The duchess gave her youngest daughter a pointed look, and Josie dropped her attention to her meal.
“Just in the market.” Elsie tried to recall what she’d told Emmeline. “I was . . . having some trouble with a door. Mr. Kelsey graciously aided me.”
His lips quirked at the near truth.
“Oh yes.” Master Merton nodded enthusiastically. “The days are getting hotter and more humid. The wood swells right up! But you know a spell for that, don’t you, Mr. Kelsey?”
Mr. Kelsey set down his fork. “I do, but I’ll not be enchanting another’s door. More often than not, a firm push will do well enough.”
“So pragmatic,” the duchess chimed. She dotted her lips with a napkin. “All that talk of music. Josie, you’ll play for us after dinner, yes?”
“Of course!” she replied.
“I—” Elsie began, but her mind proved stubborn in fathoming an excuse. She could stay up a little later tonight to finish her work for Ogden, couldn’t she? No doubt he’d have a list for her after another long day at the squire’s. He had seemed so harried earlier. Not like himself.
“Miss Camden is not local, and it grows late,” Mr. Kelsey said. Elsie wasn’t sure if she should bless him or be offended that he wanted her gone so quickly. “It’d be best if she departed.” Then, catching himself, he added, “but I would enjoy your music, Miss Josie.”
Josie grinned.
“Oh dear, yes. I’m sure your escort is waiting,” said the duchess.
Elsie forbade her cheeks to blush. They nearly listened. “Yes, she’ll be here any moment.” And she’d be charged a premium if the driver had to wait. With all the cabs she’d been hiring, Elsie would be going to the poorhouse soon.
The rest of the meal went smoothly, with Master Merton talking of the excitement of aspecting and the Spiritual Atheneum in London. When the last plates were taken away, Mr. Kelsey forsook his port to escort Elsie to her imagined chauffeur.
The cab wasn’t there.
“I did ask him to return at eleven.” Elsie stood in the gap in the stone wall, wringing her hands. Her voice might have been a touch defensive.
Mr. Kelsey regarded her in a way that made her warm. “You handled yourself well.”
She straightened. “I’m no scullery maid.” Not anymore. “I know etiquette well enough.” Thanks to Ogden and her novel readers. She softened quickly. “Thank you, for protecting my privacy.”
“It’s not difficult; the duke and duchess know their etiquette as well. I have other plans for tomorrow, but we’ll go to the tenants’ land on Thursday. I have a suspicion of some curses.”
“Curses?” Spiritual spells.
“I could very well be wrong.” He rubbed his half beard. “I’ll get you a carriage.”
“Like I said before, it would be best if I do not arrive home in a duke’s carriage.”
“You must have very determined eavesdroppers at home if it concerns you.” He stifled a yawn. Either he was used to turning in early, or Elsie’s conversation was dull.
Obviously it was the former.
They returned to the house, where Elsie waited in the vestibule while Mr. Kelsey obtained the carriage. Elsie wondered how many the duke owned.
When it came around, Mr. Kelsey escorted Elsie to the door, even offering a hand to help her in. His hands were large but not unwieldly. Warm.
She pulled hers free the moment she had her balance.
“Until Thursday.” He nodded and shut the carriage door.
The horses jerked forward, and Elsie gripped the seat to remain upright. Something crinkled under her hand. A piece of paper had been left on the cushion.
She picked it up, just making out the bird-foot seal in the moonlight.
The Cowls.
CHAPTER 9
Bacchus had heard of the increased homicides among aspectors in Europe, England in particular, but the security swarming Christie’s Auction House would make Buckingham Palace envious.
A uniformed officer pushed through part of the gathering crowd, waving away pedestrians with frantic arms. Another officer near the door asked for the names of arriving bidders before allowing them entrance.
Rainer, who had braved the crowd while Bacchus waited for the queue to move, reappeared at his side. “Spoke to a footman. There was an attempted theft last night.”
Hence the security—the rumors had some heft to them, then. Apparently, the criminal or criminals at work were just as chuffed to steal the opus of an already deceased aspector as they were to kill a living magical worker. Bacchus peered up toward the auction house’s rectangular windows. “Here?”
Rainer nodded. “They didn’t catch the person, so they’re being careful.”
Interesting. A policeman blew a whistle nearby; it was deafening.
“Move along!” shouted the frustrated officer from before. His eyes landed on Rainer and Bacchus. “Don’t you speak English? Move along.”
Bacchus’s eyebrows drew together. “I believe I’m in the correct line.”
The officer looked genuinely confused. Bacchus tried not to let irritation mark his features—this was just the way of things. He would never be fully accepted into high English society, not with the way he looked.
The sooner he left England, the better. With any luck, he’d get what he needed at this auction. Earn his mastership and book his passage home, the coveted ambulation spell written on his soul.
“This line is for the auction house,” the officer stated dumbly.
“I’m aware,” Bacchus replied.
The officer paused for a moment, then distracted himself with an older couple who had stopped to gawk at the fanfare. “Move along!”
The crowd shifted, and Bacchus finally reached the front of the line. Rainer spoke for him. “Bacchus Kelsey.”
The large man with the ledger eyed them for a moment before scrolling through the paperwork. He drew a line across the page with a pencil. Tipped his head toward his companion.
The second, shorter man said, “Turn out your pockets, please.”
Bacchus gritted his teeth—he didn’t recall those before him being asked to do this—but obliged. He didn’t carry a lot on him, and Rainer had his coin. An exorbitant amount of money saved for years for this very purpose. Money he would have gladly given the Assembly of the London Physical Atheneum were they not pompous hornswogglers.
His belongings were rifled through, and Bacchus kept his eyes on each gloved hand, ensuring nothing slipped into the wrong pocket. The officer then instructed Bacchus to lift his arms to be searched.
It was incredibly tempting to put the man in his place. To freeze him with a spell, or turn him green. To reprimand him for not respecting his betters, however much Bacchus hated the very notion. Once he had a title, such things would be easier to evade, but he’d been hesitant to take the master test. Until he did, there was always the chance the assembly members might change their mind and allow him to use the ambulation spell for his advancement rights. A slender chance, to be sure, but a chance, nonetheless. One he hoped he would not need to rely on. Master Bennett’s opus was to be one of the first items up for bid.
So Bacchus submitted silently, and security did its job quickly. His things were returned to him, along with a blue paddle marked 18, denoting him as an aspector. Only those with blue paddles were allowed to bid on magical items. Withholding a sigh, Bacchus proceeded inside.
He took a seat in the middle of the auction room, a large gray-walled space decorated with a few portraits and a tasteful amount of décor, while Rainer waited in the back with the other servants. Bacchus wanted to blend in, but he needed to be sure the auctioneer noticed him. Turning the paddle in his hands, he watched the podium until the auctioneer, his mustache long and graying, stepped up to it.
The first item was a painting of a teapot that went for a surprising amount of money. The second was Master Bennett’s journals, five in total, well worn and engraved. One would think the personal musings of a father would be kept in the family, but if there was any chance Master Bennett had shared a spell or two in those pages, they would be worth a great deal. Unsurprisingly, the bound books went for double the cost of the painting.