Thank goodness I hadn’t just taken a sip of my martini or I might have spat it out all over the lovely rug in surprise. Gabe had never mentioned Ivy. He’d never even given me an inkling that he was engaged.
I supposed it was an odd thing to insert into a conversation simply for the sake of mentioning it. The topic of women had never come up between us. The only time anyone had alluded to Gabe’s popularity with the opposite sex was when Cyclops implied he’d been rather wild before the war. I wondered if Ivy was someone he knew then or a more recent addition to his life.
“I look forward to meeting her.” It was true. I did look forward to seeing the woman who could attract such a paragon as Gabe. I couldn’t decide whether she would be beautiful and elegant or down-to-earth and athletic. When I’d first met him, I would have guessed the former, but now that I knew him a little better and saw the type of friends he kept, I was leaning toward the latter.
“She says she looks forward to meeting you too,” he said.
“Now I know why Willie and Alex were worried about me staying. They’re right, by the way. I can’t stay. It’s not fair to Ivy.”
“She’s a good sport.”
“No woman is that good a sport. If you don’t know that, you clearly don’t know women very well.”
Alex chuckled into his cocktail glass. Gabe grinned too. I had the feeling I was on the outside of an inside joke.
“Just wait until you meet before you make a hasty decision about staying or leaving,” Gabe said.
Bristow entered and announced the arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Bailey, and their daughters Ella, Mae and Lulu. Alex kissed the cheeks of his mother and sisters and accepted a hearty clap on the shoulder from his father. Gabe followed in his footsteps and the Baileys greeted him warmly, as if he were another son who’d recently moved out of the family home. The two families must be close.
The three sisters tried, and failed, to hide their scrutiny of me before introductions were made. Their mother was more polite, warmly shaking my hand and not giving me the obvious once-over. She was a willowy woman, with blonde hair shot through with silver and fine lines fanning from the corners of her eyes that deepened upon her smile. I suspected she smiled a lot. There was just something sweet about her, yet a little bit cheeky too. I’d wager she appreciated a good joke.
Her eldest daughter, Ella, couldn’t have been much younger than me. She seemed a little more reserved than her two sisters, who lost interest in me the moment the cocktail glasses were handed around. Not that their father let the youngest, Lulu, have one, which caused her to flounce off in a huff and throw herself into one of the armchairs. Mae accepted a glass with a triumphant smile directed at her little sister that only made Lulu’s pout deepen. Mae sipped, gave Lulu another smug smile then turned away and pulled a face at the taste.
Catherine joined me on the sofa and nodded at the three men, talking quietly near the door. “We’ve only been here two minutes and already they’re discussing a case.”
“There were some developments today,” I said.
“So Gabe told me when he called and invited us to dinner. He said you were attacked. Are you all right, Miss Ashe?”
“Please call me Sylvia. And yes, thank you, I am. The attacker ran off when I hit him in the…” I cleared my throat. “When I fought back.”
She smiled. “I’m glad to see you’re not helpless. Nate wants to teach the girls some moves to defend themselves. Mae has no interest whatsoever. She thinks it’ll make her too masculine. And Lulu does whatever Mae does. Ella has taken to his lessons with enthusiasm, though.” She looked at her eldest who was hovering near the men. I’d thought she was there because she was infatuated with Gabe, but now I realized she was merely absorbing everything they said. Like her sisters, she was very pretty, but they were tall and slim like their mother where she was tall and more powerfully built like Cyclops.
“Are you staying here until this blows over?” Catherine made it sound like an innocent question, but I suspected she was very interested in the answer. As someone who probably saw herself as a mother figure to Gabe, now that his parents were out of the country, it made sense that she wanted to make sure I didn’t intrude on his relationship with Ivy.
“There’s been a misunderstanding. I’m leaving after dinner and will stay at a hotel.”
She nodded sagely. “That’s for the best.”
“I’ll explain as much to Ivy when she arrives.”
“So she is coming.” Catherine didn’t pose it as a question or sound surprised. Indeed, she made it sound like it was a given. “Don’t worry. I’m sure she’ll say all the right things.” She watched Gabe and leaned closer to me. “Did he tell you anything about her?”
“No.”
“I see.”
“Gabe and I hardly know one another,” I clarified.
She took a sip of her cocktail, her gaze still on Gabe. Then she suddenly turned to me. “They hardly knew one another when they got engaged. It was very sudden. None of us had met her beforehand. It was 1917 and Gabe was on leave for two weeks. They met at the beginning of those two weeks then by the end, they announced they were getting married.”
“Is he always so impulsive?”
She smiled sadly. “He used to be. By the time the war ended, that zest for living, that urgency to experience all life has to offer, vanished. It was as if the hardships of the past four years filed off the wilder parts of him. Willie says the war took away the best of him and left behind a shell, but I disagree. I think it took away the unnecessary parts and exposed the better man underneath. While everything about the war was dreadful, it did teach Gabe to slow down and savor his good fortune instead of take it for granted. Life probably would have done that eventually, but war sped up the process.”
“Is that why they haven’t married yet? They’re savoring their engagement? I’m sure it’s a very special time for them both.”
“I think they just want to get to know one another better. There was very little chance for them to be together immediately after the announcement, of course, and Gabe didn’t return home again until two months after Armistice. When he returned, he threw himself into his work with Scotland Yard. He needed something to do. He has been kept busy this last year.” She glanced at the photograph I’d noticed on my last visit of a young Gabe standing alongside his parents. “With India and Matt away, the wedding will be pushed back further. Gabe would never marry without them present.”
“When will they return?”
“They didn’t say.”
It seemed a little unfair not to give a firm date when their son’s happiness hinged on them being home.
Gabe broke away from Cyclops and Alex and joined us. “Another martini?”
I declined and Catherine had barely touched her first one. He sat down next to her and opened his mouth to say something when a woman walked in. He rose again and smiled at her.
“Ivy. Come in.” He kissed her cheek.
She linked her arm with his and smiled up at him. “I made it, and it’s only a little after eight. Aren’t you impressed?” She took his hand and stepped back so he could admire her before closing the gap again and placing his hand on her waist.
“I am. You look as beautiful as always, but I did say not to dress formally.”
She laughed. “Darling, you know nothing about fashion.” As she talked, her gaze scanned the room until it landed on me.
One of my guesses about her was right. She was a sleek beauty. Her statuesque figure suited the slim-fitting copper-colored sleeveless silk dress with the cluster of crystals at the cinched waist. Her dark hair was cut short like Daisy’s but fell perfectly straight without a strand out of place. Daisy looked like she’d just got out of bed whereas Ivy looked as though she’d stepped out of a fashion magazine. The diamonds at her throat, ears and wrist left me in no doubt that she matched Gabe in wealth as well as height and good looks. They were a beautiful couple. Heads must turn when they walked into a party together, just as we all watched them now.
Gabe introduced me to Ivy as his “friend from the Glass Library.”
She gave me a warm smile. “Gabe told me what a traumatic day you’ve had. You poor thing. It must have been awful being attacked like that.”
“I was a little shaken afterward, but I’m all right now.”
“I’m sure my Gabe took good care of you. Protecting those in need is something he does so well and so willingly.”
“She fought the attacker off by herself,” Gabe said. “She didn’t need me.”
Ivy’s eyes widened. They were as lovely as the rest of her, all golden brown, framed by long lashes darkened by soot mixed with petroleum jelly. “How extraordinary. But she does need you now, doesn’t she?”
“I’m only staying for dinner,” I assured her.
She blinked those big eyes at Gabe. I wondered if she knew how innocent it made her look, how beautiful too. “You told me she was staying here until the attacker was caught and the investigation concluded.”
“There was a misunderstanding,” I said before Gabe could say otherwise. “I’m definitely leaving after dinner.”
Ivy took my hand in both of hers. “Nonsense, Sylvia. It’s much too dangerous for you to stay anywhere else. This is the safest place you can be with Gabe here to protect you.”
“And Alex,” Gabe added.
Ivy squeezed my hand and gave me a tentative smile. “Promise you’ll stay?”
I glanced at Gabe. He merely lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Perhaps just for tonight, but only if it’s all right with you,” I said to Ivy.
“It is. Now, you must tell me what it’s like working in the library. It sounds fascinating.”
One of the younger Bailey girls snorted, earning a glare from both her parents.
Everyone was saved from hearing about my work when Bristow announced dinner was ready. We filed through to the dining room and took our seats.
There was one place too many at the long table.
“Is Willie joining us?” Cyclops asked.
“That’s anyone’s guess,” Gabe said. “She left in a huff because she was worried about Ivy’s opinion of Sylvia staying here.”
“She was worried about me?” Ivy asked. “I didn’t think she liked me.”
“Of course she likes you.”
“Then why does she scowl at me all the time?”
“She scowls at everyone,” Cyclops assured her.
“Especially Gabe’s women,” Alex added. When all heads turned to him, he cleared his throat. “I meant his women in the past. Now it’s just one woman. That’s you, Ivy. She scowls only at you.” He snatched up his wine glass the moment it was filled by Bristow and drank somewhat gratefully.
Ivy laughed. “Then I’ll consider myself fortunate every time she scowls at me from now on.”
Bristow was in the middle of serving bowls of consommé when Willie sauntered in, a thumb hooked through her belt loop like a cowboy. She smirked upon seeing Ivy but didn’t refer to the earlier argument she’d had with Gabe. He looked relieved.
“Consommé again?” she said as she sat. “I miss our former cook.”
“It’s not Mrs. Ling’s fault,” Gabe said. “There’s been a war, in case you hadn’t heard.”
“Rationing’s ended. She can get butter now.”
Cyclops sighed. “I missed butter.”
Willie grunted. “You wouldn’t know it.”
“Are you calling me fat?”
Willie slurped her consommé loudly.
“Ignore them,” Catherine said to me. “When Willie is around my husband, he turns into a large child.”
Cyclops tucked his head down and concentrated on his soup.
“Tell us about yourself, Sylvia,” Catherine went on. “Gabe says you’re new to London. Where are you from originally?”
It was a question I dreaded being asked, but one I’d learned to deflect. “Nowhere in particular and yet everywhere in England, or so it seems. Have you always lived in London, Catherine?”
She gave me a brief account of her life, including her years working for her watchmaker brother. Her family had been close to Gabe’s grandparents, and she’d been a lifelong friend to Gabe’s mother, India.
“Are your family watchmaker magicians too?” I asked.
“No. India is the only one left, as far as anyone knows. Gabe didn’t inherit it.”
“Inherited magic can skip a generation,” Ivy pointed out with a small smile for Gabe.
He didn’t seem to notice, however. He was concentrating on his consommé.
“Everyone in this room is artless,” Willie said. “Except Ivy.”
“Oh?” I blurted out. “How interesting. What’s your magical craft?”
“I wish it was interesting, but it’s only leather,” she said.
Willie dismissed Ivy’s self-deprecation with a wave of her spoon. “Don’t sell yourself short, Ivy. Her family are bootmakers,” she told me. “Their boots are real good. The pair they gave me have lasted two years and still look like new. But you don’t have to take my word for it. The government reckons they’re good too. So much so, they gave Hobson and Son Bootmaker a contract to supply British soldiers with footwear in the war. Hobson’s boots were worn in the trenches by our nation’s finest.”
“’Our nation?’” Cyclops teased. “So you agree you’re more English now than American?”
“No. You twisted my words.”
“He didn’t,” Alex said. “You admitted it. You’re an Englishwoman through and through.” He grinned at his father, who grinned back.
“I’m as American as Annie Oakley and Colt pistols.” Willie pointed her spoon at Cyclops. “You’re the traitor to your country with your English accent and your hoity toity ways.”
We all stared at her. Then everyone burst out laughing. Cyclops’s accent was as American as hers, and while I didn’t know him well, he seemed the opposite of hoity toity.
As the dinner went on, I grew more and more comfortable. Gabe’s friends were nice, although Willie didn’t look at me, let alone strike up a conversation with me. I couldn’t quite work out why, considering Ivy didn’t seem to have a problem with me staying.
The Baileys and Ivy made up for Willie’s rudeness, however, and by the time dessert was served, I felt quite relaxed in their company. The lull could also be because of Mrs. Ling’s comforting food. She was an excellent cook. Her veal sweetbreads and filet mignon were heavenly, and the pudding drenched in a thick sauce was delicious. If I ate like this every night, I’d need to take out the waistline of my skirt.
We retired to the drawing room afterwards for port, which I declined. Ivy accepted a glass from Gabe then patted the seat next to her on the sofa, signaling for him to sit.
“Have you heard from your parents, Darling?”
“They sent a telegram yesterday.”
“And?”
He blinked at her. “And what?”
“Did they give a date for their return?”
“No.”
Her lips tightened ever so slightly, but the small sign of her displeasure quickly vanished, replaced with a smile.
Cyclops and Catherine exchanged glances. “I’m sure they won’t be gone long,” Catherine assured Ivy.
Ivy’s smile wavered.
Willie picked up a deck of cards and began shuffling them, despite no one mentioning playing. She seemed to be doing it without thinking, as if it were something she did to keep her hands occupied. Perhaps it helped as she tried to give up smoking. “They won’t be gone long. They won’t want to miss your wedding.”
Gabe’s thumb tapped the sofa arm. It made no sound, but the military rhythm was unmistakable. I’d heard the drums in the brass bands keeping the same beat in the numerous parades held since Armistice. “There won’t be a wedding until they return. Ivy understands.”
She clasped his arm above the elbow. “Of course I do. My mother, however, is a little frustrated.”
Gabe patted her hand and gave her the sort of smile one gives an elderly person who’s repeated the same thing for the third or fourth time.
“They won’t be gone long,” Willie said again, her fingers flipping cards with the deftness of a conjurer.
Cyclops and Catherine exchanged another glance.
“I hate weddings,” Willie suddenly declared.
“Then why’d you have two of them?” Alex asked.
“I didn’t get married for me, I got married for others. Living in sin is all right by me, but some people get a real bee in their bonnet about it. Both of my husbands insisted.”
“Don’t listen to her,” Cyclops said to me, his eye twinkling with humor. “She loves weddings. She always cries.”
Willie sneered at him and returned to her shuffling. She made no mention of starting a game and soon afterward, Cyclops, Catherine and the girls gave their leave. I retired too so that Gabe and Ivy could have their privacy, although I needn’t have bothered as Alex and Willie stayed behind.
I was climbing into bed a few minutes later when I heard soft masculine voices saying goodnight to one another. Ivy must have left almost straight after me.
I sank into the mattress with a sigh. The foot of the bed was warm thanks to the stoneware pot filled with hot water that Mrs. Bristow had placed there, and the sheets smelled faintly of lavender. It was a shame I was leaving tomorrow. The hotel rooms I could afford would be nothing like this.
“Did you sleep well?” Gabe asked me the following morning at breakfast. He sat opposite Alex at the dining table. Willie was nowhere in sight.
“Very well, thank you.”
I must remember to thank Mrs. Bristow for the bed warmer before I left, and for the other small kindnesses. She’d left me a handwritten note on the pillow explaining how the morning routine worked in the household. To some, it would seem like a trifling thing, but to me, knowing the routine was more of a comfort than the soft mattress. It meant I didn’t sit down and wait to be served, but served myself from the sideboard, as if taking breakfast in grand houses was something I did every day.
As I sat, I caught Gabe watching me over the newspaper he was reading, or pretending to read. He folded it up and placed it to one side. “We’ll drive you to work this morning.”
“Thank you, but please don’t go out of your way.”
“We’re not.”
Alex looked up from his newspaper, frowned at his friend, then continued to read.
“What happens with the investigation now?” I asked.
“We’ll watch Ludlow and Lady Stanhope. Perhaps their movements will give us a clue. Cyclops assured me that Scotland Yard will commit as many men as they can to finding Tommy Allan.”
“It’ll be a near impossible task,” Alex said from behind the paper.
Gabe flicked him a glare, but Alex didn’t notice. “Don’t worry,” he assured me. “I’ll have a word with Professor Nash when I take you to work and make sure he keeps the door locked.”
“There’s no need for that. Patrons should be allowed to come and go freely.”
“They can knock.”
Alex folded up the paper. “And the library has very few patrons anyway.”
Gabe offered me a newspaper from the pile beside him. He had several, some of them dailies, at least two were weeklies. I sifted through them until I found one that looked interesting and opened it without reading the front page.
I gasped as an article caught my eye. No, not the article, but the photograph of the too-handsome man scowling at the camera.
“What is it?” Gabe asked.
I quickly turned the page. “Nothing.”
Both Gabe and Alex were looking at me now. “Show me,” Alex said.
I bit the inside of my cheek.
“You know we’re going to read it eventually, so you might as well get it over with.”
I sighed and turned the page back. “It’s an article about Gabe. They used the same photograph as last time.”
“The one taken after you rescued that boy,” Alex added.
“After his father drowned,” Gabe said heavily.
“That wasn’t your fault.”
Gabe accepted the newspaper from me and read the article. He passed it to Alex who set it down between us so I could read too. Gabe sighed. “That journalist isn’t giving up.”
According to the byline, the article had been written by Albert Scarrow, the same fellow who wrote the article that had initially led me to seek out Gabe at the exhibition. While that one was a news report on the boating accident, this article was more of an opinion piece. Indeed, it was wildly speculative and posed more questions about Gabe than factual information.
Questions such as why did the boy claim Gabe held his breath for several minutes under water, and how did he survive four years of war without injury? Both were seemingly impossible feats.
“This is bollocks.” Alex pushed the newspaper away. “It’s lazy journalism.”
“He’s just trying to find answers to a couple of curious events,” Gabe said. “It’s his job to speculate.”
“It’s his job to find facts to back up his claims.”
“He hasn’t made any claims, merely raised the questions. Nor can he find facts because there aren’t any. I haven’t given him a quote he can use.”
“Then I will. I’ll tell him where to shove his speculation.”
“You’ll leave him alone, Alex. He’ll eventually give up.”
Alex gestured in the general direction of the front door. “And in the meantime, we have to put up with him watching the house, waiting for you?”
Gabe’s jaw firmed. “Leave it be, Alex. You’re frightening Sylvia.”
“Don’t mind me.” I reached for my coffee cup and resumed reading the newspaper as I sipped. I didn’t take much of it in, however. Albert Scarrow had raised two very interesting points. While Gabe’s time at war could be chalked up to luck, surviving several minutes under water was something else altogether.
“The boy made a mistake,” he said, as if he could read my mind. “Children have no concept of time.”
As the son of a horology magician, I suspected he had a very good understanding of it.
Gabe strapped my large suitcase to the rear of the motor with some reluctance. He’d tried to encourage me to stay longer at his house, but I refused. It was Saturday and I was only working a half day; I would go in search of new accommodation in the afternoon. He respected my wishes and gave in. I kept the hat box and smaller suitcase in the backseat with me as he drove the Vauxhall to Crooked Lane.
Alex remained in the vehicle while Gabe and I headed through the entrance into the lane itself. He carried both my suitcases while I held onto the hatbox.
A short man with a needle-thin mustache and oily hair parted down the middle stepped out of the shadows of the buildings. “Mr. Glass! Can you comment on the speculation surrounding your war record and the incident on the Isle of Wight?”
Gabe wedged the smaller suitcase under his arm and placed his free hand on my back, ushering me forward. “No comment.”
The journalist whipped out a pencil and notebook from his pocket and trotted alongside us. “How long do you think you were under water for?”
“I can’t recall. Not that long. I took a breath.”
“Which is it? It wasn’t long or you took a breath, or you can’t remember?”
Gabe stopped and squared up to the journalist. “Are you Albert Scarrow?”
The man touched the brim of his Homburg. “The one and only.”
“Mr. Scarrow, kindly respect my privacy and that of my friends. Stop following me.”
“I’m not following you.”
Gabe’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t follow me from my house?”
“No. I’ve never been to your house. I don’t know where you live.”
Gabe’s hand, still touching my back, pressed a little firmer. “Then how did you know to find me here?”
Mr. Scarrow pointed at the library door with his pencil. “It’s common knowledge that the Glass Library is owned by your family.”
“They don’t own it. They’re patrons. And?”
“And I thought if I waited long enough, someone who works there will arrive. No one answered my knock this morning.” He scratched his cheek with the end of his pencil. “I wasn’t expecting you to show up, but I consider it a sign that I’m on the right path with my hunch.”
Gabe went quite still. He must have realized the same thing as me—if Albert Scarrow didn’t know where he lived then he couldn’t have been watching the house the other day. So who had? Another journalist? The kidnapper?
“Mr. Glass, what about your war record?”
Gabe and I strode away, but Mr. Scarrow trotted alongside us and repeated his question.
“I have no comment,” Gabe growled. “You should leave.”
“Excuse me, Miss, but can you tell me what you think of Mr. Glass’s incredible feats?”
Gabe suddenly grabbed the journalist by the jacket lapels. His fist twisted the fabric, forcing Mr. Scarrow to rise onto his toes. He hadn’t let go of my bags. “I warned you,” he growled.
Mr. Scarrow’s face flushed as blood rushed to his head. Gabe’s grip may be tight but not so tight that the journalist couldn’t emit a small squeak.
I clamped a hand over my mouth to smother my own squeak of surprise. I didn’t know where to look or what to do. Gabe always seemed so calm, but now he was a tower of fury. I couldn’t reconcile the man with the balled fist and clenched jaw with the gentleman I’d come to know.
Had this side of him been there all along?
I didn’t get a chance to think about it further. A shot suddenly rang out, and I found myself on the ground, flat on my back, beneath Gabe’s body.