’s combination of men’s trousers and jacket, and the cowboy hat. “You must have, too.”
Willie pushed the brim of her hat up a little with her forefinger. “I drove ambulances. I wanted to fly Sopwiths but women weren’t allowed in the Flying Corps.”
Mrs. Syme rolled her eyes. “If only they knew we’re capable of more than mothering and answering the telephone.” She sighed as she gazed back at her father and husband, their heads bent together as they discussed the horse’s progress.
Willie gave her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder before taking the crank handle off Gabe and cranking the engine in a show intended for Mrs. Syme’s benefit.
The Epsom Downs racetrack manager had given Gabe and Alex an address for Mr. Ferryman, the magician farrier who’d lost his position in 1891 after track officials realized he was a magician and grew worried that he was using his iron magic to cheat. According to the invisible ledger, he was cheating. It was growing late, however, so we decided not to visit the address. Instead, we returned to the library.
As always, Gabe insisted on walking me along Crooked Lane, and Willie and Alex insisted on escorting him. For once, neither Gabe nor I objected to their company. We were in agreement—we should not be left alone with each other.
Even so, I felt compelled to tell him again that Mrs. Hobson’s interest in me wasn’t his fault. “Nor do I think she’s dangerous,” I added.
“Thurlow is.”
“She’s using him to gather information, that’s all. And if the information they find is unfavorable, then I don’t care. It’s not as though I have any standing in London society worth losing.” It would have been laughable if it wasn’t for the fact that Gabe’s family did have social standing and associating with me could bring scandal to their door.
He seemed to be aware of the thread my thoughts took. He stopped at the library door but didn’t open it. “I don’t care about that either, Sylvia. But until I find out what’s going on, and Thurlow is caught, you and I can’t be more than colleagues.” He quickly pushed open the door before I could respond.
Willie made sure to step past me and go through next. Where Gabe couldn’t, or wouldn’t, look at me, Willie was the opposite. The chill from her glare rippled across my scalp and down my spine.
Inside, it was a relief to see Daisy’s bicycle leaning against the wall in the foyer. It wasn’t her voice booming from the direction of the first-floor reading nook, however, it was Cyclops’s. We found him proudly telling Daisy and Professor Nash that Ella was performing excellently in her training to become a WPC. It seemed his reluctance at having his eldest daughter follow him into the police force had vanished. Or perhaps he’d merely suppressed his concerns, for her sake.
The larger of the library reading nooks had enough seats for all of us, but Alex laid claim to the spot beside Daisy on the sofa by standing there. He, like all the men, waited until I’d sat before sitting themselves. Willie sat behind the desk and placed her booted feet on it, until Cyclops growled at her to put them down.
“Show some respect. You’re not in your cave.”
She poked her tongue out at him, but did as instructed. “So, what are you doing here?”
“I read the file?—”
“Not you. Daisy.”
Upon hearing her name, Daisy stopped smiling at Alex and blinked at Willie. “Did you say something?”
Willie sighed. “I asked what you’re doing here.”
“I came to invite Sylvia for cocktails at my place later. Petra is coming. I want female opinions about my designs. I’m not sure if they’re any good. Oh! You’re a woman. Would you like to come, too?”
Alex chuckled, while his father pressed his lips firmly together to suppress his grin.
Daisy nudged Alex in the ribs with her elbow. “I’d very much appreciate another opinion.”
Willie shook her head. “I’d rather sew my eyelids closed with a blunt needle.”
Gabe laughed softly. “That was very specific.”
“And leaves no room for interpretation,” the professor added.
Willie took their comments as compliments. “I’m creative and direct. It’s a skill.”
Cyclops’s grin finally broke free.
Willie didn’t seem the least upset. “So, are you here because you missed me, or because you’ve got something to tell us?”
Cyclops reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a small parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. “I read the lead detective’s file on Arthur Cody. He was arrested in ’16 in the stables at Epsom Downs while working for Arlington the trainer, which you already know. What you don’t know is that his belongings were searched, both at Arlington’s and at his home address. This was recovered from a small workshop he’d established at his flat and has been in the evidence room ever since.”
I expected him to hand the parcel to Gabe or Alex, but he passed it to me.
“It contains pure cocaine,” he said. “Can you detect magic in it, Sylvia?”
I untied the string and unwrapped the paper to reveal a cup’s worth of white powder. It looked just like ordinary flour or talcum powder and had no smell. “I don’t feel any warmth.” I took a pinch of it and rubbed my thumb and forefinger together to make sure. “Nothing.” I passed the paper and the powder back to Cyclops.
He gave me his handkerchief to clean my fingers, then rewrapped the powder. “So there is no such thing as a cocaine magician. Thank God.”
“That cocaine has been in the evidence room for years,” Alex said. “The magic may have faded.”
“Sylvia should be able to detect traces of it,” Gabe said. “Her magic is strong.”
“Did Cody have any family?” Alex asked his father.
Cyclops shook his head. “He never married and didn’t have children. He lived alone. If he had siblings, he wasn’t close to them. No one claimed his body after his death.”
“That’s so sad,” Daisy murmured.
“He injected horses with cocaine to make them go faster,” Willie told her. “It would have killed them, but not straight away. Over time, it would damage their organs to the point where they stopped functioning. Not to mention the horses would suffer symptoms of addiction which are bloody awful. Still think he’s worth mourning?”
Daisy pulled a face. “How horrible. Is that how he was discovered?” she asked Cyclops and Alex. “All the horses he came into contact with died?”
“Not according to the file,” Cyclops said. “Arlington was investigated by the racing authorities and found to be in the clear. None of his horses died suspiciously.”
It seemed Mr. Arlington and the Symes had told the truth about that.
“Who informed the police?” Gabe asked.
“Anonymous tip-off,” Cyclops said.
“He operated from ’90 or ’91 up until ’16,” Alex said. “That’s a long time to go undetected. Either he was very lucky or very clever.”
“Unless he wasn’t actively doping the entire time,” Gabe said. “It seems as though a lot was happening in early ’91. The existence of magic became public knowledge, Coyle died, Daniel died, his wife and children disappeared… Some or all of those may have caused Cody to stop doping.”
“Then what made him start again?”
Willie wasn’t usually the voice of reason, but this time, she pointed out something we’d all forgotten. “We don’t have evidence that Cody was doping horses, only that he imported and sold cocaine.”
“He was in the bookmaker’s expenses ledger,” I reminded her.
“But we don’t know why . Maybe he was being paid for information about the Arlington stables. Which horses are training well, which ones are a bit flat, that kind of thing.”
Cyclops heaved himself to his feet. “It’s something for you all to consider. I’d better go before Catherine gets cross. I told her I wasn’t working late.”
Daisy rose, too. “I need to prepare for this evening. See you tonight, Sylv.”
Alex walked her and his father out. He returned a few minutes later with Juan Martinez, Gabe’s Catalonian friend who’d fought with him in the war. I was fond of Juan. Besides helping us decipher the symbols in the Medici Manuscript, he was easy to talk to, and always ready with a smile or joke.
Not this time, however. He looked troubled. “Gabe,” he said. “We need to talk.”