Secrets of the Lost Ledgers (The Glass Library #5)

Chapter 18

L etting Mr. Arlington walk out of the tack room had been a grave mistake. One that I knew Gabe regretted. He tried to move in front of me, but Mr. Arlington ordered him to stand still.

“Hands where I can see them! All of you!”

“Father!” Mrs. Syme cried. “Don’t!”

“I won’t shoot if they leave quietly.”

“Put the weapon down, sir,” Gabe said as he put his hands up. “There’s no need for this. We’ll leave peacefully.”

Mr. Arlington adjusted his grip on the shotgun. “You will not accuse my son of any wrongdoing!”

Gabe stepped slowly towards Mr. Arlington, his steps unhurried, steady. “We know he didn’t kill Daniel Barratt.”

Mr. Arlington’s hand shook. The finger on the trigger twitched. “Do not speak about my son. Do you hear me? You will leave his name out of your investigation!”

Gabe would never agree to that demand. Ambrose may not have murdered Daniel, but the cheating scheme led to his death. If Gabe didn’t reassure Mr. Arlington, however, then I had no doubt he would pull the trigger. In his mind, he had nothing to lose. He’d lost everything years ago.

Sweat trickled down my spine. I toyed with the idea of pleading with him myself. A woman’s voice might break through his anger and reach the gentlemanly side of him.

But his daughter got in first. “Ambrose is guilty, Father. You know he almost brought this business to its knees because of his scheme. And you know what he did to me.” Her voice cracked, but she didn’t lower her gaze or look away. She held it steady, on her father.

Mr. Arlington’s lips twisted in distaste, but he kept the shotgun focused on Gabe. Beside me, Willie held herself tense, her hands at her sides like a Wild West gunslinger ready to draw. She knew Gabe’s magic would give him time to stop the bullet, but her every instinct must be screaming danger. As were mine. My insides felt like they were tied into a knot, and someone was pulling on the ends, tightening it.

Mrs. Syme stepped closer to her father. Her husband followed, as if readying himself to intervene if necessary. “Ambrose may not have killed anyone, but he destroyed lives,” she went on. “He almost destroyed mine. I won’t let him destroy what I have now. That includes you and the reputation of this family. Is this how you want your grandson to remember you? He looks up to you now. Don’t ruin that for him. Leave him a legacy he will be proud to be a part of.”

Mr. Arlington’s trembling worsened.

“Put the gun down, sir,” Gabe went on.

“Ambrose is gone now,” Mr. Syme said gently. “But we’re still here.”

Mr. Arlington’s face crumpled. He closed his eyes and lowered the gun. Alex grabbed it from him and removed the cartridges, pocketing them.

I released a shaky breath.

Mr. Syme accepted the shotgun from Alex. He gave Gabe a nod of understanding before going to his wife. She hadn’t moved. I thought she would dismiss him and march past her father, but her mask finally shattered. She started to cry. Mr. Syme gathered her in his arms.

Alex carried the chair from the back of the tack room to Mr. Arlington and gently guided him to sit down. Mr. Arlington didn’t acknowledge him. He stared into space, his face blank, his eyes devoid of understanding. He reminded me of his son.

Willie strode up to him and drew aside the flap of her jacket to reveal her gun. “You’re lucky you didn’t shoot.”

“Willie.” Alex jerked his thumb at the entrance. “We should secure the area.”

She humphed and followed him outside.

My body started to tremble. Now that the danger was over, I imagined everything that could have gone wrong. Gabe’s magic might not have worked. Or Mr. Arlington’s shaking might have skewed his aim and he’d shot someone else, someone for whom Gabe’s magic wouldn’t be triggered.

Gabe’s fingers lightly brushed my wrist. “Sylvia?” His tender voice enveloped me, comforting me. It was wonderful, although I would have preferred his arms.

Mr. Syme still held his upset wife. For all her pride and strength, she needed comforting, too, and he lovingly gave it. Watching them brought on an ache deep within me.

As if he sensed it, Gabe’s hand rose to stroke my jaw. “Sylvia…”

“You two!” Willie barked from the entrance. “Stop it.”

Gabe drew in a deep breath. “She’s right. We shouldn’t.” He sounded like he no longer believed his own words.

As much as I tried to, I wasn’t sure I did either. The reason for staying away from Gabe didn’t seem as insurmountable anymore.

There was one other man who could give us a clearer picture of what happened after Ambrose Arlington’s accident. The farrier magician may have been dismissed from his position at the racetrack in February 1891, before the accident, but he was part of Ambrose’s scheme, so it was conceivable that Ignatius Arlington discovered his name when clearing out his son’s things.

Mr. Ferryman sat in the same armchair in the same room as our last visit. His daughter offered us tea. When we declined, she remained in the parlor, supervising our visit like a nurse watching over her patient.

Mr. Ferryman didn’t get up this time. He simply lifted his claw-like hand in a greeting before telling his daughter to leave us. “The room is crowded enough, and I don’t need a nursemaid.”

She reluctantly left, although I could see her hovering in the corridor.

Gabe told Mr. Ferryman that we knew Ambrose was the bookmaker who’d paid him to make the horseshoes. “You don’t have to fear him anymore.”

“He’s dead?”

“He’s in a hospital, incapable of moving, speaking, or even feeding himself.”

Mr. Ferryman drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He sank back into the armchair. “I see. I had wondered, but…”

“But you didn’t want to tell us too much, in case he heard and came after you.”

“I thought Ignatius Arlington sent him away, using the accident as an excuse. I thought he was alive and well and could come after me.”

“Did Lord Coyle force you to work for Ambrose?”

Mr. Ferryman seemed surprised that we’d reached that conclusion. He nodded. “I used my spell on a set of shoes, then placed a bet on the horse. A friend placed it for me, actually. As a track employee, I was forbidden. The horse won, I collected my winnings, and the next thing I knew, Coyle was calling me a cheat. I don’t know how he found out. He said he wouldn’t tell a soul if I used my magic for Ambrose Arlington.” He shrugged. “It all went fine for a while, until magic came into the open. The artless began to speculate about who was a magician. Because I was efficient and my work was beyond compare, accusations were made. I was dismissed on the grounds that I might cheat.”

“Ambrose never retaliated?” Alex asked. “He wasn’t worried that you would tell the police about him?”

“I had no reason to involve the police. Why would I? Ambrose was angry that I’d been found out, though. He confronted me, and I’ll admit I was scared of him.” He tapped his temple. “He was mad, capable of following through on his threats. But I held my own. I convinced him I’d never tell a soul, and I reminded him of my iron-moving spell. That made him think twice and he left me alone.” He smirked, but it quickly vanished. “I never believed he’d leave me alone forever. He was too unpredictable.” His gaze met Gabe’s. “I was relieved when I learned he’d been in an accident. At first, I thought he’d died. Most folk did. But then I got to thinking…why hadn’t there been a funeral? That’s when I thought he'd been sent away by his father and gone into hiding.” His gnarled hand tapped his stomach. “The worry in here never really disappeared. Until now. Are you sure he won’t get better?”

“The doctor is sure, and there’s been no change in twenty-nine years,” Gabe said. “Did Ignatius Arlington come to see you after his son’s accident?”

A wheezing cough wracked Mr. Ferryman. We waited until it subsided, then Gabe repeated his question. “Aye. He waited in this very room for me to come home after work. He told me he was officially disbanding Ambrose’s operation, and that I was never to speak about it.”

“Did he threaten you?”

Mr. Ferryman nodded. “He told me he would see that I never worked in London again.”

“He didn’t threaten to kill you?”

“No. He wasn’t as mad as his son.”

“When did he visit you?”

“A few weeks after Ambrose’s accident. He told me he was calling on everyone in the scheme.”

“Everyone?” Alex prompted. “Did he mention names?”

Mr. Ferryman shook his head.

We thanked him and left.

Outside, twilight had not been allowed its moment of glory thanks to the blanket of clouds, and daytime had become dusk while we’d been inside. The air felt thick, oppressive. Even deep breaths didn’t seem to fill my lungs.

Willie reached into the motorcar to retrieve the crank handle. “My eyeballs are sweating.” She cranked the engine then returned to the vehicle. Despite the tight confines of the back seat, she managed to remove her jacket. “Start driving, Alex, so we can get some air in here.”

Even though the air came in through the open sides above the doors, it was still hot. I plucked my dress away from my sticky skin while the men weren’t looking.

“I reckon Ignatius Arlington murdered Daniel,” Willie declared as Alex put his foot down to speed up. “I know Ferryman said he didn’t threaten his life, but we saw what he was like.”

“He didn’t fire the gun,” Gabe pointed out.

“Goreman reckoned he was guilty, too, and he knows him better than us.”

I wasn’t so sure. I was beginning to think Mr. Goreman had an ulterior motive for pointing the finger at Ignatius. “I don’t believe a word he said. He failed to tell us that Mr. Arlington approached him about disbanding the operation after Ambrose’s accident.”

“We only have Ferryman’s word that he called on everyone,” Willie said.

“Why would he lie?”

Gabe agreed. “You’re right, Sylvia. Why didn’t Goreman mention that Ignatius told him the operation was disbanded?”

“They’re rival trainers,” I offered. “He wants Arlington to appear guilty. He’s trying to cause trouble.”

“Or was he trying to throw us off the scent of his own guilt? Perhaps he killed Daniel, so is casting blame onto someone else. Who better than the trainer who is his greatest rival?”

“Two birds, one stone,” Alex muttered. “Neatly done.”

I mulled it over that evening with Daisy and Petra. We sat in Daisy’s flat, taking it in turns to stand in front of the electric fan. It provided little relief from the stifling heat, however, and we all took to dabbing water on our faces and necks to cool down. It was going to be a long sleepless night for Londoners.

While they appeared to be listening to my account of the investigation so far, I could see their interest waning. Petra was at least more polite than Daisy. She nodded along at the right moments as she absentmindedly fanned her face with a magazine. Daisy, however, lay on the floor and yawned.

I changed the topic to something I knew would get Daisy’s attention. “Have you kissed Huon again, Petra?”

Daisy rolled onto her stomach and propped her chin on her hand. “Do tell.”

Petra’s fanning became more vigorous. “I didn’t kiss him. He kissed me . And no, he has not. I haven’t been back to the Buttonhole.”

“Has he been back there?”

“How would I know? Anyway, I don’t care.”

“Good for you. You deserve someone who believes in you.”

Petra made a miffed sound. “Huon is too selfish to believe in anyone but himself.”

I thought she was being a little unfair. Huon had obviously changed. He still had some way to go, but I suspected he wanted to mature. He was ready. And who better to soften his jagged edges than the very sensible Petra Conway? I suspected they’d make a fine couple if they ever moved past their rivalry. I thought it was petty, but they clearly didn’t. They had a long and bitter history, and it would take some time for them to put it all behind them.

Daisy rolled onto her back again with a satisfied sigh. “I’m so fortunate to have found Alex. He believes in me, despite my fickleness.”

“You’re not fickle,” I told her, somewhat sternly. She needed to hear it. No, she needed to believe it. “You’ve stuck it out here in London and not run home to your parents, where life is easier. That takes determination and character. You’ve also been a loyal friend to me.”

“But I need to work. I want to work. I just can’t decide what I want to do.”

“You’re twenty-five,” Petra said gently. “You’ve lived with your parents all your life. Give yourself time to be an adult and discover yourself. Besides, you’re artless.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you don’t have an affinity for a particular craft. I want to work with graphite. Sylvia is drawn to anything with paper. Our magic has helped refine our choices. You don’t have those natural restrictions. In a way, you’re suffering from too many choices. But as you get to know yourself, and learn where your talents and interests lie, a path will open up. You’ll see.”

I joined Daisy on the floor and clasped her hand. “We’ll be a sounding board to help you choose, if you like. As will Alex.” I smiled. “You two sound quite serious. When are you going to introduce him to your parents?”

She smiled shyly. “Soon. Now, you’ve helped me, so we’ll try to help you solve your case.”

“You don’t have to. I know it doesn’t interest you.”

“Nonsense. Just because I was yawning doesn’t mean I’m not interested. It’s this humidity making it difficult to breathe properly.” She stood to take a turn in front of the fan. “So why did you believe the trainer, Goreman, when he tried to blame the other trainer, Arlington?”

“Pardon?”

She turned to face us, her arms out to cool herself down faster. “You knew he was trying to get Arlington into trouble, yet you confronted Arlington anyway based on Goreman’s word. You must have had an inkling that Arlington was guilty, or you would have just dismissed Goreman as a jealous rival. So why did you believe him?”

Sometimes the most insightful comments come from the most unexpected quarter. Daisy’s question was one none of us had considered, yet we should have. “I suppose because we didn’t think Mr. Arlington and the Symes told us the truth the first time. We felt like they were hiding something.”

“You already knew they were hiding the fact the son was still alive. But something Goreman said made you believe him. What was it?”

I thought back through the conversation but could think of nothing in particular. Yet she was right. That conversation with Goreman had left us feeling more confident that Mr. Arlington or the Symes were guilty of murder, even though we suspected he was simply trying to stir up trouble. Why?

Then I remembered. It wasn’t Goreman’s answers that made us look twice at Arlington. It was Mr. Wellington’s. “The veterinarian was there for that conversation, and he pointed out how odd it was the Arlington family never mentioned Ambrose after the accident. It was as if he never existed, he told us. Considering the Arlington stable is his client, too, we assumed it was an unbiased opinion. He wouldn’t want to jeopardize that working relationship unless he was truly convinced of their guilt. Where Goreman wanted to get Ignatius Arlington into trouble because he is his rival, we assumed Wellington had no such motive and therefore his negative opinion mattered. But what if he drew our attention to Ignatius Arlington purely to throw us off the scent of his guilt?”

The more I thought it through, the more confident I felt of my theory. I couldn’t wait to tell Gabe.

Daisy didn’t have a telephone in her flat, however. I could have visited, but I didn’t want to wake the household for something that could wait until the morning.

Murray told me they were still at breakfast when I arrived the following morning. I asked him to telephone the Glass Library and tell the professor I’d be in later. Upon hearing my voice, Gabe emerged from the dining room.

“You’re early. Have you eaten?”

“Mrs. Parry made sure I ate before I left. Gabe, I have a theory.”

The telephone rang and Murray answered it. He listened then told Gabe it was for him. Gabe suggested I join Willie and Alex while he answered the call.

Willie scowled at me over the rim of her coffee cup. “Why do you look so cheerful?”

“I have a new theory.” I poured myself coffee from the pot on the sideboard. “Did you go out last night? You look like you haven’t slept.”

“I’ve been tossing and turning all night. It was hotter than Hades.”

“Even with the window open,” Alex added.

“I saw Daisy last night,” I told him.

He instantly sat up straighter. “What did you talk about?”

“All sorts of things,” I teased. “The weather. Her career choices. How she wants you to meet her parents. The case.”

“Pardon?”

“The case. In fact, it’s because of her insightful questions that I came to a new theory about Daniel’s killer.”

“No, before that. You said—” He cut himself off when Gabe returned, a deep frown creasing his forehead. He gripped the back of an empty chair with both hands and stared at the vase of flowers in the center of the table.

“What is it?” Alex prompted. “Who was on the telephone?”

“Your father. He was called out in the middle of the night to the Putney Hospital and Home for Incurables. Ambrose Arlington died.”

News of his death didn’t gladden me, nor was I saddened. He’d been a cruel man, once.

“Why were the police involved?” Alex asked.

“The doctor on duty noticed a puncture mark on Ambrose’s arm,” Gabe said. “An autopsy will be conducted to find out if he was injected with poison. Cyclops and the doctor on duty are convinced he was. The puncture mark is larger than a medical professional would make. Larger than any needle the hospital has in their storeroom.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Willie said. “Why would the killer use a large needle instead of a regular one?”

Oh God. I felt sick.

“Because that’s what he had with him,” Gabe said. “Think about it. Who uses large needles in their work?”

“Veterinarians,” I muttered. “Mr. Wellington murdered Ambrose.”