Gabe crouched in front of me, his gaze full of concern. “Mr. Reid, would you mind fetching Miss Ashe a glass of water?”
“I’m all right,” I said quickly. To prove it, I stood. Gabe remained close, but didn’t touch me. “Mr. Reid, we’d like to speak to your son’s friends to see if he mentioned Marianne Folgate to any of them. Not his wayward friends, you understand. The ones from his school days.”
Mr. Reid hadn’t turned away from the window when Gabe asked him to fetch a glass of water, but he now suddenly whipped around. “Why?”
“Sometimes youths confide more in their friends than their parents.”
“He never brought anyone home to meet us.”
“Even so, he must have had at least one friend. You can’t recall their names?”
“No. My wife would have known, but Robin never mentioned his school chums to me.”
“What school did he attend?” Gabe asked.
“Laughton College.”
I’d heard of it. It was one of the most prestigious boarding schools for boys in the country. It would have cost a fortune to send Robin there, and he would have only come home for the holidays.
“What about university friends?” I asked.
“He didn’t go to university.”
“Is that because you wanted him to work in your factory and learn the business?”
Mr. Reid jutted out his chin and turned back to the window.
Gabe and I glanced at each other. Given Mr. Reid had been reasonably forthcoming so far, this sudden caginess was suspicious.
“Thank you for your time,” Gabe said. “May we take a photograph of Robin with us? We’ll return it when our investigation is complete.”
“How will that help you find the Folgate girl?”
“If their disappearances are linked and we find where Robin was living all those years, we might find where Marianne went when she left Ipswich.”
Mr. Reid considered this a moment then nodded. He led us along the corridor and asked us to wait while he fetched the photograph. When he opened the door, I saw that it was another bedroom. He retrieved a framed photograph from beside the bed and showed it to us. It was Robin and his parents, seated on a sofa. “This is the last one of him, taken on his nineteenth birthday a few months before he disappeared.” Mr. Reid gave it one last look before handing it to me.
“Thank you,” I said. “I’ll take good care of it.”
“I hope you find her, the Folgate girl. The loss of such a powerful and rare magician is a tragedy to the world, not just her family.”
Gabe’s jaw firmed, but he didn’t respond. As much as I wanted to say something, I remained silent, too. It wasn’t fair to judge a grieving man when he wasn’t in his right mind.
Mr. Reid saw us out and we returned to the motorcar. Once we’d set off, Gabe asked if I was feeling better.
“You looked peaked in there. I was worried.”
“I was just shocked to see Thurlow’s name. I thought we’d never have to worry about him again.”
“So did I,” he said, voice grave.
“Do you think he was responsible for Robin’s disappearance?”
“Anything’s possible.”
“Perhaps Marianne didn’t leave Ipswich of her own accord in ’91. Thurlow may have kidnapped her because she was a valuable magician, especially if he believed the myth that silver magicians could create more silver.” I pressed a hand to my stomach as it lurched. “Perhaps she escaped, and he’s the one she was running from all these years—that we’ve been running from.”
Gabe reached over and squeezed my arm. “We’ll get answers soon, I promise. If Thurlow does turn out to be responsible—” He had to suddenly swerve to miss a motorcar that didn’t stop at an intersection, and he never finished the sentence.
We drove to the War Office next. Located on the corner of Horse Guards Avenue and Whitehall, it was a commanding building befitting a center of power. It was also arranged in a confusing layout. When we finally found the Directorate of Military Intelligence, we were told we couldn’t see Mr. Jakes without an appointment. Gabe had to say he was from Scotland Yard and threaten to contact the police commissioner if access to Jakes was blocked.
The assistant returned a few minutes later with a smiling Mr. Jakes.
He shook my hand first. “What a pleasure to see you again, Miss Ashe. I’ve been meaning to return to the library.” Before I had an opportunity to ask why, he moved on to Gabe. “Finally, we meet, Mr. Glass.”
“Finally?” Gabe prompted.
“Your friend, Francis Stray, spoke highly of you. A very smart fellow, Stray. Frighteningly so. But a good man.” He smiled again. It would have made his features even more handsome if it weren’t so practiced. “Sorry you had difficulty getting to me. Military Intelligence, you know.”
I nodded, as if I knew what he meant. I wasn’t entirely sure what the department did, except that part of their work involved the coding and decoding of secret messages.
Mr. Jakes led us through to an office larger than my lodgings, with floor to ceiling wood paneling. The faint smell of polish was marred by the more unpleasant odor of cigarette smoke. Ash and butts filled a silver dish placed to one side of the leather-inlaid desk.
Mr. Jakes sat behind the desk and invited us to take seats opposite. “I must say, this is excellent service. Do all your patrons get such special treatment, Miss Ashe?
“Pardon?”
“Professor Nash said he’d notify me if a book on genetic mutations in magicians comes into the library’s possession. Is that not why you’re here?”
“No. We wanted to ask you about a man who died in the war. We’re investigating his disappearance years earlier.” I explained what we knew about Robin Reid’s missing years and his subsequent enlistment and death in 1915. “We hoped you could access his records for us, so we can learn where he was living when he enlisted.” I didn’t tell him about the connection to Marianne or me, and he didn’t ask the reason for our investigation.
“You could have had Scotland Yard go through the usual channels for that information.” He pressed a black button on the edge of the desk. “Of course, you knew that already, Glass.”
Gabe sat calmly in the chair, seemingly unconcerned by Jakes’s sharp assessment. Jakes knew we were here for something else. It wasn’t until he pointed it out that I realized it, too. Gabe had wanted to meet Jakes.
The assistant opened the door and Mr. Jakes instructed him to fetch the military records for Robin Reid. When the door closed again, Mr. Jakes offered us cigarettes from a gold case. We declined, but he lit one for himself. He sat back, drawing on the cigarette, and regarded Gabe with cool assessment.
“You’ve been in the newspapers again,” he said.
“They’ve got nothing of importance to write about now the war is over.”
“You think they’re making it up?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time a journalist got the wrong end of the stick.”
“Perhaps on this occasion, but what about previous articles? Weren’t there witnesses to your kidnapping?”
“Kidnapping attempt, Jakes. I’m still here.” Gabe’s smile was as charming as ever, but I doubted Mr. Jakes was fooled into thinking Gabe was being friendly. “Tell me, why the interest in me?”
“What makes you think I have any interest in you?”
“You question my friends about me. You asked Francis to introduce us. You made inquiries at the Glass Library about books on genetic mutation. You, Mr. Jakes, believe what’s written in the newspapers and think magic kept me alive on the Front. If I were a gambling man, I’d say you were behind the kidnapping attempt.”
Mr. Jakes chuckled, blowing out cigarette smoke. “Then you’d lose. I admit to being curious about your uncanny ability to survive, and I’d like to know if there is a logical explanation or a supernatural one. But I wouldn’t stoop to kidnap. You’re also wrong to assume that I believe what I read in the newspapers, Glass. I’m capable of conducting my own investigations.”
Both looked composed, but I knew Gabe well enough to notice the tension around his eyes as he held Mr. Jakes’s gaze.
“I’d like to study you, Glass.”
“No.”
“Nothing invasive, I assure you. My men will—”
“I am not, nor will I ever be, your scientific experiment. My answer is no.”
“Very well. You know where to find me if you change your mind.” He sifted through some papers on his desk until he found a newspaper cutting. “One other thing. You’re acquainted with the Hobson family, of Hobson and Son boots.”
“Ivy Hobson was my fiancée until recently. I’m sure you already knew that.”
Mr. Jakes handed Gabe the clipping. It was an article about the protests outside the Hobson and Son factory. The protestors were mostly former soldiers who’d lost limbs after getting trench foot during the war. The condition was caused by their feet being damp for a long period of time, something that was difficult to avoid in the war until spell-infused boots were made by the powerful leather magician family who won the government contract to manufacture them. The Hobsons grew richer, the soldiers’ feet were kept dry, and the army was very pleased with their investment.
Until it was revealed that a group of soldiers suffered trench foot. They’d all received their boot allocation at the same time and suffered horrific injuries as a result. Like all the soldiers disabled in the line of duty, they’d been given financial support from the government. But it wasn’t enough. Many couldn’t return to their former occupations, and it was widely assumed the support would end sooner rather than later. There was also the emotional toll. No compensation could relieve that burden.
Mr. Hobson refused to admit that a batch missed their spell and claimed the soldiers wore the boots incorrectly. He’d had the gall to tell the press that Gabe guaranteed the magical quality of the boots. Using the Glass name for his own ends had infuriated Gabe. While I didn’t think the betrayal had factored into his decision to end his relationship with Ivy, it had come at a time that made it seem as though it had.
“You made a subsequent statement to the press that no member of your family endorsed the boots,” Mr. Jakes said.
“Your point?” Gabe asked.
“Did a batch of boots miss their spell?”
“I wasn’t involved in the manufacturing process, something any fool would know.”
“I thought one of the Hobson family may have confided in you.”
“No. Ivy had nothing to do with the business, and nor did I.”
“Yes, but—”
“No, Mr. Jakes,” Gabe ground out. “I don’t know why a batch failed on the battlefield. Can I make myself any clearer?”
“So you do believe there was a failure, and that the boots in question were worn correctly by the soldiers?”
“Mr. Jakes,” Gabe said with a smoothness that must have taken enormous effort to muster. “Pose your questions to someone involved at Hobson and Son. I am not, nor was I ever, involved in the manufacturing process, and no one has confided anything to me.” He handed the clipping back to Jakes. “I suggest we move on.”
We filled a tense few minutes talking about the weather and other benign topics until the assistant returned with a file. Mr. Jakes opened it and read the first page.
“Reid enlisted in the Royal Army Medical Corps as a stretcher-bearer in November ’14. He died in the second battle of Ypres in ’15 carrying out his duties.” He passed the page to Gabe and read the second piece of paper. “He was an orderly at the time war broke out. That explains why he chose the Medical Corps.”
“Which hospital?” Gabe asked.
“Rosebank Gardens, located east of Watford. I’ve heard of it, although I’ve never been. It’s a clinic for returned soldiers now, but before the war, it was a private hospital.” Mr. Jakes handed Gabe the entire file. “Make all the notes you need.”
I wrote down the address of the hospital as well as the name of the officer in charge of Robin Reid’s subsection. “Do you know where we can find Captain Collier?”
Mr. Jakes accepted the file back from Gabe. “It wouldn’t be ethical for me to give you his personal details. This is, after all, not an official Scotland Yard investigation. Is it?”
Gabe stood, so I gathered he wasn’t going to press for an answer.
Mr. Jakes followed us to the door to see us out. “If you change your mind about working with me, Glass, I might be able to help you locate Collier.”
Gabe settled his hat on his head. “Thank you for your time, Jakes.”
Mr. Jakes hesitated, before smiling that practiced smile of his. “It was a pleasure to meet you. And to see you again, Miss Ashe. Do keep me informed if any books on genetic mutations in magicians come across your desk.”
I smiled weakly in response. My nerves were too taut to allow me to be friendly.
Outside, Gabe opened the Vauxhall’s door for me and to retrieve the crank handle. Instead of heading to the front of the motorcar to crank the engine, he gripped the top of the door with his spare hand. His thumb tapped a rapid beat against the metal.
“What do you think of Jakes?”
I followed his gaze to the stately facade of the War Office. “I think he’d lie if it got him what he wanted.”
Gabe nodded slowly then pushed off from the door to crank the engine. A few minutes later, we set off as fast as the traffic would allow. It was a busy part of London and policemen were stationed at every major intersection to control the flow of vehicles. Most of the vehicles were motorized and I caught Gabe eyeing off some of the motorcars, particularly the larger ones, some of which were driven by uniformed chauffeurs. I hadn’t seen his own chauffeur, Dodson, since before the accident. Gabe preferred to drive himself in the Vauxhall Prince Henry.
“It’s a shame Jakes wouldn’t tell us where to find Reid’s commanding officer,” I said.
Gabe’s lips curved into a sly smile. “We don’t need him.”
“You know where Captain Collier works now?”
“No, but I think I know someone who can find out.”
He drove back to his house at number sixteen Park Street, Mayfair. Bristow the butler informed us that we were just in time for an informal luncheon. Given our arrival doubled the size of those present, he suggested we eat in the dining room.
Gabe agreed, only to frown at the staircase as the sound of raised voices came from above. “Is that Willie and Alex?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What are they arguing about?”
“You, sir.”
“Me?”
“You departed before either of them was out of bed this morning. They accuse each other of not escorting you to keep you safe from kidnappers. Given the latest report in the newspaper, as shown to you by Lady Stanhope, everyone is concerned there may be another attempt.” Bristow’s tone was usually bland, so the hint of sternness was as clear as a clanging bell on a still night. He was as concerned as the others, and annoyed that Gabe had left on his own.
Gabe sighed. “I’ll speak to them.”
Gabe’s idea of speaking to them was to greet them amiably, let them rant about his safety, then once it was off their chests, calmly tell them what we’d learned that morning, beginning with our visit to Mr. Reid.
“I’m going to telephone Laughton College after lunch and ask to speak to a teacher who knew Robin Reid well,” he said. “I want to find out the names of his friends. Sylvia said something interesting earlier—youths don’t confide in their parents. They talk to their friends. If Robin had any plans for Marianne when he was sixteen, a friend is more likely to know than his father.”
“His father said he didn’t have any school chums,” I pointed out.
“His father didn’t know him at all. Whether he was too busy or just didn’t care, I don’t know. But I doubt Robin would have told him anything. I suspect Bernard Reid lost interest in Robin once he realized he was artless and disinclined to learn the business.”
“No wonder the son ran away from home,” Willie said. “I would, too, if my father was a no-good ass.”
Gabe glared at her. “Willie. Language.”
She made a scoffing sound and rolled her eyes. “You’ve heard worse, haven’t you, Sylvia?”
“Of course. I’ve worked with journalists.”
Willie looked pleased I’d taken her side. I was befriending her, little by little. We’d started our acquaintance with her loathing me, but once Gabe ended his relationship with Ivy, Willie began to thaw. She still sometimes reminded me in no uncertain terms that Gabe wasn’t ready for a relationship, and although I denied having feelings for him, she didn’t believe me. When we didn’t discuss Gabe, we got along well enough.
Alex hadn’t been listening to the exchange. He seemed lost in thought. He now shook his head. “I don’t think Robin left home willingly. He may not have got along with his father, but to not inform his mother…it takes a very callous fellow to do that.”
“You say that because you got a good mother,” Willie pointed out. “You like your family, and they like you. Not everyone’s so lucky.”
“Even so, we should speak to Thurlow.”
“No one will speak to Thurlow,” Gabe all but growled.
“Definitely not,” I added. “This is an investigation for me into my parents, and I won’t have anyone putting their lives at risk because of it.”
Alex put up his hands in surrender. “Did you call at the War Office as my father suggested?”
“We’ve just come from there,” Gabe said.
Willie thumped her fist on the chair arm. “You should have woken us up for that!”
Alex crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Gabe. “Agreed.”
“Jakes would hardly kidnap me within his own office.”
“You don’t know that!” Willie jabbed her finger at him. “You walk into the bear’s lair, you got to expect it to attack you. Any fool knows that.”
“I had Sylvia with me.”
Willie snorted. “She doesn’t know the spell to turn paper into flying slicers yet, and until she does, she ain’t going to save you from the likes of Jakes. Next time, come get me or Alex.”
Bristow entered and announced that sandwiches were being served in the dining room. We filed out of the drawing room, one by one. I slowed my pace to speak to Willie.
“It’s a pity the Petersons don’t know the spell to make paper fly,” I said. “It could be useful.”
She grabbed my elbow and jerked me to a stop. “That spell’s dangerous. It’s lucky it disappeared along with the swine who knew it.”
She’d often mentioned being attacked by flying paper, but it seemed rather absurd to me. So absurd that I chuckled at the image of her cowering from a paper plane. According to the Petersons, only one paper magician knew the spell and he’d not been seen nor heard from in years. He was the same man who’d attacked Willie.
“It ain’t a laughing matter, Sylvia. Magical paper cuts can kill. Slowly.”
Over lunch, Gabe told them what we’d learned from Jakes about Robin Reid’s military service. When he mentioned Robin dying at Ypres, Willie’s chewing slowed. She stared at Gabe, and I realized Gabe must have been at Ypres, too. It may have been one of the battles where stories of his miraculous survival began.
“You drove ambulances there, didn’t you?” Gabe asked her.
She shoved a ribbon sandwich into her mouth and shook her head. She chewed a few times and, with her mouth still full, she told us she wasn’t in Ypres in 1915. “I was there for the third battle, in ’17, but I could find someone who was there in ’15 who might remember him.”
“How?” Alex asked.
“The network. I got to know a lot of people. They’ll remember me on account of me being unforgettable.”
Alex nodded sagely.
“We’d like to find Reid’s CO, Captain Collier,” Gabe told her. “Don’t tell anyone why we need to speak to him.”
She grabbed a ribbon sandwich in each hand, shoved one into her mouth, and got to her feet. She left the dining room. Ten minutes later, she returned. “He’s working at Guy’s Hospital.”
Gabe suggested we speak to him in the morning. “I want to telephone Reid’s old school now, and find out what I can about him. You’re welcome to stay for dinner, Sylvia.”
I glanced at the clock on the sideboard. “Actually, I need to do something with Daisy.”
At the mention of her name, Alex’s focus sharpened.
But it was Willie who spoke. “Sounds interesting. Can I come?”
“You don’t know where, yet, but I think you’re right. It will be interesting. We want to take Huon Barratt to see the graphite magician to buy Daisy some pencils.”
“What does she want pencils for?”
“She doesn’t, but Huon thinks she should buy some. Given ink magicians don’t get along with graphite magicians, there’s only one reason he would have made the suggestion.”
Willie instantly made the assumption that we had. She chuckled.
“Daisy and I suspect there might be fireworks between them,” I went on.
“Then I’m definitely coming. Gabe, can I borrow the motor?”
“I’m coming, too,” Alex said, standing.
“The Vauxhall ain’t big enough. Me, Sylvia, Daisy and Huon make four. Five won’t fit, especially when the fifth is the size of a house.”
Alex sucked in his stomach as he strode out of the dining room, muttering about how some women liked his size.
Willie gave me a little push in the direction of the door. “Come on, Sylv, let’s go. I want to see Barratt make a fool of himself.”
Gabe saw us to the front door where he collected a driving scarf to cover my hair from the hall stand and handed it to me. “I never thought I’d say this, but I feel sorry for Barratt.”
“He might come out of it well,” I said. “Perhaps he’ll show Petra Conway the half-decent fellow underneath the conceited one.”
“Nope,” Willie said. “It’s more likely he’ll make things worse.”