Thank goodness the butler entered carrying a tray with teacups and teapot. He was as welcome as a cool breeze at the end of a hot summer’s day.
“I never asked for tea, Bristow,” the woman snapped.
“Miss Ashe might like it,” he said. “She looks flushed.”
“She won’t be staying.”
“Even so, providing tea is what a hostess does.”
The woman bristled. “I ain’t an idiot, and I’ve been in this country long enough to know the rules. I also know that when someone ain’t staying long, there’s no need to offer tea.”
The butler picked up the teapot. “I’ll pour, shall I?”
Mr. Glass walked in and stopped suddenly upon seeing me. Mr. Bailey, following behind, almost bumped into him. “Miss Ashe! This is a surprise.”
I rose and shook his hand before sitting again. “I telephoned earlier and was told to come here. I have some information that you might find useful for your case.”
“You were told to come here?” He turned to the woman, brows arched. She had not risen upon his entry, whereas the butler had straightened. She wasn’t a servant then. “I see you’ve met Willie.”
“Actually, we haven’t been properly introduced.”
He released an exasperated breath.
Mr. Bailey chuckled as he sat. “You’re not in the Wild West anymore, Willie.”
She gave him a withering look. “I was just about to do it.” She jutted her chin out at me. “I’m Willie Johnson. Call me Willie.”
“A pleasure to meet you.”
“Don’t speak too soon,” Mr. Bailey muttered. He looked as though he was enjoying himself.
“Thank you, Bristow, that will be all.” Mr. Glass poured the tea and handed a cup to me. “Willie is my father’s cousin.”
I stared at him and then her.
“I know. None of us can believe it either.” He passed a cup and saucer to Willie. The withering look deepened as she took it.
“I want to apologize for her,” he went on.
“It’s quite all right,” I said.
“She’s got the manners of an alley cat and is even worse at the moment. She’s trying to give up smoking. It’s made her irritable.”
“Alley cat!” Willie grunted. “More like a tiger.”
“I would have said insect,” Mr. Bailey chimed in. He was still smiling as he saluted Willie with his teacup.
She scowled back. “I quit smoking to support you, Gabe.”
“I’m also trying to give up,” he told me. “It was my mother’s request just before she left for America. She doesn’t mind the occasional cigar smoked in the evening, but she disliked my cigarette habit.”
Most of the men had returned from the war as cigarette smokers. I’d heard someone say the government issued them to the soldiers to suppress their appetites because there was a food shortage at the Front. Whatever the reason, there were more people, not just men, smoking now than there used to be before the war.
“It’s a big sacrifice on my part,” Willie went on. “You only started during the war, Gabe. I’ve been smoking since I was six. That’s a few years more.”
“Quite a few,” Mr. Bailey said.
“Quit it, Alex, or I swear I’ll cut off your little toe when you’re asleep.”
Mr. Bailey grinned but wisely remained silent.
Mr. Glass looked to the ceiling and muttered something under his breath. “I’m very sorry, Miss Ashe. They’re not usually like this.”
Both Mr. Bailey and Willie looked unconvinced by this statement.
I sipped my tea to bide my time and gather my wits. This meeting wasn’t going as I expected, and I wasn’t yet sure what to make of it. I knew the upper classes could be eccentric, but that eccentricity didn’t quite explain the dynamic between these three. Even Mr. Glass was confounding all the opinions I’d formed since reading the article about him. Perhaps I should have been warned that he wasn’t going to conform to those opinions when I learned he worked for the police. It was hardly the sort of occupation the wealthy heir to a barony would take on.
Willie placed her cup on the saucer with a loud clatter that I suspected was to draw our attention. “You going to tell us this valuable information or just sit there?”
I looked to Mr. Glass and he nodded. “You can speak in front of her. She won’t say a word to anyone.”
She puffed out her chest. “I’ve worked many cases with Gabe’s parents, back when they helped the police, and I was married to a Scotland Yard detective until he up and died on me.” Her words may have sounded as though she felt betrayed by his death, but her eyes turned sad. She tried to hide her sorrow by lowering her gaze.
“I’ve been employed temporarily at the Royal Academy of Arts in the evenings, to assist with the moving and packing of some of the paintings.” At the surprised looks of both Mr. Glass and Mr. Bailey, I couldn’t help smiling. “Yes, they re-employed me after that debacle, but only because my new manager isn’t aware what happened last time I worked there. It’s an entirely different team. I started last night. As one of the paintings was being carried off, I noticed something behind the canvas. It appeared to be a second canvas. It was stretched across the frame like the one in front, but a corner had come loose.”
Mr. Glass had lowered his teacup as I spoke, and he now sat forward. “Did you tell anyone?”
“No. I thought it best to inform only you in case one of the employees is a suspect.”
“Thank you.”
“So…?”
He frowned. “So…what?”
“Is one of the staff a suspect?”
“He can’t tell you that,” Mr. Bailey cut in.
“Do you think it has something to do with your art theft?” I asked.
Willie’s gaze narrowed. “You ask a lot of questions for a librarian.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself telling her I used to be a journalist. I got the feeling from the way Mr. Glass had described his experience with the reporter who wrote about his rescue of the drowning lad that he didn’t like them. I didn’t want him to think poorly of me.
“Librarians can’t be inquisitive?” Mr. Glass shot back. To me, he said, “I do think it’s linked. We hadn’t been able to locate the stolen painting. Can you describe the painting it was behind?”
“It was a street scene of a country village.” I described the buildings, colors and what the people in the painting wore. “It was pretty but didn’t particularly stand out, which I suspect is why it was being taken down.”
“Did anyone else notice the hidden canvas?”
“I don’t think so, but I can’t be certain.”
“Who else was there?”
“The exhibition manager, Mr. Bolton, and six packers.” I rattled off their names and Mr. Bailey wrote them down in a small notebook. I watched Mr. Glass closely. Either the names meant nothing to him or he was good at hiding his thoughts. “None look like the thug who tried to kidnap you,” I added.
“Kidnap!” Willie exploded. “Gabe? What’s she talking about?”
Oh no. I’d put my foot in it.
“Calm down, Willie,” Mr. Glass said. “There was a small scuffle outside Burlington House. Nothing I couldn’t handle.”
“I knew I should have gone with you that day. Why didn’t you tell me about it?”
“Because I knew you’d overreact.”
“I ain’t overreacting!”
Mr. Glass arched his brows at her.
She pointed a finger at him. “Your parents asked me to take care of you while they were gone. How can I do that if you don’t let me come with you when you investigate?”
“Ordinarily I would,” he said calmly, with more patience than most would employ under the circumstances. “But you weren’t invited to the exhibition opening, and you would have looked out of place amongst the wait staff.”
She crossed her arms. “I would not.”
Mr. Bailey rolled his eyes. “You would have attracted more attention to yourself than Miss Ashe’s friend did.”
I ought to be offended on Daisy’s behalf, but I found I couldn’t be. She had made a spectacle of herself—and of me.
“Besides,” Mr. Glass went on, “I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself, which you well know.”
“Tell me what happened,” Willie went on. “What did the kidnappers look like? How’d it play out?”
“Can we discuss this later?”
She glanced at me. “Fine. But I’m going to stick to you like a fly on a hog’s ass from now on.”
Mr. Bailey groaned, but Mr. Glass simply seemed resigned to the idea.
Despite his request to leave the discussion until later, Willie wasn’t giving up yet. “I don’t reckon the kidnapping’s related to the art theft. If the thief got wind of your investigation, there’s a dozen other ways to stop you or distract you. By trying to kidnap you, they’re only drawing attention to themselves.”
I agreed, and it was the point I’d been going to make when I brought it up. “Why not just kill Mr. Glass? Why kidnap him?”
All three turned to me.
I cleared my throat and gently put my teacup in the saucer and returned them to the table. “I’ve taken up enough of your time.”
Mr. Glass glanced at the glass domed clock as he rose. “Shouldn’t you be at the library now?”
“I no longer work there.”
“Did you leave of your own accord or were you dismissed?”
“Dismissed.”
“Why?”
“Various reasons, all of which boil down to Mr. Parmiter not liking me.”
“Did he dismiss you because of my visit?”
I led the way out of the drawing room so that he couldn’t see my face as I lied. But I didn’t get the chance to speak. The butler’s booming voice echoed around the tiled entrance hall.
“No, you cannot!” He slammed the door in someone’s face. For an elderly man who looked like a sneeze would see him lose his balance, he was rather fierce.
“I just want a quick word!” shouted the person on the other side.
“Bristow?” Mr. Glass strode up to the butler. “Who is it?”
“It’s that journalist again, sir.”
Mr. Glass clapped him on the shoulder. “Thank you. I’ll handle it.”
Willie pushed past them both. “Let me.” She jerked the door open and squared up to the man standing on the porch. “Get going or I’ll shoot!”
The man stumbled backward, turned, and raced down the stairs.
She closed the door and dusted her hands. “He won’t be back in a hurry.”
Mr. Bailey opened the door again and stood on the porch, hands on hips. He frowned into the distance.
“You can’t threaten to shoot people, Willie,” Mr. Glass said.
“I wasn’t pointing my gun at him, was I? It ain’t a real threat unless you’re holding a weapon in your hand. India doesn’t let me carry it in the house.” She puckered her lips in thought then smiled slyly. “But she ain’t here no more.”
“I’m also forbidding you from carrying it in the house. It should be locked away in the gun cabinet.”
“It is,” she said with a glare for Bristow as he opened his mouth to speak. He shut it again and melted into the shadows at the back of the entrance hall near the stairs.
Mr. Bailey re-entered the house and closed the door. “He’s not going to give up that easily. Journalists never do.”
I clutched my handbag to my chest.
Mr. Glass gave me a flat smile. “Apologies, Miss Ashe. We’re used to it, but confrontations like that must be unsettling for you.”
“It’s fine.”
Willie shook her head. “That one’s persistent. Don’t know why. It wasn’t even that big a story.”
Mr. Bailey agreed. “What else can he possibly want to know? You saved the lad and his father drowned. That’s it.” His dark gaze drilled into Mr. Glass. “Isn’t it?”
Mr. Glass drew in a deep breath and smiled at me. “You shouldn’t walk home alone. That journalist might be lurking around the corner and could accost you if he realizes you were just here.”
“Why would he do that?” I asked.
“He’ll think you have answers.”
“Answers about what?”
Willie clicked her tongue. “That pig ain’t the only one who’s nosy.”
I clutched my bag tighter. “Sorry. I don’t mean to pry.”
“You’re not prying,” Mr. Glass said quickly. “After witnessing that, it’s only natural you have questions. You must be rattled. Let me drive you home.”
“No!” Willie cried. “Dodson can take her.”
“No one needs to take me,” I said. “I can walk. I won’t speak to that journalist, or any others.”
“Even so, I’d feel better if I knew you’d avoided him altogether,” Mr. Glass said. “They can be very persistent. Bristow, have Dodson bring around the Prince Henry.”
“No!” Willie said again. “You shouldn’t take her.”
Mr. Glass shrugged. “Why not?”
“Because of the attempted kidnapping,” Mr. Bailey said.
Mr. Glass nodded at Bristow, and the butler disappeared through a door that must lead to the service stairs. “I’m not worried about another kidnapping and nor should anyone else be. There have been no attempts since that time outside Burlington House over a week ago.”
Willie still looked annoyed, and I was beginning to feel somewhat guilty. If something happened to Mr. Glass because of me, would his cousin come to the lodging house brandishing her gun? Would his friend, Mr. Bailey, blame me?
“I’ll walk.” I edged past them to the door. “It’s a pleasant day, and I have errands to run. Goodbye and thank you for the tea.” I let myself out and hurried down the steps, eager to get far away from the madhouse as quickly as possible.
I went to Daisy’s flat, intending to spend the afternoon with her, but she’d been struck by her muse and conversation was out of the question. I blamed Horatio. Ever since he’d complimented her pieces on Friday evening, her efforts had become frenzied. There were sketches and half-finished canvases strewn all around the flat, as well as splashes of paint on the floor and on Daisy herself. I washed the dishes, which mainly consisted of cocktail glasses, and made her a sandwich. I made sure she’d taken a few bites and drunk a cup of tea before I let myself out.
I mixed with some of the other lodgers in the sitting room at home, intending to while away the rest of the afternoon playing Bridge before getting ready for my second evening of work at the Academy. But the arrival of Mr. Glass scuttled those plans.
“They let you out,” I said, only half-joking.
“I had to use all of my persuasive efforts, but they did.”
“They’re worried about you.”
He sighed. “Especially Willie. She has taken her promise to my parents to look after me very seriously. What she doesn’t know is, they told me to look after her, and they told Cyclops to look after us all.”
“Cyclops? As in the one-eyed giant of Greek mythology?”
“The one and only. He’s Alex’s father and a good friend to my parents.”
Mrs. Whitten strode into the entrance hall where we were talking and stood with her hands clasped in front of her, all her double chins squashed into her neck in disapproval.
Mr. Glass smiled and doffed his cap. “I was about to leave.” He waited for her to move off before he leaned toward me. “I’ve just come from Burlington House and want to give you an update on the investigation.”
“Oh! That would be marvelous, but are you allowed?”
“I still can’t divulge much, but I want you to know what came of your efforts last night.”
Mrs. Whitten cleared her throat. She hadn’t left, after all.
“May I take you for a brief drive, Miss Ashe?” Mr. Glass asked. “We can talk in the car.”
It seemed like the best way to have a private discussion. I fetched my coat and hat and joined Mr. Glass outside. He stood beside a different car than the one his driver had picked him up in the day of the kidnapping. This one was a Vauxhall Prince Henry in clotted cream with a burgundy leather interior. The brass knobs and dials shone in the sunlight. With the top down, it looked very flash.
“You have two motors?” I asked as I climbed into the passenger seat.
“The other is my parents’ car. It’s usually kept at our country home with them. This one’s mine, although it’s getting old now. I had Dodson drive me in theirs to Burlington House because I knew parking would be difficult. I prefer to drive myself, so I usually take this one.” He cranked the engine and climbed into the driver’s seat. “Do you want to wear goggles? I usually don’t bother in London. We won’t be able to go fast in the traffic.”
I declined the goggles too. Gabe pulled a lever on the steering wheel, and another attached to the outside of the vehicle near the windscreen, and we set off into traffic. With the grumbling engine and wind whipping past my ears, we couldn’t hold a conversation. Perhaps we should have walked instead. The ride was rather thrilling, however. I’d been in motorized buses and cabs but being driven in a luxurious private vehicle was a different experience. I felt like a child being shown a new toy.
Mr. Glass must think me terribly unsophisticated. I didn’t dare glance at him, and hid my smile behind my arm, raised in order to clamp a hand on my hat to stop it blowing away. I could see why he wore a driving cap and not a hat; it would have blown off.
We only drove for about ten minutes, heading south past the museum then through the West End theater district. Just past Leicester Square, Gabe pulled to the curb and turned off the engine. We were in an unremarkable retail area with many pedestrians walking past. Some stopped to admire the motorcar.
Gabe took no notice of them. He settled an arm on the back of the seat between us. “Next time you’ll need different headwear. Something tighter or with a scarf that ties under your chin.”
Next time?
“Miss Ashe, I wanted to thank you properly for the information about the hidden painting.”
“Did you find it? Has it led to an arrest?”
“Sadly, no on both counts. I found the painting, the one with the village scene you described, but there was nothing behind it. It did look as though it had been tampered with, so that confirms your theory. At least now, thanks to you, I know for certain that someone from the exhibition is involved. It narrows the list of suspects considerably.”
“What will you do next?”
“Keep investigating.”
I waited for more, but none came. “I’m returning to work there tonight. Do you want me to look around? I can probably access some records or keep an eye on your suspects.”
“I can manage.” He tapped his thumb on the leather upholstery and frowned. “Perhaps you shouldn’t return. Someone might suspect that you saw the stolen painting. I don’t want to put you in danger.”
“No one saw. Besides, I have to show up. I need that job.”
“Ah yes, the library fiasco. That leads me to my reason for bringing you here.” He indicated a covered entry between two identical shops, both painted in black and fronted with bay windows. The gap between them was no larger than a doorway, and if he hadn’t pointed it out, I would have taken no notice of it. Carved into the lintel, above the entry, was the name of the street beyond. Crooked Lane.
I squinted but couldn’t see beyond the entry. “I don’t understand.”
“I felt terrible for costing you the job at the Philosophical Society’s library.”
“That wasn’t your fault.”
“It was partially my fault, so I got you an interview at another library.”
I stared at him.
His smile widened. “It’s down there, in Crooked Lane. The librarian is expecting you. His name is Professor Nash, although he’s no longer a professor. He retired some years ago.”
“You know him well?”
“The library is…special to my family. It houses a collection of books about magic. Professor Nash spent years traveling all over the world to source books, manuscripts, letters, and all manner of documents that mention magic. There’s nothing like his collection in the world. He’s retired from travel now and just works in there, alone. It’s time he had some help.” He indicated me.
“If he employs me,” I added. “Wouldn’t he rather employ a magician?”
“He’s not a magician himself, so he wouldn’t have any qualms hiring an artless. Besides, at least one of the main financial backers is artless.”
He was holding something back, and I could take a guess at what. “Does Professor Nash want an assistant, Mr. Glass, or are you foisting me upon him?”
He gave me a wry look. “Am I that easy to read?”
“I think you ought to drive me home. I don’t want to upset the apple cart.”
“You won’t be. Nash is a good fellow, although somewhat eccentric. He has worked alone in that library for too long and is getting on in years. He needs an assistant, and I happen to think you’d be perfect for the job.”
“Why?”
“Because you have experience, you’re sharp-eyed and clever. You’re also not currently working. Not to mention that Nash is rather hopeless and wouldn’t get around to placing an advertisement. I’d have to do it. So, you’re saving me time if you accept.”
“I haven’t been offered the position yet.”
He got out and came around to my side. He opened the door and held out his hand to me. “Please, Miss Ashe, will you just speak to him? I feel awful for costing you the position at the society.”
I hesitated but took his hand. “Very well. It sounds intriguing, and I’m not one to turn down a golden opportunity.”
“Do you mind if you make your own way home? I have a suspect I need to follow.”
I eyed the dark entryway again but still couldn’t see through to the other side. Very little daylight must be getting through. “You’re not sending me into a magical cave, are you?”
He grinned. “Do you want me to come with you?”
“I’ll be fine. I’ll just buy a loaf of bread and leave crumbs so I can find my way out again.”
“It won’t work. There are too many birds in the city. What if I promise to send in a search party if you haven’t returned to the lodging house by nightfall?”
“That makes me feel much better.”
I waved him off from the pavement before turning and heading through the entrance to Crooked Lane beyond. It was like stepping into another time. The buildings looked late seventeenth century to me, painted black with bay windows bulging into the cobblestoned lane. There was no pavement or vehicles—there was simply no room. If I stretched my arms wide, I could almost touch the bay windows on either side.
There was no one about. I expected to see pedestrians passing through, but I soon realized the short lane was a dead end. It should have been named a court or yard. It also wasn’t crooked. Perhaps once, centuries ago, it had been open at both ends and acted as a throughway between the busier streets that bookended it. Progress and development had seen it shortened and the kink that gave it its name lost.
My footsteps echoed, bouncing off the brick walls that rose three levels high on either side. It was difficult to tell if the buildings were occupied or empty. Some on the ground level had a business name painted on the window, while others were unmarked, their curtains closed. Those that could be clearly identified were the sort that didn’t rely on passing foot traffic for custom. The library was wedged between a solicitor’s office and theater manager’s office in a narrow building only one window wide. The sign above the window said THE GLASS LIBRARY.
This library wasn’t simply meaningful to Gabe’s family. It had been named after them. That was quite a connection indeed.
I pushed open the door, only to pause on the threshold and draw the familiar smell of old books into my lungs. It took me back to another library in another city, one I hadn’t thought of in years. My days studying in that library had been some of my happiest. That too had been a private library, the collection owned by an elderly couple who delighted in having a girl reading their books after school.
The small front office contained a leather-inlaid desk that was mostly bare except for some writing implements, a black and brass candlestick telephone, and an open ledger. The light from a brass lamp angled onto the neatly ruled blank page. A coat and hat hung from the stand between the desk and a winding staircase. I gave these things only a cursory glance. My attention was almost wholly occupied by the room beyond.
The small office opened up to the library proper. At the far end, directly ahead, was a large fireplace, above which hung an enormous clock with brass numbers and hands. It must have been custom made to take pride of place above the stone mantelpiece.
As with the office, I gave the clock only a fleeting glance. The bookshelves interested me more. They were stuffed with books of all sizes, stretching to the high ceiling. I took a step toward the room, then another and another, and before I knew it, I was passing through the two black marble columns guarding the entryway. I’d joked with Gabe about disappearing into a magical cave, but it was no longer a joke. Whether it was the clock, which I assumed contained Lady Rycroft’s magic, or whether it was the nature of the collection, I was in awe.
I stood beneath the central chandelier, its dozens of lights blazing, showing off the shine on the polished wooden shelves and ladders, and the delicate floral motif in the ceiling plasterwork. I ought to feel small in this room, dwarfed as I was by the shelves, but I didn’t. I felt comforted. Books were so familiar to me and reminded me of happy times. Before I learned to read, my mother or brother would read me to sleep. As I grew older, I devoured stories like other children devoured sweets. I loved to explore and have adventures from the safety of my bed. When I felt anxious, I curled up with a book and read. When I felt overwhelmed by grief, I read to stave off the loneliness. I was not alone when I had a book. Despite our numerous moves, I made sure that some cherished volumes came with me. It was only natural that this room made me feel a sense of belonging, of being home.
I only hoped the librarian would employ me because the longer I stood there, the more I knew I wanted to work in the Glass Library.
“You must be Miss Ashe,” said a reedy voice behind me.
I turned and was surprised to see a familiar face.