I had no time to ponder Gabe’s extraordinary efforts because Horatio had recovered enough to talk and Gabe was keen for answers.
“Why did you involve Sylvia in your scheme?”
I wasn’t sure if it was the best first question, but it was certainly the one I wanted to know the answer to the most.
So did Gabe, if the rough way he grasped Horatio and spun him around to face us was any indication. When Horatio didn’t answer, Gabe shoved him back into the wall. Horatio winced and coughed again.
Gabe let him go. “Bolton has already confessed to the theft and implicated you. He’s blaming you for Tommy Allan’s murder.” It was a bluff, but a very good one.
Horatio believed him. “It wasn’t me! It was him!”
“If you want us to believe you, you have to explain. Start at the beginning. Why did you involve Sylvia in your scheme?”
“She was the go-between. She delivered messages from me to Bolton. Two, to be precise.”
“How?” I asked. “You gave me no messages to pass along.”
“You didn’t notice. They were in your coat pocket.”
I’d left my coat at the library. It was the only one I owned. I’d worn it each evening to and from Burlington House because the weather was cool. I’d removed it in Mr. Bolton’s office and left it there before setting about my work for the evening. Indeed, he had hung it up for me on one occasion. The other time, he’d slipped back into his office to retrieve his stick. He must have fished the note out of the pocket then.
“The first time you slipped it into my pocket at Daisy’s you made a point of asking me if it was my only coat.” We’d laughed about how poor I was, unable to afford another winter coat. “The second time, you called on me at the lodging house before I went to work. You pretended to gift me the painting so you could handle my coat.”
“I wasn’t pretending. I did gift it to you.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t notice a piece of paper,” I muttered.
“Bolton and I didn’t want to be seen together too many times,” Horatio went on. “We didn’t want people to know we were well acquainted.”
“From Passchendaele,” Gabe said.
“He was my sergeant. That’s when we devised the scheme, but it didn’t come to fruition until this year. Our interaction has been extremely limited. On our last meeting, I told him I’d send him a new employee and he was to check her coat pockets for messages.”
“You paid Driscoll to be ill for a few days,” Gabe said. “Then you had Sylvia fired as a waitress and suggested she apply for the job as assistant to the manager, knowing she’d get it because Bolton would be expecting her.”
“I didn’t get her fired. In fact, waitressing was the first plan. I hadn’t thought about removing Driscoll from the scene at that point. I knew the exhibition needed temporary wait staff, so when I heard Daisy and Sylvia wanted to meet you, I suggested they apply, knowing my influence would help. They were hired but were fired on the first day before I had the opportunity to write a note for Bolton. I had to find an alternative method and that’s when I thought about paying off Driscoll and sending Sylvia in as a replacement. It was a much better idea anyway. Easier for him.”
That was why Mr. Bolton hadn’t looked very closely at my references. I was going to be hired no matter how good or bad they were.
“Who decided to steal the Delaroche?” Gabe asked.
“I did. I knew the owner—we were lovers. I saw the painting in her drawing room. She boasted about it being done by a painter whom no one knew was a magician. When I heard it was going into the exhibition, I told Bolton. We decided it would be our first piece. After it was delivered to Burlington House, he saw it and confirmed it was magician made, then removed it from its frame and hid it behind another until he heard from me. That’s where Sylvia and her coat pocket comes in. My note told Bolton where to leave it for me to collect. I then passed it on to the buyer, a fellow I know who collects magical art.”
“You’ll be giving that name to the police,” Gabe said.
“I can’t do that. He’ll retaliate.”
“He’ll retaliate anyway when he finds out the canvas was magical, not the paint. I assume that will lower the price.”
His guess hit the mark. Horatio swore.
“And the second note in Sylvia’s pocket?”
Horatio sighed, all the fight gone out of him. “It was where and when to meet so I could pay Bolton his half.”
“What about the second painting, the seascape by Arthur Partridge? You tried to steal that too but failed.”
Horatio lowered his head and nodded. “Bolton should never have tried with the police there.”
“He was in the middle of taking it when he was caught,” Gabe went on. “He had to think of something to point suspicion elsewhere. So he pretended to have caught Tommy Allan in the act and frightened him off just before the constable arrived. But Tommy Allan was never there. Bolton was alone the entire time.”
“He got greedy. He wanted to take the seascape too.”
“He accused an innocent man,” I snapped. “Tommy Allan was no saint, but he didn’t deserve to die for your crime.”
“His death had nothing to do with me! I didn’t find out about it until afterwards. Bolton called on me in the middle of the night, hysterical, telling me I had to help him. He said he received an anonymous note demanding he pay a sum of money or the police will be informed that he identified magic paintings and stole them. The note was unsigned but had a meeting time and place. Bolton went. It was down at the docks. The packer revealed himself. Bolton was angry and got into a confrontation with the fellow. He pushed him. Allan fell and hit his head before tumbling into the water.”
“He might still have been alive at that point,” Gabe said.
Horatio merely shrugged one shoulder. “It’s not my fault. You can’t blame me for his death.”
“A little over two weeks ago, someone tried to kidnap me outside Burlington House. Was that you?”
“No. Why would I try to kidnap you? I didn’t even know you then.”
Daisy returned with two policemen. They were about to escort Horatio downstairs when she stopped them. “May I have my scarf back please?”
One of the constables untied the scarf and the other immediately clapped his handcuffs around Horatio’s wrists.
Daisy accepted the scarf, smiling charmingly at the constable. “One more thing before you take him away.” She slapped Horatio across the cheek, leaving behind a red mark in the shape of her hand. “Rot in prison, you pig.”
The constables marched Horatio away, his eyes watering.
Another two bobbies replaced them, as well as Cyclops. He informed us that he’d telephoned Scotland Yard once he realized Horatio wasn’t at home and they’d told him about Daisy’s call.
Gabe repeated Horatio’s confession, and afterwards, Cyclops left too.
Daisy closed the door but remained staring at it, her back to us. Her shoulders trembled, and I heard a sniff. I put my arms around her waist from behind and she leaned into me.
“I can’t believe I trusted him,” she said. “I let him into my home. I talked about fashion and art with him!” That seemed to be high on her barometer of betrayal.
I hugged her tightly. “He had us all duped. As awful as he turned out to be, I do think he liked you as a friend. He didn’t use you.” I tugged on the scarf she held. “He liked discussing fashion with you too.”
Daisy suddenly turned, her eyes bright with tears but also excitement. “His flat will become vacant now. You should move in, Sylvia.”
“The rent will be too high.”
“Not once I start a campaign that a thief and murderer lived there. I’ll tell the letting agency and neighbors, the nearby restaurant staff and shopkeepers…” She clasped my hands. “When they have trouble leasing it, you’ll apply with a low offer.”
I laughed, relieved she wasn’t mourning the loss of her friendship. “It won’t work.”
“I can be very convincing.”
“Besides, Horatio might not be the murderer.”
She waved off the concern. “No one knows that.” She took my hand. “Come along, sit down. You too, Gabe. We all deserve a cup of tea.”
Gabe and I sat on the sofa while she made the tea in the kitchen. I was still a little shaken from the experience, but my nerves were settling down again.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked.
I nodded. “I’m unharmed.”
“You’ll need to give a statement to Cyclops, but if you’re not up to it today, it can wait.”
I didn’t particularly want to relive it, but it might be better to get it over with sooner rather than later, so I didn’t forget the details. But no matter how much I thought about it, there was one detail I couldn’t pin down. Everything happened so fast…that was the point, as well as the problem. “Gabe, how did you know to come up after you dropped me off outside?”
“I didn’t. Not really. I just thought there was a slim chance that Horatio wasn’t at home and was here instead. It was only a small chance, but a chance nevertheless. It would worry me if I left without checking. I hadn’t got far so I turned around, parked, and came up.”
“You heard Daisy’s scream.”
“Was that who it was?”
“You responded, but you seemed too far away to reach us on time. Your voice was distant, as if you were on the ground floor.”
He merely lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I took the stairs three at a time.”
That explained the breathlessness when he arrived. But even so…he’d been too far away to reach me after he called out and before Horatio struck. He’d arrived in what felt like a fraction of a second.
He seemed to understand my confusion because he said, “One’s perception of time alters during a crisis. For some it speeds up, for others it slows down.”
He’d lived through enough crises to know.
Daisy returned and deposited a tray on the table. Instead of pouring the tea immediately, she picked up the bronze dog statue from where Gabe had set it on the floor after hitting Horatio with it. She clutched it to her chest. “Sylvia had it in hand, you know. She was about to dodge out of the way as he brought this down, then trip him over, snatch it off him and hit him over the head with it.”
“Was I?” I said with a laugh. “I’m not sure I could have done all of that, although I certainly planned to dart out of the way before he cracked my skull.”
She placed the statue of the dog back in its original position on the side table and patted its head as if it were a dutiful pet. “It’s what I would have done.” We shared a smile. It was the second confrontation where she’d screamed instead of fighting back.
After we finished our tea, Gabe drove me to the library. He parked the motor and walked me down Crooked Lane to the library’s door. Although Tommy Allan was dead, and Horatio and Mr. Bolton were in prison, he still worried.
“Besides, Albert Scarrow the journalist could confront you,” he pointed out when I told him I didn’t need an escort.
“Speaking of journalists, do you think your kidnapping attempt is related to the article?”
“It seems an extreme way to obtain an interview.”
“I don’t mean the journalists are trying to kidnap you. I mean…” I sighed. “I don’t know what I mean. But the timing is curious. The article about you saving the boy at the Isle of Wight appeared in the newspaper then the following day someone tried to bundle you into their motorcar.”
He tucked his hands into his pockets and stared grimly ahead.
“It’s just very coincidental,” I went on. “Do you think there’s a connection with how you get out of trouble so easily and quickly?”
“No.”
“But—”
“No, Sylvia. There’s no connection. It’s just a coincidence, and I’m sure it was simply a case of mistaken identity.”
Which was it? Coincidence or mistaken identity? I bit the inside of my lip to stop my retort.
He opened the library door for me but did not enter. “Thanks for your help, not just today, but throughout the investigation. Take care.” It was formal, and he didn’t smile. He didn’t even look at me. My inquiry into the kidnapping attempt annoyed him.
It likely spelled the end of our friendship, if that’s what our relationship could be called. If it could be so easily ended, then perhaps it wasn’t strong in the first place. I’d probably over-emphasized it in my own head.
It was for the best. I’d begun to develop feelings for him, feelings beyond friendship. But he was engaged to be married. He was not free. It was better to end all contact with him here and now rather than let those feelings grow any more than they had. The formality of our parting was safe and wise. It was the way it had to be.
We shook hands before he turned and walked away down Crooked Lane, his broad shoulders squared, his strides determined. He did not look back.
Daisy declared the early evening required cocktails. I agreed. It had been quite a day. My nerves were still jangling after experiencing every possible emotion. Working in the library for the entire afternoon had been the soothing balm I’d needed, allowing me to digest the day’s events without dwelling on them. It helped to talk them over with Professor Nash too. He was level-headed and insightful. I did not mention my theory about Gabe’s attempted kidnapping, however. The more I thought about it, the more ridiculous it seemed.
He was probably right. It was simply a case of mistaken identity, otherwise there would have been another attempt.
Daisy handed me a martini. “Chin up, Old Girl. I know you lost the man, but you caught a murderer and a thief.” She winked. “And the man won’t be lost to you forever.”
I gave her a stern look. “He’s getting married, Daisy.”
“If I were you, I’d fight for him. Men like him don’t come along every day.”
“I’m perfectly happy as I am. I don’t need a man in my life.”
“Hear, hear.” She clinked her glass with mine then sipped. “But you shouldn’t let a good one walk out of your life. Not when you clearly like him. Don’t let your fear get in the way of your happiness.”
I spluttered. “What fear?”
“Your fear of getting too close to men.” She blinked owlishly at me. When I shrugged in question, she added, “You’re not scared of men, but you are scared of letting them get to know you. Gabe is the first you’ve allowed to get close since you’ve been in London.”
“That’s not true,” I mumbled.
She barreled on as if I hadn’t spoken. “It’s understandable, considering your background. You had no father, and you moved a lot, so you never had many friends, and certainly no male ones.”
It was true. My brother James had been the only male in my life.
“But you shouldn’t let that fear dictate to you or you’ll be lonely for the rest of your life. And I think I know you well enough to know you want to marry and have children, one day.”
I did, but only if the right man came along.
I took a long sip of my cocktail, not wanting to consider how perfect Gabe would be as a husband and father. I hardly knew him. My emotions were still too raw after the day I’d had, that was my problem. I’d feel differently about him tomorrow.
“If you want him, you should fight for him,” she said again. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, and I think you’re capable of winning his heart.”
I quickly shook my head, wanting to shake off her words before they settled into my mind, and my heart. “He’s engaged to a very nice woman.”
“I don’t think you’re backing away from him because he’s engaged. You’re backing away because he’s a man and he was getting close, and that terrifies you.”
I drained my glass and held it out to her. “I need another cocktail, and you need to stop talking.”
She took the glass with a smug smile. “I’m good at understanding people and giving advice. Perhaps I should be a psychotic.”
“I think you mean psychologist, and they require a university education.”
She pouted. “So that profession is off the table too. This morning I was considering acting, but I failed rather miserably in acting confident when Horatio attacked.”
“You were under pressure. Why do you want to change profession, anyway? I thought you were an artist?”
She sighed as she pushed herself to her feet. “I’m not very good at painting. Horatio was just humoring me. Speaking of which, what are you going to do with the painting he gave you?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want it. Throw it away?”
“Don’t do that. I think you should sell it. He’s about to become notorious. It might increase the value of his art.”
It was a marvelous idea. I could ask Freddie Duckworth or Arthur Partridge if they knew a buyer who’d want a painting done by an infamous art thief.
When Daisy handed me another cocktail, I saluted her with the glass. “You really are good at giving advice. I promise I will try to overcome my fear of letting men get close to me.”
“Good. Because tonight we’re going to a club.”
I pulled a face. “Not tonight. I’m exhausted. Today has been a long day.”
She rolled her eyes, shook her head, and gave me a genuine smile.
According to Professor Nash, a key component of being a librarian at the Glass Library involved knowing the content contained within the pages of the books. Having personally purchased and collected many of the books himself over the years, he was already quite familiar with them. If a patron asked him about cotton magic, for example, he knew the topic was touched upon in texts on other magics such as painting canvases and clothing. He wanted me to develop the same knowledge, over time, and suggested the best place to start was to read at least part of every book, beginning with the general ones before moving on to specialized topics.
It was going to take a lifetime to read all of them. Even just the introductions or first chapters would take years. Even so, I wasn’t averse to sitting and reading. I collected an armful of books and sat at the desk in the ground floor nook. With Professor Nash’s card system beside me, I could also check the books had been accurately catalogued.
The job was a dream come true for this bibliophile.
I was engrossed in learning about ceramic magic when someone cleared their throat. I looked up from the amphora painted with images of naked, athletic men to Gabe. Blushing, I quickly closed the book but not before he saw the focus of my attention.
Being a gentleman, he didn’t acknowledge my blush. He held up a paper bag. “Doughnut?”
I glanced past him but couldn’t see the professor.
“He’s eating his at the front desk.” Gabe opened the bag in front of me. “Peace offering.”
“You didn’t have to. There’s no argument between us so no need of a peace offering.”
He winced. “Actually, I have something to confess. I lied to you.”
“Oh?”
“When you asked me if I knew a silver magician, I said I didn’t. That part isn’t a lie.” He put down the bag and perched on the edge of the desk. “The lie was that I could have found out if one existed. I just…didn’t.” He watched me carefully, monitoring me for signs of what I was thinking.
“Does this have anything to do with how you found out Mr. Bolton was a rubber magician?”
His lips twitched in a tentative smile. “Not much gets past you. You’re right. I have access to a…vast store of knowledge about magician lineages.” The hesitation was telling; he didn’t want to give away too much.
I understood that and respected it. Some things must remain a secret. “Your family are the keepers of this knowledge?”
He nodded. “And some others.”
Again, he didn’t elaborate. Whether the knowledge was written down or in someone’s head, I couldn’t be certain. When he’d left me in the motor to check Mr. Bolton’s family name, he could have been telephoning someone or looking up a list stored in the house. Either made sense.
“When you first asked me about your family being silver magicians, I didn’t want you to know that I could find out. I didn’t know if I could trust you. Now I do.”
Hearing that was more uplifting than it ought to have been. “I trust you too.” It was said automatically, without thinking, but it came from the very depths of me. I trusted him implicitly.
He smiled. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.” He lowered his gaze, as if he could no longer bear to look at me because too much was exchanged between us through glances alone. At least, that’s how it felt for me. “There are no magician families named Ashe, by the way. Not in any magical discipline.”
“Oh. Never mind. It was a wild theory anyway.”
“There are other branches in your family, and if you don’t know their names and origins, it’s impossible to be sure. But there is one silversmith magician. Or there was. Marianne Folgate. Does the name mean anything to you?”
“Professor Nash mentioned someone named Marianne, but I don’t know any Mariannes or Folgates.”
“My parents met her in 1891, here in London. She was young, aged about eighteen or nineteen. They don’t know anything else about her, whether she’s alive or dead, or whether she married and had children. I’m sorry I can’t give you more than that.”
“It’s all right. Thank you for looking into it, but I’m quite sure I’m not a silver magician. I feel no affinity for silverware.”
He frowned down at the paper bag, bulging with our doughnuts. “Are you sure you’re not a magician of some description?”
Of all the things he could have said to me today, that was perhaps the most surprising. It took me several moments to recover and even then I remained speechless. I merely shrugged.
“It’s just that you recognized how special the seascape was.”
“Many people did, magicians and general public alike. It was beautiful.”
“You also spotted the stolen canvas hidden behind the village painting. That wouldn’t have been easy to see. Perhaps you were attracted to it because its magic called to yours.”
“The corner had come loose. I simply happened to look over at the right time. It was more luck than anything.”
He shrugged and picked up the bag. “Take one or I’ll be forced to eat both, and when Willie asks me why I’m too full to eat dinner, I’ll have to confess that I ate two doughnuts. She’ll tell me I’m putting on weight. Next thing I know, Mrs. Ling is removing desserts and sauces from the menu. You’ll be saving the entire household from bland diets if you eat your share.”
I laughed. “You’re very convincing.”
“It’s because you know I’m not joking. That’s precisely what Willie would do.”
I reached into the bag and as I scooped out a doughnut, I touched Gabe’s hand. With a layer of paper between us, it shouldn’t have meant anything. It shouldn’t have sent a jolt through me, warming me from head to toe.
But it did.
I glanced up to see if he’d felt it too. Our gazes met, and I knew he had.
Neither of us moved. Both of us sat there, frozen, unsure how to proceed or what to say. With every passing thud of my heart, the intensity deepened, throbbing in time to my pulse.
Professor Nash wandered in, licking his fingers. I snatched my doughnut out of the bag. “That was the best doughnut I’ve ever had. Where did you get it?”
Gabe removed his doughnut too and scrunched up the empty bag. “A magician baker on—”
“Don’t tell me!” The professor put up both his hands, warding Gabe off. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to know. If I know then I’ll want to buy a treat every day, and Willie will soon be admonishing me.” He patted his stomach.
I bit into the cinnamon goodness. He was right. It was deliciously light, and somehow retained some warmth. I savored every mouthful until not a speck of sugar was left. “There needs to be a spell that a magician baker can put on their food that will stop you putting on weight, no matter how much of it you eat.”
Gabe tossed the balled-up paper bag into the rubbish bin. “The magician baker who knows that spell will make a fortune.”
The professor rubbed his jaw and turned to the bookshelves. “I’m going to re-read the tomes on food magic. Sylvia, you should help me. If there’s so much as a hint of such a spell, we’ll find it.”
I stood to follow him as Gabe laughed softly. “I told you working here wouldn’t be a doddle.”
“Not a doddle,” I said. “But it’s going to be fun if every day is like this.”
He grinned. “If it makes you this happy, then I’m glad I was the reason you were fired from your other job.”
“You weren’t the sole reason.”
“When friends ask, I’m going to tell them my version.”
I laughed. I liked that he wanted to talk about me to his friends. I wasn’t sure what it meant for the future, but at that moment, the future looked brighter and clearer than it had in a long time. The fog that had enveloped me ever since my brother’s and mother’s deaths had finally lifted.