Page 18 of The Journal of a Thousand Years (The Glass Library #6)

CHAPTER 18

H olborn Viaduct hunkered over Farringdon Street in a glorious display of elegance and strength. Iron magicians had built it, so Gabe told me on the way, although no one had known they were magicians at the time of its construction in the 1860s.

Stanley’s note asked Gabe to meet him under the viaduct, but Farringdon Street was a busy thoroughfare, so Alex parked the Vauxhall on a side street and we walked the rest of the way. I was conscious of not taxing Gabe too much, but he seemed well enough for a short walk after a thorough rest overnight. Anything more than a walk, however, would tire him.

It was fortunate that we did park on a side street as traffic banked up on Farringdon Street where it passed under the viaduct. Drivers shouted at each other to move, but it was no good. Something ahead had gained the attention of passersby, and they’d stopped to observe.

“I’ve never seen so many pedestrians here,” Alex said. With his superior height, he was able to see over the heads of those in front. “I recognize one of the journalists who wrote an article about you, Gabe.”

Willie stood on her toes in an attempt to see. “Where? I want to tell him to mind his own business.”

“He isn’t the only one with his notepad and pencil out. There are photographers, too.”

I adjusted the weight of the paper stack in my arms. Gabe had offered to carry it, but I wanted the paper as close to me as possible. “Whatever Stanley has planned, he wants the press to bear witness.”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Willie added. “He wrote that he wanted to fix things by ensuring the world never discovered Gabe’s magic. So why invite the world here to witness whatever he’s about to do?”

A train leaving the Holborn Viaduct Station blew its whistle, making my nerves jump. “Can you see Stanley, Alex?”

“No. I can see Jakes, though.”

Willie swore. “That’s all we need. A spy for the military.”

“We’ll ask him what he’s doing here,” Gabe said. “He might be able to shed some light on Stanley’s intentions.”

We carved our way through the crowd, but stopped before reaching Mr. Jakes when we saw Lady Stanhope. Dressed in black lace from head to toe, she looked like the dozens of other onlookers in the crowd, something which she probably would have hated. She liked to think herself above the masses, on a level just below the royal family. In truth, she was rather unremarkable. If anything, her sour, unsmiling face made people turn away, not look twice.

Gabe deployed his smooth charm, something he did only when he wanted answers. “What a surprise to see you, Lady Stanhope.”

She gasped. “Gabriel! There you are. We’ve been waiting for you.”

Heads turned toward him. Excited whispers rippled through the crowd.

Gabe’s smile wavered. “Why is everyone here?”

“You don’t know?”

“I received a letter—” He cut himself off as Mr. Jakes emerged through the throng. “Jakes. Can you shed some light on all this?”

Mr. Jakes plucked out a letter from his jacket pocket. “I received this from an anonymous source.”

“I received one, too.” Lady Stanhope withdrew a letter and a black silk fan from her purse. She handed the letter to Gabe and flapped the fan in front of her face.

Gabe lowered the letter so I could read it, too. It was written in the same handwriting as the one we’d received, but was unsigned. It invited Lady Stanhope to Farringdon Street at the Holborn Viaduct to witness Gabe’s magic for herself.

“He ain’t a magician,” Willie made sure to say when she read that part.

Lady Stanhope turned her back to Willie and tried to hustle Gabe away from us. He stood his ground.

“Jakes, you need to stop this,” Willie said. “Someone’s trying to kill Gabe.”

“Who?” Mr. Jakes asked.

Gabe glowered at Willie. She kept her mouth shut.

Mr. Jakes showed his letter to Gabe. “Mine is identical. According to the members of the press I spoke to, they received letters, too. The rest of this crowd is made up of passersby who realized something of interest was about to happen so have stayed to watch.”

Gabe looked around at the faces turned toward him with curious expressions. As more in the crowd realized who he was, a hush fell over them. The only sounds came from the rumble of a train pulling away from the nearby station and the traffic trying to pass under the viaduct.

Lady Stanhope reached up a hand gloved in black lace and raked Gabe’s cheek. “You look pale, dearest Gabriel. Are you ill? Why haven’t you done something about it?”

“I’ve been resting.”

“Let’s not play this game anymore. You know that I know about your…” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “…magic.”

“You know nothing!” Willie spat.

Lady Stanhope flapped her fan at her face, ignoring Willie. “Heal yourself, Gabriel. Do it where no one can see, obviously. Not here. At home, in private. Oh, I have an idea! Come to the countryside with me. I leave next week. I have a large manor with lovely gardens. It’s so peaceful.” She struck his arm with her fan as a thought struck her. “I can introduce you to some very eligible ladies.”

Gabe’s lips tightened in pain. She’d tapped the knife wound inflicted by Thurlow. “I don’t need an eligible lady. I already have?—”

“Pish posh. I know a very pretty, very worthy girl.” As if anyone were in any doubt that she was implying I was unworthy , she deliberately angled herself between Gabe and me, presenting me with her back. “I’ll make sure no one disturbs you while you heal yourself with your magic.”

The muscle in his jaw bunched as he clenched his back teeth. “You are quite wrong, Lady Stanhope. I can’t heal myself with magic. The doctor has prescribed rest.”

She struck him again with her fan. “Gabriel, dear, I am not a fool. I know you can heal yourself. It’s the only explanation for your miraculous survival.”

“A lot of luck is the explanation. I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

She went to tap him again with her fan, but he caught it. “I have stitches there.”

She eyed him carefully, if somewhat skeptically, before laughing like a schoolgirl. “Surely you joke. You wouldn’t need stitches. Your magic?—”

“Is non-existent. I would remove my shirt right here and show you if I thought Jakes wouldn’t add a note to my file that I was mad. He’s from Military Intelligence,” he clarified.

Now that he’d been brought into the discussion, Mr. Jakes stepped forward. “Madam, I have studied Mr. Glass far deeper than you, and I can assure you, he can’t heal himself.”

She froze. Only her throat worked with her hard swallow.

I was rather looking forward to seeing how she responded, but a flurry of activity and whispers drew everyone’s attention to the viaduct itself. Above us, Stanley Greville stood on the iron railing, an arm around the central lamppost for support. Rather fittingly, the bronze statues on either side of him depicted Fine Art holding what appeared to be a sketchbook, and Science with her scientific equipment.

“Don’t come any closer!” Stanley shouted to the small crowd of pedestrians on the viaduct with him.

A constable stood among them and, realizing what was happening, tried to halt the traffic and urge the pedestrians to give Stanley space. Stanley ordered them further away. He didn’t want anyone stopping him.

One of the journalists near us called up to him. “Sir, did you send us the letters?”

“What do you know about Mr. Glass’s magic?” another asked.

“Can he heal himself? Or does he travel through time?”

“Bloody hell,” Alex muttered. “This has gone too far. I’ll stop him.”

“Wait.”

As Gabe said it, Stanley’s gaze fell on our little group. Heads turned our way again as questions were thrown at Gabe.

“Did he invite you, too?”

“Will you display your magic for us, Mr. Glass?”

“I asked you here to bear witness,” Stanley said, his voice rising above the traffic noise. “In a moment, I’m going to throw myself off this bridge.”

Gasps burst from the crowd. One woman screamed. The constable called for everyone to calm down, then edged forward. He appeared to be trying to talk Stanley out of his decision, but we were too far away to hear what he was saying.

We pushed through the retreating crowd, moving against the tide. I shifted the stack of letterhead from one hip to the other as it grew heavy. None of us spoke. We didn’t need to speculate about his sincerity or reason, or whether he would actually go through with it. We knew Stanley was deadly serious.

“You want us to witness your suicide?” one of the journalists called up. “There are ladies present!”

Several voices rose in accord, some pleading with Stanley not to take his own life.

“I’m going to throw myself off this bridge, but I won’t die. My friend Gabriel Glass will save me with his magic, just like he saved me countless times in the war.”

The gasps turned to murmurs of speculation and wonder. I overheard more than one onlooker say they thought as much all along. Others, however, suggested Stanley shouldn’t put his life in peril to prove such a wild theory.

Gabe was one of them. “Stanley, don’t!” he called up. “I can’t save you.”

Stanley’s foot slipped off the rail. The crowd gasped again, but he managed to regain his balance. “If my theory is correct, and you are able to save your life and the lives of your friends by altering time, then this will work. We’re friends. You saved my life before and I believe you will do so again. Your magic is special, Gabe. The world should know how special so that it can be examined and understood.”

This time, even more voices chimed in for him not to test his theory in such a dangerous way.

But Gabe’s wasn’t one of them. Nor was Willie’s, Alex’s or mine. We all knew that Stanley was prepared to die. Indeed, he planned on it. By announcing his theory about Gabe’s magic in front of witnesses and telling them that Gabe had saved lives by using his magic in the war, he’d put into everyone’s minds that Gabe would repeat the incredible feat here and now. Yet Stanley knew that he’d lost Gabe’s high regard after the abduction, a fact he was deliberately leaving out. Gabe’s magic wouldn’t engage to save Stanley, and Stanley wanted the world to witness that failure. The journalists and onlookers would see for themselves that Gabe couldn’t alter time after all, or he would have done it to save a friend. With the theory disproved, the press would lose interest in Gabe and leave him alone.

And Stanley would be dead.

He was sacrificing his life to give Gabe his freedom.

That’s why he hadn’t described his plan in the letter. He knew Gabe wouldn’t show if he did, because simply being here would lead to Stanley’s death.

The surrounding noises seemed to close in. Engines of passing vehicles revved, a train pulled into the station in a squeal of brakes and hiss of steam. Above it all rose the voices. Members of the crowd shouted, pleading with Stanley or begging Gabe to act. The constable on the viaduct nearest Stanley blew his whistle, trying to keep the onlookers back. Motorcars and lorries on the viaduct had stopped altogether. Another constable cleared an area on Farringdon Street below, which only caused the traffic problems to worsen.

Amidst it all, Gabe’s pleas to Stanley got lost.

There was only one thing in his power to do. He pushed through the throng, heading for the stairs. Willie and Alex followed, ever protective. I remained where I was, the stack of papers weighing heavily in my hands. I had thought I might need them to protect Gabe, but it seemed not. He was safe in this crowd.

From his vantage point on the railing, Stanley watched Gabe until he disappeared into the pavilion housing the stairwell. He readjusted his grip on the lamppost and kept his gaze on the stairwell exit on the viaduct itself. I couldn’t see it, but I knew the moment Gabe emerged. The crowd on the viaduct stirred as it spat him out.

Stanley squared his shoulders. If he harbored any doubt about his plan, I couldn’t detect it from where I stood, some sixty feet below. I got as close as the constable allowed.

But being closer wouldn’t be of any use. I needed to be quick. I needed to speak faster than I ever had. And I needed to focus.

Stanley lifted a hand in a half-hearted wave. It was that simple motion that saved him.

It gave me precious seconds. As if it were a signal, I threw the sheets in the air and chanted the flying paper spell.

Stanley stepped off the viaduct rail.

Onlookers screamed. Gabe rushed forward.

My sheets of letterhead coalesced into a carpet of paper above Farringdon Street. It slid into place under the falling figure of Stanley. To my utter relief, the structure held. The spell I’d spoken into the stack before we left the house had strengthened every sheet even more. They held both the Petersons’ magic and mine.

Under my direction, the paper carpet lowered Stanley gently to the ground.

Members of the crowd rushed in to assist him to his feet. Others stared at me, mouths agape, and several applauded.

I looked up to see Gabe, Alex, Willie and the onlookers on the viaduct peering over the railing. Applause sprinkled down from there, too. I received pats on the back and offers to shake my hand. I overheard someone say they didn’t know paper could be that strong. I was asked where I manufactured it, and I gave them the name of the Petersons’ factory.

I watched it all as if I was not a part of it, as if I was riding on the carpet of paper above the scene, observing. It wasn’t until one of the constables ordered me to clear the paper from the road that my mind refocused.

I spotted another constable arresting Stanley and forged my way to him. I reached him at the same time as Gabe.

Stanley sat on the pavement, his hands cuffed, his wide eyes staring at those closing in around him. Journalists peppered him with questions, despite the constable ordering them to leave. Photographers’ bulbs flashed like bursts of sunlight. One went off near Stanley’s face, snapping him out of his trance-like state.

“You saw,” Stanley told them. “You all saw. He didn’t save me.”

“Glass really is artless,” one of the journalists said as he scribbled notes. “I always thought so.”

“Pity,” another journalist chimed in. “It’s been a good story for my paper.”

“If that lady hadn’t been here…” said a third man with a shake of his head.

One of the journalists realized I was that lady. “Your name, Miss?”

I opened my arms as the papers came to rest on them in a neat pile. I finished chanting the spell once the last one floated into place. “I’d rather remain anonymous.”

Gabe appeared at my side, accompanied by Juan. He must have received a letter from Stanley, too. Alex asked the constables to give Stanley a few moments to speak to his friends. He then suggested they report the incident to Detective Inspector Bailey at Scotland Yard.

With space cleared around us, Gabe crouched before Stanley. “I know this is hard,” Gabe said. “But you’re not alone.”

Juan sat beside Stanley and put his arm around his friend’s shoulders. “We are here. Me, Gabe, and the others. Do not do that again.”

Stanley lowered his head further. “It wasn’t supposed to end this way. I’m not supposed to…”

“We know how it was supposed to end,” Juan said. “But we do not like that ending. It was good luck that Sylvia was here to rewrite it.” He gave Stanley’s shoulders a shake. “I know you are sad now, but you will not always be. You will get better.”

“We’ll get you the help you need,” Gabe added.

“No one can help.” Stanley didn’t snap or sneer. He sounded empty, as if exhaustion had drained every last drop of his essence. “I tried the medication they gave me, but I felt strange when I was on it, not like myself. I couldn’t think straight. It made me angry, resentful.”

“There are other medications,” Gabe said. “And if none work, we’ll try other methods. The way to treat shell shock may not exist yet, but new treatments are being trialed all the time. One of them will work for you, Stanley. Just as long as you don’t give up.”

Stanley peered at Gabe and Juan, then Alex. “It’s almost two years since the war ended, and everyone is moving on. Everyone except me. I want to move on…but I can’t.”

Gabe clutched Stanley’s arm. “Not giving up is the first step. It’s the hardest and most important. The other steps will come, in time. But no more stunts like this. Understand?”

“I had to do it. I had to make it up to you somehow.”

“Not like this.”

“What I did to you… You have every right to hate me.” His gaze shifted to Willie and Alex again, then fell on me. “You all do.”

I crouched down, too, and set the papers aside. I didn’t know what to say to make his pain go away, so I simply hugged him.

When I drew back, Alex did the same.

Stanley began to cry. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Gabe.”

Gabe drew him into a hug, too. “I forgive you.”

By the time one of the constables led Stanley away, the crowd had thinned. All the journalists and photographers had departed, eager to be the first to go to print. Mr. Jakes was still there, watching on, as was Lady Stanhope. She was deep in conversation with Huon, of all people.

When they spotted us, she bustled over. She grasped me by the elbows. “My dear girl! You were magnificent! Why didn’t you tell me you were a paper magician? Everything would have been different.”

“You mean you wouldn’t have been as rude to me?”

Her smile froze. Then she tittered with laughter. “Such an amusing girl, and so very pretty, too. It’s no wonder you’ve captured Gabriel’s heart. It’s a shame he isn’t a magician, after all, but finding you, Sylvia…what good fortune!” She looped her arm through mine. “What strong magic you possess. Now, you must be careful. Unscrupulous people will try to manipulate you. You must allow me to guide you. We’ll have such fun. I’m very well connected, you know, and my friends will enjoy meeting you. You must come to my country house. We’ll have fabulous parties, and I’ll let you play with as much paper as you like.”

Willie snorted. “You told Gabe your house is quiet.”

Lady Stanhope ignored her. “You will make so many new friends, Sylvia. Friends worthy of a powerful magician such as yourself.”

I jerked my arm free. “I have a gift for you, Lady Stanhope.”

She pressed a hand to her chest. “How marvelous!” She licked her lips. “What is it?”

I asked Willie to hold the stack of papers for me. I removed the top one and folded it into the shape of a Sopwith Camel, using a spell to assist me to get it as close to a miniature version of the plane as possible. Then I sent it flying away. Far away, past the viaduct and over some buildings.

“Oh, dear,” I said dramatically. “I do hope nobody tramples it before you find it, Lady Stanhope.”

She picked up her skirts and hurried off in the direction it had flown.

Willie grinned. “Can you make me one of those, Sylvia?”

“I’ll make you an entire squadron.”

Her grin widened.

Beside me, Gabe rested a hand on my shoulder. I felt the weight of his exhaustion, the rapid throb of his pulse.

I circled my arm around his waist. “Let’s get you home.”

Alex left to bring the Vauxhall around, so Gabe didn’t have to walk to it. Huon joined us while we waited and congratulated me on the rescue.

“Why are you here?” Willie asked him.

“I was meeting someone in the area, saw the crowd, and decided to see what was going on.”

“Lady Stanhope?” I asked.

“No.” His gaze flitted to Mr. Jakes, lounging against a lamppost, smoking a cigarette.

Most people would think he was simply casually lingering, but those who knew him would see the sharp gaze that missed nothing. Huon was far less devious. Going by his enthusiasm and the frequent glances in Mr. Jakes’s direction, it wasn’t difficult to work out that he’d struck a deal with Military Intelligence for his invisible ink business.

“Then why were you talking to Lady Stanhope?” I pressed.

“I’ve been meaning to speak to her for a few days and seeing her here gave me the opportunity. You see, I recalled that her husband is an important fellow at the Royal Academy of Arts and knowing how she loves to think of herself as some sort of mentor to young magicians who have yet to discover their talent, I simply mentioned how I’d recently come across an amazing artist who uses magic graphite in her exquisite sketches. Naturally, this young woman has never dreamed of exhibiting her work and is ripe for discovery by someone with an eye for quality.” He smiled wickedly. “It was enough to pique her interest in Petra’s sketches. I negotiated an enormous price for one she has hanging in her shop.”

I laughed. “I do hope Petra appreciates your efforts.”

His eyes flashed. “So do I.”

By the time we returned home, exhaustion had turned Gabe’s face ashen and made his steps plodding. Alex helped him up the stairs to his bedroom while I trailed behind with Willie. A short while later, Murray brought in tea and a meal of roast beef with buttered potatoes and beans. Tilda had gone to work, so I took over nursing duties. The first thing I did when Gabe finished eating was send everyone else out.

Willie refused to leave, however. “Someone should stay and watch over him.”

“Sylvia will stay,” Gabe told her.

“No! Your parents are returning the day after tomorrow and you’re my responsibility. If Matt and India see you looking like this, they’ll blame me. They won’t care about all the times I saved your life, they’ll just see you looking as weak as a ghost and think it’s my fault. Don’t know why, but everyone always blames me when you get into trouble.”

“That’s because it usually is your fault,” Alex said. For my benefit, he added, “Almost every story from Gabe’s wild and impulsive years features Willie.”

“I’d like to hear them one day.”

Willie thrust a hand on her hip and humphed . “They feature you, too, Alex. Just wait until I tell Daisy all about them.”

His eyes clouded, and he sighed heavily.

“When did you save my life?” Gabe teased Willie. “Strange that I don’t recall a single incident.”

I tried to get Alex’s attention, but he wouldn’t look at me. It seemed he’d made up his mind and didn’t want me to try and make him change it. He was giving Daisy up so she could reconcile with her family. It was a grand sacrifice on his part, but it was the wrong one. No amount of telling him that would make him realize it, however.

Alex took Willie by the shoulders and steered her toward the door. “He’s not going to relax with you here.”

“He will!”

“Willie, you are a distraction.”

“But I’m the best kind of distraction.”

I waited until Alex closed the door behind them, then climbed onto the bed beside Gabe. His chest was bare, since he seemed to only wear pajama pants when in bed, and I made the most of it, admiring his smooth skin with the sprinkling of dark hair. He was warm, and despite the hard planes of his muscles, I felt comfortable and relaxed, more relaxed than I had in a very long time. I closed my eyes and listened to the rhythm of his heart, still a little erratic after the events of the day.

His yawn was a sign that I should leave, too. I tried to pull away, but he refused to release me.

“Stay,” he murmured drowsily. “I sleep better when you’re near.”

“I’ll sit here awhile. Lie down.” I adjusted the pillow then stroked his hair back as he sank into it.

His eyes fluttered closed, revealing eyelids darkened from exhaustion. He drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. I felt his body relax against mine, felt the twitch of his muscles as he gave in to the exhaustion. I suspected he would sleep soundly with the knowledge that not only was Thurlow behind bars, but the threat of abduction had come to an end. Stanley Greville had made sure of that.

I leaned down and kissed his cheek. “Rest now, Gabe,” I whispered. “It’s over.”