CHARLOTTE STARED AT THE sumptuous breakfast laid out on the crisp white linen. From the third-floor window of the hotel, she could look out over St Peter’s Field, the red-bricked mills over on the far side a mere backdrop to the peaceful scenery. She wondered if Ben had chosen this room in particular in an effort to put the mill far from her mind.
It wasn’t working.
She was hungry but strangely without appetite. She picked at the poached eggs, thinking of Mags and Dotty who would have already been at work for hours. They’d be wondering where she was. Mags had probably told them all of what she’d said about Betty. Maybe they all thought she was too scared of the ghost to go back. It was a decent enough explanation, given the circumstances.
Last night she had been so grateful that she didn’t have to go back to the lodging house. Ben had found her on the cottage back step and brought her to the hotel right away, even running the bath for her. Once she was clean and tucked up in the cloud-soft bed, they’d finally talked. It had felt like a strange reversal to have him sitting there, hale and hearty, as she’d felt half dead.
“Everything is going to be fine,” he’d said to her. “No charges will be pressed and I should be fully qualified by tomorrow evening.”
She’d kept her opinions on the corruption of the police to herself. She didn’t want him to get into trouble, but she didn’t like the way that Ledbetter could brush a death aside like that.
“You heard the conversation between us?” he’d asked.
“Yes. I suppose you want me to tell you about the changes I made to the symbols, for your report.”
“Please, Charlie. If you write them down for me, I’ll handle everything else.”
What else could she do? She wasn’t going to send him back to Ledbetter empty-handed. He’d fetched some of the hotel letter paper from the desk, torn off the design at the top so it was blank and handed it to her with a pencil.
Poised to draw them, she’d stopped and looked at him. “Ben . . . I’ll write these down but you have to understand . . . I can’t tell you how I know about this.”
He’d pursed his lips in disapproval. “No one outside of the Royal Society should know anything about them.”
“Things aren’t always the way they should be, are they? I’m certain that apprentices aren’t supposed to put their sisters to work in a mill to solve their problems, either.”
“I’ll turn a blind eye if you’ll forgive me,” he’d finally said with a sigh.
“Then I’ll write them down for you. But don’t forget your promise. I will be happy with George and I won’t ever use my abilities. Especially now I know the risks.”
They’d embraced, and it had felt like she was holding her brother again.
Now, pushing cold poached eggs around her plate, Charlotte worried about whether she’d done the right thing, whilst simultaneously failing to think of an alternative. Perhaps the only thing to do was just accept that Ledbetter was going to benefit from her efforts, but more important, that her brother’s safety was assured. She ignored the little voice at the back of her mind grumbling about how her brother always seemed to benefit more than she did. Silly voice. It knew nothing about the way things worked.
Tackling some toast, Charlotte focused on more positive things. As soon as she was home, she’d start writing up her experiences in the mill and sketch scenes from the memories that plagued her now. She’d make a chapbook and see if her agent could do something with it. It was a place to start. At the very least, if it was published, she’d send the proceeds to Dotty and Mags in the hope it would help them find a way out of that life. She had every intention to visit Ben’s mill once it was running to see if things were better there. If they weren’t, he’d have hell to pay. Still, she feared it would not be enough.
Ben couldn’t escort her to the train station, having such an important day ahead of him, but he’d made all the arrangements for her to get there and to be picked up at Euston. It was a relief to climb into her first-class compartment, the trials of the trip behind her. She was bruised and still so very tired, barely able to keep her eyes open. She just wanted to go home and sleep in her own bed.
The sound of the compartment door opening woke her, and a smartly dressed middle-aged lady was helped into the compartment by a young man. They exchanged polite smiles and Charlotte watched as the lady waved him off.
“My son,” she said. “He’s a good boy.”
The whistle blew, just at the moment Charlotte remembered that she was supposed to send a message to Hopkins at the Grand to assure him of her well-being. She silently cursed herself, but it was too late now. When they stopped at Crewe she’d send a telegraph to him.
The door opened a second time and a bag landed in the middle of the compartment, tossed inside from a hurrying passenger. In a swirl of burgundy and black satin, Hopkins clambered in and shut the door quick, receiving a glare from the station guard for his trouble.
“I do beg your pardon,” he said to the other lady, whose stern expression was enough to make Charlotte shrink further back into her seat out of sympathy for Hopkins. “May I share this compartment with you and your sister?”
The lady began to reappraise Hopkins. “This young lady is not my sister, sir. We happen to be sharing this compartment.” She looked at Charlotte. “Do you have any objection, dear?”
“Not at all,” Charlotte replied. “Are you both travelling as far as London?”
“I shall be alighting at Crewe,” the lady said and looked pointedly at Hopkins.
“Oh, I shall be travelling further than that,” he said. “But if it pleases you, miss, I shall move to another compartment when our companion leaves.”
The lady looked at him with obvious approval now. “Mrs Harper-Symthe,” she said, extending a gloved hand to Hopkins, who kissed it dutifully.
“Magus Hopkins, of the Royal Society of Esoteric Arts,” he said and the lady smiled in delight.
“A magus! How thrilling!”
He stifled a yawn, somehow managing to look devastatingly handsome as he did so. “My apologies, Mrs Harper-Smythe. I had a terrible night’s sleep, worrying about a cheese delivery.”
Charlotte blushed, knowing that had been directed at her, but neither of them looked at her.
“Tell me,” Hopkins said to the lady. “Do you reside in Manchester?”
They talked without pause from Manchester to Crewe and Charlotte watched in fascinated silence as Hopkins worked a different sort of magic. By the time he helped Mrs Harper-Smythe out at Crewe, she was clearly infatuated with him and looked like she might abandon her plans, just to stay a moment longer with him. He helped her to find a porter and kissed her hand again, making the poor lady titter like a bird. When Hopkins got back into the compartment, he looked as if he’d spent the better part of the last hour in quiet contemplation, rather than waging a charm offensive.
“My apologies, Miss Gunn,” he said once he was settled into his seat. “I barely had the opportunity to think, let alone draw you into the conversation.”
“Indeed, you were far too busy ensuring that Mrs Harper-Smythe fell in love with you.”
He fought a smile as the guard’s whistle blew. Once the train was leaving the station, he relaxed. “I accept your apology for failing to reassure me of your well-being.”
She blushed again. “I am sorry. I didn’t have the opportunity last night and I confess it slipped my mind this morning. I do feel terrible about it.”
With a little wave, he dismissed the topic. “Tell me everything.”
And she did, ending it with another apology. “Now Ledbetter’s mills will be the most successful in the country and it’s my fault.”
“But your brother is safe, and whilst the workers won’t see much improvement in conditions, they won’t be terrorised by anything supernatural at least.”
“You’re not angry?”
He shuffled along the seats until he was sat opposite her. “Miss Gunn, you have acted with honour and bravery. Yes, a man died, but he was blackmailing you.”
“Hardly a capital offence!”
“Yes, but he would be alive now if he’d kept to himself. And in my humble opinion, your safety and well-being are far more important.”
She didn’t know what to say, so she fiddled with the lace on her cuff.
“Besides,” Hopkins said, leaning back to look out of the window instead, “the mills are not the only pie that Ledbetter has his finger in. I’ve come across something I’d like to look into with you, if you’re amenable?” When she gave an enthusiastic nod, he leaned forwards again, an excited twinkle in his eye. “I don’t know exactly what it is yet, but I have a feeling that the syphoning off of spiritual energy has something to do with a ‘Project 84.’”
Charlotte jolted. “I forgot about that! He had a file with him and I managed to peep inside while he talked to the policeman. It had ‘Project 84’ written on it and then . . . oh, what was it? And ‘Progress report: Carnforth Hall’ written underneath.”
Hopkins looked at her as if she had just presented him with a diamond. “Miss Gunn, you never cease to surprise me! Excellent work! I shall look into that right away!” He took both of her hands and kissed them. “Well done,” he said, giving them a gentle squeeze before letting go.
Charlotte was glad to be back in her heavy petticoats and crinoline. Without them, she feared she would have floated up to the ceiling and been forced to stay there for the remainder of the journey. As it was, duly weighted down, she and Hopkins spent a good portion of the trip back to London picking apart the events in the mill, her brother’s prospects and what could be done to stop her from turning wild. She almost asked him about whether it was true that she could have been responsible for the deaths of their neighbours, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Charlotte didn’t want to think about it, nor mention anything that might take the light from his eyes as he spoke to her.
At the last stop before Euston, he kissed her hand one last time. “I should sit in a different compartment, Miss Gunn. As much as enjoy your company, I think it would be unwise for your father to see us travelling together. But I will see you in Covent Garden the day after tomorrow, yes?”
“Yes, of course,” she’d said, and kept a smile on her face until she was alone again. She slumped in the corner, suddenly bereft. It was the longest she’d ever spent in his company and he’d laughed and smiled far more than ever before. It must be the relief, she thought. It couldn’t possibly be anything else.
As the train pulled into Euston, Charlotte retied the bow on her bonnet and smoothed her dress. She pinched her cheeks, not wanting her father to see how pale she was, and opened the door’s window as the train came to a stop.
“Charlotte!”
But that wasn’t her father! George’s voice came to her through the crowd and she waved happily when she caught sight of him. He looked so happy to see her! He came to the door and opened it for her, helping her out to embrace her. She winced at the contact with her bruises, but hid it well enough. “George, darling! What a lovely surprise! I’ve missed you so!”
“Charlotte, I have the most wonderful news,” he said, holding her at arm’s length so he could see her face. “I’ve been promoted! I am now officially a fully qualified registrar. We can marry!”
Mirroring her delighted smile, he embraced her again, this time lifting her into the air in his joy. Over his shoulder, she saw Magus Hopkins alight from the train. He gave her the briefest smile and looked away, plunging into the crowd and out of sight.
It felt like he was pulling something with him, right out of her chest. For one fanciful moment, she even considered running after him, but to what end? What was she thinking?
George set her down and she reached up to cup his face in her hands, reminding herself of what she had and what she was fighting so hard to keep. She saw the happiness and kindness in his eyes, felt his steady strength radiating from him. “I am so proud of you, my darling,” she said. “And I am so happy. Let’s go tell Mother and Father. We shall raise a glass to celebrate.”
“We can discuss the wedding with them,” George said, pulling her bag from the compartment.
“I could want nothing more,” she answered, forcing herself to focus on him, so her traitorous eyes stopped scanning the crowd for a last glimpse of burgundy. “Nothing more at all.”