Chapter 17 #3
Thornwood hummed. Some of the color had returned to his face, although touches of gray still lingered on his skin.
“What was that, earlier?” she asked as she sank next to him on the grass.
“I am not sure. It has never happened to me before.”
“Do you remember asking me to find something green?”
“Vaguely. Mostly I remember how tired I was.”
Mouse frowned. “There are plenty of small parks and gardens in this part of London, but I do not know them all and most of them are private. What if you collapse again?”
“It is more a matter of ‘when’ than ‘if.’ ”
“How can you be sure?”
“There is too much iron and lead in this modern world for a Faerie. I cannot go far without these patches of green. The last time I was here, there were rivers running through the town. Where have they gone?”
“Underground,” Mouse said. “When the city expanded, the rivers were directed through pipes and streets were laid over them. Do you think you can tap into that magic, now that you know it is there?”
“My affinity is for earth, not water, but I can try.”
He closed his eyes. The grass stretched toward him, covering his fingers as he dug into the ground.
“I can barely feel the magic there at all,” Thornwood said, pulling his hands away.
“There are layers of iron between you and the water now,” Mouse said. “Perhaps we should focus on stopping at patches of green on our way. If you think you can stand it.”
He glared at her. “I will manage.”
“All right, then. I can steer us both toward Beckett’s. Put your arm around my waist.”
“Will the other humans think that is strange?”
“No,” Mouse said firmly, trying to convince both herself and Thornwood that there was nothing odd about the idea. “There are enough people in this city that we will mostly go unnoticed, or people will think we are husband and wife.”
She helped Thornwood to his feet, and together they stumbled back into the city. He walked stiffly at her side, his arm looped around her waist. Mouse shifted closer, ignoring the jolt of electricity that flowed between them where his fingers rested against her suit.
Thornwood walked with his eyes open, but they were glazed and unmoving. Mouse knew the bare bones of the path, although she was not sure which roads would get them to Beckett’s office fastest. All her previous visits were marked with stops at museums, restaurants, and bookstores.
Although the streets were the same, the buildings on either side had changed since she’d last been there.
Touches of modernity flecked historic streets.
Gas lamps rose above automobiles. Horses pulled carts of hay, and newspaper littered the roads in scraps of discarded ink.
The look of the buildings changed as they walked.
Businesses catering to the elite of Kensington gave way to the residences, fine and tiered.
“I must rest,” Thornwood said, tugging on her arm.
They came to a stop beside the looming Natural History Museum.
Just before Bertie and Roger enlisted, they had visited the museum together.
Roger’s focus was on the assortment of shells from around the world, but Bertie steered Mouse to the wing dedicated to Faerie anthropology.
Skeletons of pixies and Faerie plants pressed flat under glass decorated the exhibit. Mouse had never seen the world of Faerie laid out, stripped bare of the folklore that surrounded it, like flesh to their bones.
Faeries needed their stories, their history, in order to be any different from the skeletal dinosaur at the museum entrance.
Mouse tightened her hold on the living Faerie beside her. Thornwood slumped, his head resting on her shoulder.
“Should we sit down for a while?” she asked. “There is a patch of green beyond the gate.”
“We should not loiter. We need to catch our train. A night in this city would destroy me.”
“We will find a park after we have spoken to Beckett,” Mouse said.
“Good,” he sighed. His eyes went glassy again, and they did not speak until they were at Beckett’s office.
It was a thin building, pressed between a long line of similar houses on either side.
Its austere facade blended perfectly with all the other houses on the street.
The wall of brick dominating the street might have been intimidating, if it was not so dull.
Mouse knew from her previous visits that Beckett lived on the second floor, and that he rented the flat above to a revolving stream of tenants.
Lord Dewhurst often jabbed that one could tell Beckett was unmarried, due to the lack of homely touches about the place. Mouse thought it was more likely that he did not have the time to waste on the fashionable knickknacks Lord Dewhurst would expect from a middle-class man.
Thornwood leaned against the stair rail leading up to the door, his eyes pressed closed, as Mouse rang the bell. Hurried, shuffling steps approached.
A bedraggled Beckett wrenched open the door. He was in his shirtsleeves, with his tweed vest gaping open, held secure by just the top button. His glasses crowned his head, and a long ink stain stretched down his chin. Mouse could make out a line of reversed letters pressed into his cheek.
“What is it?” he barked before the door was open. He squinted down his stubby nose at Mouse.
“Mr. Beckett,” she said.
His eyebrows shot up in concert with his voice. “Lady Dewhurst!” His hand flew to his vest, which he began buttoning. The other clutched at his neck, then searched his pockets. “Forgive me. I did not recognize you.”
“No need to apologize,” she said, suppressing a smile. “If you are looking for your glasses, they are on your head.”
He pulled them down over his scarlet face. “How can I help you, my lady?”
“We came to ask you about something.” Mouse stepped into the office hallway. It was a tight, sterile space.
“We?”
When Mouse turned to look, Thornwood was gone. She knew that his presence would raise questions, but she felt exposed without him. At least she had the persuasion spell to lean on.
“We, meaning my brother and I.”
Beckett did not question her as he caught his reflection in the mirror. He scrubbed his sleeve against his cheek. It came away black. He grimaced and rolled his sleeves up to the elbows.
Mouse followed the hallway to a small room decorated with dark red wallpaper, Beckett at her heels.
Papers covered nearly every surface of his study, and huge gaps between books dotted the bookshelves.
The missing titles lay open on the floor, chairs, and across Beckett’s desk.
Thinking of how tidy he had kept Lord Dewhurst’s desk, Mouse deduced that he must be in the middle of something important.
Beckett cleared a place for Mouse to sit without a word, then took his seat across from her.
She saw the smudged letter with an imprint of his cheek pressed into the ink.
He rang a bell on his desk, and a tall woman in green bustled into the room.
When she saw Mouse, she tilted her head slightly in question, her eyes darting to Beckett.
“Some tea, perhaps,” he said. “And coffee for myself.” The woman nodded and left, pulling the door closed behind her.
“How can I help you, Lady Dewhurst?” he asked. He was visibly more in control, despite the towers of paperwork around them. “It is not often that I get a surprise visit from a client.”
“I would have thought the aristocracy reveled in that sort of thing,” Mouse said before she could stop herself.
“Some do,” he said coolly. “It must be a family trait.”
Mouse schooled her features into a neutral mask. “I am sorry to drop in on you without warning. It is just that I ran across a locked door that requires two keys at Thistlemarsh.”
“How peculiar,” he said.
“Very. Now, I have one of the keys in my possession. It was a gift from my mother before she died. I know my cousin had the other one with him at the Front.”
“Fascinating. How do you know Master Bertie had it?”
“My uncle told me that he did. It was one of the few of Bertie’s belongings returned from France.” The words flowed freely, despite the lie. It was not Lord Dewhurst that told her Bertie had the key, but John, in one of the letters he’d sent her while she was at Le Temple des Fées.
Beckett gulped. “I see.”
“I am sure that it opens this odd door; my key fits the lock perfectly, and I know that Bertie’s key was a near twin to mine.”
“You have come to me to confirm its existence?”
“No, I have come to you to claim it. The key is not at Thistlemarsh Hall, so it must be here.”
“I have no such key,” Beckett said, opening his hands as though to demonstrate he was not holding it. However, his eyes flashed to the ceiling. Mouse felt certainty swell in her chest.
“Beckett, I am quite sure it is here,” Mouse said. As the words left her mouth, there was a twinge behind her eye. She felt the persuasion magic as much as she saw its effect on Beckett.
He slumped back into his chair and took her in. A touch of something like admiration rose in his eyes.
“Lord Dewhurst asked me to keep it away from you until you came to ask for it.”
Mouse stiffened. “And why did he do that?”
“I am not sure—the man was quite mad in the end. Perhaps it has to do with the rules of a Faerie-blessed house.”
“So, you decided to play ignorant with me?”
“I do not like being called on without warning. It is embarrassing for all involved,” Beckett said.
“The key,” Mouse pressed. Beckett’s fingers twitched. She threw all her natural power of persuasion into words, hoping that and the magic would be enough. “Please.”
The woman in green entered, balancing a silver tea service. She placed it on top of an open book. Its contents jiggled precariously.
“Thank you, Alice. Please fetch the wooden box labeled ‘Dewhurst’ from the stacks upstairs.”
The woman left, and Mouse heard steady footsteps mount the stairs above their heads. Relief flooded through her. The magic was working.
Beckett blinked at her, as though struggling to recognize her face. He looked so frazzled that Mouse felt a twinge of guilt. Then she caught sight of a photograph on his bookshelf of him and Lord Dewhurst in hunting kits, smiling. Her heart turned to stone.
The footsteps proceeded down the stairs. Alice shouldered open the door, and Beckett rose to meet her, lifting the box out of her hands.
“Thank you,” he said. The woman curtsied and was gone.
Beckett opened the box and pulled out a small silver key. He deliberated, looking from it to her outstretched hand before he gave it to her swiftly, as though it was piping hot.
“Is there anything else my uncle kept from me?” Mouse asked.
Hesitating only a moment, Beckett pressed the box into Mouse’s hands. Inside, Mouse found a few tattered medals, a pack of cigarettes, and a photograph. “That was all. Now, if you do not mind, I have some work to do.”
“Of course,” Mouse said. She clutched Bertie’s things. Despite the success of the spell, she could not help but think that it would break any moment, and that Beckett would snatch the items away from her. “Thank you very much for your time.”
“You are welcome, Lady Dewhurst, but a telegram beforehand would be appreciated, next time.”
Mouse pulled open the door. “I can find my way out.”
“Oh, and Lady Dewhurst,” he called out to her. She turned back to him. He looked larger in the clutter of his office than he did in Thistlemarsh’s study. It was disconcerting.
“Yes?”
“I look forward to seeing what you do with the house.”