Page 11 of The Journal of a Thousand Years (The Glass Library #6)

CHAPTER 11

T he Rosebank Gardens hospital patient who’d stabbed Gabe in the shoulder had come at him from behind. At the time, I thought Gabe’s magic didn’t activate because he hadn’t seen him, but considering Gabe hadn’t seen bullets flying at him from all directions in the war, that explanation didn’t hold water. Gabe’s magic activated when it knew he was in a life-threatening situation. A stab in the shoulder didn’t qualify as life-threatening.

The former soldier was arrested, but his severely shell-shocked state meant he couldn’t answer questions as to why he’d attacked Gabe. His only response had been to say that God made him do it. We’d theorized that someone put him up to it, either to frighten Gabe away from the investigation we’d been conducting at the time, or to test his magic. Occurring before the incident at the Epsom Downs racetrack, it was now clear both attacks were tests, and the same man was behind them—the man with the reddish-brown hair whose face stared back at me from the sketchbook.

The shell-shocked patient had been jailed in a secure facility since the incident and a quick telephone call confirmed he was still there. As for the face the artist had drawn—the man who’d hired Mad Dog Mitchell in the Rose and Thorn—I’d seen him at Rosebank. It was a face I’d hardly taken notice of at the time, which was why I couldn’t immediately identify him.

We’d had several visits to Rosebank Gardens throughout our recent investigations. The hospital for returned soldiers suffering severe shell shock had once been a private facility that subjected the artless children of magician parents to cruel treatments in an attempt to draw out their magic. Since magic didn’t lie dormant within them, the treatments failed.

Rosebank Gardens was where Bertie Hobson spent time many years ago. The Hobson family knew it well. They must have first met the orderly with the reddish-brown hair then, and hired him more recently to conduct the experiments on Gabe. Perhaps the Hobsons were coerced by Thurlow. By the time we’d first visited the hospital, Thurlow was already known to us, and shortly afterwards, he made himself known to Mrs. Hobson. The links were there, as solid as an iron chain. It was too much of a coincidence to ignore.

Alex, Willie and I drove to the hospital, located at the north-eastern edge of London. The guard at the front gate recognized us and let us through. Not that the gate was locked to keep visitors out. It was locked to keep the patients in.

The overcast day threatened rain, but even so, several patients sat on chairs or wheelchairs on the lawn near the rose beds. Nurses and orderlies mingled with them, playing cards with those former soldiers who weren’t suffering too greatly, or simply reading to those who’d retreated so far into themselves they could no longer communicate. The sight of fully grown men plunged into the deepest, darkest dungeons of their minds because of their wartime experiences never failed to disturb me.

The staff and some of the patients looked up upon our arrival. One of the nurses approached, a matronly woman with a confident stride and direct gaze. “Willie? What are you doing here?” Sister Matilda Wallbank asked.

We’d first met Willie’s current lover at the hospital during an investigation. They liked and respected one another, despite their obvious differences. Willie was loud yet emotional, whereas Tilda had a quiet, inner strength. I suspected it was a case of opposites attract. Apparently, Tilda was a lot like Willie’s first husband, who had been a detective with Scotland Yard. People had tended to misjudge him at first, apparently, but he was cool under pressure with a quick mind. He had also been completely besotted with Willie’s fiery nature, so I’d been told. Tilda was too, going by the way she gave Willie an admiring look.

Willie showed her the sketch the artist had given us. “We’re looking for this man. He works here as an orderly.”

“Not anymore. He resigned not long ago.”

Willie swore, earning a scolding from Tilda. “Sorry,” Willie muttered.

“What’s his name?” Alex asked.

“Frank Alcott. Why are you looking for him?” When none of us answered, she prompted, “Willie?”

Willie folded the sketch up and tucked it into her jacket pocket. “He was seen talking to a man known as Mad Dog Mitchell in a pub. Mad Dog is a thug who hires himself out for jobs that require some muscle. Gabe’s maid saw him in the house moments before Gabe was abducted from his bed in the early hours of this morning. There was another man with Mad Dog, but she didn’t see him.”

Tilda gasped. “Good lord. That’s awful. You’ve mentioned there have been attempts before, but Gabe always escaped unharmed.”

“They used chloroform this time,” Alex said. “He couldn’t fight back.”

She pressed a hand to her chest. “To go to such extreme lengths because they want to harness the magic they think he has…it’s madness.”

Clearly Willie hadn’t told her everything yet. Perhaps feeling guilty for not confiding in her lover, Willie shuffled her feet and cleared her throat. “Tell us about Frank Alcott.”

“He was a good orderly. They don’t have to mingle with the patients, but he often did. He would play cards with the more social men or share a smoke and conversation with them.” Tilda indicated a group of patients chatting quietly in a group. One or two cast anxious glances our way, and another’s hand shook so much he had difficulty placing the cigarette between his lips, but they otherwise seemed well.

“I thought he liked working here,” Tilda went on. “Then he left, so I assumed I was wrong, or he found a better position elsewhere. I did think it odd that he left without saying goodbye to staff he’d worked alongside for years, as well as those patients he’d bonded with. His sudden departure hasn’t helped those who think they’re still in the war. They think the Germans got him and are coming for them next. No amount of reassurance allays their fears.”

“When did he resign?” I asked.

“Nine or ten days ago.”

Around the time Gabe was subjected to the paper ball projectiles and gunshots at Epsom Downs. The timing couldn’t be a coincidence. Any final doubts I harbored about Frank Alcott’s involvement vanished.

Tilda set off toward the hospital building that had been a grand country manor in its former incarnation. “Come with me.”

We followed her inside. The director we’d dealt with in the past no longer worked there, and his replacement was behind the closed office door. Tilda asked his assistant if we could see Frank Alcott’s file. Knowing we worked with the police, the assistant gave us his full cooperation. He retrieved the file from the cabinet and handed it to Alex.

Alex memorized the address given for the orderly and handed the file back. “Thank you for your help.”

Tilda followed us outside to the Vauxhall. Willie cranked the engine and the motor rumbled to life. Before she climbed into the front passenger seat, she and Tilda had a quiet word at the front of the vehicle. I couldn’t hear what they said, but the looks they gave one another were tender.

“Do you think it’s love?” I asked Alex.

“Not the forever kind. Not for Willie. She’s fickle by nature. She’ll grow bored eventually.”

“Did she grow bored of her husbands?”

“The first one died before she could tire of him, although they were married for several years. The second…” He smiled. “Lord Farnsworth was a unique character, like her. They got along well. Perhaps too well. They were like naughty children who got up to twice as much mischief when they were together. But they were more friends than husband and wife. I think Willie really likes Tilda. She acts like a normal human around her.”

“Perhaps you should ask her to move in. It would make for a more peaceful household.”

He turned to look at me, seated behind him. “Don’t let Willie scare you away.”

“She doesn’t scare me. I know she has Gabe’s best interests at heart.” I didn’t tell him I’d planned to leave Gabe. I may yet and I didn’t want Alex trying to dissuade me. I’d decide what to do later, when my mind was clearer. For now, my focus was to find Gabe.

We drove to the address listed in Frank Alcott’s file, not far away in the township of Watford. The sun reappeared, bringing out the afternoon shadows. Their long shapes were a cruel reminder of the passage of time. Willie grew impatient as we got stuck behind a horse-drawn wagon on the busy High Street. Despite shouting at the driver, the wagon with the Benskins Ales and Stouts sign printed on the cover, didn’t move over until he reached a pub. He waved cheerfully at Willie as we sped past, which only annoyed her more.

Frank Alcott lived in a handsome two-story brick house in what appeared to be a respectable street. The question of how an orderly could afford such a nice place was answered by the notice in the window advertising a furnished room for rent. He must have occupied one room, not the entire building.

“What do we do now?” I asked. “Knock on the door and introduce ourselves? Sneak in and look for Gabe?”

“Gabe won’t be inside,” Alex said. “Not if Alcott only rented a single room. He has probably left anyway. That sign would suggest as much.”

Willie thumped the door. “Just our luck. Our only lead has disappeared.”

Alex got out of the vehicle. “If there’s a room for rent, it probably means there’s a nice landlady in reduced circumstances. She might know where her former tenant went.”

As we approached the narrow iron gate across the path, Willie pushed me ahead. “You talk to her. Little old ladies like you.”

The landlady was neither little nor old and had a clear interest in Alex over me, going by the way she batted her eyelashes at him. After introducing myself and my companions, she put out her hand to him, and only him. She drooped it in front of him, inviting him to kiss it. He took it and bowed, all smiles. Her lashes fluttered even more.

“Are you wanting to rent the room?” she purred. “It’s fully furnished, very warm and cozy in winter.”

“No, unfortunately,” he said. “You have a lovely house, madam. I’m sure your next tenant will be very happy here. Speaking of tenants, we’re looking for Mr. Frank Alcott. We believe he rented a room from you.”

“He did. He left just over a week ago.”

“Do you know where he went?”

A small dent appeared between her brows. She might like flirting with Alex, but she wasn’t a fool. She wouldn’t give away personal information to strangers without a good reason.

“He’s my cousin,” I said. “Frank wrote to me to say he was tangled up in something, then I heard nothing again. I came to London to look for him. My friends offered to help.”

“Frank never mentioned a cousin.”

“We weren’t close, which is why when he wrote and told me about his problem, I grew concerned. He must have been desperate to contact me, of all people.”

“He did seem different these last two or three months,” she said. “He used to be a friendly chap, but then he became introverted. I blame that place where he worked, the hospital for the insane.”

“They’re not insane,” Alex said. “Just troubled from the war.”

“So do you have a new address for Frank?” I asked.

She shook her head. “He didn’t give me one. He said any mail I received could be thrown away.”

“That is even more worrying.” I pressed my fingers to my lips as if to compose myself. “Poor Frank. What if something terrible has happened to him?”

The landlady looked concerned. “I wish I could be more help, but I don’t know where he could have gone.”

“Did he have friends?” Alex asked.

“No one called on him here. He sometimes enjoyed a drink after work. I could smell it on his breath when he came home. But I don’t know if he drank alone or with friends.”

Willie mentioned the notice in the window. “Is that for his old room?”

The landlady nodded. “I haven’t found a new lodger.”

“Can we look through it? There might be clues as to where he went.”

“I’ve already cleaned it and found nothing.”

“Can we look anyway?”

“Please,” Alex added with a warm smile.

The landlady gave in and led the way. She stood in the doorway while we gave the room a thorough inspection. The bed had been stripped, so it made it easier to check the mattress and pillow. Aside from a nightstand by the bed, and a small table with one hardback chair, the only other piece of furniture was an old armchair upholstered in dark green velvet. There wasn’t even a portable stove to boil a kettle on.

Alex slowly paced the floor, using his weight to test each board to find any loose ones. Willie got down on her knees and checked the small cast-iron fireplace before peering under the dresser. I contemplated unpicking the seams of the mattress and pillow but decided to look for wall cavities first.

The landlady frowned as I knocked on the panels. “Do you think your cousin hid something in here?”

“He was a secretive man,” I told her.

I hadn’t got far when Willie declared she’d found something. She brandished a small envelope as she stood. “Found this at the back under the dresser. It’s addressed to Alcott.”

Alex peered over her shoulder. “Who is it from?”

She turned the envelope over. “There’s no return address.”

“What’s inside?” I asked.

“Nothing. It’s empty.”

“Then it’s useless.” I heard the bleak tone in my voice but couldn’t help it. The hopelessness that had been creeping ever closer as the day wore on now washed over me. We had a suspect, but without a forwarding address, we were no closer to getting Gabe back.

Our search yielded no results and we returned to the motorcar. The drive back to Park Street gave us time to discuss our next move. Unfortunately, we had no ideas. Aside from alerting Scotland Yard to Frank Alcott’s involvement, there was nothing more we could do. There was nothing the police could do either, if the former orderly had gone underground. If a man didn’t want to be found in London, he could disappear with ease. Thurlow would be hiding, too, after his failed attempt to kidnap me, as would Ivy and Mrs. Hobson.

It seemed Alex’s mind had turned to them, too. “Jakes is right about the Hobson women. They’ll reveal themselves soon. A life in hiding, out of the social spotlight, is not the life they want to live. The moment they’re found, we’re going to grill them about hiring Alcott. It must have been them. It’s too much of a coincidence that Bertie was a patient at the same hospital where Alcott worked.”

Willie turned in the front seat so she could see both Alex and me. “What if we underestimated Bertie?”

Alex shook his head. “He’s not smart enough or brave enough to orchestrate something like this.”

“He might be desperate enough, though.”

Alex adjusted his hands on the steering wheel. His silence was telling. He thought her theory had merit.

The timing didn’t match, however. “Bertie was with me when Gabe was abducted. He couldn’t be in two places at once. The same as Ivy, Mrs. Hobson, and Thurlow.”

Willie’s jaw set hard, and her eyes flashed. “Was Bertie with you all that time, or just when you escaped?” Before I could answer, she added, “He didn’t need to personally abduct Gabe anyway. He could have hired a second man to work with Alcott. Bertie’s a weedy little runt, so it wouldn’t be surprising if he got two thugs to do his dirty work.”

“At least he’s currently incarcerated. I handed him over to Jakes.” Even as I said it, I worried that he could have been released.

A dark pit opened inside me. Had I helped the mastermind behind Gabe’s abduction escape? I pressed my fingers to my lips as bile rose up my throat. Willie’s glare left me in no doubt that she blamed me.

Alex came to my rescue. “It’s more likely that Ivy and her mother are behind it, not Bertie. They’re ruthless and smart, and Bertie’s mother is more desperate than either of her children to save the family business. Now that her husband has gone, they need to find a leather magician willing to work for them without getting any acknowledgment as the magician. Even if they found one who didn’t work for his own business, he won’t want to sit in the shadows for long. He’ll want a slice of the company, perhaps a large one. She wouldn’t like to go down that route.”

“How will studying Gabe’s magic help solve that problem?” I asked. “When Bertie was admitted to Rosebank Gardens, they thought his magic could be extracted, but everyone now knows that’s not possible. Abducting Gabe won’t help Bertie or the company.”

“Maybe this ain’t about studying Gabe’s magic,” Willie said. “Maybe it’s about punishing him for not publicly supporting the Hobson family when they needed it. And for ending his engagement to Ivy.” Her glare turned even colder.

Part of me thought she was being unfair. But there was a part of me that agreed with her. Gabe was an honorable man. Even if he realized he didn’t love Ivy, he might have gone through with the wedding if he’d never learned what it meant to truly fall in love. He may never have known what he was missing.

Just as I may never have known what I was missing if he hadn’t entered my life. Now I knew what passionate, selfless, all-consuming love felt like. It was deeply fulfilling, uplifting and powerful.

At the moment, my fear for his safety made love feel like sheer torment.

Tears welled and my chin shuddered as I tried desperately not to cry. In the end, I couldn’t control the tears and they slipped down my cheeks. I looked away.

To my amazement, Willie reached out and rubbed my knee. When I risked looking at her again, her anger had vanished. Her own eyes welled with tears, too.

Unaware of our moment of shared distress, Alex pointed out an obvious fact that Willie and I had forgotten. “Frank Alcott was involved in testing Gabe’s magic at the racetrack, so we can be sure Gabe’s kidnap—which Alcott was also involved in—was magic-related, not revenge.”

Willie faced forward with a humph . “That doesn’t mean the Hobsons aren’t behind the kidnap.”

“True. But let’s be clear about the reason and not blame each other. We need to support one another, not criticize.”

“We’re supportive. Ain’t we, Sylvia?”

I leaned forward so they could hear me over the roar of the engine and the wind whipping past the window apertures. “We’re a team, and a formidable one at that.”

Alex’s surprise at our unification turned to satisfaction. “We’ll find Gabe.”

“And when we do,” Willie added, “I’m going to shoot the bollocks off whoever is responsible.”

“And if it turns out to be Mrs. Hobson or Ivy?”

“They’ve got the biggest bollocks of them all.”

The moment of shared distress we’d experienced in the motorcar didn’t last. Willie might not blame me for attracting the Hobsons’ ire, but she still blamed me for attracting Melville Hendry’s attention. In her mind, my father was still a suspect.

She reminded me of that as we climbed the steps to the front door of the Park Street house. “It’s too much of a coincidence that he comes back into our lives right before this happens. I know it ain’t something you could have foreseen, Sylvia, so I don’t blame you altogether.”

I rubbed my arms as a chill rippled through me.

Alex touched my elbow and shook his head. The roll of his eyes told me what he thought of Willie’s theory. “Why would he kidnap Gabe?” he asked her.

“He’s ruthless, mad and hates the Glass family.”

“Those aren’t motives.”

“They are to me.”

“You’re the one who’s mad, Willie. He has no link to Rosebank Gardens hospital or Frank Alcott.”

“That we know of.”

The door opened and Bristow stood there. He always seemed more upper class than Gabe, but now he looked positively imperious as he looked down his nose at Willie. “Detective Inspector Bailey wishes to see you in the library, my lady.”

She wrinkled her nose. “‘My lady?’ You ain’t called me that in years. You lost your marbles, Bristow?” She patted his arm as she passed him, thinking nothing more of it.

I saw his scowl, however. He’d never looked at anyone like that, not even when Willie was at her most irritating.

It wasn’t until she saw Cyclops standing in the library’s doorway with a similar scowl on his face that she realized something was amiss. “What’s wrong? What’s happened? Is Gabe?—”

“Still missing.” Cyclops stepped aside. “I want a word with you.”

Alex and I exchanged glances as we followed Willie.

Cyclops shut the door, then stood with his arms over his chest. It was a formidable stance, and not one I’d seen him employ with friends or family. What made it more worrying was the grave look he gave her.

Willie rarely showed fear, but she swallowed audibly.

“The kidnappers had a key to this house,” Cyclops said. “There was no sign of forced entry.”

“Aside from us, only the Bristows and Sally have keys,” Alex pointed out. “Are you suggesting one of them gave theirs to the kidnapper inadvertently? I can assure you, none did it on purpose.”

Cyclops shook his head without taking his gaze off Willie. “I questioned all the servants after you left this morning. No one gave their key away, or lost it or misplaced it, not even for a few hours during which time one of the other servants could have made a copy.”

Alex glanced between his father and Willie. “And?”

“Do you have a confession to make, Willie?”

Alex suddenly turned to her. “Did you lose your key?”

Her face drained of color. She reached out, her fingers searching for the table for support. I pushed a chair under her and guided her to sit. She lowered her head into her hands, muttering something we couldn’t hear.

“Pardon?” I asked.

“It ain’t my fault. I was drunk.”

“Being drunk is your fault!” Cyclops snapped.

Alex stepped between them, like a boxing referee keeping the opponents apart. Not that it would come to physical blows between the old friends, but there was every danger their exchange would be heated.

Or so I thought, until I saw Willie’s forlorn face as she glanced up at Cyclops. She blamed herself, too. So much so that she even admitted it with a groan. She buried her face in her hands again.

I rested a comforting hand on her shoulder. For once, she did not shrug it off. “Tell us what happened.”

“I went out drinking a few nights ago. I didn’t realize I’d lost my key until I got home. It was real late and I knew the Bristows would be in bed, so I went into the mews and slept in the motorcar until the house woke up. Later, I borrowed Bristow’s key and got a copy made.” She removed it from her pocket. “I told him not to say anything to anyone.”

“Why didn’t you want us to know?” Alex asked.

“Because you and Gabe made fun of me last time I came home drunk. You told me I can’t hold my liquor anymore, that I’m getting old.” She sighed. “So that’s why Bristow’s been acting odd. He didn’t say anything earlier when we were here with Daisy and the others.”

“I asked him not to,” Cyclops said. “I wanted to speak to you myself, but I had to go out to check on my men’s progress.”

I’d not thought it possible to feel even more hopeless about our situation, but the pit of despair became an abyss. Willie could have lost the key anywhere on her way home, and anyone could have picked it up. There was no way of narrowing our list of suspects.

Willie, however, wiped her nose on her sleeve and sat up a little straighter. “I reckon I’ve got an idea who took it, but…” She gave her head an emphatic shake. “No. Can’t be. I must be remembering that night all wrong.”

Cyclops and Alex crowded close. “Talk it through with us,” Cyclops said, his earlier anger having vanished. “Where were you? Who were you with?”

“I was supposed to meet a friend at The Flying Duck for a drink, but he never showed up. Some people I knew saw I was on my own and asked me to join them. We drank together for a while. Sometime later, I remember I tripped over something. I went sprawling, knocking over a chair. I reckon the key fell out of my pocket then.”

Alex sighed. “Anyone in the pub could have picked it up.”

Willie rubbed her temple as she shook her head. “It was just us in the snug and I didn’t leave then. I stayed on, as did they. One of us would have seen the key on the floor before we left. The snug ain’t spacious, and they weren’t as drunk as me.”

“So, one of them saw the key fall out of your pocket and picked it up then and there. Who were you drinking with?”

Willie wasn’t a ditherer in any sense, yet she was reluctant to answer Alex. She bent forward and groaned.

He glared at her as if that could gouge the response out of her. “Tell us!”

She lifted her head. She displayed not a single trace of the bravado she was infamous for, none of the cockiness and spirited sass. There was just despair. “You ain’t going to believe it.”