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dvance the spark,
Jane told herself, as Lambert cranked the engine into a coughing roar.
Retard the petrol lover. Just take it easy.
It would be too embarrassing to flood the motor with Fell and Lambert right there as witnesses to her mechanical lapse. Two cups of hot sweet tea had banished the worst of her headache, but remnants were still there to remind her not to overdo things.
Lambert clambered into the passenger seat and Jane checked to make sure Fell was comfortably ensconced in the backseat before she pulled out. There was something peculiar about Fell's devotion to his studies. The aggravating man didn't even seem curious about the intruder's motives. Fell had been annoyed at the interruption, no more. Annoyed
to be caught on his furtive way out of Glasscastle too, Jane thought.
“Mind the rain barrel,” said Fell.
Jane negotiated the domestic obstacles between Robert's carriage house and the street and set forth across town to the police station. Where had Fell been headed with luggage in hand? Somewhere he could pursue his studies in peace, no doubt. Jane fought the urge to grind her teeth in frustration with him. It would only encourage her headache to return.
Perhaps she should have let Fell go through the gate unchallenged, let him take Lambert and go on his merry way. She could have followed them. Lambert was sharp-eyed, no question, but Jane knew ways to make herself utterly unobtrusive, even in London.
Jane winced at the thought. She had left what she devoutly hoped was a sufficiently diplomatic note to warn Amy that there might be two guests for lunch, or she might not be back for lunch at all, and she couldn't honestly guess which was more likely. Consigning this message to the maid with all the trepidation such misbehavior warranted, Jane had led the way to the Minotaur without daring a look back.
Fell leaned forward to speak sharply in Jane's ear. “There's a pony cart. You do see that pony cart?”
With what sounded like studied casualness, Lambert added, “Plenty of traffic out today.”
Jane corrected her course to allow for the sudden indecision of a nanny pushing a perambulator. “Don't worry.” It
would have been nice, Jane reflected as she ran the gauntlet of blind, deaf, and generally heedless bicyclists all along Haycock Street, to have had a good look at the bowler hat the intruder had worn. There was no time for such luxuries before they reached the police station. But it would have been amusing and instructive. Jane promised herself the treat later, as soon as she'd had a chance to talk Lambert into bringing her the hat. They could test the invisibility cantrip at the gate and find out if it worked for anyone. Jane was almost positive that it was a cantrip that would only work for one person, but it would be worth the effort to find out for certain.
If the cantrip was designed to work only for the intruder, what would it take to convert the spell to something that would work for Jane? Very handy it would be, Jane thought, to have the power to come and go freely at Glasscastle. Worth quite a bit of trouble.
What if the same style of cantrip worked to circumvent the wards set to prevent intruders at Greenlaw? Unlikely, but a possibility. If Glasscastle could be clandestinely invaded, nowhere was truly safe.
Jane turned down the street that held Glasscastle's police station. It was easy to find a spot for the Minotaur, as the road was nearly deserted, barren but for a few horse droppings. She had seldom seen a more dismal urban prospect. The police station was liver-colored brick, lavishly gabled on both ends and in the middle. The mere look of the place gave new life to her headache. While Lambert and Fell clambered out of the motor car, Jane took a moment to collect
herself. The sooner she found out what the intruder had wanted with Fell, the sooner she could leave this beastly place. Jane squared her shoulders. There was plenty of interesting work to be done. First things first. She would start with a spot of interrogation.
“O if thou have hid them in some flowery cave,
Tell me but where”
T
o Lambert, the Glasscastle police station seemed surprisingly modern. The architecture was centuries newer than Glasscastle University itself, and aspired to a hygienic, if utilitarian, philosophy of design. Ceilings were plain white and of uniform height. Though clean, the floors were oddly slippery underfoot. Fresh paint was lavished everywhere,n but it was all in shades of muted brown, drab yellow, and pea-soup green. Despite its evident newness, the place somehow managed to smell old, a compound of boiled cabbage and institutional soap.
Porteous was there ahead of them. “Ah, Fell. The Provosts are meeting with Voysey, something about a memorandum from Lord Fyvie. They have delegated me to come see about this. I've asked that the chap be charged with trespassing. It's a start, at least.”
Lambert glanced at Fell, prepared for the list of charges
against the intruder to grow much longer. Fell said nothing. Lambert was surprised by his silence but not by the look of mulish resolve on Fell's face.
“May we speak with the man?” Jane sounded crisp and businesslike.
“Why?” Porteous countered. “Thoroughly bad hat, it seems to me. Remarkable work, capturing himâI'm not clear on how you managed it.” He gazed fixedly at Jane, who stared back impassively.
“We would like to question the man if possible,” said Fell.
“If you can't grant our request, please tell me whose authority will suffice. I'm sure Voysey will lodge the petition for me if you force me to disturb him.”
“No need to go over my head.” Porteous's wide eyes bulged with indignation. “Are you sure all you want to do is question him? He's
been
questioned. Bloke won't say a word. Not a syllable. In fact, they're not even sure he
can
speak.”
“He can swear. I'll vouch for that.” Jane's half smile softened her voice as well as her expression.
“Oh, he can speak.” Fell looked grim. “Please arrange it.” Fell had to ask several more people several more times, but eventually they were shown into a room almost filled by the table in the center and the chairs surrounding it. The man in the bowler hat, now handcuffed and bareheaded, sat at the table looking placid. Porteous and police officials sat in some of the chairs. A solicitor sat in another. Lambert, Fell, and Jane took the chairs that were left. After the scraping of chair legs on the tile floor subsided, the room was oddly quiet, given the number of people it held. The room was
close and warm, and as the one small window high up on the wall was shaded, it was dimly lit as well.
Lambert found himself listening for any sound at all. From beyond their room, muffled by the closed door, he could hear heavy footsteps, a distant bell ringing, and the sound of someone laughing not far off. Lambert wondered what anyone had to laugh about in a place like this. The few noises dwindled and diminished, then trailed off into silence. Belatedly, Lambert noticed that almost everyone in the room had fallen asleep.
Fell was sitting completely still, but the intense interest in his expression assured Lambert that he was entirely alert. Jane was serene, gazing with tranquil kindness at the captive. Everyone else at the table, including Porteous, whose mouth was slightly open, was asleep sitting up. The man without a bowler hat snored very gently where he sat.
Fell caught Lambert's eye and raised a finger to his lips to hush him. To Lambert's surprise, it was Jane who spoke, her voice scarcely a whisper. Lambert could not make out the words at first. They didn't sound like any kind of English Lambert had ever heard. But as the warmth and silence in the room increased, Jane slowed, and Lambert began to understand what she was saying.
“Tell us who sent you. Tell us who you are. Tell us who gave you the cantrip I took from you. Tell us where you were to take Fell. Tell us everything you can, sir, tell us all and all.”
The words whispered like silk in the wind, until Lambert's vision began to blur. He thought he would close his eyes a moment, just to ease them while he listened to Jane's
murmur. A hand clamped his wrist. With a start Lambert sat up in his chair. Fell shook Lambert's arm gently, just enough to be sure he was roused from the drowsiness of Jane's soft litany.
Lambert stared at Jane. Though the words came softly and evenly, her breathing was labored and her face was flushed. It was as if she'd been running for miles when all the while she'd been sitting there serenely. Her temples were damp and as Lambert watched, a tiny rivulet of sweat trickled from her hairline. At last, with visible effort, she produced a pencil and small notebook from her reticule. Still whispering, she tore a leaf from the notebook, put it down before the captive, and folded the man's limp fingers around the pencil. She kept her hand over his, as if too fond of him to let him go.
The rhythm of Jane's whisper changed. It was back to the unfamiliar language, whatever it was. As her effort intensified, her voice dropped until there was hardly any sound, only the movement of her lips.
With a convulsive shudder, the captive's hand moved, jerking the point of the pencil against the ragged sheet of paper. The paper slid a little too, and without a thought, Lambert put out his hand to hold the paper still. Another twitch, and the pencil moved across the page. One word: “Ludlow.” Then the pencil dropped from limp fingers and rolled a few inches across the tabletop.
Jane fell silent as she released the man. Her hands went to her temples and pressed there, as if by pressing she might keep her head from flying into pieces. Fell seized the pencil and paper and tucked them away.
Lambert sat back, marveling as the small sounds from outside gradually returned and the warmth in the room diminished little by little. For another moment or two, the quiet in the room held. Then the sleepers stirred and woke, seemingly unaware that any time had passed, still less that anything untoward had occurred.
For form's sake, Fell asked the captive who he was and who he worked for, a simulation of the questioning that Jane had conducted by stealth. The man kept up his silence. By no change of expression, however slight, did he betray that he even heard the questions.
“This is a ridiculous waste of time,” Porteous announced at last. “The man's incorrigible.”
“The only charge against him is trespassing,” said the man's solicitor. “Unless you wish to accuse him of something more substantial, I think our course of action is perfectly routine.”
When Fell said nothing, Porteous gestured to the policemen flanking the intruder. “Take him away. I'll finish the paperwork. We'll let the judge decide what's to be done with him after that.”
Fell led the way out of the police station, Jane at his heels. Lambert followed. On the steps outside, Jane swayed for a moment and looked around as if bewildered. The color in her face was gone, replaced by a chalky pallor.
Lambert moved fast, tucked his hand under her elbow, and took her weight as she leaned heavily against him. “I've got you,” Lambert murmured. “Take it easy.”
At the foot of the steps, Fell noticed he was alone, looked back, and asked, “Admiring the view?”
“Just hold on a minute,” Lambert called. “Some kind of dizzy spell, I think. She needs to take it easy for a minute.”
“I'm fine.” Jane didn't sound sure about it. She leaned on Lambert as if she needed to gather all her strength before she made the effort of going down the stairs.
“Headache?” Fell guessed. “I'm not surprised.”
“Do you need a doctor?” Lambert demanded. He didn't like the way Jane's gaze seemed to wander.
“No, it's nothing.” Jane covered her eyes with her hand. “I just overdid things a bit. It happens sometimes.”
“You're not driving,” Lambert stated. To Fell, he called, “Flag down a cab, will you?”
“What about Robin's motor car?” Jane asked. She descended the steps without mishap, but her lack of protest told Lambert all he needed to know about her state.
“If the police can't look out for one motor car, what good are they?” Lambert asked. “It will be safe here until you're ready to collect it.”
Fell summoned a hansom cab and the three of them bundled themselves in for the ride back to the Brailsford house. When they arrived, Amy Brailsford was at the door to greet them.
“Jane, what's happened? You look like a ghost.”
“I'm fine. Truly.” Some of her color was back, but Jane still spoke as if it were an effort to get out more than a few words at a time.
Amy's alarm was clear. “You're not. Mr. Lambert, Mr. Fell, I do thank you for seeing Jane home. Jane, I insist you go to your room. You must lie down while I send for the doctor.”
“No. I don't need a doctor.” Jane held her sister-in-law off. “I'm fine. Truly. I just need a moment. I don't need to lie down. Really.”
“Don't listen to her,” Lambert told Amy. “She needs to rest.”
Jane shook off their support. “Nonsense. I need to talk to Mr. Fell and Mr. Lambert.”
Amy relented. “Are you certain you're all right?”
“I'm fine.” This time Jane sounded quite sure about that. She gestured toward Lambert and Fell. “Whatever happens, don't let those two out of your sight. They were doing a bunk when I caught them at the great gate. Let them go now and we may never find out what's afoot.”
Judging from the sudden gleam in her eyes, that struck a chord with Amy. “If you don't wish to go to your room, you needn't.” Amy swept them all before her into the parlor and rang for the maid. “We will all have a nice cup of tea and then you may question anyone you please, Jane.”
Lambert began to feel as if he'd been sentenced to drink tea in the Brailsford parlor for all eternity. The sunlight on the Oriental rug, the aspidistra in its brass pot, and the daintily appointed tea table were all too hideously familiar. What he'd give for some bread and cheese and a couple of pints of bitter. Glumly, he took the place Amy assigned him and composed himself to wait for the ritual to begin again.
“Unless you haven't eaten?” Amy interrupted her orders to the maid to ask. A single comprehensive glance at the three of them gave her the answer. “Good gracious, why didn't you say something? Lunch you require and lunch you
shall have. Wait here while I have a word with Cook. I'll be back in a moment.”
“Amy's feeling better.” Jane took off her hat and subsided into the corner of the settee where her sister-in-law had left her. “That's something.”
“What about you?” Lambert asked.
“Oh, I'm fine.” To Lambert, Jane still seemed too pale, but her dour expression made it clear she intended to ignore her discomfort.
“Of course you are,” said Lambert, with the gentle air of one humoring the insane.
Fell gave Jane a look combining reproach and severity. “That was quite an exhibition, young woman. Do you make a habit of such conduct?”
“You mean the way she mesmerized everyone but us?” Lambert asked.
“Us?” Jane's smile was wobbly but genuine. “I like that. If it hadn't been for Mr. Fell waking you, you'd have slept through it yourself.”
“It was a reckless expenditure of power,” said Fell. “If you'd faltered a few minutes earlier, there would have been some awkward questions to answer.”
“He held out longer than I thought he would. It would have been easier to question the man in privacy, before the authorities arrested him,” Jane admitted. “This was the best I could manage under the circumstances. At least we have something to show for our pains.”
“Your pains,” Lambert reminded her.
“This won't last long,” Jane assured him. “The hardest
part was keeping all those other parties asleep without letting them know I'd done it.”
“I'm not surprised that turnip Porteous went under so easily,” said Fell, “but I would have expected a bit more vigilance from the constabulary. Don't try anything of that sort again. They are certain to notice your work eventually.”
“If any awkward questions are asked, I'll be happy to explain my misdeeds.” In a more acid tone, Jane added, “Should it ever occur to them I could possibly be the one responsible.”
Â
T
he Brailsford dining room was not quite as familiar to Lambert as the parlor, but he'd been there several times, though never for such a simple meal. The table setting was as fancy as ever. Only the menu betrayed the suddenness of the invitation. They began with a clear soup served in very small portions so there was just enough to go around. The next course was an omelette stuffed with mushrooms and chickenâexactly enough chicken for two if it had been presented in chicken divan. After that came sandwiches, surprisingly simple ones, in great abundance. Something about eating sandwiches melted their reserve.