Magic most deadly, p.20
Magic Most Deadly, page 20
“Merely doing my duty,” Len recovered enough to say.
Julia beamed. “Of course you must recover whatever it is—if the police return while you’re searching I’ll stall them. Go, go!”
“Well done,” Len muttered as the trio sped past and entered the servants’ quarters. Here, they paused only long enough for them to switch places so that Becket could lead.
Maia’s grin was equal parts mischievous and triumphant. Len’s heart skipped a beat at the sight. “And not one word of it untrue,” she said. “Can I help it if Julia misunderstood?”
“Here, sir,” Becket said, stopping in front of an unremarkable door. He stepped aside to let Len enter first, but Len shook his head.
“This is your show, old chap. Maia and I are merely here to witness. Carry on.”
Becket nodded and tried the door handle. It was locked, but a simple spell from Becket took care of that. Maia watched with interest.
“So much more efficient than a hairpin,” she said.
So that explained why her hair was in less than its usual orderly state, and also how she had gotten herself out of whatever room Grimes and Mrs. Saunders had stashed her in.
“Becket and I both carry picklocks as well, in case we are ever in a situation where we can’t use magic, but yes, this is a most useful spell,” Len said, immediately vowing to give Maia her own set as soon as possible. The next time she was captured and imprisoned, the villain might not be courteous enough to leave her a hairpin—or she might have bobbed her hair more severely and no longer need such tools. A lady should never be without resources.
Becket opened the door, and the three charged in.
Sir Bertram’s valet started up from the bed on which he lounged, reading a paper and smoking a cigarette. “What do you think you’re doing?” he cried indignantly. “Can’t a body get some privacy in this ruddy house?”
“Sorry,” Len said briefly.
Becket did not waste time with words, but went straight to the chest of drawers.
“Here, those are my things!” the valet said, moving as though to obstruct him.
Len put out one hand and stopped the man. “I don’t know if you are an accomplice to Sir Bertram’s murdering and treachery or not, but either way, I recommend you don’t interfere.”
The man paled and backed away. “Murdering? Treachery? I don’t know nothing about those!”
Becket turned away from the chest of drawers, a bunch of clean collars in one hand, and a sheaf of papers in the other. “Here they are, sir.”
Len’s legs turned watery from relief. At last.
The valet sank back down on the bed. “Those? He told me they were business papers a rival was trying to steal and he needed me to keep them safe. I don’t know nothing more about it than that!”
Len patted his shoulder absently. “I believe you.” If for no other reason than if the man had known, he would have put up a much stronger resistance to their search.
“Well done, Mr. Becket,” Maia said.
“Yes indeed, old chap,” Len said. “What made you think of it?”
“I merely asked myself what you would have done if you had papers you needed to hide without appearing to hide them, sir,” Becket said. “I believe you would have given them to me.”
“So I would,” Len said promptly. Especially now. “And I trust you’d be a safer repository than this fellow.”
He patted the valet on the shoulder again. The man looked mildly indignant, but said nothing as they left the room, Becket kindly closing and re-locking the door behind them.
“What now?” Maia said. “Do you return them to your superiors?”
“Now,” Len said grimly, “We burn them. I don’t trust them to anyone, and I don’t want to run the risk of them getting lost again.”
Maia nodded, and Becket led them to the kitchen.
“Don’t mind us, Blackie,” Maia said hurriedly to the housekeeper, who sat at the large wooden table sharing a cup of tea with the cook. “I know we look dreadful, but we need to borrow the stove for a moment.”
The cook sniffed but nodded when Mrs. Blackwood nudged her, glaring at the scullery maid who was gawking over her shoulder at the newcomers while washing dishes.
“Mind your work, not the gentry, Maggie,” she barked.
Becket handed the papers to Len, who smoothed them out, confirming they were all there and that no spell had been used on them. At this point, he wanted to leave nothing to chance.
They were indeed the stolen notes, all of them, and they were intact. Len nodded and handed them back to Becket.
“Have at it, old chap.”
Becket deftly opened the door to the stove and pushed the papers inside. The three of them, plus Mrs. Blackwood, the cook, and Maggie the scullery maid, watched in silence as they burned to ash. Then Becket closed the door and wiped his fingers on a handkerchief.
“Much obliged to you, ma’am,” he said.
“Any time, I’m sure,” the cook said dryly.
The three of them left the kitchen and paused, irresolute.
The task was done. The murderer was caught, the Kaiser’s Advisor dead, and the papers recovered and destroyed. Corbin would soon be free from prison and facing justice from the magical world for his true crimes. Maia was safe. Another job well done.
On top of all that, he had come face to face with the woman responsible for Alec and Jamie’s deaths, and he hadn’t been consumed by his hatred. She was dead, but not by his hand. He felt—free, for the first time in five years. His ghosts had been laid to rest, and the burden of anger and guilt he had born for so long was gone.
He didn’t quite know what to do with himself.
He shook himself slightly, like a duck coming out of the pond shedding water from its feathers.
“I suppose we’d best put together our statements now—what we’re going to tell the police. I rather like your explanation to Julia, Maia, only without the blackmail hints. We tell them that you discovered Sir Bertram murdered Carter, and when you confronted him he captured you and took you to the Saunders’ estate, where you escaped and learned that he and Mrs. Saunders had conspired to do the deed. Becket and I tracked you down because Julia and Merry were concerned about your absence, and when Sir Bertram and Mrs. Saunders turned against each other, he shot her and you shot him. As with Julia, it’s all entirely truthful—it just leaves out a few unnecessary details.”
“Ray will want to know why the two of them were conspiring, and why they killed Carter,” Maia pointed out.
Len shrugged. “I am sure we would all like to know that, but you know it’s only in stories where the villain conveniently spills every detail of his plan before his demise.”
Maia laughed.
“And then,” Len said, feeling some life starting to return, “I wouldn’t mind hearing your part of the story. Just how you pegged Sir B. as the villain of the piece, and just what happened out in the fields to leave such a strong magical signature behind.”
“That part is rather embarrassing,” Maia said. “But I will tell you if you tell me your side of things. After I get myself cleaned up, and after we satisfy Ray—and, I suppose, after I contact Aunt Amelia and let her know what has happened.”
Len would have to contact Harrison as well. He stifled a sigh. The end of a job was never when the opponent was successfully stymied or the stolen papers recovered or the other nation’s papers successfully stolen, or whatever task it was he had been set as an operative for Magical Intelligence. No, the end was all the tedious bits of filing reports and making sure all the loose ends were tied up.
He hated this part.
“A cup of tea and toasted crumpets when we’ve finished all our other chores, and sharing of stories,” he said. “I’ll commandeer Foy’s study and Becket shall stand guard to make sure no one interrupts us.”
Maia nodded, then winced as the sound of high-pitched voices echoed down the hall toward them. “Especially sister interruptions,” she breathed, and then there was no time for anything else before Merry and Ellie were upon them. Len took one look at the situation, decided he was unnecessary here, and slipped away, Becket on his heels.
Ellie’s voice was the last thing he heard as he trotted quickly away toward his room:
“May, you look positively appalling! Whatever happened to you? Never mind that now—you’ll never guess, the most marvelous thing! Freddie has proposed! One of his mother’s brothers owns a bank in New York City and has offered Freddie a job, and as soon as we’re married we’ll move to New York. Think of it! Rubbing shoulders with the Vanderbilts and Rockefellers, finally away from this boring old village. It’s everything I ever dreamed of!”
Len’s shoulders shook with laughter he desperately tried to keep silent.
“Poor old Freddie,” he finally managed to gasp.
“Who knows, sir?” Becket replied. “Perhaps once in a new place, with no one around who has any expectations of her, Miss Electra may at last shed some of her more unpleasant behaviors and become a truly devoted wife to Mr. Winters.”
“I suppose stranger things have happened,” said Len doubtfully.
Still, the important thing was that Ellie would no longer be around to torment Maia. For that, Len was willing to sacrifice Freddie on any number of altars. Although Maia might not be at home much longer to be tormented, either.
Miss Rawlings kept her main residence in London. Len’s flat, where he lived when he wasn’t being sent hither and thither on jobs for MI, was also in London. He and Maia would be able to see each other when she was apprenticed to her aunt. He could help her with her magic, she could advise or even help him on his jobs … she was likely too powerful to want to become an agent for MI herself, but they could consider her a consultant … their friendship would grow and develop, and then, in time, after her apprenticeship was complete and she was free to choose what magical path she wanted to go down and what she wanted to do with her life, then, maybe, there would be room for more than friendship …
Len did not usually indulge in dreams of the future. For so long, his work had required him to look no further ahead than the next step. Settling down to raise a family and live a life of leisure had never appealed to him, therefore he’d never been particularly interested in any young lady. But Maia—life with her wouldn’t be settling down in the slightest. It would a shared adventure.
Far in the future, perhaps, but a dream he would hold onto all the same.
A New Beginning
Maia emerged from her bath feeling reborn. Julia sent her own maid to help with hair and dress, and by the time Maia descended to the main level of Little Oaks to meet with Ray, the only traces of her misadventure that remained were some bruises hidden by her clothes, a bump on the head disguised by the new hairstyle Julia’s maid had given her, and a lingering soreness around the ankles and wrists where she’d been tied.
Even the interview with Ray wasn’t too bad. He did press her a bit on how she’d come to the conclusion that Sir Bertram was the murderer, but Maia answered truthfully that it had come to her when she realized his alibi was false, and he’d admitted the truth to her when she pressed him. As to how Sir Bertram had overpowered her, and where she had got her pistol (and was it registered), she hedged a bit, and finally Ray accepted her excuse that her memory was a bit hazy after it all, though with an exasperated look that suggested he knew she wasn’t telling him everything.
After she was dismissed and Len and Becket went in for their turn at making a statement, Maia realized she could not contact Aunt Amelia magically, as she had not learned how to perform the spell Becket had used for her before. Sighing, she headed for Julia’s sitting room to ask if she could use her telephone to ring home.
Merry caught her before she could enter that haven.
“I am still angry with you for interfering with my life, you know,” she said abruptly. “Just because you were right about Sir Bertram doesn’t mean you have to poke your nose into everything and always try to control us—Ellie and me, I mean.”
Maia sighed. She didn’t have the energy for this now. Ellie had temporarily forgotten her pique against Maia in the thrill of her engagement (poor Freddie!), and she had hoped that Merry would have let her irritation pass as well.
She should have known better.
“You may be right,” she admitted. “It’s difficult for me to not want the best for you, but I should remember that I am not your mother, and even if I were, you are old enough to make your own mistakes and learn from them yourself.”
“Want the best for us?” Merry’s blue eyes widened. “Is that why you’re always nagging? I thought it was because you were always embarrassed by us, and wanted us to live up to your standards of perfection!”
Maia couldn’t help it: she burst into laughter. “Oh goodness,” she finally gasped. “How we’ve been misunderstanding each other all these years! We need to have a real heart-to-heart sometime soon. Only, can it wait until we are both home?”
Merry scowled at her. “Yes,” she said. “But not any later than that.”
She stepped back, and Maia was able to enter the sitting room and make her request of Julia, who was lounging on her chaise with a paperback novel, happily ignoring all her guests and responsibilities for a brief period.
“Ring home? But why, darling?” Julia asked, setting the novel aside. “Your mother hasn’t been worrying about you—no one even told her you’d gone missing.”
Maia hunted around for a reason and plumped on one that—again—was practically if not entirely the truth. “Aunt Amelia has invited me to stay with her in London for a time once this house party is over, and I wanted to let her know that I’ll be home soon and ready to leave as soon as she wants to go.”
Julia blinked a few times, then squealed and leapt up to throw her arms around Maia. “Oh, that’s perfect! Even if your aunt is an old battle-axe, it gets you away from your family and your home and all their demands on you! You’ll finally have a chance to live for yourself!”
“That sounds so selfish,” Maia objected, wrinkling her nose.
Julia was much wiser than her appearance suggested. She sat back down to wrestle that one out.
“It does sound selfish,” she agreed. “But I don’t mean it that way. Now, what do I mean?” She tapped one finger against her cheek as she thought it through. “It’s one thing to put others ahead of yourself,” she said slowly. “The church teaches us we should do that, and even though I’m not particularly pious, I do agree with that. But I don’t think it’s healthy to live in—in slavery to the whims of others. It’s not helpful for them, for one thing—you’re simply inviting them to be selfish and pile all their troubles on your shoulders, and even if they don’t get mired in selfishness they don’t get a chance to grow and learn what they’re capable of, either.”
Maia recalled her sisters’ anger at her interference in their lives, and how despite her lectures and scoldings, they only ever seemed to get worse in their behavior, not better, and she had to admit the truth in Julia’s words.
“But even aside from that, I don’t think it’s wrong to have interests and desires of your own, even while not being selfish about it,” Julia said. “Surely there’s a balance between only putting others first and living solely for oneself?”
“I think there must be,” Maia admitted. “And maybe that’s what I’ll have a chance to discover once I’m not here anymore.”
“Good!” Julia said. “And then you can tell me what it is, because as you can see, I don’t quite have it all clear myself.” She laughed, and Maia laughed with her. Then Julia’s face crumpled. “But oh dear—that means you won’t be here for me anymore, either!”
“That will give you a chance to grow and learn what you are capable of,” Maia said wickedly.
Julia threw an embroidered cushion from the chaise at her. “Beast! I know perfectly well what I’m capable of—didn’t I get promoted to head of Ward D, two months ahead of any of the rest of you? And didn’t I just manage to host a splendid house party, complete with two murderers, without losing any of my guests, thus making me the most desirable hostess of the season? I don’t need you here to fix my problems, Maia—I will miss my friend.”
“I will miss you as well,” Maia said honestly. She was more moved than she cared to admit by Julia’s words.
Julia left her then to use the telephone in privacy. Maia sat down at the table and rang her home.
Mr. Whitney loathed and despised the telephone, but Mrs. Whitney refused to answer it at all, as that, to her, was clearly for servants and daughters to do. Since there were currently no daughters at home and no servant other than the loyal Mrs. Humphrey, who was, in her own words, far too busy to be fretting over the telephone all the time, that left Mr. Whitney to nerve himself to answer when it rang.
“Yes, what? Who is this? Oh—Maia. Whatever are you ringing for, child? Wouldn’t it be simpler to walk home and speak with us in person?”
“I need to speak with Aunt Amelia, Father,” Maia said patiently.
“Really? Whatever for … oh, never mind, I’ll fetch her. Really, Maia, it is most inconvenient having no servants about the house these days. Do you suppose you could do something about that when you get home?”
Maia opened her mouth to say of course, she’d see about hiring new servants before she left for London, recalled her conversation with Julia, and changed her mind. “Actually, no, Father, I don’t think I will be able to do that. You and Mother will have to find some yourself. I’ll be rather busy.”
“Busy doing what?” Mr. Whitney complained. “Oh—here’s Amelia. She must have overheard me saying I would fetch her and come herself. Very well, Millie, yes, it’s Maia and she wants to talk to you, but—oh, well, yes, here. Good-bye, Maia.”
“Maia!” Aunt Amelia’s voice boomed through the line, causing Maia to wince and hold the receiver a little further away from her ear. “What on earth happened to you? Wait—don’t say a word. I’m sure there’s a girl at the exchange listening to every word we are saying. Hang up, and find a bowl of water.”
