TELESCOPE

40

HETTY LEANED BACK on the stool in Benjy’s workshop, polishing her telescope to the gentle rhythm of a hammer beating against metal. She had intended to work on a costume for next week’s play, but dinner last night with their friends made it a moot point. Oliver announced that he and Thomas were going on holiday, which meant no elaborate plays would be put on for a while. To which George had remarked, with an annoying smirk, that they all had had their fill of putting on a show for a while anyway.

A week had passed since they put on Valentine Duval’s funeral, both the spectacle and the private one held afterward, and things were as quiet as they usually got.

Hetty hosted the E. W. Harper meeting, and to her great surprise, it was rather pleasant. It had been a small group. Evie Wong, the glassmaker Violet Morrow, Hetty’s old neighbor Willa, plus two others Hetty had not met before had come. Darlene had taken control of the meeting, guiding conversation to various topics with great skill. Penelope talked about potion making. Hetty even got a chance to read part of the astronomy paper she had submitted to the astronomy journal, and had a good laugh with everyone as she realized how convoluted some parts of her paper were.

An invitation to Adelaide Duval’s gallery opening had arrived that morning, announcing not just the grand reveal of some of her statues, but the paintings Darlene had worked on. The opening would be near the end of the month, as Adelaide wanted to wait for the arrival of Emily Jacobs’s sister, Lizzie, from Canada. Adelaide only had to hear Emily tell her story once before the sculptor insisted on taking the girls under her wing. The Jacobs sisters would stay with Adelaide, and of course take classes at Olmstead, a decision that was agreed to as easily as it had been made.

There were other smaller things at work too. Sy and Rosie finally opened up the bookshop, and currently planned to be open a few days out of the week. Penelope had yet to move into Hetty’s guest room, although with all of Penelope’s plants currently residing around the house, it was only a matter of time. Which was fine by Hetty, as there was one lingering problem they needed to deal with.

Nathan Payne had set some of the mysterious fires that plagued the city, to cover the murders he performed as directed by Eudora. But the rest of the fires had a different origin, and were still a major problem.

As Hetty and Benjy had told Jay previously, when it came to the fires, all roads led to Beatty Hose. Even with the resources Cora could provide through the Magnolia Muses, handling Beatty Hose was still a delicate matter. While directly confronting them was still an option, it risked bringing trouble on their heads as well as others. A less indirect route involving the courts and the rule of law was also out of the question, because there was no way laws could stop people who weren’t following the rules in the first place.

Yet, despite these issues, Hetty was able to find an elegant solution to the problem.

“You should check the cauldron,” Benjy called, pausing to wipe the sweat from his brow. “It’s starting to bubble.”

“You’re closer,” Hetty said, giving one last rub to her telescope.

“I’m busy. And it’s your sister’s spell that you insisted on doing and wouldn’t accept my help.”

Hetty rarely dabbled with brewed magic, and when she announced she wanted to try this spell, Benjy didn’t even bother arguing with her. He carried the cauldron out to his workshop and kept one eye on it the entire time. She thought it a bit extreme since his experiments with magic had nearly set their house on fire before, but she had to admit, brewing the potion in here made things easier.

Hetty gently placed her telescope on the table and approached the bubbling cauldron sitting on the brazier.

The liquid inside had turned gold—it even had the sheen that Esther’s note had mentioned it should have at this point.

Reaching for a ladle, Hetty ran her thumb over the Fox star sigil at the base, stirring the magic that would keep the utensil from melting in her hand. She scooped out the still bubbling potion and poured it over a small wooden box, making sure to get all parts of the surface.

That done, she replaced the ladle and drew the Phoenix star sigil next, igniting a small flame onto the box.

For the briefest of moments, the flames flickered on the surface before it vanished.

“It worked,” Benjy remarked as he gently tapped the hammer around the object he was working on. “Are we selling the potion itself, or the knowledge?”

“We’re giving the knowledge away,” Hetty corrected.

He smiled, inordinately pleased. “What is the world coming to when you’re not concerned about money?”

“A world in which I don’t want to be tasked with making this potion all the time.”

Benjy gave another whack to the object in his hand, snapping off a piece. “Isn’t this a better solution than writing the alderman a stern letter?”

“It was never just a letter.” Hetty set another fire spell on the box, watching the fire burn then vanish once again. “It was sending him a letter after we burned down all the warehouses he’s been using, wrecked the entrances to the tunnels he’d slinked about in, and made sure he could never use that little clubhouse of his again. Then,” she added with relish, “I’ll set my birds on him, so he’ll think he’s being watched!”

“That’s too dramatic,” Benjy said. “No need to get the birds involved.”

“We have to do something, or he’ll just continue what Payne started.”

Benjy picked up the metal rose he had been working on and held it out for Hetty to take. “I already collapsed the tunnels, and wrecked the foundation for both the warehouses and the old Beatty Hose station. With Sy’s and Thomas’s help, I stole the ledgers and disrupted the supply chain the alderman used for his business.”

Hetty held on to the rose, unable to do anything more than grip it tighter, focusing on the fine details of the petals as she made sense of his words. “When did you do this?”

“During your E. W. Harper meeting.”

“You should have picked a different time; that is something I wanted to be part of.” Hetty pouted.

“Through Payne, the alderman messed with my friends,” Benjy said. “You already had your revenge. I wanted mine.”

“I suppose that’s fair.” Hetty absently spun the metal rose between her fingers. “Penelope’s going to be very shocked to know I made the potion and that it worked.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t let her do it.” Benjy turned the fire down under the cauldron.

“Esther tried to teach me brewed magic. I never had the patience for it. I still don’t. But that doesn’t mean I can’t learn following the notes she left me.”

Benjy picked up the tongs and pulled out of the pail on the floor the object he had been working on while they waited for the potion to finish brewing.

“Are you finally done with the sign?” Hetty asked, laying the rose down next to her telescope. “Does it meet your exacting standards?”

“Don’t you mean does it meet yours? You were giving me suggestions even as I was pounding things out.”

Hetty slid over to his side of the table, brushing up against him. “I had to make sure you got it right. Or you’d have to do it again.”

Although she said this, from her first glance she knew the sign was perfect. Just like they had discussed, it was a large oval, with a sun cut into the metal on the left side and a crescent moon on the right. In between were two lines of text:

 

Mourning Dove Funeral Home

Inquiries Welcomed

 

A sign to speak to those who came here to bury bodies and to those who might come to learn where bodies were buried.

“Do you think this will work better?” Benjy asked.

“Much better,” Hetty began, only to be interrupted by a series of sharp raps followed by their neighbor calling out to them: “Are you in there? Come outside! Both of you!”

Hetty groaned, and she pressed her head against Benjy’s shoulder. “What does she want now?”

“We could ignore her?” Benjy whispered, but the rapping just continued.

“I know you’re in there,” Blythe called. “I saw you earlier! What are you doing in there anyway?”

Hetty stormed out of the workshop first. Her neighbor had a broomstick in her hand and was gleefully hitting the side of the shack.

“Mrs. Holloway, how can we help you?”

“Quite easily.” Blythe dropped the broomstick as Benjy stepped into the yard. “I’m inviting you over for tea. There is something I wish to talk about.” With a twist of her hand, the gate’s latch lifted and swung invitingly open. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not going to poison you. Not on purpose.”

Hetty had to admit, annoyed as she was, this sparked her curiosity.

It had sparked Benjy’s as well, for he simply followed after Hetty through the gate and into their neighbor’s backyard.

The only thing of note in Blythe’s yard was a small table with a couple of chairs, all of which looked like it had been recently moved to sit in the shade of their shack. The lock on Blythe’s cellar door was shiny. It and the hinges on the door had the honor of being the first items to come out from Benjy’s workshop—and added without informing their neighbor of the house­guest she had unknowingly had.

There wasn’t anything remarkable about Blythe’s kitchen. It had the same layout as theirs except flipped. Hetty walked around with an odd feeling of walking in a mirror. Everything was in reverse, from the layout of the cabinets and stove to even the placement of the table.

Hetty bumped into the table by accident, not expecting it to jut out so far. Something rattled on it. But it was just a tray with a half-melted candle sitting in a dish. Everything else on the table wasn’t breakable. Just letters scattered across the surface.

Letters all addressed to a Miss Carole. Just Miss Carole. No last name, and with an address that belonged to the Eventide Observer.

All at once, the dozens of letters Hetty read in the paper’s advice column came flooding back to her, with something akin to horrified delight.

“You.” Hetty turned to her neighbor. “You’re Miss Carole!”

“I am.” Blythe took a few mismatched teacups from the cabinet. “It’s fun mostly. I used to do an etiquette and manners column back home, but I like giving out more general advice, as it gets me more interesting letters. But don’t you know this, after you received some of my letters by accident?” Blythe frowned as she glanced over at Benjy. He was very quietly washing his hands at the sink. “Benjamin brought them over when they got in your box by accident. Ever since then, I go through your mail to check. The newspaper sends children with my mail, and your box is easier for the little ones to reach.”

“I had no idea,” Hetty said.

“Well,” Blythe said, with a knowing grin, “surprises are good for everyone!”

With the tea tray in hand, she bumped the kitchen door open with her hip and headed out of the room.

“Did you know before you found the letters?” Hetty bristled.

“I didn’t.” Benjy turned around, drying his hands. “I didn’t say anything because you liked the column so much and I didn’t want to ruin your fun, since you don’t like Mrs. Holloway.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. She’s rather vexing and nosy,” Hetty said, “but I don’t dislike her. I’d have to dislike myself, because I have similar qualities.”

“I suppose that’s why I get along with her,” Benjy said, so sincerely that Hetty almost missed the amusement that lurked in his eyes.

“Well, you keep that in mind!” Hetty retorted. “She’s about to spring a surprise on us. She took out four teacups.”

Benjy tapped his chin. “She did say she wants our help. Any guesses why?”

Hetty leaned against the counter, her eyes drawn back to the letters on the table. “Someone came to her for advice, someone she’s very close to and wants to provide the best help possible.”

“A person who is resistant to accepting that help from her,” Benjy added. “Why else bring us in?”

And it was with this confidence that they went into the next room, where Blythe was arguing with her houseguest as she poured tea.

“. . . you just need to talk to them and it’ll be fine.”

“Auntie,” Temperance Murray cried, “I don’t care who your neighbors are. They can’t do a thing about . . .”

Temperance blinked, looking younger and quite startled as she stared at Hetty and Benjy.

Hetty stared right back. Temperance was the last person she expected to see sitting in the upholstered chair. For a wild moment she feared that Bernice Tanner might have sent her. But there was a strain in Temperance’s face and a deep worry creasing her brow that had never been there in any of their previous encounters.

“You’re the neighbors!” Temperance exclaimed. “You live next door!”

“Oh, you’ve met before,” Blythe said. “This shall make everything easier!”

Temperance reached for her aunt’s arm, shaking it a bit. “No, it won’t! I can’t take their help!”

Blythe calmly lifted the younger woman’s hand from hers. “You’re going to have to take it. Because when you wrote to me saying you were seeking employment in Philadelphia because there was nothing keeping you in California, I thought you got your heart broken by that rich girl again. Not that three different people wanted your fingers for souvenirs for stealing a music box.”

“What sort of music box?” Hetty asked, rather intrigued. “What can it do?”

“It’s nothing special.” Temperance glared at her aunt.

“If someone wants you dead, it certainly is special,” Hetty said.

“Did you steal it?” Benjy asked.

Hetty turned to her husband. “Does it matter if she stole it? The item’s lost. Doesn’t it need to be found?”

“Or should it be found? Is it dangerous?”

“Or valuable? What can it do?”

Temperance held up her hands in an attempt to hold back their questions. “I don’t need your help,” she said quite firmly. “I’ll manage.”

“I don’t know about that.” Blythe was the only one actually drinking the tea. She sat there as if watching a rather amusing play. “You wanted my advice, didn’t you? So here it is. I can’t think of anyone else who is better equipped to help than Henrietta and Benjamin Rhodes. I know you haven’t been in Philadelphia long, but haven’t you heard the stories about them?”

Temperance’s scowl only deepened. “I’ve heard plenty. Trust me: you don’t want to be dragged into this mess. Don’t you have other work to focus on?”

“There’s always work to do.” Hetty shrugged. “If you really didn’t want our help, you would have walked out the room the moment we came in.”

“If I did,” Temperance countered, “would you still want to help?”

“Of course,” Benjy said, so firmly that Hetty turned to face him—and saw the spell he cast with a gentle twist of his fingers. “Because you have a hex hanging about you. But don’t worry. We know exactly what to do.”