She patted his arm again. “I know it’s something new for you, but it happens to us all at some point.”

  “Some more than others,” Willie muttered.

  “We cannot be adored by everyone forever. So, what will you do now?”

  “Nothing,” Gabe said.

  “Don’t be naive. You must do something. People like her can’t be allowed to tattle to journalists every time they want revenge on someone they don’t like. People like us will never be able to get away with anything again.”

  Gabe blew out an exasperated breath, but somehow managed a placating tone. “The article was printed in a small newspaper. It’ll soon be forgotten.”

  “When word got out that your mother could extend the magic of other magicians, was it soon forgotten, Gabriel?” She addressed her question to Gabe, but looked at Willie.

  Willie sank into the chair. “It took a while.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Gabe said. “Mrs. Hobson’s opinion is irrelevant.”

  Lady Stanhope didn’t look convinced. “I’ve invited her to meet us at eleven in the morning at my house.”

  “I’m not having a meeting with her. It’ll only agitate her more.”

  “Nonsense. She must know that you’re very cross with her. Make her tell the journalist she was mistaken. Then we’ll demand a retraction from the newspaper.” She stood and he stood, too. She brushed his lapel and smiled gently. “Think about it, Gabriel. If you don’t nip this in the bud, it will spread. I’m only trying to protect you, dear boy, while your parents are away.”

  “I don’t need protecting. I won’t be there tomorrow.”

  She walked off, wagging a gloved finger in the air. “Don’t make a hasty decision. She will be at my place tomorrow at eleven, whether you are there or not.”

  Murray saw her out. Once she was gone, Gabe poured himself another drink.

  Alex asked for one, too. “She’s exhausting.”

  “Amen,” Gabe muttered.

  I picked up my teacup and watched Willie over the rim as I sipped. Of the three of them, only she was old enough to know whether Gabe’s mother suffered when other magicians became aware that she could extend their magic. She sat silent and sullen in the armchair.

  I spent the following morning in one of my favorite places—the library’s attic, accessed from Professor Nash’s flat. Surrounded by dusty books written in mysterious languages—some so ancient that it was possible no one alive could read them—I forgot all about Gabe’s troubles and my family’s history. The small circle of light cast by the gas lamp hanging from the beam above my head concentrated my focus on the book on my lap to the exclusion of all else.

  The professor’s voice startled me. “Sylvia? Do you mind manning the library while I go out?”

  I peered through the trapdoor in the attic floor. “Not at all. I’ll be down directly.” I returned the book to the trunk I’d found it in and closed the lid. With the lamp in one hand, I descended the ladder then extinguished it. “Is it lunchtime already?”

  “It is. You don’t mind, do you? I don’t have to go. I could stay and work on my memoir.”

  “Professor, it’s my job to look after the library, too.” I took his arm and steered him toward the door. “You go to your lunch. You’ll enjoy it when you get there.”

  The professor rarely went out, so I didn’t want anything to get in the way of his luncheon with his old university friends. For a man who’d traveled the world, this need to stay home in the library baffled me. I didn’t want him to change his mind before he left.

  I was about to close the door behind him when one of the last people I wanted to see entered Crooked Lane. She did not acknowledge the professor as she passed him, but strode directly up to me, still standing in the doorway trying to think of a polite excuse to escape.

  It turned out that politeness wouldn’t have made a difference. Mrs. Hobson was determined, and furious.

  “Where is he?”

  “Who?”

  “Don’t be coy with me. Gabriel. Where is he? His butler told me he was here when I called there.”

  “He isn’t here.”

  She pushed past me and entered the library. She searched the entire ground floor but decided against looking for Gabe on the next floor.

  “He must be on his way. I’ll wait.” She sat on the armchair in the reading nook, her back stiff, both hands clasped on the large black and white leather bag perched on her lap. She wore a black straw summer hat with a broad brim, with a matching white ribbon around the crown and fluffy white feathers on the side. Her striking black-and-white-striped outfit matched. She always wore elegant, fashionable clothing, but her makeup was new. While younger women wore lipstick nowadays, particularly at night, most women of Mrs. Hobson’s age considered the trend gauche and refused to apply even a little color.

  “I’ll let him know you were here,” I said, hopeful.

  “I’ll wait,” she said again.

  I returned to the front desk. Not that I had to stay there to work, but I didn’t want to be near her. Unfortunately, she followed me a few minutes later. It would seem she had to tell somebody what was on her mind, and without Gabe, I would do.

  “That horrid little cousin of his ambushed me today.”

  She could only mean Willie. “Literally or figuratively?” I wouldn’t put it past Willie to tackle someone in the street, even Mrs. Hobson. Especially Mrs. Hobson.

  She must have thought I was joking because she continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “Lady Stanhope invited us to her place for elevenses. She seemed to be expecting someone to join us, but I never thought it would be that woman. Lady Stanhope claimed she shouldn’t be there, and tried to get rid of her, but the cousin was like a rabid animal. Shouting and carrying on like a hoyden. She was rude and vulgar, and I am most upset. Most upset indeed. Gabriel needs to know. He needs to be told to rein her in.”

  “I don’t think it would make a difference.”

  The front door burst open, and Ivy rushed inside, out of breath. She sighed with relief when she saw her mother. “You told me you wouldn’t come here.”

  Mrs. Hobson’s jaw hardened so much it could cut glass. “He needs to know, Ivy.”

  “His cousin won’t moderate her behavior. She’s simply cross because she believes you told a journalist that Gabe is a magician who can extend magic. She’s just being protective of him. Once she understands it wasn’t you, she’ll calm down. We’ll explain to Gabe and he’ll explain to Willie.”

  Mrs. Hobson’s nostrils flared. “I’ll wait for him through there.”

  “Actually,” I said before she could disappear into the library, “Lady Stanhope told us that the journalist claimed you were his source, Mrs. Hobson.”

  Ivy’s eyes widened. “Mother!”

  Mrs. Hobson jutted her chin forward in obstinate defiance.

  “Is that true?” Ivy demanded.

  “Gabriel got what he deserved after the dreadful way he treated you, and our family.”

  “Mother!”

  Mrs. Hobson decided she’d rather not face Gabe’s wrath now that she’d been exposed as the source. She jerked open the front door and strode down the lane. I resumed my seat at the desk, expecting Ivy to follow her.

  Ivy approached the desk, her teeth nibbling her lower lip. “I’m so sorry, Sylvia. This has nothing to do with you, and it’s not fair you had to witness that. I’ll telephone Gabe later and apologize for my mother’s interference. She had no right to speak to a journalist about him.”

  “Thank you.”

  She still didn’t leave, however, even though I made a show of shuffling papers. “She’s usually so composed, but ever since my father’s illness, she hasn’t been the same. She’s worried about him, of course, and about the business, too. It made me realize how important my father is, how much he takes on.”

  “I’m sorry he’s ill. I didn’t know.”

  “He’s better now. You grew up without a father, didn’t you? That must have been incredibly hard for your mother, and for you too, of course. I can’t imagine how she coped.”

  “She was very capable.” My response was tart, but there was something about her comments that set me on edge. While they were kind on the surface, there was an underlying condescension in her tone. Perhaps she’d decided I was at least partly to blame for Gabe ending their engagement after all, despite his denial.

  “Where were you raised again?” she asked.

  “I lived in Birmingham before coming to London.”

  “That’s right, you did tell me, but I forgot. You don’t have a Birmingham accent.”

  “I’ve lived in lots of different places, none long enough to pick up a particular accent.”

  “What an interesting life you’ve led. What other places have you lived in?”

  “Here and there. Ivy, if you don’t mind, I have a lot of work to do.”

  Her smile was cheerful and friendly, but I no longer believed it to be genuine. “Of course. I’d better go after my mother anyway, or she’ll drive off without me.”

  I blinked at the empty space after she left. What a strange conversation. She’d been so angry with her mother, then talking about her father’s ill health had brought on quite a change.

  I settled into my work but was interrupted again fifteen minutes later with the arrival of Willie.

  “Is Gabe here?” she asked.

  “No. Do you know who was here, though, looking for him?”

  She must have guessed from my tone that it wasn’t a friendly visitor. “Who?”

  “Mrs. Hobson and Ivy.”

  She groaned. “They complain about me?”

  “Vehemently.”

  “You going to tell Gabe?”

  “No, because you’re going to tell him you went to Lady Stanhope’s and confronted her. If you don’t, Mrs. Hobson will, so I wouldn’t delay if I were you.”

  She shrugged. “Fine. I’ll tell him when I see him.” She leaned against the desk and picked up a pencil. She studied it then tucked it into the nest of hair piled up on her head. “I don’t regret it. She shouldn’t be allowed to get away with speaking to the press. It ain’t right.”

  I held up my hands in surrender. “You won’t get an argument from me.”

  “Good.” She picked up another pencil and tucked that into her hair, too. “You and me are getting on better now that you realize I’m always right.”

  The door opened and Daisy entered, wheeling her bicycle. She stopped upon seeing Willie. “Is Alex here?”

  “Hello, Daisy,” I said.

  “Sorry. Hello, Sylvia. Hello, Willie.” She leaned her bicycle against the wall near the door. “So, is he here?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Why?” Willie asked. “Do you want him to be here, or not want him to be here? I can never tell with you two.”

  Daisy joined us at the desk, eyeing the two pencils sticking out of Willie’s hair. “You ought to buy a handbag to carry around your things. I saw one recently with similar fringing to that old jacket you sometimes wear. I would have bought it for you, but I’m a little low on funds.”

  “I don’t need a bag. You going to answer my question or you going to keep avoiding it?”

  Daisy sighed. “I want to avoid him, I think. Last night, I saw him at the Buttonhole, but he didn’t see me. He was with a pretty woman. They danced together all night and couldn’t take their eyes off each other.”

  “If you’re jealous, you should tell him,” Willie said with the authority of someone who knew from personal experience. “Men like it when women get jealous.”

  Daisy lifted a shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. “I’ll only come off looking like a fool. Anyway, I can’t compete with her. I found out she’s a nurse. She tended to wounded soldiers in France.” She sighed dreamily. “It’s so romantic.”

  “There ain’t nothing romantic about war. It was muddy, chaotic, bloody and frightening.”

  Daisy sighed again.

  “I thought you and Alex agreed to see other people, because you decided you weren’t suited,” I said. “After Ipswich.”

  Willie picked up another pencil and pointed it at Daisy. “You think you ain’t suited? Why not?”

  The door opened again and this time Gabe and Alex entered, putting a stop to the conversation.

  “Did I miss a meeting?” Gabe asked.

  Willie glanced at me. I encouraged her with a nod, and she gave in with a determined set to her jaw. “Gabe, come with me into the reading nook. I’ve got to tell you something.”

  I grabbed the pencil from her before she tucked it into her hair with the others, then watched her lead Gabriel through to the library.

  Alex wasn’t in the least curious about their exchange. He was too busy trying to look disinterested in finding Daisy there. I wasn’t fooled, however. I’d seen his expression brighten upon seeing her.

  With Alex and Daisy avoiding one another, awkwardness quickly descended. Neither of them would break it, so it was up to me. “Did you enjoy yourself last night, Alex?”

  Daisy shook her head at me, warning me not to tell him she saw him.

  “I hear you were at the Buttonhole,” I went on.

  His gaze shifted to the entrance through which Gabe and Willie had gone. He must have assumed she’d told us. “It was fine.”

  “Did you dance much?”

  “A little.”

  “Meet anyone interesting?”

  “Not really.”

  That was promising. Surely if he liked the nurse a lot, he would have answered differently. I tried to signal to Daisy with my eyes that it was a good sign, but she was rearranging the stack of books on the desk and looking more invested in them than the tall, handsome man beside her.

  Gabe and Willie returned. Gabe looked a little cross, while Willie looked sheepish.

  She sidled up to me, pulled the pencils out of her hair and returned them to the holder on the desk. She cleared her throat but said nothing.

  “Sylvia, Willie has something to say to you,” Gabe said.

  Willie toyed with the pencils in the holder. “It’s my fault Mrs. Hobson came here.”

  “And…” Gabe prompted.

  “And I’m sorry,” she quietly muttered to the ceiling.

  “Again, and with a little more sincerity this time.”

  “I’m sorry Mrs. Hobson is such a bi—”

  “Apology accepted,” I said quickly. “And thank you.”

  “I need a drink. Does the prof have anything in his flat?”

  “I can make tea,” I said, standing.

  Daisy grabbed her bicycle handles and excused herself. “I have to go. My novel won’t write itself.”

  “How is it coming along?” Alex asked, ever so politely.

  “Slowly.” She smiled at him.

  He smiled back and opened the door for her, then watched her ride off down the lane.

  I headed upstairs to make the tea while the others followed only as far as the first floor reading nook, the larger of the two reading areas with plenty of natural light streaming through the enormous arched window. Gabe offered to help me, but I declined.

  I returned a few minutes later carrying a tray, to find him waiting in one of the aisles, shelving books. It was a task I’d meant to get to that morning, but had put off in favor of the more interesting work in the attic. I poured the tea and passed around the cups before sitting beside him on the sofa.

  “I telephoned Bernard Reid this morning,” he told me as he accepted a teacup. “I asked him if Robin had ever been to a hospital called Rosebank Gardens. He said he hadn’t then hung up before I could ask anything else.”

  I sipped my tea thoughtfully. There was only one direction this was leading, and we all knew it. But the final decision was mine to make and I couldn’t bring myself to make it.

  “He was lying,” Willie told me bluntly.

  “Yes, I realize that.”

  “If we want him to tell the truth, we need to present him with proof we know Robin was there. To do that, we have to see the hospital records.”

  I looked to Gabe, but he was no help. He seemed as calm as could be, not a hint of his thoughts in his eyes as he sipped his tea. I looked to Alex. Like Willie, he was easy to read.

  Alex set his teacup down with a decisive clink in the saucer. “We have a large period of time unaccounted for prior to 1914, when Foster enlisted in November. Somewhere in those years, Foster learned about Robin. They may not necessarily have met, but he at least knew of him. That may or may not have been from Rosebank Gardens. We’re merely speculating that Robin was there in ’91, before Foster even started working there. At the moment, that’s our only possible link between them, so looking at the hospital records is the next logical step to take. That’s if you want to keep pursuing Robin Reid at all.”

  I did want to pursue him. I knew that with certainty. The dead letters had fallen into my lap for a reason, and I felt compelled to know why. They were my only link to Marianne’s life before she became my mother; before she became Alice Ashe. I still held some hope that Robin had fathered me before he was reported missing, and that he might also be alive and living a happy life somewhere, oblivious to the fact he had a daughter. Admittedly, that hope faded with every new discovery our investigation brought to light, but while it was still a possibility, I wanted to pursue all avenues.

  “Very well. We’ll break in tonight. I’m coming with you.” This last point I made to Gabe.

  He hesitated then gave the smallest nod.

  Willie let out a cowboy’s whoop. “This’ll be fun!”

  “Since Sylvia will be inside with me, you can keep watch outside,” Gabe told her.

  “Why me? What about Alex?”

  “I’ll drive the motor for a fast getaway,” Alex said.

  “Why can’t I drive?”

  “Last time you drove, we all nearly died.”

  Willie humphed. “That was Thurlow’s thug, not me.” She slumped in the chair and crossed her arms, glaring daggers at me as if it was all my fault that she wasn’t given one of the fun tasks.

  I sipped my tea but it tasted sour in my mouth, so I set it down. I suddenly felt a little ill. When we’d broken into Lady Stanhope’s house, there were only a few servants to worry about stumbling upon us. This time, there was an entire hospital filled with staff and patients. Lady Stanhope wouldn’t have pressed charges if she discovered us, but I had no doubt Dr. McGowan would.

 

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