Finished, Elsie helped Emmeline clear the table until a customer came. She spoke with him—yes, Ogden did do busts, and yes, he was the one from the paper—and organized a few things, placed Ogden’s work orders where he could see them, and set off for the glazier. It was a standard-sized pane the intruder had broken, so she didn’t need to deliver measurements. The glazier would come tomorrow morning to fix the window. And the blacksmith, who also knew locksmithing, would come by that evening to evaluate their security.
“Oh, Miss Camden!” crooned a canary-like voice as Elsie started back home. She knew the voice well; she’d eavesdropped on it many times when she didn’t have a novel reader to occupy her. Now, however, it made her cringe.
Alexandra Wright. And her sister, Rose, right behind her.
Elsie’s body tensed like her bones had turned to vises. She couldn’t recall a single time she’d heard either woman actually say her name, let alone speak to her. Elsie preferred to remain invisible, just as the Cowls did. And right now, she wished to be a cat that could turn tail and clamber up a drainpipe.
Unfortunately, magic did not work that way.
The sisters approached with suspiciously wide smiles and beady eyes. “We’re so dreadfully sorry for the break-in! How horrid! And so fortunate that no one was hurt.”
Elsie glanced down the road, toward the stonemasonry shop. “Not badly, at least,” she said.
“Emmeline was not specific at all, poor thing.” The two exchanged a look that was supposed to appear concerned, but their acting wasn’t up to snuff. “Surely the perpetrator didn’t go through your room as well? How frightening!”
Something hot boiled at the base of Elsie’s throat. “Yes, very. Too frightening to speak of. If you’ll excuse me.”
She pushed past the duo.
“Oh, but Miss Camden! We’re simply trying to console you as any loving neighbor should—”
Elsie kept walking, lengthening her strides until she practically ran. Perhaps it was rude, but she didn’t mind being rude to rude people. They’ll forget me and move on to someone else by next week.
She’d have to warn Emmeline to stay away from them.
Arriving home out of breath, Elsie barely had time to hang up her hat before Emmeline, sleeves rolled to her elbows, popped out of the kitchen and said, “Elsie, I’m to send you to the sitting room as soon as you’re home. We have a guest. He arrived not ten minutes ago!”
“Oh?” She touched the sides of her hair, smoothing down loose strands. “A customer?”
Emmeline shook her head, eyes wide. “He is quite the sight! Straight from the Americas, I’m sure!”
Elsie froze while her stomach slapped against the floor.
When she moved again, it was to bound up the stairs.
Her limbs buzzed with energy as she approached the door to the sitting room, which was slightly ajar. She quickly shook out her skirt and smoothed back her hair. The door hinges squeaked when she entered. Both men in the room looked over, though Bacchus had to turn around in his chair to do so.
A surge of excitement swept through her middle. Bacchus. Here. In her house. He looked so radically out of place Elsie wondered if she’d hit her head fleeing from the Wright sisters and this was the wishful creation of her unconscious mind. She was terrified and gleeful at the same time, similar to how she felt when reading the climax of a good book. Except this was much more visceral. This was real.
What are you doing here? she almost blurted, but the double time of her heartbeat created a blessed disconnect between her thoughts and her mouth.
“Elsie, your good friend Master Kelsey dropped by to see if we were all right,” Ogden explained. “That paper has certainly circulated the news quickly.”
Master. Had it happened already? Cold disappointment tempered the storm in her stomach. But—
He’d come to see if she was all right? Didn’t that mean he cared about her welfare? It wasn’t yet evening—how quickly had he ridden over after hearing the news?
Desperate for a moment to think, she stumbled, “Would you, uh, like some tea?”
“Emmeline’s taking care of it. Come, sit.” Ogden gestured to a chair. He didn’t appear angry, only puzzled. “Master Kelsey says you met in the market?”
Elsie’s gaze flitted like a fledgling sparrow from Bacchus to Ogden, to Bacchus, to the mantel, to Bacchus, and back to the chair he occupied. By the time she reached her own seat, she’d investigated everything in the room, and Master Kelsey a dozen times over. “Yes, when I went to get those paints.” Truth. Her mind spun through everything that was safe to share. She sat. Tried to read Bacchus’s expression, but he was so bloody good at hiding his thoughts all she got was stoic curiosity, if such a thing existed. “You’ve tested, then?”
“It was not so much a test as a formality of my acceptance, but yes.” His English accent was crisp, flawless. His green gaze swept over her quickly. Elsie checked her posture.
In reply she said, “We are generally unharmed, though as you can see, Mr. Ogden took the brunt of the attack.” Ogden’s eye was a nice mix of yellow, red, and violet, and it would only be darker tomorrow. Remembering herself, she added to Ogden, “The blacksmith will be here tonight, the glazier tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” he said.
Turning to Bacchus—it was unreal to have him sitting there, in their sitting room, looking so normal, so present—she asked, “How is the duke? Mr. Ogden, I don’t know if Mr.—Master—Kelsey told you, but he’s staying with the Duke of Kent. Apparently he was good friends with Bacchus’s late father.” She was talking too fast.
Master Kelsey. Master Kelsey. She certainly wouldn’t get used to that. And the more she dwelled on it, the smaller their sitting room seemed, the plainer her dress became, the simpler her life, her interests, and her employment. One word, one title, had done all that.
She hated it.
“He did mention it, yes.”
Emmeline stepped in then, carrying the tea service. She set it down, but Bacchus politely declined, and Elsie waved her cup away, stomach too tight to accept so much as a sip. Ogden, however, took his, sugar and cream and all.
“The duke is unwell,” Bacchus finally answered as Emmeline departed, looking over her shoulder every fourth step. “I often forget how old he is, how mortal.”
“Oh no.” Elsie leaned forward. “Not terribly ill, is he?”
Bacchus shook his head. “A temporal aspector came by, but the duke is seventy already, so he could only do so much. The outlook is rather dim.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.” Ogden set aside his tea. “I imagine you are close to him.”
“Will you stay?” Elsie asked. Then, realizing how pleading the words sounded, she added, “I-In Kent, I mean. For the duke’s convalescence.”
He nodded. “Of course. But I did not come to share my grievances, only to ensure you were dealing well with your own.”
Ogden replied, “Journalists will embellish any story to make it sell. It was a by-the-books failed robbery, I’d say.”
“I agree with you, about the journalists.” Bacchus folded his hands together. His sleeves seemed more fitted, as did the shoulders of his frock coat. Goodness, was it possible for the man to get even larger now that the siphoning spell wasn’t sucking his strength away? “But you are an aspector, and if your attack is related to the other crimes, it could be a serious matter.”