Chapter 17
“I’m coming with you next time.” The declaration was made by Willie’s friend, Lord Farnsworth.
The lackadaisical dandy lounged on Lord and Lady Rycroft’s sofa, much like Mr. Defoe had done on Mr. Kinloch’s.
Whereas Defoe’s pose had been arrogant, Farnsworth’s was more refined, as befitted the cultured accent and expensive education.
When I’d first met him, I’d thought he was putting on the foppish air to make people think he was harmlessly eccentric, but the more I got to know him, the less certain my opinion of him became.
He was definitely more intelligent than he let on, but the lurid waistcoats, diamond cufflinks, and pompous languor were as much a part of him as Willie’s loud unruliness was a part of her.
“No, you ain’t,” she said. “I’m going next time.”
“You can’t,” Lord Farnsworth said. “You’re married.”
“So?”
“Your husband’ll want you home, making babies and playing hostess.”
Everyone burst out laughing, including Detective Inspector Brockwell, the husband in question.
We sat in the drawing room of number sixteen Park Street, the London residence of Lord and Lady Rycroft, where Willie and Brockwell currently resided.
Aside from Matt and India, Willie, Brockwell and Farnsworth, we were joined by their friend, Duke, and Matt’s elderly aunt, Miss Letitia Glass.
She sat in a chair by the window, her head bowed forward as she napped.
She wasn’t the only one asleep. Young Gabriel, the Rycrofts’ son, was having an afternoon nap in his room, allowing the adults to have an uninterrupted conversation.
I used the term adult loosely when it came to Willie and Lord Farnsworth. They could each be as disruptive as a toddler sometimes, especially when they were together.
“You won’t go,” Duke said to Willie. His thick fingers looked unnaturally large as he gripped the teacup like it was the handle of a hammer. He waved it in Willie’s general direction. “You won’t leave Matt.”
“Or little Gabe,” D.I. Brockwell added, not in the least upset that his wife placed her cousins above him in her affections.
Willie bristled, but instead of disagreeing she sipped her tea. Her silence made quite a stark contrast to the battle of wills she usually exhibited with Duke ever since he revealed he was returning to America.
We’d joined India and Matt for afternoon tea, and to present them with the book, two days after our arrival back in London. The lull in the conversation gave Oscar the perfect opportunity. He removed it from the leather satchel at his feet and handed it to India.
“For your collection, my lady.” He bowed, stepped forward to give it to her, then stepped back.
India stroked the soft calfskin cover. “Thank you. Have either of you read it?”
“We both have,” Oscar said.
“What’s it about?” Willie asked.
“Observations on magic, or witchcraft, as the author, George Mackenzie called it. He also touches on the persecution of witches at that time.”
“Thank goodness that has all ended,” India murmured.
I sat forward. “Actually, we learned that it hasn’t. Our time in Edinburgh was more interesting and productive than we expected. You see, we rescued—”
Matt shushed me with a finger to his lips as his aunt roused in the armchair.
Miss Glass reminded me of my grandmother, whose death seven years ago had shaken me.
Both women were kind but could be snobs, too.
My grandmother welcomed my friendships with university chums from good families, but she didn’t want me associating with people she thought beneath us.
Considering we Nashes were firmly embedded in the middle class, her snobbery wasn’t justified.
At least Miss Glass could claim to be from nobility.
As with my grandmother, Miss Glass had become quite forgetful in her later years.
I saw her rarely these days, since she usually stayed on the country estate, but I had noticed a decline in her cognition.
She sometimes didn’t know where she was, or who I was, and she found conversations hard to follow.
Then sometimes, like now, she could surprise us all and be quite alert. “Did someone say Edinburgh? Bristow says the newspapers reported those missing girls were found. Isn’t that wonderful?”
India pretended to refill my teacup, leaning closer to me. “Tell us how you did it later,” she whispered, adding a wink for good measure.
While Miss Glass was aware of some of the dangers her nephew and his wife had endured to free magicians from persecution, she was sheltered from other events. It would seem they wanted to continue to shelter her from negativity in her dotage.
“Wonderful, indeed,” India said loudly as she sat. “The Edinburgh police must have an equivalent to D.I. Brockwell on their staff.”
Brockwell winked at me, just as India had done. I wasn’t sure if that meant he hadn’t told any of them that the Edinburgh detective contacted him to vouch for us, or if he was withholding the information from Miss Glass alone.
Willie didn’t make it any clearer. “Nope. My husband’s one of a kind. Ain’t no detective as good as him.”
Oscar shot me a sly smile. “I can think of someone.”
I felt my face heat at his praise. To deflect their attention from me, I changed the subject to one that would draw the energy in the room like a magnet. I turned to Willie. “I see you’ve come to terms with Duke leaving.”
True to form, Willie sank into her chair with a pout and crossed her arms. “I’ll never come to terms with it. He shouldn’t be going. There ain’t nothing for him in America now.”
Duke waved a hand from side to side. “Ain’t no need to speak to me as if I’m not here.”
“I thought you two sorted it out over drinks,” Oscar said.
“I thought we had, too. Then she stopped talking to me. She’s going to ruin my final weeks in England with her bad mood.” His gaze slid to Miss Glass. “Willie’s not the only one who dislikes the idea of me leaving.”
Miss Glass seemed unaware that he was referring to her. She sat in the chair, her glassy eyes staring at the floor near my feet.
Oscar pointed at the book India had placed on the table. “George Mackenzie wrote about the unfair treatment of women accused of witchcraft back in his day. Their persecution took away their freedom, their right to be true to themselves.”
Willie narrowed her gaze. “Your point, Barratt?”
“Those two kidnapped women were elated and relieved to be freed from captivity. Their loved ones were overjoyed, too. So I imagine,” he added for Miss Glass’s benefit, although she still seemed not to be listening.
“Giving someone the freedom to live their life as they wish is the greatest gift we can offer our loved ones. Even if that means we have to say goodbye to them.”
Willie sniffed as she turned her face away. Her jaw remained stubbornly firm.
Miss Glass put out her hand. “Duke, help me up.”
He obliged, assisting her to her feet. The contrast between them was stark. Her clothing hung loose on her thin frame, the black silk bringing out the gray pallor of her cheeks. It suddenly occurred to me that she knew Duke’s departure meant she’d never see him again.
But it was Duke who blinked back tears as she tilted her head to look up at him.
“Mr. Barratt is right,” Miss Glass said, her voice as frail as her frame. “I give you my blessing, Duke. May you find what you’re looking for in America.”
He bent to kiss her cheek. “I promise I’ll write every week, although I don’t reckon my words will be as pretty as Barratt’s.”
Oscar nodded thoughtfully. “It was quite a rousing speech. Gavin, will you write it into your travel diary for me so I don’t forget it?”
Duke helped Miss Glass sit again, then released her just in time so he could catch Willie as she flung herself at him.
She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his chest. I suspected she was silently crying, but it wasn’t until she lifted her head that I saw the evidence of tears on her cheeks.
She poked his shoulder. “I give you my blessing, too. You can go and find yourself a nice wife in America and have babies with her. But I expect one of them to be named Willie.”
Duke laughed. “I knew there’d be a condition.” He hugged her fiercely.
Lord Farnsworth removed a crisp white handkerchief from his pocket with a flourish and dabbed at his eyes. “Am I happy or sad?” He flapped the handkerchief in front of his face. “I can’t tell!”
We talked a while longer, until it was time for us to leave. Oscar and I had someone else to call on before the day was over. As we said our goodbyes, Oscar asked India how her grandfather, Chronos, fared.
“The same,” she said, a measure of resignation in her voice. “The doctor says there isn’t anything to be done. We can only make sure he’s comfortable. We’re returning to Rycroft Hall tomorrow to be with him.”
Oscar patted her hand in sympathy then kissed her cheek, under the close scrutiny of her husband. He then shook Matt’s hand. “I’ll send through our account of expenses. You’ll be pleasantly surprised at the price we paid for that book.”
We all looked at the copy of A Treatise on the Laws of Witchcraft and Maleficium in Scotland by His Majesty’s Lord Advocate George Mackenzie. It was an insignificant looking volume for such a seminal work.
Matt placed an arm around India and tucked her against his side. “It’ll be a worthy addition to the collection.”
She placed a hand over his at her waist. “You’ll be pleased to know that Lord Coyle’s collection had some real gems in it, Professor.
They’re currently in the attic. You can come and read them at any time.
” She gazed up at her husband who smiled back at her.
“Taking possession of Coyle’s books feels like a final ending, as if we’ve turned the page of the last chapter and there’s no more of the story.
It’s a relief. Although we will see Hope and Valentine at family events from time to time. ”