Elsie had let him get too close. Any closer, and he was liable to discover whatever it was that turned people away from her, that marked her as forgettable, unwanted, unlovable. Alfred had found it, as had her mother and her father, her siblings. With his spell gone, Ogden would likely discover it soon enough, too.
“Oh, Elsie,” Emmeline said, reaching for her, “I didn’t mean anything by it. I was curious, is all.”
Snapping to attention, Elsie bucked up and pasted on a smile. “Oh no, Emmeline. I’m not bothered at all. I was just thinking about the last novel reader we had, and how it seemed so hopeless for the baron at the end.”
Emmeline nodded. She appeared to believe her, but Elsie wasn’t sure. “Only one left in that story. Oh, it should be here any day now!” Emmeline snatched a teacup and filled it, handing it to Ogden, who added far too much sugar and cream, as usual.
In truth, Elsie had completely forgotten about her novel reader schedule. Was it that time again already?
She pressed the tines of her fork to her pie. It did smell good, which helped unwind the knots in her stomach. The utensil cut easily through the crust—Emmeline had baked it perfectly. Elsie couldn’t remember the last time she’d made a pie herself . . . last summer, perhaps? When Emmeline had rolled her ankle. It had been perfectly edible, but it hadn’t looked or smelled nearly this good.
Elsie slid the morsel into her mouth. The meat was almost too hot, but the buttery flavor eased her tension. She chewed, smiled, and said, “Bless you, Emmeline, this is—”
A firm knock sounded at the front door.
Elsie nearly dropped the fork. The telegram beneath her leg burned like an ember. Had Bacchus meant today? Perhaps the telegram had come yesterday and Emmeline had forgotten about it? Her body knotted up again, muscles straining, bones near to crunching. She touched her hair. He could join them for lunch. That would give her a moment to get her thoughts together . . .
Emmeline, who’d been about to sit down, said, “I’ll answer it,” and hurried from the dining room into the workshop, which occupied the front of the house. Elsie couldn’t see her, but she paused, listening—and then stiffened.
Like a feather across her skin, she felt the birth of a rational spell. But the rune wasn’t directed toward her. No, Ogden had leaned back in his chair, his attention focused on the front of the house. Could he really read a mind from this far away? Or had he cast something else? Elsie was the least experienced with rational spells, so she wouldn’t be able to tell without more practice.
“What are they saying?” she whispered, but Ogden was concentrating, so Elsie stood, tossed her napkin on the table, and went to see for herself. Likely just an order for something chiseled; Elsie had delivered all of Ogden’s finished pieces yesterday, so it wouldn’t be a pickup.
But when Elsie entered the studio, Emmeline glanced back at her with fright in her eyes. Two policemen stood in the doorway, their dark-navy uniforms buttoned up tightly to their chin straps.
“Is that her?” the taller one asked Emmeline, but the maid didn’t answer.
Elsie’s heart lodged into her throat so tightly she could barely talk around it. “Is that who? Might I ask what has given our maid such a fright?”
“Elsie Camden?” the other officer asked.
A chill coursed up her arms, but Elsie stood erect. “I am she.”
The officers glanced at each other before stepping into the house. Only then did Elsie notice there were more beyond the threshold. The taller man lifted a pair of handcuffs. “You’re under arrest for the practice of unregistered spellbreaking. Come with us gently if you’d like to avoid a scene.”
CHAPTER 2
Bacchus Kelsey lifted his eyes to realize everyone was staring at him.
It wasn’t a large party gathered for luncheon, just the family—Isaiah Scott, the Duke of Kent; his wife, Abigail; and his daughters, Ida and Josie. But they all looked at him intently, causing Bacchus to rub his half beard to see if there was food in it.
Fortunately, Duchess Scott clarified their interest before he had to ask. “You’re not even halfway through, dear.”
He glanced down to his plate, to the half-eaten mutton and vegetables staring back up at him. Everyone else’s dishes had already been taken away by the help.
Offering a weak smile, he said, “I suppose I’m lost in thought today.”
Josie perked up. “Not about Miss Camden, is it?”
Duchess Scott frowned. “Josie.”
Bacchus didn’t reply, but she was correct. He had been thinking about Elsie. He’d sent a telegram to Brookley that morning. Brief but to the point. He would have contacted her earlier, but he’d thought it best to wait. Alas, there weren’t any straightforward rules of decorum for how to comfort a lady after she was nearly murdered by her possessed employer. Cuthbert Ogden had still looked unwell when Bacchus had left the hospital in London, and Elsie had appeared little better. She’d told Bacchus everything, and although he believed her, he still struggled to wrap his head around it.
Cuthbert Ogden, behind all the murders and stolen opuses. Except he wasn’t.
So who was?
Bacchus dug his knife into the mutton and finished sawing off the piece he’d been halfheartedly working on for the last couple of minutes. “Just upcoming plans,” he finally said.
“You’re welcome to stay, of course.” The duke leaned his elbows on the table.
“You are very generous, thank you.” Bacchus chewed the mutton, swallowed. Thought. “I should be getting everything arranged this week.” Barbados called to him—he had responsibilities there, friends, employees who depended on him—but he was too anchored in England to want to leave. Anchored by unanswered questions and an unsure future. He didn’t have the same limitations he’d suffered for half his life, for one. That changed things. And then there was the question of how to approach a certain woman—
Baxter, the butler, stepped into the second dining room just then, the sound of the door echoing against the high ceiling. It wasn’t as large as the usual dining room, but that one was still under repairs following Abel Nash’s attack on Bacchus. The attack Elsie had nearly died to stop. And Bacchus was far more skilled at putting holes in floors than repairing them. Even a master physical aspector—a spellmaker who could affect properties of the physical world—could do only so much.
The butler bowed. “I apologize for interrupting, Your Grace, but there’s a visitor in the drawing room for Master Kelsey.”
Meal forgotten, Bacchus stood from his chair, trying not to notice the way Josie lit with excitement. His own pulse quickened. “Who?”
“A Mr. Ogden, from Brookley.”
Bacchus tried to mask his surprise. “He’s alone?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Bacchus glanced back to the duke, but it was the duchess who waved at him. “Go on. We’ll see you at tea, perhaps?”
Bacchus nodded and followed the butler, nearly mowing him over on their way to the drawing room. When Baxter opened the door, Cuthbert Ogden turned from the window, dressed modestly but with finesse, his hair combed back. He was a stout man, solid, his color fully returned. He was a few inches shorter than Bacchus and had his hands clasped behind his back.
He smiled. “Ah, Master Kelsey. I was hoping to discuss the ornaments you wanted before your return home.”
Bacchus’s brows drew together. “Orna—”
<Play along, if you would.>
Bacchus nearly choked on his question as Mr. Ogden’s voice inserted itself into his mind. Gooseflesh rose on his arms. It was true, then. This man was a rational aspector, a magician of the mind. Something Elsie had uncovered during their chase through the St. Katharine Docks.