I was too restless to return home after work, so I called at Daisy’s flat. I found her sipping a cocktail, dancing alone to music playing on the gramophone. Late afternoon sunlight streamed through the large windows, burnishing her hair, which was kept off her face by a scarf rolled into a band. She looked like a modern, clothed version of Botticelli’s Venus from his famous painting.
With one hand clutching her glass, she beckoned me inside with the crook of her finger. “Dance with me, Sylvia.” She swayed her hips and flailed her arms in the air. She probably meant it to be a seductive move but she looked a little like she was drowning.
I suppressed a giggle, so as not to offend her. Lord, it felt good to smile after such a trying day. I didn’t mind that she made me dance a few moves with her. It was clear that she was quite drunk. A drunk Daisy was just the distraction I needed.
She started to sing, however, and I was considering whether to remove the record when thankfully the needle got stuck. “Pooh,” she said as she lifted the tonearm. “Never mind. You missed the beginning anyway, so I’ll restart it.”
Before she could, I asked her to make me a cocktail.
She waved at the drinks tray on the sideboard. “Help yourself. Everything you need is there.”
“But I can’t make cocktails as delicious as yours.”
She abandoned the gramophone and set about mixing me a martini. When she finished, she popped in an olive and handed the glass to me. “Thank goodness you’re here, Sylvia.”
“Oh? Why?”
“I’m so dreadfully bored.”
“Weren’t you writing your novel today?”
She waved off the question and sat on the sofa, tucking one leg under her. She patted the seat beside her. “Tell me something interesting. You must have some gossip for me.”
“I do as it happens.”
Her eyes lit up. “Is it about Alex?”
“No. Do you wish it was about Alex?”
“Of course not. I’m quite over him. I never think about him anymore.”
“So I see. My gossip isn’t about Alex, it’s about Gabe. And I’m still quite shaken about it, to be honest.” I sipped the cocktail then took a large gulp. “I’m going to need a second one of these to settle my nerves.”
I told her about the stabbing. She was a good listener and an excellent audience, interjecting with the occasional gasp then giving me a fierce hug at the end.
“You poor, poor thing. It must have been awful.”
“It was, but he seems all right.” I blew out a long breath and relaxed into the sofa as the effects of the martini kicked in. “I think I was shaken more than him.”
“That’s war for you. The men have become immune to life-threatening situations. Being stabbed is probably nothing to Gabe.”
“He wasn’t injured in the war.”
“Oh yes, I forgot. He was so incredibly fortunate, wasn’t he?”
I sipped my drink. Daisy still didn’t know about Gabe’s magic. The fewer people who knew, the better.
She downed the remainder of her drink then unfolded her legs from beneath her. “Drink up. You need a distraction. We’re going out.”
“Where?”
“There’s a new Italian restaurant that’s supposed to be good. It’s a little early for dinner, but we can walk slowly. Oh, wait, I have a better idea. The restaurant is near that stationer’s shop, the one belonging to Huon’s nemesis.”
“Petra?”
“Yes. We can while away the time and chat to her.”
Petra’s shop would probably be closing soon, but I agreed anyway. I enjoyed her company and was keen to invite her to dinner to get to know her better. If I was being perfectly honest, however, I had another motive for wanting to talk to her.
We waited for Petra to finish serving a customer then joined her at the counter. I tried not to touch the stationery items arranged so beautifully alongside her writing tools, but it was hopeless. I could no more resist touching them than I could resist kissing Gabe back if he ever kissed me.
“This is a lovely surprise,” she said, smiling. “Is this a social visit or business?”
Daisy rested her elbows on the counter and her chin on her hands. She was still quite drunk. “Social. We’d like you to join us for dinner.”
“I’d love to. I’ll finish up here, then telephone my mother to let her know I won’t be home for a while.”
Before she locked the cash register, I pointed at the bound notepads on the shelf behind her. “I’d like one of those please, Petra.”
“Would you like it wrapped?”
“No, thank you.” I handed her the payment then rested my palm on the notepad. It held no magic.
I tore off the top page then tore that in half.
“Don’t waste it!” Daisy cried.
Petra frowned. “I could have given you a scrap from the rubbish.”
I picked up both pieces and closed my eyes. I pictured the spell in my mind, and the outcome. I let the words I’d memorized at the Petersons’ factory spill out of me, rolling my tongue over some syllables, feeling the strange sensation of the vibrations of others. I made sure the letter T was as sharp as it could be, and the P popped. When I finished, warmth burst from me and poured into the paper.
I opened my eyes and smiled at the two women staring back at me.
“Sylvia?” Daisy asked, sounding breathless.
I handed her a piece of paper and gave the other to Petra. Both dropped their pieces and wiggled their fingers. “Sorry,” I muttered. “I forgot about the heat.”
They gingerly picked them up again.
“Try and tear it,” I said.
They couldn’t. No matter which edge they tried, it wouldn’t rip, not even a little. All they could do was fold it.
Petra removed a pair of scissors from a drawer and tried to cut her piece. Nothing happened. The scissors may as well have been as blunt as a hammer. “Good lord. These were just sharpened.” To prove it, she cut through another piece of paper from the same notepad. When half of it fluttered onto the counter, she looked up at me. She smiled.
Daisy threw her arms around me. “You’ve done it, Sylvia! You’ve learned your spell. When?”
“Last night, but I forgot to tell you with all that happened today.”
“What happened?” Petra asked. “It must be important if you forgot to tell your best friend about this.”
“Oh, it was,” Daisy told her. “Gabe was stabbed.”
Petra gasped. “Is he all right?”
I nodded. “He has stitches in his shoulder, but he’ll be fine.”
“So why are you here? Shouldn’t you be with him? If he required stitches, he must be in some pain.”
“Oh. No. We’re just friends, and he has his other friends with him. He doesn’t need me. I’d only get in the way.”
Daisy and Petra exchanged knowing glances and smirks.
Petra picked up the piece of paper from the counter. “I’ve never known paper to be this strong. How long will your magic last?”
“I don’t know yet. I’ll keep one of these pieces and test it every day.”
“As will I.” She returned the scissors and the torn paper to the drawer. “Who taught you?”
I told them about the Petersons, but didn’t mention the philandering father. Then I got to the real reason for calling on her. “Tell me everything you know about invisible writing. I think you mentioned only a graphite magician can create it, see it, and read it. We paper magicians can’t, but our magic paper is necessary.”
“That’s true.” She fished a bundle of keys out of her skirt pocket and used one to unlock a cupboard behind her. She removed a box and opened the lid to reveal several pencils. She plucked one out and wrote something on the magic-infused paper. “Can you see anything?”
“No. It’s blank.”
She held up the pencil. “This has my magic in it already. I spoke the spell into these today for a customer who’s coming in the morning. He’s an artist and likes to have several pencils on hand for sketching.”
“Your spell makes them stronger?” Daisy asked.
“Yes. The two strengthening spells, mine and Sylvia’s, have now combined to make invisible writing.”
Daisy studied the paper only to shake her head. “I’ll have to take your word for it. Sylvia, can you see anything?”
I shook my head, too. If I’d not already known that invisible writing existed, I’d have thought Petra was pulling our legs. “What does it say?”
“‘Huon Barratt is a moron.’”
Daisy giggled.
“Speaking of Huon,” I said. “He wants to create invisible writing with ink. He needs a paper magician so asked me, but at the time, I didn’t know any paper spells.”
Petra made a face. “Don’t help him. He’ll use it for nefarious reasons, like gambling or duping people in some way.”
“He won’t. He said he’ll act as go-between, writing secret notes then reading them to the recipient if they don’t have access to their own ink magician.”
I wasn’t sure why I wanted to defend him. Petra was probably right and he’d end up using the invisible ink in some illegal scheme or other. The possibilities were endless, and no doubt his mind was already thinking of the various ways he could earn a fortune. I didn’t want to be a party to anything illicit.
On the other hand, being involved in creating a new spell could be interesting. And if I didn’t help him, he would go to another paper magician.
I picked up the piece of paper with both our magics in it. I could discern the magic in both, each having its own rhythm. Mine felt strong, like a full orchestral symphony rather than a single instrument performing a solo.
“You’re going to help him, aren’t you?” Petra asked.
“I might.”
She sighed. “If you do, just make sure you charge him a fair fee. Don’t do it for free. And make sure the paper magic can’t be traced back to you. You don’t want the police knocking on your door when his scheme is uncovered. I would love to see him thrown in prison, but I would hate for you to become embroiled in something illegal because he was too careless to cover his tracks.”
“He hasn’t suggested anything illegal to me. It’s quite legitimate, if a little … unsavory.”
But Petra had a point. Could Huon be trusted? He might not be able to resist using invisible writing for more than letters between clandestine lovers. Petra knew Huon well enough to know that he would give in to temptation if there was a benefit to him. Indeed, even I knew him well enough to know that.
The following day was Saturday. When I wasn’t helping with an investigation, I spent most Saturdays helping Mrs. Parry, exploring London, or spending time with Daisy. But I knew I wouldn’t settle until I’d seen Gabe, so I called on him in the morning.
Bristow opened the door with all the officiousness I’d become used to, only to ignore his butler’s code of conduct and actually express an emotion. I think it was relief. “Thank goodness you’re here, Miss Ashe.”
Panic seized me and squeezed hard. “What’s happened?”
“Lady Farnsworth is being difficult. More than usual, I mean.”
“Willie? In what way?”
Her voice traveled down the staircase to me, sharp and clear. “You ain’t going anywhere, Gabe! You’re staying right here where Alex and I can keep an eye on you.”
Gabe’s response was low and inaudible.
Bristow’s wrinkles folded with his cringe. “I’m sorry to ask you to enter the lion’s den, Miss Ashe, but would you mind rescuing Mr. Glass?”
“I don’t think Willie will listen to me, but I’ll try.”
“Having another person there might mellow her.”
I doubted it, but I suspected Gabe needed to see a friendly face. If nothing else, I could be another person to talk to while he convalesced.
Instead, I found myself not only drawn into their argument, but taking Willie’s side.
Gabe’s initial reaction upon seeing me was similar to Bristow’s, although his relief was coupled with genuine pleasure at seeing me. I expected to see him seated in the sitting room in a comfortable armchair, a pot of tea, some cakes and a book within easy reach. Instead, he was on his feet, pacing. Alex moved to block the doorway again after I’d entered the room, and Willie dogged Gabe’s steps. She’d been railing at him, but fell blessedly quiet when I arrived.
With all their gazes focused on me, I self-consciously uttered the pleasantries one gave an invalid acquaintance. “How are you today?”
“Fine,” Gabe said on a sigh.
“You look well. Can I get you anything?”
“I have everything I need.” He indicated the book, teacup, biscuits and blanket, all neglected. “And more. Tea?”
“No, thank you. I just came to see how you are and to keep you company if Alex and Willie needed to go out for a while.”
Alex grunted.
Willie looked smug. “Ha! See, Gabe? She agrees with us.”
“I do?”
“You reckon Gabe should stay here and recover.”
“Yes, of course.”
“We said the same thing, but he won’t listen to us. He wants to return to the hospital and question McGowan.” That explained Alex guarding the door and Willie’s lecturing.
“I wasn’t suggesting going alone,” Gabe told her. “You can come.”
“You got to rest. So sit, drink your tea, and read a book.”
He appealed to me. “Help me, Sylvia. Convince them I’m capable of having a conversation with McGowan without reopening the wound.”
While he had a point, I did think he should spend the day recuperating at home. “McGowan can wait until tomorrow.”
He regarded me, his lips flattening. “Very well. I’ll stay here. But if I have to put up with Grim and Grimmer, I’d like some company.”
I smiled and sat in the other armchair. “I have nothing better to do today than listen to Willie’s mature and reasoned arguments for you not leaving the house.”
Even Willie snorted at that. “You been drinking already?”
Alex opened the drawer of the console table and removed a deck of cards. “Do you know how to play poker, Sylvia?”
Bristow reentered the drawing room. “You have guests, sir. Lady Stanhope and Miss Hobson. I told them you were unavailable today, but they’re insisting. They seem agitated.”
Lady Stanhope marched into the room before being invited. “We’re ladies. We don’t get agitated. We are upset.” She strode across the room to Gabe and clasped his face between her hands. “You poor dear boy. I heard what happened and came here immediately.”
Behind her, Ivy clutched her throat, tears welling in her eyes. She looked like she wanted to throw her arms around Gabe and cry into his chest. Then she saw me and her face turned to stone.
Willie groaned. “Speaking of drinking early, I reckon we’re going to need it.”
Bristow bowed. “I’ll have Mrs. Bristow make more tea.”
Willie opened the flap of her jacket and pulled out a silver flask from the inside pocket. She winked at me. “Let me know if you need it, Sylv. We’ll get through this together.”
She’d been neither quiet nor discreet. Lady Stanhope clicked her tongue in disapproval. Ivy pretended not to have heard.
She bent to kiss Gabe’s cheek. “This is appalling. Absolutely appalling. The hospital’s management should be held accountable, and all their patients removed from their care.”
“The system is overrun as it is,” Gabe told her. “Hospitals like Rosebank Gardens are needed to treat shell-shocked soldiers. Before the war, their work wasn’t as…necessary.” He watched her closely, but she gave no sign that she recognized the hospital name or that she knew her brother had been admitted in 1913.
“What did the doctor say?” she asked.
“Which doctor?”
“The one who inspected your wound.”
“A nurse at Rosebank stitched it up. I haven’t seen a doctor.”
“Gabe! You have to see a doctor!”
“I assure you, she was very competent.”
“How do you know? Can you even see the wound? Let me check it.” She reached out to unbutton his shirt.
He caught her hand. “There’s no need.”
“You’re so sweet to worry on my account, but it’s not necessary. I won’t faint at the sight. I was a nurse, remember? I’ve seen far worse.”
“I said it’s fine. The wound isn’t deep. Barely a scratch, really.”
She slowly straightened, her hand fluttering at her chest again. “Oh. I see.” She looked around, taking in all of us, including Lady Stanhope, settling on the sofa. “I’ll leave you in peace, although I’m not sure how much rest you’ll get with everyone here.” She smiled gently. “You’re fortunate to have so many people to make a fuss over you.”
Gabe got to his feet and smiled tightly. “Let me walk you out.”
Ivy looked pointedly at Lady Stanhope.
Lady Stanhope remained seated. “I need to have a word with Gabriel. Run along, my dear. I’m sure your mother misses your company.”
Ivy lifted her chin in defiance and walked ahead of Gabe. They were still within earshot when she said, “Do be more careful in future. Don’t trust anyone, especially new acquaintances. One can only trust old friends these days.”
I wasn’t sure if that was a dig at Lady Stanhope or me. It may have been directed at both of us.
“Insufferable girl,” Lady Stanhope muttered. “And what a nerve, too! It wouldn’t surprise me if her family is the reason behind this nasty incident.”
The thought hadn’t occurred to any of us, but now we all looked at one another. We’d assumed the stabbing was linked to the kidnapping attempts, but what if she was right? What if Mr. or Mrs. Hobson were so angry with Gabe for not supporting their business or their daughter that they’d decided to punish him in a more tangible way than simply putting out false statements to the press?
Gabe returned, pausing in the doorway as we all stared at him. “Have I missed something?”
Lady Stanhope repeated her theory for his sake, but Gabe refused to believe it. “They’re not violent people.”
“No, but the men they hire could be. Those sort of people—ones in trade—don’t get their hands dirty. They pay others.”
I suppressed a sarcastic laugh at the implication that her sort of people, the nobility, did all their dirty work themselves.
“It’s best to be careful, Gabriel,” she went on. “Don’t trust them. Don’t trust their conniving siren of a daughter either.”
“Siren?” Willie asked.
“The creatures from Greek mythology who lured sailors with their beautiful singing voices.”
Willie screwed up her nose. “I’ve heard Ivy sing, and she ain’t that good. But I reckon you’re right and she can’t be trusted.”
“She or her mother,” Alex muttered.
“You believe this nonsense too?” Gabe asked him.
Alex shrugged. “It’s a possibility that we have to entertain. It could prove fatal if we don’t take it seriously.”
“So, we are all in agreement.” Lady Stanhope addressed Alex. “Make sure the rest of the staff know not to let the Hobsons in. Mr. Glass’s safety must be your priority.”
Alex’s jaw firmed. “It is my priority already.”
“And he is not staff.” Gabe rang the service bell. “Now, if you don’t mind, the doctor ordered me to rest.”
“I thought you didn’t see a doctor, only a nurse.”
Gabe gave her a smile as Murray appeared in the doorway. “Thank you for coming.”
She left the sitting room to the tune of the ringing telephone in the hall. Bristow appeared moments later and announced that a detective from Liverpool was on the other end.
Gabe went to speak to him and returned after a few minutes. “That was Detective Inspector Lafayette. He was part of the team that investigated the disappearance of a man named William Collins in 1893. He was alerted to our inquiry because the description we gave the Liverpool police matched William Collins perfectly.”
“Not Bill Foster?” Alex asked.
“According to Lafayette, there was no one named Bill Foster reported missing, but he’s convinced William Collins is Foster. So am I.”
“Did he give you anything to go on? A family contact, place of work, friends who might know where he went?”
“He did more than that. He told me why he suddenly disappeared. We were right. Collins was on the run from the police.”
“What crime was he accused of?”
“Murder.”