Secrets of the lost ledg.., p.6
Secrets of the Lost Ledgers, page 6
“Maybe they’re working together. It wouldn’t surprise me.” She tossed me a glare over her shoulder when she mentioned Hendry, leaving me in no doubt she now strongly suspected he was my father.
“I don’t think Hope’s involved,” Gabe said. “If she continued her late husband’s legacy after he died, she’d be well-off, like he was. She wouldn’t be living here, trying to keep up appearances.”
“You’re forgetting that she has an idiot for a son. I reckon he’s capable of squandering her fortune just as easily as he lost his inheritance.”
With no clear path forward until we knew what Daniel Barratt had written in the ledgers, we decided to return to the Glass Library. I thought Gabe intended to leave me there and continue home, but he walked me along Crooked Lane and came inside. His two bodyguards followed.
Willie picked up a newspaper from the front desk and fanned herself with it. “We should have gone for ice cream. There’s a new shop in Kensington that’s owned by a confectionary magician. It’s expensive, but their flavors are worth it.” She clapped Gabe on the back. “Besides, you owe me and Alex for protecting you.”
Gabe gave her a lopsided smile. “I’ll buy you an ice cream when we leave here. Sylvia, you should come.”
“I should work,” I countered.
Willie agreed. “The professor needs her.”
Gabe opened his mouth to say something, but the professor strolled in from the main part of the library. “Hello, everyone. Did I hear my name?”
“I was just saying you need Sylvia in the library, ain’t that right, Prof? Some folk seem to forget she works here.”
He pushed his glasses up his nose. “The heat has kept most of the patrons away, so there’s just some cataloging of old books to do. They’ve waited years, and can wait a little longer.” He smiled at me. “How is the investigation into Oscar’s cousin’s message coming along?”
“We found some evidence that points to the illegal activity he was involved in,” I said. “But we won’t know more until Huon transcribes the invisible writing for us.”
“I’m so pleased you’ve given Huon this opportunity. He needed something to do, something worthwhile and engaging. It was a shame to see him wasting away in that house, miserable and alone. Perhaps this will give him a purpose, something to build a new foundation upon.”
Willie snorted. “There ain’t nothing wrong with having no purpose. I’ve made it my lifelong ambition.”
The professor patted her shoulder. “And you’ve done a thoroughly excellent job of it, Willie.”
She beamed.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Professor Nash went on. “Lady Stanhope came here looking for you, Gabriel. She asked me to tell you to call on her at your earliest convenience, as long as your earliest convenience is today.”
Gabe thanked him and asked to use the telephone to call her to see if she was home.
Willie blocked his path to the desk. “We ain’t going to see her. I’ve had enough of snobby old ladies for one day.”
“Lady Coyle and Lady Stanhope are the same age as you.”
“Age is an attitude.”
Alex chuckled. “So that would make you a fourteen-year-old brat.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I ain’t calling on Lady Stanhope today. I want ice cream.”
“You don’t have to do anything,” Gabe told her. “I’m capable of taking care of myself.” This last part he said for Alex’s benefit, too. “Why don’t you both go home while I take Sylvia out for ice cream.”
He might as well have asked them to shoot him. Their protests were loud and long. Gabe, however, didn’t give up that easily. Instead, he compromised. “You can walk a few paces behind. Near enough in case someone should try to harm me, far enough for privacy.”
“All right,” Alex said at the same time Willie said, “No!” with such vehemence that we all stared at her.
“Why?” Gabe asked.
I suspected her reason had more to do with not wanting Gabe to be alone with me than his safety, but she didn’t get a chance to answer. My friend Daisy arrived, a stack of magazines in her arms. She opened her mouth to greet us, but the moment her gaze fell on Alex, she closed it again. She blushed.
He smiled at her. “Hello, Daisy.”
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Hello. Everyone,” she added as an afterthought. “You all look so well.”
“As do you. Very, very well.”
The last time I’d seen Alex and Daisy together had been at the Buttonhole club a few nights ago. They’d hardly spoken, but had stolen glances at each other across the dance floor. Their usual frostiness had melted away after the Bailey family picnic, where he’d given her his paper boat to race on the lake. Despite their obvious interest in each other, neither had taken the first step. Although they were both accomplished flirts and good conversationalists, I’d begun to suspect they didn’t know how to move forward with someone they wanted a relationship with. Their previous entanglements had been casual. This one had potential to be more.
“Did you ride your bicycle here?” Alex finally asked. “It’s too hot to be exercising.”
“I caught an omnibus, which wasn’t much better. The man next to me perspired like a leaking tap.”
The old Alex would have pointed out that taps didn’t perspire, but the new Alex sympathized with her.
“We were all about to head out for ice cream,” Gabe said. “Do you want to come?”
Daisy brightened. “That would be lovely.”
“Are those all Les Modes?” I asked her.
She looked down at the stack of French fashion magazines in her arm. “I’m studying these for my new career venture. I’m going to be England’s answer to Coco Chanel.”
“Who?” Willie asked.
“Coco Chanel, the French couturière who’s gaining quite a reputation for her clothes and hats. Her outfits are the bee’s knees. I thought I’d try my hand at designing, too.”
“Are you skilled at sewing?”
“Not particularly. Do you think I need to be?”
“Probably.”
Daisy’s face fell.
“You’re very fashionable,” Alex said quickly. “You’ve got an excellent eye for fabrics and colors, and your taste is modern. That outfit, for example, is very fetching on you. I doubt Coco Chanel could look as stylish.”
She stood a little straighter and self-consciously touched the tangerine toque on her head. It was a bold color that few women would be brave enough to wear, but it contrasted nicely with the narrow cerulean blue skirt and matching blouse. A belt in the same tangerine as the hat showed off Daisy’s slim waist.
Alex smiled at her, pleased by the effect his words had on her. I’d never seen him smile as much as he had these last few weeks when he was in Daisy’s company. If anyone needed confirmation that these two were right for one another, they just had to look at the change in him. The somber man I’d met in March rarely made an appearance anymore.
The telephone rang and, feeling guilty for not working much lately, I picked up the receiver before the professor could reach it. I heard the click as the operator connected me to the caller. It was Huon.
“Have you transcribed the ledgers already?” I asked.
“I’ve hardly begun, but I wanted to tell you about an idea I had. You see, my father didn’t know much about Daniel’s life, and knew almost nothing about his wife except that she was a Hendry. She and the children could have reappeared for all he knew. He refused to follow up with relatives,” Huon added bitterly. “So, I took it upon myself to telephone gossipy aunts. I discovered that she hasn’t reappeared. I also learned where Daniel Barratt lived at the time of his death.”
“Was it the Whitechapel house?”
“The Smithfield area.” He rattled off an address that I committed to memory. “That’s not all I discovered.” The usually nonchalant, indolent man sounded excited. “I learned that his neighbors were his wife’s family, and they still live there.”
I sat heavily on the chair behind the desk. My gaze sought out Gabe, who was watching me with a concerned frown.
Huon’s voice boomed down the line. “Sylvia? Are you still there?”
“I am.”
“You should visit them and find out what they know about Daniel’s wife and children.”
“Yes,” I murmured. “Yes, I should.”
He gave me the address for Daniel’s two sisters-in-law.
“What did he say?” Gabe asked after I hung up the receiver.
“He found out that Daniel used to live in Smithfield. Apparently, his wife’s sisters lived next door.”
“The other Hendry—Melville—also used to live in Smithfield before his disappearance. Perhaps he was closely related to these Hendrys, after all.”
“Huon suggested we speak to them.”
Gabe sat on the edge of the desk near me. His green eyes softened. “Is that what you want to do?”
I gave an emphatic nod. I wanted to meet them. I wanted to see for myself if there was any physical resemblance to me. I wanted to know once and for all whether they were closely related to my father.
My family.
Chapter 5
According to Gabe’s parents’ notes on Melville Hendry, when they first met him, he lived alone above his stationery shop in Smithfield. He made paper using traditional methods in the adjoining workshop. It was there that he secretly used the strengthening spell on some batches for special clients, and that’s probably how he became entangled with Lord Coyle. Coyle was known to exploit magicians by threatening to expose them if they didn’t do as he commanded. Gabe assumed Coyle demanded Hendry work for him and use his flying paper as a weapon.
I wasn’t convinced. A circus performer could throw a knife with accuracy and death would be instant, and of course guns were easy to come by. Why did Coyle need a paper magician to wield paper? It was an inaccurate, slow and cumbersome method to kill or control someone.
We passed Hendry’s former shop but did not go in. It was occupied by a tobacconist and newsagent now. Willie slowed down. I thought she was reading the newspaper headlines on display outside the shop, but her thoughts turned out to be on the pipes and boxed cigars in the window. “I need to smoke something,” she said with a deep sigh.
“You can’t relapse,” Gabe told her. “If you do then I might, too.”
“Why have we given up anyway? It ain’t causing anyone harm.”
“You know why.”
She grunted. “Because India doesn’t like the smell and we live in her house. Maybe I’ll move out again.”
“Hallelujah,” Alex said. “How quickly can this miracle occur?”
She shot him a withering glare.
The address Huon had given us for Daniel Barratt was a few blocks from the market. Positioned near the middle of the long street of row houses, it was typical of the area. Whereas Whitechapel’s residents lived a more desperate existence, finding work where they could, Smithfield was a more eclectic area, made up a large market, a hospital and a great many shops. Residents were shopkeepers and clerks. Their homes were still modest but larger than those in poorer parts of the city. They didn’t have to rent out spare rooms unless they found themselves in reduced circumstances.
We didn’t knock on the door where Daniel Barratt had once lived. Instead, we knocked on the neighbors’.
I was surprised when a man answered, given it was a weekday and most men were out working. He was aged in his sixties, and his prominent nose was made more hawkish by his bald head and otherwise plain features. It wasn’t until Gabe put out his hand for the man to shake that I noticed his right hand was missing and he shook with his left. Perhaps that was why he couldn’t work.
“My name is Gabriel Glass,” Gabe said. “These are my friends, Miss Sylvia Ashe, Alex Bailey and Willie Johnson. Are you married to one of the Hendry sisters?”
“That’s right. Fred Laidlow. I’m married to the eldest, Myrtle. Are you acquainted with my wife, or Naomi?” At Gabe’s blank look, he added, “Myrtle’s younger sister. She lives with us.”
“Our business is with both of them. May we come in? It’s about their other sister.”
Fred’s eyes widened. “Please do. The girls are in the kitchen.”
‘The girls’, as he called them, were also aged in their sixties. Both stood at the central kitchen table, preparing dinner in silence. One shelled peas while the other peeled potatoes. A large pot sat on the stove. The heat from the stove made the room stifling.
Both looked up upon our entry and gave us welcoming but questioning smiles.
Fred made the introductions, having no difficulty remembering our names. “They want to talk to you about Rosina.”
The one shelling peas gasped, while the other dropped the peeler. It clattered onto the edge of the table then fell to the floor.
“Your shock is understandable,” Gabe said. “Hearing her name after all this time must be difficult.”
“Have you found her?” asked the one who’d been shelling peas.
If I had to guess, I’d say she was the elder of the two, although both women looked well for their age, with trim figures and only a few lines fanning their eyes and shallow ones scoring their foreheads. Their fair hair blended naturally with the light gray, which both had arranged in loose pompadour styles popular a decade ago. Both had light freckles dusting their noses.
I couldn’t stop staring at them. Fortunately, neither noticed. They were both intent on Gabe.
“I’m afraid not,” he said. “I gather from your reactions that she and her children never returned?” They shook their heads. “We work for Scotland Yard as consultants and have some questions for you about Rosina and Daniel. Is there somewhere we can talk?”
“The sitting room,” Fred said, leading the way.
The two sisters glanced at one another then followed us. The sitting room was crowded, but we all managed to find somewhere to sit, although the two women and Fred had to squash together on the sofa. Beside them, on the table, was a collection of photographs. I itched to take a closer look.
They introduced themselves, and the one shelling peas did turn out to be the eldest, Myrtle, married to Fred. When the one peeling potatoes introduced herself as Naomi Hendry, I realized she was a spinster.
It was Myrtle who peppered us with questions. “I don’t understand. What’s changed? Why are you asking questions about Rosina now?”
Gabe invited me to explain.
Both women looked properly at me for the first time. If they saw a resemblance to their younger selves, they gave no indication. “I’m a librarian at the Glass Library. Do you know it?”
“Of course,” Myrtle said.
“I came across a book with invisible writing in it.”
Fred scoffed. “Invisible writing?”
“It can be created when either a graphite or ink magician merges their magic with a paper magician’s. In the case of this book, it was ink magic.”
Fred looked to his wife, seated beside him. She stared stoically back at me. None of them confirmed or denied whether they knew an ink or paper magician. These days, there was no reason for secrecy. At least, there shouldn’t be.
I cleared my throat. “It so happened that the ink magician who read the writing for me was related to the intended recipient of the invisible message, Oscar Barratt. The message was written by Daniel, his distant cousin. Oscar never saw it and has since died.”
“Why did our brother-in-law write a message in invisible ink?” Naomi asked.
“Daniel was asking Oscar to help him. Daniel states that he was working for a man who was involved in criminal activity. The man threatened Daniel, so he hid his wife and children to keep them safe.”
Naomi pressed a hand to her throat and her face paled.
Myrtle showed no surprise. “I always knew their disappearance was his fault.”
“Seems he tried to protect them,” Fred pointed out.
“Perhaps he couldn’t save them after all.”
“He wouldn’t have intentionally put them in harm’s way. He was a doting husband and father.”
“He was a fool. Good riddance.”
“Myrtle!” Naomi cried.
Some of the stiffness left Myrtle’s shoulders. “Sorry.” To us, she said, “It was a difficult time, and you coming here today has brought it all back. If you don’t have any news about our sister’s whereabouts, then why did you come?”
I hesitated. Her hostility unnerved me.
Gabe took over, his voice smooth and reassuring. “A few reasons, but firstly, we wanted you to know that the message from Daniel suggests he didn’t die from natural causes. He may have been murdered.”
Naomi gave another gasp.
“Good lord,” Fred murmured. “Who by?”
“We don’t know. The invisible ink magic has faded, and the name isn’t legible.”
“To think he was meeting someone dangerous right next door, under our noses,” Fred said. “I never suspected. Did either of you?”
Both women shook their heads. “Rosina never mentioned what Daniel was up to,” Naomi said. “What they were both up to. She was most likely the paper magician who helped Daniel create the invisible writing. Did you know she was a paper magician?”
“Of course they did,” Myrtle told her. “Anyway, that doesn’t mean Rosina was involved. Daniel could have got hold of her paper without her knowledge.”
“Whether she knew or did not know is irrelevant now,” Fred said. “But all of this talk about criminal activity does explain where the money came from in those months before Daniel died.” At our blank looks, he added, “Daniel was quite flush. More than a clerk ought to have been.”
“He didn’t follow a trade closely associated with his ink magic?” I asked.
“Clerks use ink,” Willie offered.
“Who did he work for?” Alex asked.
“Harrods, in the finance department,” Fred said. “Up until nine or ten months before his death.”
“Why did he leave?” Gabe asked.
