Page 3 of The Journal of a Thousand Years (The Glass Library #6)

CHAPTER 3

A lex turned the steering wheel sharply, and the Vauxhall careened around a corner, narrowly missing a motorbus that had stopped to pick up passengers. If I hadn’t been gripping the door, I would have slid across the seat to the other side.

“He’s still with us!” Gabe shouted.

I dared a glance behind us. The bus driver shook his fist, while the driver of a vehicle we cut off bellowed something I couldn’t hear. A black motorcar sped along in our wake. At this distance, and with his cap pulled low, I couldn’t make out the face of the driver hunched over the steering wheel.

“Hold on!” Alex’s instruction was unnecessary. I was already holding on as tightly as I could, to both the door and my hat.

The Vauxhall sped around another corner then immediately turned again. Alex must have known the two turns were close together, but I was quite lost. We were in a part of London I’d never visited.

“He missed the turn,” Gabe said. “Good driving.”

Alex continued at speed. He made more turns, taking us through busy streets and quiet ones, wide thoroughfares lined with shops and narrow residential lanes edged with neat row houses. We left a trail of angry drivers behind us, but it wasn’t until Gabe told him to slow down that Alex finally eased his foot off the pedal.

“We lost him,” Gabe said. “Let’s take Sylvia back to the library.”

Alex’s gloved hands readjusted their grip on the wheel. “If he knows you at all, he’ll know to find you there. He’ll be waiting.”

“Then so be it. I can’t run forever.”

I expected Alex to disagree, but he simply continued to drive, albeit at a more sedate pace.

We were now in an area I recognized as the location of Hobson and Son, the boot-making factory owned by the family of Gabe’s former fiancée, Ivy. Driving down the street wasn’t the wisest choice for Alex to make. The traffic slowed as we passed the ever-present protestors on the pavement. Former soldiers on crutches or in wheelchairs held placards accusing the Hobsons of greed and demanding an apology and compensation for the boots that failed under the muddy, soggy conditions of the Front. While the majority of boots made at the factory had held up well for the duration of the war, a batch had fallen apart. All army-issued boots should have been strengthened by a leather magician’s spell, as stipulated in the company’s contract with the military, but it seemed that one batch had missed out.

According to the family, both Mr. Hobson and his son, Bertie, were leather magicians, but we’d begun to doubt if Ivy’s brother was a magician at all. We’d discovered he’d spent some time at a private clinic that used to treat the artless children of magicians in an attempt to draw the magic out of them. The treatments failed, of course, since artless were born artless. No medical intervention could change that.

Ivy refused to believe that Bertie was artless, and their parents continued to claim he was a magician. They blamed the soldiers for the failure of their boots, putting out statement after statement that they contained magic like all the others. They’d even tried to coerce Gabe, as the son of a powerful magician, to endorse their statements. His refusal had created a rift between him and the Hobsons that was partly responsible for him ending his relationship with Ivy, although Ivy had never quite accepted it was over.

The Hobsons’ denial of responsibility had continued even after the recent death of Mr. Hobson. I’d thought the protestors might back down once the head of the company could no longer be held accountable, but their continued presence outside the factory proved they were as determined as ever.

Gabe’s head turned as we passed the protestors, keeping his gaze on them. Once they were behind us, he turned again to speak to me in the back seat. “I called on Bertie at the factory yesterday. At least, I tried to. His mother was there and wouldn’t let me see him.”

“Did you want to tell him to come clean about his artlessness?”

He nodded. “It would be best coming from him rather than me.”

“Will you tell Jakes if he doesn’t?”

Mr. Jakes had shown an interest in Gabe’s unnatural ability to remain unscathed during the war, as well as in the failed Hobson boots. Although we suspected Bertie’s artlessness was to blame for the failed batch of boots, we’d not informed Jakes. Gabe was giving Bertie every opportunity to do the right thing himself.

But if the Hobsons continued to deny responsibility, and Jakes found out that they knew the boots failed because they never received the required magic, then they risked the full legal weight of the government descending on them.

Gabe rubbed his jaw. “I’ll keep trying to speak privately to Bertie. He needs to understand the consequences of doing nothing.”

It sounded easy enough in theory, but getting through Mrs. Hobson to her son would be difficult. She would protect him and the family with all her might.

“You’re being too reasonable, Gabe,” Alex chided. “The Hobsons don’t deserve it. They told a journalist that ridiculous story about you healing yourself magically.” It wasn’t the only story the newspapers had published about Gabe’s incredible feat of survival. One had even speculated something close to the truth.

“They also met with Thurlow,” Alex added, almost reluctantly. His reluctance stemmed from his concern that Gabe’s obsession with the corrupt bookmaker who’d tried to have us run off the road was consuming him, clouding his judgment.

I didn’t quite agree that it was an obsession. A genuine fear, yes, and that fear was justified. Thurlow was ruthless, and he had Gabe in his sights. Witnessing the base criminal meet with two very upright women in Mrs. Hobson and Ivy was not only an unusual sight, it was also baffling. How did they know one another? More importantly, why had they met?

None of the theories we’d come up with painted the Hobsons in a good light.

I hadn’t realized how frayed my nerves were until Gabe opened the door to the Glass Library and I entered my sanctuary. I’d never used that term to describe it, but I now realized that’s precisely what it was. My little piece of paradise. The library felt more like a home to me than my room at Mrs. Parry’s boarding house. I breathed deeply, drawing in the familiar smell of old books. Perhaps it was my magic responding to all of the paper within the books, scrolls, correspondence, and other documents housed across two levels. Or perhaps it was because it was the first place in London where I’d begun to feel like my true self. Whatever the reason, I felt at peace in the library.

That peace was shattered by the fury of one small but fierce middle-aged woman dressed in trousers, waistcoat and man’s shirt. “Where have you been? Why didn’t you stay here, like I told you?” She didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, she pointed a finger at me. “This is your fault!”

I didn’t snap back. Her trembling finger was a sign that she’d been sick with worry over Gabe’s safety, and that was an emotion I understood well.

She stood in the entrance to the main section of the library, the two black marble columns framing her like a painting. Her arms were at her sides, neither loose nor rigid, and her right hand hovered near her hip. She looked like she was about to draw the gun that I knew to be tucked into the waistband of her trousers. I couldn’t entirely dismiss the idea. She certainly seemed angry enough to threaten to shoot someone, most likely me. At least I could be sure it would only be a threat and she wouldn’t actually go through with it.

Most likely.

Gabe pushed past her. “I don’t need coddling, Willie.”

She opened her mouth to offer a retort, but Alex got in first. “But if you do want to coddle him, then you should be here instead of gallivanting off with your latest petting pal.”

She stiffened. “The airman and I are friends, nothing more. I’m with Tilda now, and even if I weren’t, he’s too much like my second husband to tempt me. I loved Davide, but we should never have married.”

“Davide was Lord Farnsworth?” I couldn’t resist asking. “Why shouldn’t you have married him?”

She looked at me like I was stupid. “Because he was a lord. He should have married a proper lady.” If any other woman had said it, I’d have thought she was fishing for compliments, but not Willie.

She charged after Gabe and Alex, heading for the reading nook. She still sported a furious expression, so I tried to distract her to save them. “How did you meet the airman?”

“It was during the war.”

“Yes, but how exactly did you meet?”

Her pace slowed to an amble. I was surprised to see her sporting a lopsided grin rather than a scowl. “His Sopwith was downed not far from where I was stationed. Stretcher-bearers carried him to my ambulance, and I drove him to a field hospital. When he recovered, he wanted to thank me, so sought me out. We shared a drink—actually it was several—and have been friends ever since.”

“Did he suffer terrible injuries?”

The smile inched wider. “It wasn’t as terrible as it sounds. He got shot.”

“How is that not terrible?”

“In his left ass cheek.”

“Even worse!”

She shrugged. “It’s the most padded spot on him, and not an uncommon place for airmen to get shot.” The smile slipped, replaced with a frown. “Stop distracting me, Sylvia. This is your fault.”

“That your friend was shot in his arse? I don’t think so.”

She huffed. It was almost a laugh. “There’s a word I never thought I’d hear from your prim mouth.”

“I am not prim.”

She snorted and walked off. She had Alex and Gabe well and truly in her sights again. “What was so important that you had to leave the library without me?”

“We found Sylvia’s father,” Gabe said.

Willie’s jaw dropped. I’d never seen her look more stunned. She recovered quickly, however. “You still shouldn’t have left the library without me.”

Alex dragged a hand down his face in exasperation. “If you wanted to be his escort, you shouldn’t have left.”

Willie ignored him. “Was I right? Is it Hendry?”

“It is,” I told her.

“We’ll need extra security. He’s going to come after you, Sylvia.” She jabbed a finger in my direction. “Unless Gabe agrees to stay away?—”

“I don’t,” he said, his voice ragged with frustration.

Willie barreled on. “We have to worry about Hendry on top of the kidnapper, and maybe Thurlow, who may or may not be the kidnapper. And Jakes.” She removed the gun from her waistband to check the barrel. “Who also may or may not be the kidnapper.”

“Put that away,” Gabe growled.

“Tea?” Professor Nash’s arrival in the reading nook was a welcome distraction. He set down the tray he carried on the desk. “I’d just made it for Willie and me, but when I heard you three enter, I fetched more cups. I thought you might need it.”

“You’re a marvel.” I picked up the teapot and poured. “Sit, Professor. Have a rest.” He looked as though he needed the tea more than me. “We have news.”

I told Willie and the professor what we’d learned at the Petersons’ factory. To my surprise, Willie didn’t interject. She seemed riveted, and impatiently ordered me to continue when I paused. “We then went to Maxwell Cooper’s lodgings, but he’d vacated it without informing his landlady. He seemed to have left in a hurry.”

“I knew it,” she muttered into her teacup. “He’s no good.”

“Given he goes by the name Cooper and Marianne Folgate—my mother—was also once known as Cooper, it seems likely he’s my father.”

The professor pushed his glasses up his nose. “And you look like the Hendry women. Yes, it does all seem to fit, doesn’t it?” He patted my arm. “I’m very pleased for you, Sylvia. It must be a relief to finally know.”

“Pleased!” Willie cried. “Relief! Her father’s a low-down pigswill who tried to kill me! She shouldn’t be happy to be related to that.”

Gabe arched his brows pointedly. “We can’t choose our relatives. Every family has an undesirable member or two.”

If Willie realized he was referring to her, she didn’t show it. “He tried to kill your mother, Gabe! Not to mention he was tangled up with Coyle. Does he know about you, Sylvia?”

“Evaline told him about a young paper magician relative who’d just entered the family fold. She didn’t say I could be his daughter. She didn’t know he was Melville Hendry when she spoke to him this morning.”

She blew out a breath. “Good. Hopefully he won’t realize and won’t come looking for you.”

I nodded along. She was right, of course. Melville Hendry had been a danger years ago, and there was no reason to believe he’d changed. He ought to be kept at arm’s length.

If only that thought didn’t leave me with a heaviness that weighed me down.

The following morning, I received another visit from the Hendry sisters. They’d been worried about me and wanted to check on my well-being. Although they didn’t stay long, their visit almost brought me to tears. Good tears. Happy tears. I’d gone from having no family to being the niece of three kind aunts who took it upon themselves to check on me. I was fortunate indeed.

I had errands to run at lunchtime. After informing Professor Nash that I’d be back in an hour, I grabbed my hat and bag and was about to open the door when it was opened from the other side.

“Mr. Jakes! What are you doing here?”

The debonair gentleman removed his hat and held it to his chest. He gave me a shallow bow. “Good afternoon, Miss Ashe. I’ve come to see you. May I come in?”

I hesitated then stepped aside. I couldn’t very well block his entry. Besides, I was wildly curious about his visit. Why call on me and not Gabe?

I didn’t invite him further into the library, but remained by the front desk where I placed my hat and bag. “Are you after a particular book? I’m afraid we’ve found nothing more on magical mutations.” He’d come here before looking for documents on that subject. He believed Gabe’s miraculous wartime survival was somehow the result of a mutation of his magic, although Mr. Jakes didn’t know how that mutation manifested itself. His theory was close, but in his version, he believed Gabe was born a magician who could control his magic with spells. In truth, Gabe had always believed himself to be artless. His magic only engaged when his life, or the life of someone he cared deeply about, was in danger.

“I came to talk to you.” Mr. Jakes’ light blue eyes usually sparkled, and he often smiled, which I suspected were his favorite weapons designed to disarm people and lull them into a false sense of security. But not this time. He looked quite serious. “In fact, I want to warn you. You may be in danger.”

My pulse quickened. He’d heard about my connection to Melville Hendry extremely quickly, considering the authorities didn’t even know Melville was still alive let alone in London.

He wasn’t referring to my father, however. “The danger stems from a powerful criminal figure who controls a gang of thugs.”

“Do you mean Thurlow?”

“You know of him?”

It was rather satisfying to see that I’d surprised a Military Intelligence officer. “We’ve met him.”

Realization dawned. “At the racetrack. Yes, of course. Then you know how slippery he is.”

“We certainly do. Thank you for your warning, but we’re already aware of the danger he poses. Rest assured, Gabe is capable of protecting himself, and he has his friends surrounding him at all times.”

“It’s not Glass who’s in danger. My information says you are.”

“Me?”

“Thurlow will avoid Glass because of his magical abilities.”

“Gabe isn’t a magician.”

He held up his hand to stop me. “Let’s stop pretending. I know he possesses some kind of magical ability. Thurlow knows, too. He witnessed it at the racetrack recently.” Mr. Jakes watched me closely.

I crossed my arms and waited for him to go on. If he suspected me of being a weak link who’d blurt out the truth, he was a fool.

“Thurlow has been trying to discover more about Glass’s abilities, to no avail. But he believes you are an easier target. Capturing you could force Glass to cooperate.”

My skin prickled. Thurlow wasn’t the only ruthless element that probably saw me as a way to get to Gabe. Was Mr. Jakes breaking ranks by coming here and warning me? Would the authorities stoop to the same tactic? Or did Mr. Jakes genuinely know Thurlow’s plans?

“You seem to know a lot of what Thurlow thinks and suspects. Why is that?”

“I have eyes and ears everywhere.”

I didn’t doubt it, but something didn’t quite make sense. “Thurlow is a criminal, as you pointed out. He operates an illegal bookmaking ring and probably has fingers in other pies. But he’s not a threat to national security. So why are Military Intelligence interested in him? Surely his activities are a matter for the police.”

Mr. Jakes settled his hat on his head. “I stumbled upon his interest in Glass while investigating another matter.”

“Ah, yes. The Hobsons.”

I’d managed to surprise him again, but he quickly covered it. “Consider yourself warned, Miss Ashe.”

“Wait. Do you know why the Hobsons met with Thurlow?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t be able to tell you. Good day.”

I watched him walk down the lane then closed the door. Although I believed he was genuinely warning me, I didn’t trust that the threat came from Thurlow. Despite Mr. Jakes’s assurance that he was no longer interested in Gabe except where he could help with the Hobson and Son boot matter, I suspected Military Intelligence would still like to know how Gabe had survived unscathed for the duration of the war. If they thought there was a way to replicate Gabe’s magic, they would try. But first they had to study him, and Gabe refused to be treated like a laboratory specimen.

Would Military Intelligence stoop to kidnap? Would they target me to lure Gabe?

I contemplated the various scenarios as I exited the library. The moment the door closed, someone caught me from behind. A hand clamped over my mouth, smothering my scream. My arms were pinned to my sides.

Mr. Jakes had warned me. Now I was paying the price for not heeding it immediately.