Gabe explained that the mention of a criminal investigation on McGowan’s file had led to them telephoning Cyclops at Scotland Yard. “The clerk at the GMC had no other information except these two names, written on McGowan’s file with a note to say they’d referred the investigation to the Yard. The patients were under McGowan’s care at the hospital, but the clerk assumed he was found innocent since no criminal charges were laid.”
“Did you find anything?” Alex asked his father.
“Very little,” Cyclops said. “After I spoke to you, I searched through the archived cases and found the old files written by the investigating team.”
“And?”
“And the two deaths occurred a month apart. Both patients were receiving treatment at Rosebank Gardens at the time. Rosebank reported the deaths and a coroner’s inquest found the patients died of heart failure.”
“Triggered by their treatments?” I asked.
“The deaths were found to be a result of natural causes.”
“How old were they?” the professor asked.
“Seventeen and nineteen.”
“So young,” Daisy murmured.
It was very unlikely two such young patients had died of heart failure so close together at the same place.
Gabe pointed to the piece of paper. “It was their families who brought the deaths to the attention of the GMC, but they couldn’t do anything without the coroner declaring a crime had been committed. The clerk we spoke to had never forgotten the deaths. He’d always thought them suspicious. He said it was an uneasy time for the medical profession in general, and Rosebank Gardens in particular. The investigation even made the newspapers.”
“We went to several newspaper offices after speaking to you,” Alex told his father. “We looked through a pile of old editions from back then.” That explained the inky fingers.
“There wouldn’t be anything of note in them,” Cyclops said. “Merely speculation.”
“Sometimes speculation can be accurate,” Gabe added with a wry tilt of his lips.
“Did they reveal anything?” I asked.
“Some vaguely worded accusations against the doctors and their methods, all of which were strenuously denied by the Rosebank Gardens director. Then it was all forgotten. No more deaths were reported, no more complaints emerged. The negativity simply ended.”
Cyclops confirmed that he could find no more official reports either. “The question now is, did Robin Reid die at Rosebank from the same thing that caused those deaths?”
“Robin wasn’t there at the time of his disappearance,” I pointed out. “His father said he was admitted in 1891, not 1894.”
“He was nineteen in 1894,” Gabe said. “Old enough to admit himself without parental consent.”
If no one knew he was in the hospital except the staff, it would be easier to cover up his death. All they had to do was hide the body. It was a sobering thought, one that we all reached at the same time, going by the grim faces.
Gabe retrieved a pencil from the desk and drew a rectangle on the back of the piece of paper. “The grounds surrounding Rosebank Gardens are sizeable but not vast.” He drew more rectangles inside the first one, representing the main building with its wings, and the outbuildings. “But there are only a few places where I’d bury a body if I were trying to dispose of one.” He marked them with an X. From what I could tell, they were located on all the rose beds.
“Well?” Alex asked his father. “Do you think you can get authorization to dig up the grounds?”
Cyclops shook his head. “There’s not enough evidence. In fact, there’s no evidence, merely speculation. As far as the police are concerned, those earlier deaths were a result of natural causes, not murder, and you have no proof that Robin is even dead. My superiors won’t approve the destruction of private property based on what you have.”
Alex swore under his breath. “So, what do we do now?”
There was only one thing to do, in my opinion. We’d lost sight of why we’d started this investigation in the first place. It was time to step back to see the broader picture again. “We should stop. We’re only looking for Robin because we thought it might lead us to finding out if he met up with Marianne—my mother—after she left Ipswich, but aside from the dead letters, we’ve not uncovered any other connection between them. There’s no reason to believe he’s my father. It seems he may have died at Rosebank Gardens after secretly admitting himself, but we have no reason to suppose Marianne was ever with him.”
Their long faces didn’t lift after my speech. No one looked relieved at the notion of giving up. If anything, their faces grew longer.
Gabe studied the two names on the piece of paper before folding it and tucking it into his pocket. “You’re right, Sylvia. The investigation has changed. It’s no longer about the possibility that Robin fathered you. But that doesn’t mean I want to give up. I want to find out what happened to him. If we’re right, and he died at the hospital after being subjected to dangerous treatments, he deserves justice. All the youths who died because they were told they could be made into magicians deserve justice.”
“His father deserves to know what happened to him,” Cyclops added.
Alex nodded. “And the returned soldiers who are patients there now need to be removed from McGowan’s care if he is still using those dangerous treatments.”
I may have been the one to suggest we end our investigation, but I was immeasurably relieved to hear they wanted to continue. Gabe was right. Robin and the others deserved justice, and if Stanley was right and Dr. McGowan was still employing dangerous methods to treat shell-shocked soldiers, he needed to be stopped.
“Then we’re all agreed?” Gabe asked.
We all chimed in with a “Yes,” even Daisy.
Cyclops placed his hat on his head. “Find the evidence I need to satisfy my superiors. If you can’t find it using legal methods…don’t tell me how you got it.”
Daisy collected her bicycle from beside the door. “This is more thrilling than anything I could have made up for my novel. It’s almost as thrilling as your journal, Prof.”
The professor pushed his glasses up his nose. “Oh, er, that was all a long time ago.”
Cyclops opened the door for Daisy, but Alex grasped the handlebars and offered to steer it outside for her. He was a little too enthusiastic, however, and pulled it from her grip.
She huffed crossly as she jerked it back and wheeled it out herself. She cast a glare at Alex before turning a smile on Cyclops. “Do let me know the date for dinner, and please tell Mrs. Bailey how much I’m looking forward to seeing her and the girls again.”
Cyclops touched the brim of his hat. “They’ll be keen for it to be soon, I’m sure.”
Daisy wheeled her bicycle away from the door before getting on and riding off along the lane.
Cyclops bid us all farewell, but Alex blocked his exit. “You invited her to dinner?”
“I did. And Sylvia and Professor Nash, too. Is that a problem?”
“No, but she seemed…eager.”
“She did. So?”
“She doesn’t like me, so why is she eager?”
Cyclops clapped his son on the shoulder and chuckled. “How did I raise such a fool for a son?”
“A fool?”
Alex crossed his arms over his chest and shot his father a withering glare, but Cyclops wasn’t concerned. He simply continued to chuckle as he slipped past Alex and sauntered along Crooked Lane.
Alex watched him go with a frown. “Aren’t parents supposed to be supportive?”
Gabe laughed softly.
“Why does everyone keep laughing at me? What’s so funny?”
The professor cleared his throat. “Does anyone want tea?”
“I ought to do some work,” I said. “Daisy tried to be helpful with the shelving.”
“That was kind of her,” Alex said.
Gabe understood my meaning. “We’ll leave you to it. Tomorrow, I think we should confront McGowan again about those deaths. Getting him to talk is the only way we’ll get the evidence Cyclops needs.”
“He won’t talk,” Alex said. “He’s too clever.”
They left together, discussing ways they could trick, cajole, or force Dr. McGowan into telling them what happened all those years ago.
The shelves that Daisy reordered happened to include some books about paper magic. After returning them to their correct locations, I withdrew one that caught my eye. I’d read it before when I first learned I was a paper magician, but I’d been overwhelmed by the discovery and not taken it all in.
I sat in the reading nook and searched through it for the spell to make paper stronger. The spell to make paper fly was mentioned, but only in passing. There was no mention of combining the strengthening spell with the magic from a graphite or ink magician to make invisible writing.
I removed some paper from the top drawer and laid it on the desk without overlapping any sheets. Then I picked one up and read out the spell from the book. Nothing happened. I didn’t feel anything or see any change. Should I see a difference if the paper was stronger?
I easily tore the piece of paper in half. It was all the proof I needed. The strengthening spell hadn’t worked. I read it again, altering the pronunciation of the strange words. Still nothing happened and once again, I was able to tear it easily. I stared at the spell, trying to make sense of the words and how they might be pronounced, but the skill of linguistics was beyond me.
The Petersons would help me. They’d been very supportive so far and had offered to teach me the spell, although so far I’d not taken them up on the offer. I hadn’t wanted to, at the time. I’d been too overwhelmed with the discovery of my magic to cope with memorizing the spell, too.
But it was time. I was ready.
I was in a research frame of mind, so went in search of books about magician lineages. I wanted to learn more about children born to parents who each possessed very different magical disciplines, that couldn’t possibly have stemmed from the same source. While there were several generic books and some that were quite specific, none mentioned silver magic.
I returned the books to the shelves and said goodbye to the professor. Instead of returning home, however, I took a bus to the Petersons’ paper factory in Bethnal Green. I was too late. The office door was locked, as were the side gates used by the workers. They’d left for the day.
I peered through the gate’s wrought iron bars, but the courtyard was empty except for a lorry parked at the warehouse entrance. There were no workers loading or unloading, no staff crossing the courtyard. Even the pulping machine had ceased its incessant pounding for the day.
I was about to give up and try the house where Walter Peterson lived with his wife and children, when I spotted a man in a brown suit emerging from one of the buildings. I called out then waved when he looked my way.
He glanced around, then, realizing I was trying to catch his attention, approached the gate. “The factory is closed, miss. Come back tomorrow.”
I recognized him as one of the Petersons’ senior employees, although I’d never met him. He didn’t seem to recognize me, however, otherwise he wouldn’t have been so rude as to make a shooing motion.
“I’m a friend of Mr. and Miss Peterson,” I said in my friendliest voice. “Have they left for the day?”
He came closer and squinted at me. Finally, he seemed to recognize me. “You’re that girl who claims to have just discovered she’s a paper magician.”
I bristled. “You sound like you don’t believe it.”
He simply looked me up and down, taking my measure. The narrowed gaze and curl of his top lip told me what he thought of me. “It seems unlikely that you didn’t know, unless you were adopted.”
“I wasn’t adopted, but— Never mind.” I didn’t need to explain to him. “Are you a magician?”
“No.”
“Are you from a magician family?”
“No.”
“Then you can’t know what it’s like to suddenly discover you are a magician and yet your family is no longer alive and you have no one to ask.” It was more than I’d wanted to say, but it didn’t stop him looking at me as if I were wasting his time. “So are Mr. or Miss Peterson still here?” I pressed.
“Come back tomorrow.” He went to walk off.
I tightened my grip on the bars and gave the gate a shake, but that only confirmed that it was indeed locked. “Why are you being so antagonistic? I simply want to know if either of them are still here.”
He stopped but didn’t reapproach the gate. “I’m just trying to protect the Petersons from people who wish to harm them.”
I barked a laugh. “I don’t want to harm them. I simply want to talk to them. How could I possibly harm them?”
“By claiming to be a sibling they never knew and wanting part of this.” He indicated the massive factory with its myriad buildings. The land alone would be worth a large sum, and the successful business itself would be worth a fortune.
I blinked at the man, quite lost for words. But my mind worked at rapid speed, several thoughts tripping over each other, until finally one broke free. It was louder than the rest, and it was startling in its clarity. “Why would you think I’m a sibling they never knew they had? It’s such an odd conclusion to jump to.”
He stared back, his icy-blue gaze challenging. “I didn’t say you are, just that you’re claiming to be.”
“But I’m not.”
“Very well. Now go on, clear off.”
My fingers began to hurt, so I loosened my grip on the bars. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding them so tightly. “There must be a reason why you accused me. Has it happened before? Did someone claim to be their sibling? A paper magician?”
“He wasn’t a paper magician, as it turned out. But yes, it happened before.”
“Surely something so strange is a one-time occurrence. So why are you accusing me when I’ve shown no sign of taking advantage of the Petersons?” When he simply muttered something under his breath but didn’t leave, I pressed on. “Sir, why do you think I might claim to be their sibling? Please, tell me. I’m trying to find out more about my family, and if there’s a possibility that you know something, I would be forever grateful to you for telling me.”
Perhaps it was the desperation in my voice, or maybe he wanted to talk about it all along, but he finally gave in. “I’ve worked here for some time. I knew Old Mr. Peterson well. He was a good man, but he was a philanderer. He had several liaisons outside of his marriage. It’s conceivable one or more of those liaisons resulted in a child. His wife knew about the mistresses. His children knew, too. You can’t tell them anything they don’t already know, so don’t go thinking of blackmailing them.”
I shook my head, over and over. “Did you ever meet the women? Could you describe any of them?”
“No.”
“Did his children?”
“I doubt it. He kept that part of his life separate. Now, if I were you, I’d forget the Petersons. They have good lawyers. They won’t give you anything.”
“I told you, I don’t want their money or any ownership of this factory. I just want to find my family.”
Walter Peterson emerged from one of the buildings and upon seeing us, approached the gate. His broad smile plumped his rosy cheeks and crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Good afternoon, Miss Ashe. What a pleasant surprise.”
His cheerfulness was infectious. I couldn’t help smiling in return. “Good afternoon, Mr. Peterson. I hoped to find you here still. I’d like to ask you a favor.”
“Is it a magical favor?”
“Yes.”
His smile widened. “My favorite kind.” He unlocked the gate and invited me through. “Shall we adjourn to the office? I have sherry.”
The employee touched the brim of his hat. “See you tomorrow, sir.”
“Bright and early!”
I watched the man saunter off, wondering whether I ought to ask Mr. Peterson about his father’s mistresses.
“Don’t mind him.” Mr. Peterson nodded at the retreating figure of his employee. “Good fellow, hard worker, but he’s a bit of a curmudgeon. Understandable, I suppose, considering he lost his son.”
So many fathers had, and mothers, too.
Mr. Peterson continued to chatter about his week as we made our way across the courtyard. By the time we reached the office, I had decided not to ask about his father. I didn’t want him jumping to the conclusion his employee had and think I was after money or a stake in the business. I’d wait until I got to know him and his sister better before broaching the sensitive topic.
Mr. Peterson showed me through to his office, a grand space with a solid mahogany desk, bookshelves and cabinets. Neat stacks of paper formed towers of different heights on the desk. They were different thicknesses and textures, too, but all fine quality.
“Go ahead and touch them,” he said, smiling.
“Oh no, there’s no need.”
He flipped open the top half of a world globe resting on a brass stand, revealing a selection of glasses and decanters. It was a curious piece of furniture, designed to impress, but I was drawn to the paper stacks. I reached out and caressed one while he poured the sherry, only to find that he’d seen.
He handed me one of the glasses. “No need to be embarrassed, Miss Ashe. I know you have urges.” He tapped a finger on the stack as he passed it to sit on the other side of the desk. “You chose well. This is our finest paper. Very smooth and lightweight, yet it won’t tear. Not for some time, at least, until the magic fades.” He sipped his sherry before settling into the chair, resting the glass on his paunch. “So, how may I help you?”
“Can you teach me to speak the strengthening spell? I can’t get the words right.”
The smile that was never far away appeared again, brighter than before. “It will be my pleasure.”
We spent almost an hour perfecting the nuances of the spell before it finally worked for me. I knew the moment I’d succeeded, as surely as I knew when I felt any other sensation, like heat or cold, pain or pleasure. The magic swelled deep inside me then surged along my veins, warming them, leaving tingles in its wake. Every nerve came to life, aware of the magic’s force, aware of the parts of me that it touched before it burst from my fingertips. The paper’s surface glowed with soft light before fading away, leaving behind magical heat that I now knew the artless couldn’t feel.
I looked up at Mr. Peterson, seated opposite, unable to contain my smile. I’d done it! I’d performed magic for the first time. It was exhilarating and intensely, deeply satisfying.
Mr. Peterson sat back in his chair. “My! What a performance! I’d not expected that for your first time.” He picked up the paper but quickly released it again and shook out his hand. “Hot. Miss Ashe, you are a strong magician. Are you sure you only have one magician parent?”
I tried very hard to contain my smile, but it simply wouldn’t be quelled. “I believe I might have two, although only one was a paper magician.”
“Your father, you said?”
It would seem so. “I never met him. My mother didn’t speak about him. In fact, sometimes I wonder if his name isn’t Ashe at all.”
“Truly? Well, that is unfortunate, but I’m sure your mother had her reasons for keeping it a secret.” He slapped his hands down on the chair arms. “Now, this requires a celebration. We can’t let your first time using a spell pass without marking the occasion with good food and company. My sister is coming for dinner tonight. Will you join us?”
“I don’t want to intrude on your family time.”
“It’s no intrusion. My wife wants to meet you, and Evaline will be happy to see you again.” He pushed himself to his feet. “Come. Join us.”
“If you’re sure…”
“That’s the spirit. You won’t regret it. Our cook is excellent.”
I spent a pleasant evening talking about magic, the paper business, and giving the Petersons just enough detail about myself that I didn’t feel too exposed. I hoped to prod Evaline and Walter into thinking their father might be my father, without having to broach the topic myself.
Walter’s joviality didn’t waver throughout dinner, however. Nor did his wife’s, whose giggles became louder with each glass of wine she consumed. Evaline, on the other hand, became thoughtful when I mentioned that I knew nothing about my father. She made no suggestion that we might be half-sisters but if the connection did occur to her, I’m sure she would want to discuss it with her brother alone first.
The conversation moved on until it was time for me to leave. Not only had I enjoyed myself, but I felt a sense of satisfaction, too. I left feeling good about myself. For the first time, I felt like a paper magician. Before making the spell work, a part of me hadn’t accepted that I was a magician. It wasn’t until I performed the spell that I realized a piece of me had been missing.
Now I was satisfied on a base level, as if a missing part of me had been found and returned. That missing piece had shored up my foundation, allowing something to be built on it. I could build something marvelous, something I’d never dreamed of building before speaking the spell.
And I couldn’t wait to begin.
I still wanted to know more about my parents, my family, but I didn’t need to know. Being me—a paper magician—was enough.
I couldn’t wait to tell Gabe about the paper spell the following morning when he collected me from the library. I hadn’t told the professor yet; Gabe should be the first to know. He’d hardly walked in the door when I blurted it out.
“Congratulations!” he said. “I can see that you’re pleased.”
“Very, although I’m not altogether sure why. I don’t manufacture paper and have no real need for the spell.” I shrugged, unable to describe the feeling to him.
It turned out that I didn’t need to. “Your magic is a part of you, that’s why. My mother explained to me that magic is a component of your character. If that component is suppressed, misunderstood or forgotten, then you’re not really the person you were meant to become. It’s like having a keen sense of humor yet being forbidden to laugh, or being intelligent yet never given the opportunity to learn, or having a wanderlust but never allowed to leave the village.”
He understood me like no one else had, not even my family. In a rush of emotion, I stood on my toes and kissed his cheek.
But he moved at the moment of connection. I missed his cheek and kissed the corner of his mouth instead. My heart thundered and my face flamed. Silence enveloped us, thick and pulsating. I didn’t know where to look, but I couldn’t look at him, even though I desperately wanted to see his reaction.
Had he moved deliberately?
I dropped back onto flat feet and dared a glance at him. He watched me from beneath lowered lashes, his expression unreadable.
The awkwardness was too tense, so I forced myself to break the silence. “I’ll let the professor know I’m leaving.”
A few minutes later, Gabe and I walked side by side along Crooked Lane, he with his hands behind his back and me tying a scarf around my head to keep my hair in place for the journey. Our entire conversation consisted of me asking where Alex and Willie were, and he replying that they’d slept in after a late night out. They wouldn’t be happy that he left without them, but Gabe seemed unconcerned for his safety.
By the time we reached Rosebank Gardens, the tension had eased somewhat. The smile he gave me as he assisted me from the motorcar could be interpreted as friendly rather than intimate, but the caress of his thumb over my knuckles left no room for misinterpretation. He’d removed his driving gloves and I’d dispensed with gloves altogether because of the heat, so the touch of skin against skin sent my body into a chaotic jumble of warm tingles and quite shut down my mind.
It was the only logical explanation for what happened next.
Neither of us saw the attacker until it was too late. He came at us from behind. It wasn’t until Gabe hissed in pain and lurched forward that we both realized he’d been stabbed.