Page 8 of The Journal of a Thousand Years (The Glass Library #6)

CHAPTER 8

I felt sick. I couldn’t breathe. All my efforts to keep Gabe safe, and he’d been kidnapped anyway. My body started to tremble, and I suddenly felt cold to my bones.

Someone guided me to sit again. “Alex? Willie?” I managed to ask.

“Out searching for him,” Cyclops said. “So are most of Scotland Yard.”

I pressed a hand to my throat as bile rose.

Cyclops crouched before me. “The kidnapper won’t harm him. They need him alive and well to learn more about his magic.”

“Isn’t he artless?” Petra asked.

Neither Cyclops nor I explained. He rested a hand on my arm. “I wanted to find you to tell you in person, and to ask for your help, too.”

I sat forward. “How can I help?”

“Sally, the young maid who works for Gabe, saw one of the men just after she arrived this morning. But she’s too scared to give an account, so Alex told me over the telephone. I thought perhaps you could coax something out of her.”

I shot to my feet. “Let’s go.”

“What can we do, Detective?” Huon asked.

Cyclops placed his hat on his head. “Nothing at this point.”

We left the house without saying goodbye, only pausing long enough to collect my two cases from the entrance hall. Cyclops placed them in the back seat of the waiting police vehicle. I sat beside them while Cyclops got in the front. He instructed the driver to take us to Gabe’s house.

When we reached number sixteen Park Street, it was clear that an incident had occurred. Constables kept watch from the pavement and the front door stood open. Murray ushered us inside.

“Anything?” Cyclops prompted him.

The footman shook his head. “No, sir. Sally hasn’t stopped crying. Mrs. Bristow is at her wits’ end, which is making Sally more scared. She says she can’t remember a thing, except that the man was big. The sketch artist has arrived, but he can’t work until Sally remembers something.”

A thud upstairs had us all looking up at the ceiling.

“The sergeant is leading the search for clues in Mr. Glass’s bedroom,” Murray went on.

“You seem to have it under control. Well done.” Cyclops clapped the former policeman on the shoulder before taking the staircase to check on the searchers.

Murray led me through the door near the back of the entrance hall and down the service stairs to the basement. We found all the other servants in the room where they took their meals, along with a man I assumed was the police artist going by the sketchbook in front of him. He stood upon my entry.

“Miss Ashe!” Mrs. Ling, the cook, grasped both my hands. “We are glad you are here.”

I suddenly felt the need for maternal comforting and drew her into a hug. “I’m glad I’m here, too.”

Mrs. Bristow sat beside a weeping Sally. Her husband, the butler, stood behind her, a hand on his wife’s shoulder. She’d been crying, too, but at that moment she seemed more frustrated than upset. Sally was under her charge, and she must feel as though the girl’s failure to remember was somehow a reflection on her.

I asked Mrs. Bristow to tell me what they already knew.

“Well,” she began, “when Mr. Bristow and I came down this morning, we found Sally in the kitchen, crying.” The Bristows were the only live-in servants. Sally and the others lived at their own homes, and Sally, being the youngest maid, always arrived first to light fires, and perform other chores before the rest of the household arrived or woke. “We asked her what was wrong, but she wouldn’t answer. She just kept shaking her head, over and over.”

“We thought it was problems at home and she’d tell Mrs. Bristow when she was ready,” Bristow said. “But an hour went by, two, and she still didn’t tell us. Then suddenly, Mr. Bailey and Miss Willie burst in, looking for Mr. Glass. They seemed worried and became more worried when they realized he wasn’t in here. They said he wasn’t in his bedroom and there were signs of a scuffle. The bedclothes were all over the floor as if dragged off. We all suspected the worst had happened. Mr. Glass wouldn’t have left in the middle of the night. Then Sally burst into tears again.”

“You didn’t hear anything during the night?” I asked the Bristows.

Mrs. Bristow and her husband exchanged looks. “We’re a little hard of hearing these days,” she said.

It wasn’t surprising. They must be well into their seventies, perhaps even over eighty in the butler’s case.

“Sally became hysterical when she heard about Mr. Glass,” she went on, her tone rather tart. “That’s when we realized she’d seen something, but she wouldn’t say what at first. Miss Willie finally got it out of her that she’d seen someone, but no amount of encouragement would get Sally to say more. Her memory of it has gone, so it seems.”

Sally merely sat there, sniffling, her head bowed low. She didn’t offer any further information. I understood Mrs. Bristow’s frustration at her lack of cooperation, but unlike the housekeeper, I knew that if I was going to succeed in getting the maid to open up, I had to keep my irritation in check. We needed Sally to describe what she’d seen sooner rather than later. When his kidnappers realized he wasn’t a magician, they would have no further need of Gabe. But they wouldn’t be able to simply let him go. Gabe would be able to identify them.

They’d have to kill him.

I pulled a chair closer to the maid. “Hello, Sally.”

She blinked damp lashes at me. “Hello, Miss Ashe. I know what you’re going to ask me, but I can’t…” She let out a sob. “I can’t remember. I’ve told them…it’s all a blur.”

I peered past her to Mrs. Bristow. “Perhaps Sally and I can have a little chat alone.”

Mrs. Bristow hesitated, but Bristow urged her to follow Mrs. Ling, Murray, Dodson the chauffeur, and the sketch artist into the kitchen. The butler gave me a grim nod of encouragement before closing the door.

I took Sally’s hand. “It can be difficult to think when you’re afraid.”

She teased a wet handkerchief between her fingers and nodded.

“It’s as if there’s a lot of noise and you can’t hear the person opposite you talking, even though you can see their lips move.”

“Yes, that’s it. I’m trying very hard, Miss Ashe, honest I am. But I can’t recall anything.” The higher her voice rose, the further her mouth curved downward.

Before she started to cry again, I patted her hand. “Take a deep breath and release it slowly.” I kept my voice even, my tone soothing, so there was no evidence of my strained nerves. “Good. Now tell me what fear looks like to you.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“For me, my fear looks like a heavy fog. I hate fog. I hate not being able to see what it’s covering. There could be a vehicle advancing toward me and I wouldn’t know, or a hole in the ground that I might unwittingly step into. I hate the way fog deadens sounds, so that if I screamed, I wouldn’t be heard.”

“Oh, that’s awful.”

“But that’s what my fear looks like. What about yours? Does it look like a snake? Fire? A sharp object?”

“Water. It looks like a gushing flooded river. I can’t swim, see.”

“No wonder you’re afraid of water, then. Now, I’m going to teach you a technique my mother once taught me. It helped me to become less anxious. Close your eyes and picture a river. Can you see the water flowing fast? There’s debris being tossed around in the churning current. The water is muddy. You can’t see the river bottom.”

She shuddered. “I can picture it.”

“Now draw in a deep breath, and this time when you release it, picture all that water flowing out with the breath. Blow out all the air in your lungs until you have no more breath left in you. Only then will all the flooded water be gone.”

She did as directed, releasing her breath at a measured pace until her chest deflated.

“The river is now just a harmless little brook. The flood has receded, and the water is merely ankle-deep as it trickles over smooth pebbles. Can you picture that?”

Sally nodded.

“Now open your eyes.”

She sat back and opened her eyes. “I feel better now. Thank you, Miss Ashe.”

“You did very well.” I continued with my gentle tone to keep her calm. “Using the same breathing technique, cast your mind back to when you arrived at the house this morning.”

She drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. “I arrived at five, as I usually do, letting myself in through the service door with my key. I collected my broom and went upstairs to sweep out the entry hall, but as I stood there, I saw a man. It was still dark, but he held a lantern, so I saw him clear enough. He was a big brute of a fellow. I heard his footsteps, but also heard a second set, up ahead on the stairs. I gasped. The brute stopped and looked my way. He must have seen me because he put a finger to his lips then drew it across his throat.” She showed me the gesture using her own finger, then began crying again. “He means to cut me up if I don’t keep quiet, Miss Ashe.”

I put my arm around her shoulders. “Did you carry a lamp or candle?”

She shook her head. “No need. I know my way around every inch of this place.”

“Then he can’t have seen you. You said yourself it was still dark. He also held a lantern, which means the light was in his eyes. He heard your gasp and realized someone was there, and that’s why he made the threatening motion, but he didn’t see you . He won’t come for you, because he doesn’t know who saw him.”

She sniffed. “But he knows I work here.”

“But he doesn’t know which member of this household you are.”

“I suppose.”

It was curious that the man didn’t attack when he heard her gasp. He must have been confident his threat would work.

I tightened my grip around her shoulders. “Well done, Sally. You’ve been marvelous so far. Now, can you describe him?”

“Yes! Yes, I remember!” She gave me a tentative smile. Her confidence and her memory had returned now that she didn’t feel as though she was in danger. “He was a large man with a thick neck and broad chest. There was nothing particular about his face, it was just ordinary, but his hair was something I remember. He was bald on the top of his head with stringy blond hair reaching past his collar. He could have plaited it, it was that long.”

It was a distinctive feature, but I knew no one fitting the description. None of Thurlow’s men had hair like that. “You said there was another fellow.”

“He was already up the stairs when I arrived. I never saw him but I heard his footsteps. After the first man threatened me, I retreated downstairs to the kitchen and stayed there until the Bristows came.”

“Did you hear any other sounds?”

“No. Not even their footsteps. The basement is a long way below Mr. Glass’s bedchamber”

“Will you speak to the police artist now? He’ll draw your description of the man, which the police will then use to help identify him.”

“All right.”

I stood, but Sally caught my arm.

“I thought they were burglars,” she said. “I thought they’d take some valuables and leave. I didn’t know they were kidnapping Mr. Glass.” Her face crumpled. “I didn’t find out until Mr. Bailey and Miss Willie came into the kitchen, looking for him. I’m real sorry, Miss Ashe. I hope the police find him.”

“They will, Sally. They will.” I repeated myself for my own benefit rather than hers.

I opened the door that led to the kitchen to see Willie and Alex standing with the servants. Alex embraced me, but Willie crossed her arms and glared. She didn’t need to speak for me to know she blamed me. She spoke anyway. Indeed, it was more of a shout.

“This is your fault!” She lunged toward me, her finger pointed at my face.

Alex caught her before she got too close. “Calm down. This is not Sylvia’s fault. It’s Thurlow’s.”

“It’s hers and her low-down cur of a father’s. If she hadn’t brought Hendry into Gabe’s life, none of this would have happened.”

“Why would Melville kidnap Gabe?” I asked.

“Because he’s mad!”

Alex had clearly heard this argument before. He simply rolled his eyes. “Stop carrying on, Willie. Hysteria won’t get Gabe back.”

Willie’s nostrils flared and the muscles in her jaw hardened. If I hadn’t seen the tears in her eyes before she turned away, I would have thought she was too angry to snap back at him. But I suspected her sudden silence was due to her attempt at containing her rampant emotions. She wouldn’t want to cry in front of others.

I swallowed the lump forming in my throat and addressed the artist. “Sally’s memory has returned. She’ll describe one of the men to you.”

Willie whipped back around. She went to follow him.

I grabbed her arm, halting her. “Not you. Sally needs to feel safe.”

“I ain’t going to hurt her!”

Alex closed the door and blocked it, arms crossed over his chest. “You can scare the moustache off a grown man without even trying.”

Willie sniffed then wiped her nose on her sleeve. With a humph , she leaned against the central bench.

Mrs. Ling and Mrs. Bristow worked around her. Dodson left while Murray returned upstairs to make himself available to the police.

Bristow laid a gentle hand on his wife’s shoulder. “You don’t have to work at a time like this. Nor you, Mrs. Ling. No one feels like eating.”

“I have to work,” Mrs. Bristow said without looking up from the kettle she was placing on the stove. “I need to keep busy.”

Mrs. Ling removed a jar of flour from a shelf. “As do I. I will bake something for the policemen.”

The idea of keeping busy appealed to me. I offered to help, and Mrs. Ling handed me a spare apron then set me the task of mixing.

When I caught Willie watching me, she humphed again and presented me with her back.

It felt like an interminably long time, but the artist finally emerged from the adjoining room.

Willie pounced on him. “Show me!”

He turned the sketchbook around. She studied the image of the man’s face then shook her head. Alex peered over her shoulder. He tugged on his lower lip, frowning, but didn’t say anything.

The artist took the sketch upstairs to give to Cyclops. Willie and Alex followed.

I removed the apron and handed it to Mrs. Ling, then I sought out Sally. She still sat at the table, dabbing the handkerchief to her swollen eyes. “Thank you, Sally. You’ve been a great help.”

“You will find him, won’t you, Miss Ashe?”

I managed a smile and a nod, but she didn’t look convinced.

Bristow followed me up the stairs. Before we emerged into the entrance hall, he withdrew something from his pocket and pressed it into my hand. “You may want this back.”

I hesitated, then took it. “Thank you, Bristow.” I tucked my farewell note to Gabe into my skirt pocket.

We found Cyclops in the library, studying the artist’s sketch. The proximity of so many books comforted me a little, as paper in all its forms did, but the effect didn’t last long. The anxiety of those present was infectious.

Alex paced the floor, while Willie stared out of the window. Cyclops dismissed the artist and asked Bristow to leave us, too, and to close the door.

“Well?” Willie asked once we were alone. “Recognize him?”

Cyclops shook his head.

“Damn it. Nor do I.”

Cyclops watched his son pacing back and forth. “You do, don’t you, Alex?”

Alex stopped. “I think so.”

Willie strode up to him and poked him in the chest. “Why didn’t you say so in the kitchen?”

“Because I can’t recall where I’ve seen him.”

“At the racetrack? Is he one of Thurlow’s men?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Think!”

“I’m trying.” Alex scrubbed a hand down his face. “I haven’t seen him recently. A few years ago, perhaps.”

“When you worked for the police? Or in the war?”

“Stop pestering me. It’s not helping.”

“A good slap might knock something back into place,” she muttered.

“Try it,” he dared her.

She merely crossed her arms.

I addressed Cyclops. “Did your men find anything upstairs?”

“A cloth that had been soaked in chloroform,” he said. “That explains why Gabe didn’t fight back. When they dragged him off the bed, the bedclothes fell on the floor. The two men must have then carried him between them downstairs. If Sally saw them arrive, then it happened a little after five.”

Which meant Gabe was already gone by the time I left my note with Bristow.

I pressed a hand to my chest as my heart pinched.

Cyclops dipped his head to peer at me. “It must be Thurlow, given what he did to you.”

“What did he do?” Alex asked.

“He kidnapped her.”

“What?” Alex exploded. “Are you all right, Sylvia?”

Even Willie looked concerned, although it only lasted for as long as it took me to reassure them I was fine.

“I escaped using my paper magic.”

She grunted. “So, you can wield deadly paper now, too.”

“I learned the spell from the Hendry family journal.”

“That’s your man, Cyclops. You find Hendry, you find Gabe. I reckon the intruder Sally saw was a hired thug Hendry found in some register of henchmen that madmen share among themselves. Alex probably arrested him once, back when he worked for the Met.”

“You’re ridiculous, Willie.” Alex turned to me. “Tell us about your abduction and escape.”

I detailed my evening for them, including my visit to Cyclops after my escape and handing over Bertie to Mr. Jakes. “Speaking of Jakes, we can’t discount him as a suspect in Gabe’s kidnapping. His interest in bringing the Hobsons to justice over their failed boots doesn’t negate his interest in learning more about mutated magic, and Gabe’s magic in particular.”

Alex wasn’t so sure. “Thurlow has to be the top of our list now. He already committed one abduction.”

“I doubt it’s him. Not only is the man Sally described not one of the men guarding me last night, Thurlow slipped a note under the front door here for Gabe, informing him that I was his prisoner. He was using me to lure Gabe out of the house.”

“Perhaps he didn’t get around to leaving the note before you escaped and decided he had to strike immediately once you did. He could have collected a new henchman along the way.” He indicated the sketch.

I withdrew two notes from my pocket. “I brought a message here as soon as I got away. I gave it to Bristow and exchanged it for the one that had been slipped under the door overnight.” I showed him Thurlow’s note. “When Gabe was abducted, I hadn’t escaped yet, although I did shortly after. I don’t think Thurlow had time to get back to the house where I was being held after abducting Gabe, but if he did…why go back at all? And what was the point of using me to lure Gabe if he planned on abducting Gabe anyway? Why bother to leave a note for him? It doesn’t make sense.”

Alex shrugged. “Thurlow may have simply changed his mind.”

Willie wagged a finger at me. “I doubt he did. I think Sylvia’s right. So that leaves Hendry.”

“Jakes,” I countered.

Cyclops rubbed the back of his neck but didn’t offer an opinion. Alex watched his father through eyes narrowed to slits. Something passed between them. Something that made them both even more grim.

Willie hadn’t noticed. “What did you say to Gabe in your message?” she asked me.

“It doesn’t matter now.”

“Course it matters. It might be relevant.”

Alex saved me from answering. “I can’t stand around here doing nothing. I’m going to hunt for Thurlow. Even if he’s not responsible for Gabe’s abduction, he is responsible for Sylvia’s. I’d like to punch him.”

“You won’t find him,” Cyclops said. “The house where they kept Sylvia was empty. He will have gone to ground by now. The Hobsons, too.”

That was a surprise. Mrs. Hobson sounded like she was going to place the entire blame on Thurlow. Perhaps Ivy encouraged her mother to flee after Bertie left with me.

“I have to do something,” Alex growled. “I can’t sit around here waiting.” He strode out of the library.

Willie followed him. “I’m coming.”

“As am I,” I said.

I didn’t immediately follow, however. I wanted a quiet word with Cyclops first. “There’s something you’re not telling me. Something Alex has realized, too. What is it?”

He pressed his lips together and I assumed he wouldn’t answer. But he must have decided to trust me. “The front door wasn’t forced, nor was the service entrance or any of the windows.”

“So how did the kidnappers get inside? Who has a key?”

“The Bristows, Sally, Gabe, Alex and Willie. Mrs. Ling, Dodson and Murray don’t, but could have easily taken one and made a copy without anyone knowing.”

My stomach dropped. “You mean…”

“The intruders were either let in or got their hands on a key. Since Willie and Alex are above suspicion, that means the kidnappers had help from someone who works here.”