I hoped Matt got more sleep than I did in the few hours of nighttime remaining after we returned home. I tossed and turned, considering what our find meant. While there were a number of possibilities, at least we had a clear focus now—find the woodworking magician.

There was also another issue playing on my mind and banishing much-needed sleep—Matt being forced to marry Patience. What could his uncle possibly have said to back Matt into a corner he couldn't find a way out of?

I managed to fall asleep around dawn, but the house still felt quiet when I awoke. It was only half-past eight, so I spent some time taking my watch apart and putting it back together. It wasn't enough to soothe my nerves, however, so I went in search of a clock. I found Willie, Duke and Cyclops in the dining room, already eating breakfast.

"Sleep soundly?" Cyclops asked.

"Not at all." I poured a cup of coffee and placed a piece of toast on my plate. "Did you three come to a conclusion about the box?"

"Aye." Duke got up and closed the door. "We should ask the Mother Superior if someone at the convent is good with wood."

"Or we show her the box and ask who made it," Willie countered. "If we ask a general question, we might not get the answer we want. What if the magician is hiding their magical ability by making inferior quality things? No, we ask about the box direct and we'll get a direct answer."

Duke shook his head. "She'll get suspicious and won't tell us nothing."

"She don't know who the magician is!"

"We don't know that. She might."

Cyclops picked up his cup and blew on the steaming contents. "They've been like this ever since they got here. I was enjoying a quiet breakfast alone until they arrived."

"What do you think, India?" Duke asked.

"I don't think we should ask the mother superior anything," I said.

"You want to ask one of the other nuns? Someone who won't glare at you with those icy eyes?" He screwed up his nose. "Good idea. She scares me."

"I don't think we should ask any of the nuns, either. There's a chance they'll all close up to protect the woodwork magician, if they realize why we're asking. I have a better idea, but let's wait for Matt to join us before we discuss it."

They grumbled a little but agreed. We lingered in the dining room for a good hour, but Matt did not join us. Willie didn't hide her frustration at having to wait. She huffed, drummed her fingers on the table, and drank copious amounts of tea. Cyclops merely ate, and ate, and ate. There would probably be nothing left for Matt if he didn't come down soon.

I glanced at the door, as I had been doing every minute or so. Should I worry that he wasn't up yet? Usually he would be, but we'd had a late night so it was understandable that he would sleep late

Then again, what if the pain in his chest returned? What if he needed to use his watch but slept on?

I eyed the door, willing it to open.

Willie cracked first. She pushed her chair back and rose. "I'll see if he's awake."

"Let him sleep longer," I said. "He needs it."

"It's getting on to ten. That's seven hours since we got back. That's enough sleep for him."

"Usually," I said and sipped my coffee.

She frowned. "Something you not telling us, India? Something about Matt's health?"

I sipped and considered whether to lie or not.

"You better not be keeping secrets," Duke said darkly. "Not about this."

"India?" Cyclops managed to put a threat into his tone and his one good eye, even though I considered him the gentlest of the three.

"Perhaps we should check," I said, attempting cheerfulness.

The three of them beat me to the door.

"Slow down!" I snapped. "Remain calm or you'll scare Miss Glass and the servants if we come across them. Now," I said, having gained their attention, "we'll sneak into Matt's room and quietly check on him."

Matt did not answer my light knock and Willie wouldn't wait. She opened the door but did not cross the threshold. She was short enough that I could see over her head. What I saw filled me with immeasurable relief. Matt was asleep, not…something worse. He'd opened the watchcase and tied it to his hand with his tie. The watch glowed softly, as did his veins. Too softly for my liking, but it was better than not at all.

I tried to signal to Willie to let him sleep, but he began to stir and opened his eyes. Then his hand whipped out and gripped Willie's arm. She gasped.

"What is it? What's wrong?" he asked, voice gravely.

"Nothing," she said. "We wanted to see if you were…"

"Dead?"

She looked away.

Matt's narrowed gaze focused on me. "What did you tell them?"

"That we're not going to ask about the box at the convent," I said breezily.

His eyes narrowed further. "That's not what I meant."

"I think we should speak with Abigail Pilcher. She has no particular loyalty to the convent and she's a magician. She might be able to tell us who the woodwork magician is. Come along, Matt, up you get and have some breakfast." I hurried out before he had a chance to harden his glare even more.

I heard voices as I descended the staircase, one of them Bristow's, the other belonging to someone I had no wish to see but decided to confront anyway.

"Good morning, Mr. Abercrombie," I said to The Watchmaker's Guild master. "This is a surprise. I didn't think we'd see you here ever again after Eddie Hardacre proved to be a fraud."

"I never trusted him." He sounded smug, as if I ought to be humiliated since I had once trusted Eddie. "There was something not quite right about him. Something low born in his nature that couldn't be eradicated, no matter how good the actor. Of course, I wouldn't expect someone like you to notice."

"You're correct. I didn't notice whatever it is you think distinguished his birth from yours. What I did notice, however, was his sycophantic nature. It made me glad our engagement ended, as I wanted nothing to do with him when that side emerged."

"How good of you to put your morals ahead of your future," he said slickly. "A pity you must now stoop to seeking whatever employment you can find."

I bristled but forced myself to smile. "On the contrary. I like being employed by Mr. Glass. I have independence, financial means, and companionship. I'd say I'm the envy of many women trapped in a loveless marriage. Speaking of marriage, how is Mrs. Abercrombie? Do you still live with both your mother and wife? How lucky for you to have two such strong-minded women to run your household."

His face fell, and I felt a measure of satisfaction, along with a little guilt for my biting remarks. Mr. Abercrombie's wife and mother not only bickered incessantly with each other but with him too. It was why he spent long hours at his shop or the guild hall.

"What're you doing here?" said Willie from the landing. She came down the stairs, flanked by Cyclops and Duke. All three of them scowled.

"He hasn't yet said," I told her.

"Is Mr. Glass in?" Mr. Abercrombie addressed Bristow, not me.

"He is unavailable at present," Bristow said. "May I leave a message, sir?"

"I'll wait. Show me to your drawing room."

"I'm afraid all the reception rooms are being cleaned, sir. I'll let Mr. Glass know you were here."

Mr. Abercrombie looked as if he'd scold Bristow for his impertinence but backed down when Cyclops, Duke and Willie stood behind the butler. None were in good humor and it didn't take a clever man to realize they would not be trifled with today.

"Please inform Mr. Glass that I'd like to have a word with him about Mr. Barratt's latest article in The Weekly Gazette," Mr. Abercrombie said.

"Why not have that word with me?" I asked. "Since I am, after all, the one Mr. Barratt is referring to."

"No." Mr. Abercrombie planted his hat on his head. "I want to speak to Mr. Glass himself."

"Then speak." Matt trotted down the stairs as if he was as healthy as a horse. "What is it you want, Abercrombie?"

Mr. Abercrombie shuffled a little away and presented his shoulder to me. "I want you to consider the implications of employing Miss Steele now that it's clear her magic can be used to extend the magic of others."

The nerve of him! "You are quite the despicable creature," I spat. "You make Eddie look harmless in comparison."

He simply sniffed and lifted his chin. "Do you understand my meaning, Glass?"

Matt strode past him and opened the door. "I am aware of the implications for my household. As to whom I employ, it is none of your business. Good day, Abercrombie. You're not welcome here if you wish to insult my friends, family or staff."

"Insult? No, no, no, Mr. Glass, you misunderstand. I have your best interests at heart. Your loyalty blinds you to the possibilities. Think on it. Not only will she become a target for other magicians, but she'll be considered a person of interest to the government, too. Do you think they want someone walking the streets who can potentially extend someone's life? Isn't that what her grandfather was trying to do with that doctor magician? The authorities will want her for themselves, Mr. Glass. So if I were you, I'd cut her loose and—"

Matt grabbed Abercrombie's arm so hard that Abercrombie squeaked. Matt shoved him through the door and slammed it in his face. "I'm going to have breakfast," he said, dusting off his hands. "India, will you join me?"

"I, er, that is…yes. Thank you. I could do with a strong cup of tea."

We did not speak about Abercrombie, or what he'd said, but of the box and what it meant. The brisk conversation allowed me to shut Abercrombie's words out of my mind, though only briefly. While Matt spoke to his aunt alone in her rooms before we left, and I waited for him in the entrance hall, I could think of nothing else. Abercrombie could not possibly be right. To think the government would be interested in something that I could potentially do but hadn't proven possible, was ludicrous. He was scaremongering in an attempt to alienate me from my friends and employment. It was his newest scheme to ruin me.

And it wouldn't work.

Matt took longer than I expected. After seven long minutes, he still hadn't come down. The coach waited outside, and Bristow hovered nearby to see us off. I was about to see what kept him when Mrs. Bristow, the housekeeper, emerged from the back of the house.

"Excuse me, Miss Steele," she said. "There's a man here to see you. He's waiting in the kitchen."

"To see me? Why?"

"I couldn't say, miss."

"Show him to the drawing room, Mrs. Bristow."

"The drawing room!" The Bristows exchanged glances. "But miss, he's wearing workman's boots." Poor Mrs. Bristow spoke as if workman's boots were made by the devil himself. "He can't wear them into the drawing room. They're filthy."

"I can't speak to a guest in the service area, Mrs. Bristow. This man deserves to be received in the drawing room, just like anyone else. Please show him up."

The Bristows exchanged another speaking glance then Mrs. Bristow disappeared back to the services stairs. I waited for the man with the dirty boots in the drawing room.

Peter the footman escorted in a shoeless man holding his cap in his hand. He couldn't have been more than twenty, with a mass of dark blond hair that curled around his ears and cascaded over his forehead to meet his eyebrows. He dipped his head and smiled tentatively. Peter introduced him as Mr. Bunn before standing by the door with Bristow. They must suspect the young man would run off with the silver.

"Where are your shoes, Mr. Bunn?" I asked.

"Kitchen, ma'am. The housekeeper made me take 'em off before coming upstairs. I didn't want to argue with her."

"Very wise," Bristow intoned.

"I see," I said. "How can I help you?"

"I'm a leather worker, ma'am." He cocked his head to the side and studied me to see what impact his words had.

I made sure not to bat an eye even though my heart sank. I had expected this, but not yet. The article had only been published the evening before.

"Fossett, please leave us," I said, using Peter's surname as was the proper way in the presence of company. "Bristow, you will stay." Although I was certain all the servants knew about my magic now, after reading the papers, I did not want to be the latest downstairs gossip. Bristow would be more discreet.

"You're a magician," I said when Peter closed the door behind him.

"Yes, ma'am." Mr. Bunn screwed the cap tightly in his hands.

"How did you find me?"

"A friend pours drinks at the Cross Keys on High Holborn. Your grandfather used to be a regular there, and my friend remembers when you and Mr. Glass came looking for him. Mr. Glass gave his address to my friend to send your grandfather this way. Course, he didn't know he was a magician 'til later, when he read it in the papers."

"I see. And what do you want from me, Mr. Bunn?"

"I want to start my own shoe factory. I'll make men's shoes first then introduce women's when I've got enough capital. I've experimented using my magic on the leather and it makes the shoes sturdier and last longer, but only for six months. Then they wear out, just like any other shoe." His speech became faster as he became more comfortable expressing his idea. His enthusiasm couldn't be faulted. "I wanted to ask you to use your magic to extend mine, Miss Steele."

"I'm afraid that's not possible, Mr. Bunn."

"Course it's possible. I read about it in the Gazette. You're a time magician, aren't you? The granddaughter of the fellow what tried to extend a doctor magician's magic?"

I rubbed my forehead. I'd been a fool to speak to this man. Next time a stranger asked to see me, I'd find out his profession first. Any craftsmen would be sent on their way without an interview.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Bunn, but you've wasted your time. I cannot do as you ask."

I nodded at Bristow and he opened the door. I was glad to see Peter waiting just outside.

"But ma'am!" Mr. Bunn advanced toward me and I stood quickly. In my panic, I skirted the sofa, putting it between him and me. He stopped and had the decency to look ashamed. "You have to try, ma'am," he went on, with a softer voice that was no less earnest. "I know you can extend my magic. I know it!"

"Bristow, will you see that Mr. Bunn is reunited with his boots in the kitchen."

Bristow and Peter took one each of Mr. Bunn's arms and marched him toward the door.

"I'll give you a share of the profits!" Mr. Bunn cried over his shoulder. "Sixty-forty! That's more than fair."

His voice grew further away as he continued making me offers to partner with him. I flopped onto the sofa with a sigh.

"India?" Cyclops came racing in, followed by Duke and Matt. "Everything all right?"

"Fine," I said, giving them a smile.

"You seem rattled," Matt said, eyeing me closely. "Who was that and what did he want?"

"He was a leather magician. He wanted me to extend his magic so he could manufacture better shoes."

He drew in a deep, measured breath. "So it has begun."

---

The encounter with Mr. Bunn, coming so soon after Mr. Abercrombie's visit, overwhelmed me. I felt like I was being barraged by both disappointing and bad news lately. It was difficult to put on a positive front, but I was determined, for Matt's sake.

He was looking particularly unhealthy as we traveled to Abigail Pilcher's place of work. While his face was as gray and pinched as it usually was of late, there was a self-containment about the way he walked and held himself. It was as if he were holding himself together through sheer force of will. I suspected he was as determined to put on a brave face for me as I was for him.

Who would succumb first?

I felt the slight tremor in his hand as he assisted me from the coach, but did not let on how worried it made me.

We found Abigail in the workroom at Peter Robinson’s. Her supervisor did not appreciate our visit so soon after the last, and Matt had to slip more coins into his palm than last time to convince him to let her speak to us. Abigail was not pleased to see us either.

"What now?" she grumbled once outside in the corridor.

"You weren't the only magician at the convent," Matt said, his charm nowhere in evidence.

A flicker passed through her eyes but she quickly schooled her features. "Why do you say that?"

"We found a wooden object on the convent grounds. It had been infused with magic."

Her gaze met mine then fluttered away. She lifted a shoulder in a shrug.

"I felt its warmth," I told her.

"So? I haven't lived there for years. A new nun might be the magician."

"This box was made years ago." There was no point telling her that Father Antonio, her old lover, had told us he'd seen it when he'd been waiting for her one night. She might close up at the mention of him. "Who made it?" I asked.

"I don't know, and that's the truth." She tugged on a strip of old leather fastened around her neck and pulled out a small crucifix pendant from beneath her clothing. It was made of wood. "This was given to me by the reverend mother when I took my perpetual vows. When I became a full nun, after my novitiate was complete," she explained. "Touch it, Miss Steele."

I did. It was no longer than my little finger and considerably thinner, but the workmanship in the figure of Christ was exquisite. I could make out the hairs in his beard and the thorns in his crown. "It's made from a single piece of wood," I murmured. To carve such detail on a tiny canvas like this would require exceptional skill. Or magic. "It's warm," I told Matt.

"Mother Alfreda gave it to you?" he asked as Abigail tucked the crucifix away.

"Aye, but I don't know who made it. It could have been any of the nuns, or none."

"You never asked?" I said. "Weren't you curious when you felt the magic in it?"

"I wanted to forget I was a magician back then. I'd been brought up to believe it was evil, and I thought dedicating my life to God would cleanse me, cure me. It weren't until I left that I realized how wrong I'd been. So no, I didn't ask. I thought the nun who made it mad for exposing her magic like that. It was a big risk in the convent, a stupid risk. If she wasn't careful, they'd excommunicate her."

Perhaps they had. Perhaps it was Mother Alfreda herself who'd made the crosses and the box, and she'd been discovered, along with the baby magicians, and forced out of the convent in secret. Or worse.

Or perhaps she'd left of her own accord, taking the boys with her when it became clear she couldn't live without her magic. She could have buried their records to obliterate all trace of the boys having been at the convent. She could have taken them to safety and they all lived happily ever after. I liked that notion better.

"Do they still give those crosses to the nuns?" I asked.

"I don't know. I ain't been there for twenty-seven years." She clicked her tongue and glanced over her shoulder. "I have to go. I've got work to do."

We returned to our waiting conveyance on Oxford Street. After Matt gave the coachman orders to drive to the convent, he frowned at something up ahead.

"What is it?" I asked.

He ran off without answering. I leaned as far out of the carriage as I could, clamping my hand down on my hat to stop it blowing away. Up ahead, Matt stopped then returned.

"Did you see Payne?" I asked.

He settled opposite me, wincing as he sat. "I think I saw him about to get out of a hansom, but when he spotted me, he stayed put and the cab drove off."

"So he is following us."

"I think so."

"What do we do now?"

"We go on to the convent. If he follows us, I confront him and render him unable to follow us anymore."

"I see."

He winced again and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sorry, India, that was uncalled for. My baser instincts are getting the better of me at the moment." He did not retract his statement about rendering Payne unable to follow us, however.

Matt got his watch out, closed the curtains, and drew the magic into his body without me having to suggest it. He looked a little better afterward, not quite so tense across the shoulders, but the pallor of his skin remained the same. I didn't mention that. I didn't mention anything about his health, the use of his watch after so short a time, or any other sensitive topic that would see one or both of us becoming upset. That left only the matter at hand.

"Do you think Mother Alfreda was the magician?" I asked.

"I don't know, but I intend to find out today. Someone at the convent knows who made those crucifixes and the box, even if they don't know that person is a magician. It's time we got answers."

"I agree. I think we should ask Sister Clare. She's the one who approached us about the missing mother superior and babies. She's the only one we can be sure is not responsible for their disappearance or know who is."

Unfortunately, Sister Clare did not collect us from the sitting room. A young novice showed us to Mother Frances's office, and Sister Clare was nowhere in sight. The assistant's outer office was empty.

The mother superior greeted us cordially but coolly. "I do hope your visit has nothing to do with searching for that baby, Mr. Glass," she said. "My stance has not changed. I will not divulge personal information to you." She clasped her hands on the desk and offered what I suspected was supposed to be a conciliatory smile, but it came out strained. She looked overbearing and sour, ensconced behind a large bare desk in the austerely furnished room. Despite several flowers blooming in the garden, she did not have a single one on display. In Sister Clare's outer office, I'd counted three vases full of roses and peonies.

"Who makes the small crucifixes you give to your nuns when they take their perpetual vows?" Matt asked.

She blinked rapidly, the question clearly taking her by surprise. "The boys who attend St. Patrick's charity school. They make them in woodwork class. Why?"

"Is that where yours came from?" I asked, nodding at the heavy wooden cross around her neck. While it appeared well made, it was a simple cross, not beautifully detailed like the one worn by Abigail.

"It is."

"What about the crucifixes given to the nuns years ago?" Matt asked. "Before you became Mother Superior?"

"I don't know. It was so long ago."

"You must remember them. They were small and beautifully made."

"I do remember," she said, not bothering to hide her impatience. "I still have mine. But I cannot tell you who made them. Mother Alfreda issued them. When she left, and I became Mother Superior, Father Antonio suggested we get all crucifixes from St. Patrick's to support the charity. Is that all, Mr. Glass? If you don't mind, I have work to do. Of course, I'd be happy to discuss that donation you've been promising the sisters every time you ask them a question."

"Let's be clear," Matt said quietly. "I will not be donating until I find out what happened to Phineas Millroy. But I think you already knew that."

The mother superior's mouth worked but nothing came out. She stood and directed us to the door. "Then I'll ask you to leave without creating a scene and without speaking to anyone else."

"I can't promise that." Matt stood and held out his hand to me.

I took it but kept my gaze on the cross on the wall above the bookshelf. Like Abigail's crucifix, it was beautiful, the carved figure of Christ depicted in superb detail. I let go of Matt's hand and approached the cross.

"What are you doing, Miss Steele?" the mother superior asked.

"It's crooked. Let me straighten it for you." I reached up and touched the wood. It was warm.

My blood throbbed in response. I opened my reticule and pulled out my watch. It gently pulsed too.

"India?" Matt said quietly.

I turned to face him, but I did not have to say anything. He must have read my expression because he looked pleased.

"Reverend Mother, who made this?" I asked, indicating the crucifix.

I heard her grumble from several feet away. "I don't know. It was put there in Mother Alfreda's day."

Then it was time we found someone who did know. "Thank you for your time, Reverend Mother. We'll leave you to your work now."

"You have a plan?" Matt whispered as we headed for the door.

"Yes. We walk slowly through the convent and back outside," I whispered back. "And we hope we come across a nun who can help us."

"It's not much of a plan." He softened the barb with a quirk of his lips. He opened the door and waited for me to go ahead of him.

I entered the outer office and couldn't contain my smile of relief. "Sister Clare. How delightful to see you too."

"Miss Steele, Mr. Glass, it's a pleasure to see you too." Her smile suddenly drooped upon seeing the mother superior behind us.

"Sister Clare has work to do," Mother Frances said briskly. "She hasn't got time for silly questions about crosses."

"Oh, but the one on your wall is lovely," I said. "The person who made it should be applauded. Indeed, I think I'd like to commission one just like it."

"If someone from the convent made it," Matt added, "I'll pay handsomely and all the proceeds will remain here. You cannot object to that, Reverend Mother."

Her eyes flashed. I suspected she didn't want us to find out the maker just so she could win. I doubted she was keeping the information from us for any other reason except sheer stubbornness. She had something against us but not necessarily against us knowing the truth.

"Nobody remembers," she snapped.

"I do," Sister Clare said.

"Who?" Matt and I blurted out.

"Sister Bernadette."

"The Irish nun who does the maintenance work?" I looked at Matt and smiled. He smiled back.

We had our magician woodworker. It made sense. All the pieces fitted together. Sister Bernadette was good at fixing things and knew how to use tools. She also did not want her friend, Sister Margaret, to talk to us about the disappearance of the babies and Mother Alfreda.

She had also been present when the large wooden crucifix fell off the wall and nearly hit me in the meeting room. She had made that cross move, just like my magic made clocks and watches I'd worked on move to save my life. Her magic must be strong indeed. Too strong for us to confront her. We couldn't risk another wooden object flying at us.

But Matt was already striding off, his broad shoulders set. He was determined to get answers today. I could only trail along in his wake.