Chapter 14
I t was Sunday, which meant Mr. Jakes wasn’t at work. Paying him a visit would have to wait for the following day.
We hit a similar problem at Fred Laidlow’s house. No one was home. A neighbor said they’d gone to church and wouldn’t be back for some time, since they often paid calls on friends after the service.
With nothing further to do for the investigation, Gabe and the others drove me home. In the past, I would have spent the day with them. Not anymore.
Mrs. Parry met me in the entrance hall and informed me that I had a visitor in the front parlor. My landlady was usually unruffled, but she flapped her apron at me and hissed at me to hurry. “She’s already cross that you weren’t here to receive her. Don’t make her wait any longer.”
For a heart-stopping moment, I thought Mrs. Hobson or Ivy had come to confront me, but I wasn’t entirely surprised to see Lady Stanhope instead. The tea and cake Mrs. Parry had laid out remained untouched, and the expression of snobbish indifference was firmly in place. She did not rise to greet me.
“Good morning, Lady Stanhope,” I said. “If you came here looking for Gabe?—”
“Why would I assume he was here?”
“I’m merely surprised that you wish to see me . How may I help you?”
Lady Stanhope fidgeted with the rings on her fingers. Her black lace gloves lay on the table beside the teacup and saucer. Could she possibly be second-guessing herself? I should have known better. Hesitation and doubt were foreign to her. She broached the topic on her mind as directly as ever. “I heard about last night.”
“Anything in particular about last night, or the evening in general?”
“Don’t pretend stupidity, girl. You know I’m referring to your attendance at the ball when you weren’t invited.”
“I attended because I knew the Hobsons were going and I wished to speak to them.”
“You could have left that to Gabriel.”
“Gabe was kind enough to offer his support, but since it concerned me, I wanted to be the one to confront them.”
She surprised me by giving me a nod of admiration. “You’re different when not in Gabriel’s company.”
“As are you.” I could have said she was less sycophantic, but I kept my opinion to myself. Indeed, I decided not to talk again unless absolutely necessary. Lady Stanhope was the sort of woman who knew how to draw out a response I might later regret making.
“I sympathize with you, Miss Ashe. Mrs. Hobson has you in her sights, and that is not a good place for a friendless young woman to be.”
Since meeting Gabe, I felt very far from friendless, but I maintained my conviction and refrained from retorting.
“Of course, if what she says is true…” She waited, but I didn’t fill the silence. “Society will never accept you, Miss Ashe. You must see that after the reception you received last night.”
I gave in. I could stay silent no longer. “And by continuing to associate with Gabe, I am dragging him down to my level. Is that what you came to say?”
She fidgeted with her rings again. “That is your assumption, not mine. I am aware that he has taken you in as a colleague, of sorts, and I accept it.”
Somehow, I managed to refrain from rolling my eyes.
“It’s because of your association with him that I’m appealing to you now. Tell me, Miss Ashe, is the article in the latest edition of The Weekly Gazette accurate?”
I kept my features schooled and answered smoothly. “I haven’t seen it, but considering none of the newspaper articles written about Gabe have been true, I doubt this one is.”
“Don’t you want to know what it says?”
“No.”
“It states he can heal himself using magic, that he survived the war by magically healing his wounds.”
“As I said, it’s nonsense.”
“Are you quite sure? Perhaps he hasn’t confided in you.”
“Then why are you here, if you think I don’t have the answers?”
Her lips thinned in what I suspected was an attempt at a smile. “You are a smart girl. It must be from all those books you read.”
“Is that all, Lady Stanhope?”
“I am not finished.” She picked up the teacup and sipped.
I suppressed my sigh of frustration and waited.
She returned the cup to the saucer with a slow, deliberate action. “I’ve thought about it all morning, and I believe the article to be true.”
“Why? Because a so-called source close to Gabe says so? I can assure you, no one close to Gabe would speak about him to the newspapers, whether he was a magician or not. The journalist or his source is simply trying to stir up trouble.”
“They may achieve their aim. We all know someone attempted to kidnap Gabriel some time ago. If that person is still at large, it stands to reason they may try again. You see, I believe someone wants to study him to see what magic he possesses. Perhaps the government or a private enterprise that wishes to replicate the magic. Whoever it is, I think they believe that conducting experiments on Gabriel will reveal the truth of his miraculous survival.”
Experiments. Studies. She was using the same words we used, yet she had only half the information. She didn’t know he’d been stabbed at Rosebank Gardens hospital. She only knew about the kidnapping attempt that had been reported in the newspaper, not all of them.
How had she reached the same conclusion?
“Believe what you want, but it sounds like fiction to me,” I said. “Is that all, madam?”
“Not quite. I want you to advise him to confide in me. I can protect him from further kidnapping attempts.”
“How?”
“If I told you, I’d have no leverage, would I? Leverage, Miss Ashe, gives one power and power is everything.”
“You’ve wasted your time coming here. I have no influence on Gabe. Alex is his closest friend. You should approach him.”
She sniffed. I wasn’t sure if she thought Alex was beneath her or she thought I was the easier target. “You do have influence, Miss Ashe. Perhaps more than his other friends. You just haven’t realized it yet.” She gathered up her gloves from the table. “Do this for me, and I’ll put in a good word for you with my friends. You won’t experience another evening like last night. They’ll accept you if I tell them to.”
“I don’t need their acceptance.”
“ You may not, but Gabriel does. He’ll tell you it doesn’t matter, but that’s not true. Acceptance from his peers will make his life a great deal easier.” Anyone who knew Gabe knew she was quite wrong. She was projecting her own needs and wants onto him.
I couldn’t help the bubble of laughter escaping at her ridiculous statement. I tried to cover it with my hand, but wasn’t quite successful.
Lady Stanhope narrowed her gaze at me as she shoved her hand inside her second glove.
I showed her to the door to make sure she left. After closing the door, I leaned back against it and expelled a measured breath. She might be wide of the mark regarding Gabe’s need for society’s approval, but her assumptions about the kidnapping attempts were very close to our own. Suspiciously close.
That afternoon, Daisy and Petra arrived together with the same purpose—to find out how the ball went. I suggested we go out, instead of sitting in the stuffy parlor with Mrs. Parry listening in to our conversation.
Daisy wanted to take a leisurely stroll along Bond and Regent Streets to admire the fashions we couldn’t afford in the windows of the exclusive shops. Petra and I protested that it was too hot for walks.
“Besides,” Petra added, “you’re supposed to be creating unique styles, not seeing what other designers are already doing this year.”
Daisy sighed. “I suppose.”
“We should find somewhere out of the sun, like a museum or gallery.”
I liked the idea, but Daisy wasn’t keen. We settled on a teahouse near the British Museum with daffodil-yellow tablecloths and pink daisies in small glass vases decorating each table. Their questions came thick and fast from the moment we sat down. They were sympathetic when I told them about the gossip, but Daisy’s sympathy quickly turned to triumph.
“It was worth it just to have Gabe rescue you.”
“She doesn’t need rescuing,” Petra said. “Sylvia is a modern woman and doesn’t need a man to take care of her.”
Daisy poured the tea into blue-and-white china cups from the matching pot. “But it is nice, particularly when she’s keen on him.”
“At least you didn’t kiss him, Sylvia.”
Daisy wrinkled her nose at her. “I think it would have been wonderful if they kissed.”
“She might have regretted it the following morning.” Petra picked up her teacup then lowered it again. “Particularly when the gentleman presumes .” She sipped her tea, staring into the distance over the rim. “These things can’t always be helped after a few martinis.”
“I wasn’t drinking martinis, and I was quite sober.” I raised my brows at Daisy to see if she could shed any light on what Petra was saying. She shrugged. “Petra, is there something you want to tell us?”
“No.” Petra placed the cup in the saucer with a sigh. “Yes. I kissed Huon Barratt last night.”
Daisy choked on her mouthful of tea.
I stared at Petra. “Oh. Well. That is…an interesting development.”
She sighed again. “We met at the Buttonhole. I rarely go, but I felt like dancing so went with a cousin after hearing you both talk about it. Huon was there. We said hello when we first saw one another, but didn’t speak for the rest of the night. My cousin kept buying me martinis, and I blame that for my lapse in judgment. Just as I was about to leave, Huon approached. We kissed. I’m not even sure what led to it. It just happened.” She made a face. “He’s the last man I thought I’d kiss. I blame the fourth martini.”
Daisy wasn’t convinced by the excuse. “You must have wanted to kiss him, or you wouldn’t have done it. I believe that drunkenness makes us do what our heart desires, but our mind would usually stop us. It helps us shed our insecurities and doubts.”
“No. Absolutely not. I did not want to kiss Huon, consciously or subconsciously, not last night, and certainly never again. I won’t make the same mistake twice.”
The devilish part of me couldn’t help teasing her. “He is rather good-looking though.”
Petra blushed. “That’s beside the point. The point is, he’s arrogant and obnoxious.”
“But is he a good kisser?” Daisy asked, grinning.
Petra glared at her.
I placed a hand over hers. “Sorry. We’ll change the subject.”
The rest of the afternoon passed with laughter and chatter, helping remove the bitter taste left in my mouth after Lady Stanhope’s visit.
The following morning we had an easier time trying to see Mr. Jakes than the last time we’d visited him at the Directorate of Military Intelligence within the War Office building. His assistant remembered us and invited us to wait. Twenty minutes later, when we’d all reached the end of our tether watching Willie pace across the carpet, Gabe and I were allowed through. Mr. Jakes asked Willie and Alex to wait outside. That didn’t stop her, however, and she barged past him and planted herself on one of the chairs as if setting down roots.
“We ain’t leaving,” she declared. “We’re Gabe’s bodyguards. If you don’t like it, that’s too bad.”
Mr. Jakes gave in and closed the door. “He’ll be safer in Military Intelligence than anywhere.”
“Not if you’re the ones trying to kidnap him.”
“We’re not trying to kidnap him.”
“That’s what a guilty person would say.”
Alex positioned himself near the door. “Don’t bother arguing with her. It’s a waste of breath.”
Mr. Jakes sat behind the desk and opened his gold cigarette case. He offered each of us a cigarette, before taking one himself. He lit it and took a puff, drawing the smoke in deeply as if it were his first for the day. He blew out a smoke ring towards the ceiling, away from us, but kept his gaze on Gabe.
“I’m glad you called on me, Glass. You saved me a visit.”
“Let me guess. You want to speak to me about the latest article in The Weekly Gazette . It’s all bollocks. I can’t magically heal myself.”
Mr. Jakes puffed on his cigarette again, giving nothing away.
Willie fell into the trap he set and filled the silence. “That journalist is either desperate for a story or someone’s pulling his leg. We have our suspicions, but that ain’t the reason we’re here. We’re here because we know you’re behind the kidnapping attempts and we want to make sure you know that we know and tell you not to try again. Understood?”
Smoke billowed from Mr. Jakes’s nose. “Are you finished?”
“Yes,” she muttered.
He addressed Gabe. “I wanted to ask you about Hobson.”
“Ivy’s father?” Gabe sighed. “Is this about him not placing a spell on a batch of army boots again? Because I told you last time, it’s nothing to do with me.”
Bootmakers, Hobson and Son, had won the contract to kit out the entire British army during the war, after Mr. Hobson proved his boots would withstand the harsh conditions at the Front, thanks to his spell.
But something had gone wrong, and some soldiers suffered trench foot when water leaked into their boots. The worst cases resulted in lost limbs. The Hobson family denied any wrongdoing and asked Gabe to vouch for the magic in the boots, but he refused.
The War Office had shown an interest in understanding what really happened, and it wasn’t the first time Mr. Jakes had asked Gabe questions about the business and the family. Despite Gabe’s reluctance to get involved, Mr. Jakes and the Hobsons continued their attempts to draw him in.
“Hobson is ill,” Mr. Jakes said. “He’s bedridden.”
Gabe’s gaze sharpened.
“Is he dying?” Willie asked.
“We’re not sure.”
“You’re still spying on them?” Gabe asked.
Mr. Jakes placed the cigarette between his lips and left it there as he used both hands to sift through a stack of files on the edge of his desk. He found the one he wanted and flipped it open. “He’s suffering unexplained chest pain.”
“You shouldn’t be telling us his private medical details.”
Mr. Jakes closed the file and removed the cigarette from his mouth. “The doctor he is seeing now is not the same doctor he used to visit. Getting hold of Hobson’s earlier records is proving difficult.”
“Why do you need them?”
“Because we want to know if this is the first time he has been absent from work for any length of time.”
Now I understood. He wanted to know if Mr. Hobson had been ill during the war—too ill to cast his spell. Something scratched at the back of my mind, a niggling thought that wouldn’t go away. I couldn’t quite capture it, however.
“You want me to tell you if he was sick at any point in the past,” Gabe said.
“If he was, why not just admit it?” Willie asked.
It was Mr. Jakes who answered. “Because if he was absent from work, and the boots manufactured in that time never received a spell, it would open the company up to litigation by the government and the affected soldiers. The contract between the military and Hobson and Son stated that every army-issued boot would receive the strengthening spell.”
“I don’t know if Hobson was ill during the war,” Gabe said. “I was rarely back on home soil.”
“Your fiancée would have written to you.”
“Ivy never mentioned her father was ill to me.”
Mr. Jakes studied Gabe, trying to get his measure and determine if he was lying for Ivy.
Gabe knew it, too. “If Hobson and Son’s failure to put a spell on some of the boots resulted in trench foot, I want them to face up to their mistake and compensate those men. They’re in for a hard road ahead and some money would help ease the way a little. So no, Mr. Jakes, I am not lying to you. I genuinely don’t know if Hobson was ill during the war.”
I wasn’t sure if Mr. Jakes believed Gabe, but I did. If I was unsure, if I thought he wanted to protect the Hobsons, I would have kept quiet. Instead, I finally captured the thought that had bothered me. “He has been ill before. Ivy told me so a few weeks ago. It was when she asked me questions about myself,” I added for Gabe’s benefit. “I don’t know whether his illness was during the war or not, though.”
Mr. Jakes’s smile didn’t reach his pale blue eyes. “Thank you, Miss Ashe. Did Miss Hobson also tell you who took over in her father’s absence?”
“No.”
It was likely the son in Hobson and Son had, but he didn’t need me to tell him that.
Realization dawned, slow at first, then coming at me like a flood. Ivy’s older brother had been a patient at Rosebank Gardens before the war. At that time, the hospital was a private clinic that specialized in drawing out magic from the artless children of magician parents. The doctors theorized that their magic lay dormant within them, and they simply had to be treated to activate it.
If Mr. Hobson was ill during the war and the factory relied on Bertie to infuse the army boots with the strengthening spell, it was no wonder that batch of boots failed in the muddy conditions at the Front. They never contained magic in the first place, because Bertie was artless.
It also meant Bertie’s parents knew the boots wouldn’t receive magic. They, and he, knew he was artless.
I didn’t mention Bertie’s stay at Rosebank to Mr. Jakes. It would be best for him if he came clean himself.
Gabe must have agreed because he also stayed quiet. Afterwards, as we drove away, he confirmed it. “I’ll tell Bertie to talk to Jakes before this gets out of hand.”
“It already has,” Alex said. “You shouldn’t get involved.”
“It ain’t none of your business, Gabe,” Willie added. “Let the Hobsons deal with it themselves. It’s a problem of their own making.”
Gabe turned to me, seated in the back. “What do you think, Sylvia?”
“I think the real question is, why did Jakes mention Mr. Hobson’s illness at all? Surely a senior officer in Military Intelligence can find out for himself whether Mr. Hobson was absent from the factory for any period of time during the war. So why involve you? Is he truly in the dark, or is he deflecting?”
“From the kidnapping attempts?”
“And his involvement in them.” I held up my hands in surrender. “I’m not convinced either way, just as I’m not convinced of Lady Stanhope’s innocence or guilt.” I’d told them about her visit when they collected me from the library, and how she’d jumped to the same conclusion as we had, but with less information.
Brow furrowed, Gabe faced forward again.
Willie and I turned to look out the back of the motorcar, to make sure no one followed us.
Alex was parking the motorcar at the curb a few doors down from Fred Laidlow’s house when the front door opened. The two sisters emerged, each carrying a basket over their arm.
“Good timing,” Willie said. “We can question Fred without his wife interfering.”
Gabe, however, had another plan. “
“I want to follow them. It’s likely they know more than they’ve told us. I personally don’t believe Myrtle was entirely ignorant of the events unfolding with her own sister who lived next door.”
“Myrtle ain’t going to admit anything. She’s too wily.” Willie sounded impressed. Under normal circumstances, they would probably be friends.
We followed Myrtle and Naomi as they walked. Although we stayed well back, they would have seen us if they turned around. We were conspicuous, with two tall men and Willie in her cowboy hat. The sisters forged ahead, however, neither looking back nor stopping.
We almost lost them on a busy road where local housewives came to do their Monday shopping for weekly essentials. We passed fishmongers and butcher’s assistants shouting their specials from the doorways, and children playing on the pavement as they waited for their mothers to finish inside the grocer’s. The smell of coffee wafted from a café where olive-skinned men sat on stools, chatting in their own language, and my stomach grumbled at the sight of the small cakes in the window of a bakery.
There were more horse-drawn vehicles in this part of London than Mayfair, where expensive automobiles ruled the roads. They slowed down traffic along the main thoroughfare, allowing our quarry to quickly cross it and disappear down a side street.
I recognized the area. We weren’t far from the old house in Whitechapel where we’d found the ledgers buried in the cellar. It couldn’t be a coincidence, surely.
My suspicion was confirmed when Myrtle knocked on the door of the same house in the dead-end court. The same worn-out housewife who’d greeted us opened the door. Naomi reached into her basket and handed over what appeared to be a pie covered with a red-and-white checked cloth. The woman accepted it and exchanged a few words with the sisters before they moved on to the next house.
“The sisters are the connection,” Alex said. “Daniel knew the man who was after him would never look here for the ledgers.”
“He must have come here once with them,” Willie added.
“That’s one possibility,” Gabe said. “The other is that he gave them the ledgers to hide, and they brought them here themselves.”
It was certainly worth asking them. Myrtle might give nothing away, but I planned to watch Naomi. Her face was the more expressive of the two, and she was less devious.