Spellmaker

CHAPTER 24

Elsie hadn’t stayed to see Merton interrogated. None of them had. They’d swiftly taken Irene to a hospital, retrieved Emmeline and Reggie, and escorted Merton to the local constable’s home early the following morning. She carried with her a letter sealed with plain wax.

The story hit the newspapers two days later.

Forgetful Aspector Raised from Death Confesses to Murders, the headline read. It was the top story that day. Three days later, Master Enoch Phillips Acquitted replaced it as the leading headline. They all collectively let out a breath of relief. It was hard for Elsie to believe it was over, but it was. Merton was taken to Her Majesty’s Prison Oxford. Her state of mind would likely spare her the penalty of death. She could speak no lie; when she said she didn’t remember, it was true.

Though Merton would not remember setting her control spell on Bacchus, its song remained, and Elsie had promptly removed it the moment he returned from aiding Irene.

And like that, it was over, as though it had never begun. The remainder of the stolen opuses had not yet surfaced, as Master Merton did not remember where she had hidden them, but from Ogden’s sleuthing they knew the authorities were on the hunt, combing through Merton’s estate and local haunts as thoroughly as possible. The missing spells gave Elsie an uneasy feeling, like she was reading a novel with the last page missing. Like it wasn’t a true ending.

Master Quinn Raven disappeared before Merton’s story spread like wildfire through England, offering no goodbyes—but little more could be expected of a recluse who’d had no social ties for years. But weeks later, Ogden found an interesting article on the second page of Brookley’s local paper. The headline read, American Artist Honors British Compatriots with Gratitude. The article was brief and poorly written, switching back and forth between American and British English. There wasn’t even a picture of the “art” the article mentioned, but the author named himself Blackbird. Whether or not he would return to the public eye was yet to be determined.

Ogden fell behind on his commissions for a time, enough so that when he got his wits about him again, Elsie put in three days’ work per week for four weeks to help him catch up. Ogden didn’t talk about it, but Elsie suspected there was still need for healing, despite his abuser being behind bars. If anyone knew minds, it was Cuthbert Ogden. The last time Elsie visited, he was smiling again, and had finally hired her replacement—a rather charming young man from Aylesbury who seemed utterly enthralled by Ogden’s nonmagical talents and was an adept sketch artist himself.

Irene Prescott spent six weeks at home with a broken leg—such a thing can happen when one is sprinting in one direction and a sudden magical rise of a floorboard makes the bone surge in the opposite direction. Elsie had heard her scream, and knowing what caused it pained her. Not nearly as much as it pained Bacchus, whose guilt kept him from visiting the spellbreaker the first two weeks of her recovery. It had taken both Elsie’s and Irene’s reassurance to finally drag him to her townhome in London, where friendships were mended, “training” continued, and a recommendation for a maid was given.

As for guilt, or perhaps for the resolving of it, Bacchus did attend the Duke of Kent’s funeral with Elsie at his side. He stood beside the duchess and her daughters, and even said a few words at the duke’s graveside, not one of them limned with bitterness. The duke had been forgiven.

Bacchus struggled to accept his own forgiveness, however readily it was bestowed. He’d witnessed it all, of course. Merton’s spell affected the spirit, not the mind. He was aware of every attack on his wife and his friends, and for a week he wouldn’t touch Elsie, not when he could see the burn so prominently displayed on her leg. It wasn’t until Elsie’s patience snapped and they had their second-greatest argument yet—Elsie believed the struggle at their first meeting still took the cake—that he accepted her love and forgiveness, stopped being a stubborn lummox, and finally started bedding her again.

As for Master Enoch Phillips, he had been released from prison and exonerated of all charges, but his reputation would likely never recover. It had come as no surprise to anyone when he’d resigned from the London Physical Atheneum. Based on the rumor mill via Irene, he and his family sold his country estate and relocated to Paris. Much to Elsie’s and Bacchus’s delight, Master Ruth Hill replaced him as the head of the assembly, and even offered Bacchus the ambulation spell he’d originally come from Barbados to receive.

He, of course, accepted.

It was high time Elsie had a proper honeymoon. And what better place to spend the autumn months than under the sunny Barbadian sky?

Elsie crammed her last petticoat in her trunk, shoving it down despite knowing she’d wrinkle her entire wardrobe. She’d insisted she could fit everything in one trunk for easier travel, and this petticoat would not make her a liar. The lid refused to shut, so she turned around and sat on the blasted thing, bouncing to pack in every fold of fabric. She’d never traveled anywhere outside of England—how was she to know which dresses would be most comfortable on a tropical island? Obviously it was better that she pack all of them, to be on the safe side. She had just managed to get the latches secure when Bacchus strode in, come up from the carriage awaiting them outside.

He cocked an eyebrow at her, amused. “If I pick that up, will it explode?” His Bajan accent was at its fullest expression.

Elsie smirked. “If you can pick this up by yourself, I will be doubly impressed.” Reggie was due any moment now, come to help them get their luggage downstairs.

“Oh?” He strode across the room and bent toward her, placing one hand on either side of her hips. His nose brushed hers. “How impressed?”

She laughed and kissed him, his beard tickling her lips.

“It is a long way to Barbados,” he murmured against her mouth. “This may be the last opportunity we have to—”

Steps sounded up the stairs. Groaning, Bacchus pulled away and straightened himself just as Reggie popped his head into the bedroom, removing his hat and fanning himself with it. His eyes dropped to the trunk. “That thing is massive! Yer gonna kill me, Els.”

Elsie grinned. “I only have two books in there, if that garners any confidence. Thank you again for helping us.”

Reggie shrugged and stuffed his head into his cap. “What’s family for?”

Elsie pulled herself from the trunk. She was going to miss her brother. They’d visited frequently over the last two months, building up the relationship that had been so cruelly torn from them. “You’re still coming for Christmas?” Elsie asked. She and Bacchus intended to be back in London for the holidays.

“Of course.” He glanced to Bacchus. “I saw the carriage—I was going to wait until after we were done, but might as well do it before the heavy lifting.”

“Do what?” Bacchus asked.

Reggie dug into his jacket, pulling a newspaper clipping from an interior pocket. Elsie’s stomach clenched—she’d become wary of unexpected newspaper articles. What did this mean? Surely they’d put the whole Merton episode behind them.

He handed it to her, his grin throwing her off. “Look.”

Elsie turned the article about, holding it so Bacchus could read over her shoulder. It had been hastily torn, bearing the corners of other articles. The story at the center read, New Recruits for Newcastle upon Tyne Temporal Atheneum. A short list of names followed.

“And?” Elsie scanned down the list.

“Second to bottom,” Reggie said.

She skipped ahead. Her breath hitched.

There, the print clear, was the name Alice Camden.

Reggie had claimed their baby sister’s name was Alice.

“Don’t get your hopes up.” Her brother gingerly took the article from her fingers. “It’s not an uncommon name. But maybe.”

Elsie shook her head, trying to ignore the sensation of ants in her middle. “I . . . Alice was just a baby. She couldn’t have known her name.”

Bacchus rested a comforting hand on her shoulder. “She might not have been given up as an infant,” he offered, his tone awed and hushed.

Reggie nodded. “Maybe she was left with someone who knew it. Maybe she was never left.”

Never left. If that was the case, Alice would know where their parents were. Elsie wasn’t sure she was ready to meet them. Or her. If this even was her!

She was getting ahead of herself. Taking a couple of deep breaths, she sat on the trunk once more.

“See, that’s why I was gonna wait.”

“We . . .” Elsie met Bacchus’s gaze, trying to sort through the tumult of her thoughts.

“We can postpone,” Bacchus assured her. “Find another ship.”

“Will we get a refund?” she asked.

Bacchus batted the concern away with a wave of his hand. “It doesn’t matter. This is important to you. We should inquire now.”

“Don’t fret over it.” Reggie folded up the article and tucked it into his pocket. “I’ve checked up on leads for her before, only for it to amount to nothing. Don’t hold up your plans. If this is something, I’ll send word right away. Even spirit line it. I promise. Besides”—he smiled—“I have a date, and I’ll be batty-fanged if I miss it.”

Elsie’s brows drew together. “What do you mean you have a date?”

Reggie grinned and hooked a thumb under his suspenders. “You know. Met a girl in Brookley. Asked if she’d see me and she said yes.”

Elsie laughed despite herself. “You scamp!” Emmeline had been hinting about liking a lad, but she’d been rather close-lipped about the whole thing. Elsie had hoped, but she hadn’t wanted to assume.

Reggie shrugged noncommittally, but Elsie knew she was right. She stood, her mirth mingling into something uncertain. She leaned on Bacchus. “But Alice.”

“I’m going with one of my friends to look into it this weekend. Really, Els. Don’t fret over it. Go have yer honeymoon. I’d feel awful if I spoiled it.”

Bacchus ran his hand up and down her back.

Elsie straightened, nodded, and dug into her reticule for a few coins. “The spirit line, if you would.” She put the money in Reggie’s palm.

Reggie whistled. “Yes, ma’am. I’d feel bad taking this if you weren’t so fancy ’n’ all.”

Bacchus snorted.

Below them, the front door opened, and Elsie heard Mariah’s voice call out in greeting. She was the new maid, who would be looking after the house while they were away.

Slipping her reticule away, Elsie embraced her brother. “Thank you for your help. Let me know immediately.”

“You won’t even be in Barbados yet—”

“Immediately,” she reaffirmed, releasing him. She stared into his blue eyes, so much like her own. “Promise.”

He gave her a lopsided smile. “Promise.”

Elsie stepped back. Even if it wasn’t her Alice Camden, it would drive her mad thinking about it. She itched for something to do. Some kind of distraction. Perhaps Bacchus could offer her one in the confines of their carriage. The thought tempted her mouth into a mischievous smile.

“I suppose we shouldn’t miss our boat. If you two would be so kind.” She gestured to the devilish trunk.

Reggie bowed. “Yes’m.” As he and Bacchus took up the handles, he added, “Can’t you enchant this to be lighter or something?”

“No magic on my clothes,” Elsie quipped, which earned her chuckles from both men as they hauled the thing through the doorway and down the stairs.

Despite the hiccup of information from her brother, Elsie was glad for the journey, though she was not yet sure how strong her seafaring legs were. She’d finally get some blissful time alone with her husband and see his other side—the side that craved oranges and loved the ocean. She was looking forward to promised walks on the beach and picnics beneath palm leaves. She was looking forward to being with him, without any doubts, fears, worries, or secret murderers riding their trail. Then they’d come home for Christmas, where they’d host Ogden and Emmeline and Reggie, and perhaps hear rumor of engagements, and they’d spend the New Year at Seven Oaks with the duchess, and everything would be how it was meant to be.

They had already set up a tutor for her in Barbados, who would record all the remarkable progress she was to start having, which would push her ahead of schedule once she returned to England. Then it would be only another year for her to be official. To put away the hiding and be what she’d always wanted to be.

A spellbreaker.