"What do you want?" Matt asked Abercrombie on the steps to his house. The front door stood open, and Peter waited to greet us. But Matt was in no mood to invite our visitors in.

Abercrombie's moustache twitched with the pursing of his lips. "Good afternoon, Mr. Glass, Miss Steele. I hoped we could have a civil conversation in private." He glanced at the window of the neighboring house. The curtain fluttered and the elderly man who'd been watching us retreated from view.

"Say your piece out here," Matt snapped. "Then leave."

"I say!" Eddie thrust out his chest and chin. He reminded me of a rooster strutting around his territory. "We only want to talk. Your uncivil manner may be how Americans are with one another, but you're in England now."

"Just get on with it, Eddie," I said before Matt's temper frayed altogether.

"But it's growing dark," Eddie said, as if I were a fool for not noticing. "The lamplighter will come by soon."

"Then you'd best talk quickly if you want privacy." Matt took a step toward him and Eddie shuffled backward. He kept a wary eye on Matt. "Is this about Barratt's article? Because we had nothing to do with it, and I'm not going to discuss it with you. Is that clear?"

"It's not about that." Abercrombie rocked back on his heels, pleased with himself. "Our rebuttal will come soon enough."

"Then get to the point."

"We have reason to suspect you're harboring a criminal."

My heart ground to a halt. Beside me, Matt had gone utterly still. "Pardon?" he said icily.

"We have reason to suspect a man known as Chronos is living here."

How the devil did he know? From Dr. Ritter? If not him then who? Was it the same person who'd attacked Chronos? "That's an odd name," I said, trying hard to look unconcerned.

Abercrombie glanced at Peter who hadn't moved from the doorway. "His real name is Gideon Steele."

I gasped so loudly that even Peter reacted. Perhaps I overplayed it a little. "Your information is incorrect, sir. My grandfather is dead."

"Is he?" he asked idly. "Everyone was told he died, yes, but there's no proof, no record of his death."

It seemed he'd investigated and knew more than we suspected. "I assure you, he's dead. Perhaps the records have been lost. Don't you think I would know if he were alive? Don't you think he would have come to my father's funeral or tried to make contact with me? I can assure you, he has not sought me out." That, at least, was not a lie.

"He wasn't much of a family man, as I recall."

"Come now, India," Eddie soothed. "Admit that he's here. We know he is."

I pressed my hands to my hips. "I'll admit no such thing since it's not true!"

"Why are you making such absurd accusations?" Matt asked. "Why do you think he's alive and here after all this time?"

"He has been sighted," Abercrombie said.

"Sighted where and by whom?"

"I'm not at liberty to divulge that information."

I placed a hand on Matt's arm. The muscle was taut with coiled tension. "Your source is mistaken," I told Abercrombie. "If my grandfather is alive, which I doubt, he is not here."

"You would say that," Eddie said with a smile that was as ugly as his heart. "You're his bloody granddaughter."

"Go away," Matt growled, steering me to the steps.

"You know he was involved in a murder before his apparent death," Eddie said softly, as if he knew his words alone were explosive enough.

"You have a nerve accusing my grandfather of such a thing," I said as levelly as possible.

"Stop pretending, India. I am not a fool. You've been investigating the death of Dr. Millroy and that will naturally lead to his association with Gideon Steele. How far along is your investigation, anyway? Perhaps if we share information, we can both achieve our aims. You find out who killed Dr. Millroy, and we get our hands on your grandfather."

"You're mad," I said. The nerve of him to think we'd tell him anything!

Eddie opened his mouth to speak, but Abercrombie put up his hand. Eddie snapped his mouth shut but he didn't look happy to be silenced.

"Who is accusing India's grandfather of murder?" Matt asked.

"That is none of your concern," Abercrombie said.

"It is if someone is making up accusations. It is when you come here and upset India like this."

Abercrombie gave me an oily smile. "She doesn't look terribly upset."

Matt grabbed Abercrombie's jacket front, twisting his fist into it. Something inside the pocket cracked.

"My pince nez!" Abercrombie cried. "You broke it."

"That's not all I'll break if you don't get away from here this instant." Matt pushed Abercrombie away.

He stumbled but the railing stopped him from tumbling into the stairwell leading down to the service area. He straightened his tie and tugged on his jacket, all the while glaring at Matt.

Matt took my hand and placed it on his elbow. He escorted me upstairs and inside. I heard Abercrombie's coach roll away before Peter closed the front door.

"Tea for Miss Steele, please," Matt ordered Bristow as Peter took our hats and coats.

"Not tea," I said. "I need something stronger. It's been an eventful day."

"I'll bring sherry," Bristow said.

Matt led me to the library and directed me to sit.

"I'm all right," I told him before he could ask. "We need to warn Chronos and the others."

He stood by the unlit fireplace and stared into the grate. "The question is, how did they find out Chronos is your grandfather and that he is staying here? Did they attack him?"

"If not them, they are probably communicating with the party who orchestrated the attack," I said. "The chances of Chronos being seen by two separate people who knew him back then and recognized him now are slim."

"Dr. Ritter?" he said with a shrug.

"Should we confront him about it?"

"He'll deny it."

"Follow him then?" I suggested. "If he comes here and watches this house, hoping to catch Chronos coming and going, we'll know for certain."

"I'll send Cyclops and Duke out."

"Not Willie?"

"I don't even know where she is."

Bristow entered carrying a tray with two glasses. Matt plucked them off and handed one to me. "Is Willie here?" he asked the butler.

"Yes, sir."

"Ask her, Duke and Cyclops to join us."

Matt sat in the armchair, looking relaxed after the ferocious display outside. He even managed a small smile for me, but the effect was somewhat spoiled by the tiredness in his eyes. "Are you sure you're all right?" he said.

"Of course. Neither man upsets me now, particularly when you're present. A lot of the wind seems to have gone out of their sails in recent weeks, anyway. Now that I am aware of what Abercrombie knows about me, and he is aware that I know, it's as if he has no more hold over me."

"His power was knowing your secret, even before you knew it yourself, and the potential to use that secret to hurt you. Ever since you gave up on obtaining guild membership, his power receded."

I didn't dare raise the idea that the secret also had less effect now that the entire world was discussing magic and magicians thanks to Oscar Barratt's article. It lessened the unspoken threats of exposure that Abercrombie directed my way. But Matt wouldn't want to hear it.

"What I want to know is," Matt said, "why was Hardacre with him?"

It was a good question and not one I'd considered. Abercrombie treated Eddie as if he were an irritation he had to endure rather than an equal. He'd occasionally made himself useful, chiefly when it came to telling Abercrombie about my magic, something Eddie had learned from my father. I could think of only one reason Abercrombie would allow Eddie to join him in confronting me. "Perhaps the information about Chronos came from him and as a condition of passing on the information, Eddie demanded he be here when Abercrombie confronted me."

"Precisely. But why does Hardacre care?"

"To see me hurt? To see the effect his accusation has on me so he can rub my nose in it?" Even as I said it, I knew it didn't ring true. Eddie didn't care enough about me to want to hurt me. That had never been his aim. "Because if my grandfather is alive," I said, warming to my theory, "then my shop—his shop—actually still belongs to my grandfather. It was not my father's to give away in his will. And with Chronos still alive, the shop becomes mine upon his death."

Matt lifted his glass in salute. "I think so too."

Willie barged in, Duke and Cyclops on her heels. "Drinks before dinner again? This is becoming quite the habit. What will Miss Glass say?"

"I see your frequent outings have not blunted your tongue, Willie," Matt said with a smirk.

"More's the pity," Duke muttered. "She went back to the hospital."

"I learned something too," she said, throwing herself into a chair with such force it slid backward. "Dr. Ritter had a visit from Abercrombie."

"Did Ritter summon him or did Abercrombie go of his own accord?" Duke asked.

She threw her hands in the air. "Well I don't know, do I?"

"Then it ain't all that useful, is it?"

"Thank you anyway," Matt said, rubbing his jaw in thought. "It's intriguing news."

She beamed at Duke. His face darkened even further. It was as if the happier Willie became, the less happy it made Duke.

"Who told you?" Cyclops asked with a wicked smile. "Your new doctor friend?"

She stretched out her legs and crossed them at the ankles. "It ain't your business who told me." Now she looked unhappy too, but Duke's mood did not improve. It was a dangerous path to navigate around those two and I gave my head a small shake to silence Cyclops.

He sighed. "There ain't no fun to be had here no more."

Bristow entered with three glasses and the mail that he handed to Matt.

Matt opened the top letter. "It's an invitation to Patience's wedding."

"Are we invited?" Willie asked, trying to peer at the invitation without getting out of her chair.

"Just myself and Aunt Letitia."

"What do you care?" Duke asked her. "You hate weddings on account of you're supposed to wear a dress."

"That's not the only reason I hate weddings," Willie shot back. "But I want to see Rycroft, Matt's estate."

"Not mine," Matt said.

"Not yet."

"Anything interesting in the other letters?" Cyclops asked. "Anything from back home?"

"Or from Patience?" I asked.

"Just one from Commissioner Munro." He opened it. His face remained impassive as he read. "He's summoning me to his office tomorrow morning."

"Should we be concerned?" I asked.

"It's likely he simply wants an update. I'll write a brief report this evening and we'll take it to Scotland Yard before we visit Lady Buckland."

"But we don't know where she lives."

"Who is she?" Willie asked.

"Millroy's mistress. India will fill you in," Matt said, rising. "I'm going to ask my aunt if she knows anything about the mysterious merry widow."

Ten minutes later, Matt returned looking rejuvenated. He must have used his watch in his absence.

"You're smiling," I said, smiling back. "So Miss Glass knows her?"

"She does. She is still styled Lady Buckland, having never remarried. Apparently she's rich and lives not far from here, preferring the city to her country estate. According to my aunt, Lady Buckland had quite the reputation and still manages to have the odd dalliance with younger men."

"But she must be old now," Willie said.

"Old ain't dead," Duke said.

"She was very much the subject of gossip twenty-seven years ago," Matt went on, "but is now simply considered an eccentric and largely ignored."

I leaned back and contemplated my sherry. "I find that a little sad. To be talked about in a poor light is not particularly nice, but to be completely ignored is perhaps even more upsetting."

"To some," Cyclops agreed. "To others, going unnoticed would be a blessing."

Matt picked up his glass and held it to his smiling lips. "I'm looking forward to meeting her."

I grinned. "That's because you're a handsome younger man. I will definitely leave the interrogation of Lady Buckland to you."

* * *

Commissioner Munro was not alone in his office when his assistant led us through. Detective Inspector Brockwell stood by the window, his oversized jacket open at the front, revealing a stained waistcoat. The two men could not be more dissimilar. The older, gentlemanly Munro was all distinguished authority, in his smart uniform, whereas Brockwell looked like he'd slept in his suit and forgotten to comb his hair. Their twin gruff expressions matched, however.

"We've been receiving complaints about you," Munro began.

"Good," Matt said, not bothering to take a seat. "Upset people means we're closing in. Who has complained?"

Munro clasped his hands on the desk in front of him. "That's not something I'm at liberty to divulge."

"Tell me how your investigation fares," Brockwell said, punching out the consonants.

"It fares well," Matt said.

"I'd like more detail."

Matt handed his report to Munro. "It's all in there."

I knew it wasn't all in there. He'd left out the parts pertaining to magic and Chronos's involvement in the experiment twenty-seven years ago.

Munro signaled to Brockwell to read with him. "Remain here," Munro said to us.

"We can't," Matt said. "We have an appointment."

"Unless it's with the queen or prime minister, I don't care. Sit."

Matt pulled out a chair for me. I sat but he did not. Five minutes felt like an hour. I could no longer stand it after three so pulled out my watch. The smooth silver case warmed to my touch, just a little, but it was enough to soothe my nerves.

Finally, Brockwell straightened and Munro set the report down on his desk. He removed his spectacles and regarded Matt. "You seem to be following a number of lines of inquiry."

"Yes," Matt said. "I won't speculate on which is the more likely outcome, if that's what you're asking."

"Not at all. I don't like my detectives to have an opinion until they're in possession of all the facts."

"In that case, India and I have to go now." He held out his hand to me and I took it.

"Just a moment." Munro tapped the report with the glasses. "There's no mention of the man named Chronos in here."

Matt's fingers tightened. I dared not look at him for fear of giving anything away. "Chronos?" Matt asked.

"Don't play the commissioner for a fool," Brockwell said. "We know you are aware of him."

"It seems you've been talking to Abercrombie. Since you know about the difficulties we've had with him in the past, you won't be surprised to learn that he's trying to upset India. Let me assure you, gentlemen, we have not met the fellow named Chronos. He is linked to this investigation through the experiment he conducted with Millroy years ago. I don't know his real name and so can't attempt to trace him."

"What of the suggestion that he is Miss Steele's grandfather?"

If they knew that then they certainly must have spoken to Abercrombie or someone from the guild. Mrs. Millroy didn't know Chronos was my grandfather, and I doubted Dr. Ritter knew. He'd told the Watchmaker's Guild that Chronos was Dr. Millroy's co-magician in the experiment and had given them Mrs. Millroy's description of him, but we weren't yet sure if the guild had told him the description matched that of Gideon Steele.

"Speculation only," Matt said. "As I said, Abercrombie is trying to cause upset. As far as Miss Steele is aware, her grandfather is dead."

I stood and let go of Matt's hand. "I'll tell you what I told Mr. Abercrombie and Mr. Hardacre," I said to both men. "If my grandfather were alive, he would have come to my father's funeral. He would have tried to contact me, but most of all, he would not have allowed a fool like Eddie Hardarcre to take the shop from the Steele family. If he were alive, he would have come forward so the shop would be in his hands again."

"Unless he's guilty of murder twenty-seven years ago, and does not want us to find him," Brockwell countered.

"If that's the case," Matt said, "then he's hardly going to move in with India, is he? He might as well lead his enemies directly to him."

"We are not the enemy," Munro said.

"Unless he's guilty," Brockwell added.

"Good day, gentlemen." I spun round and marched out of the office. "I no longer like Inspector Brockwell," I said to Matt as we exited the building.

"He's doing his job. Unfortunately for us, he's doing it a little too well." He held the coach door open for me. "You think Abercrombie complained about us?"

"Of course it was him, with Eddie following behind like a dog."

"Don't disparage dogs, India." He climbed in behind me, his eyes sparkling with humor. How could he be in such a good mood after that meeting? "I rather like them. If I didn't live in the city, I'd own several, all of them very large and very friendly."

I clicked my tongue. "You're impossible, Matt. I don't know how you could dismiss that meeting so easily."

"All will be well. Unless they search the house, they won't find Chronos. That attack has frightened him into hiding. And now we're about to be one step closer to finding the doctor magician we need to fix this." He tapped his chest where his magic watch hid beneath his waistcoat. "We're not far from finding Millroy's killer, either. All in all, things are looking positive."

I conjured up a smile from the depths of my frustration. "I am looking forward to meeting the merry widow."

It took us longer than it ought to have done to reach Lady Buckland's townhouse. She didn't live far from Matt, but he made the coachman take a circuitous route, and fast, to insure no one followed us. While Matt claimed he couldn't see anyone, I suspected he had an inkling Payne was tracking his movements.

Lady Buckland was indeed merry, but from sherry not natural good humor. I could smell it on her breath when she greeted us in her dusky rose dressing gown in a parlor that was also wallpapered in the same shade of pink. She sat on the sofa with a small white dog in her lap and a tall blonde footman standing to attention at her side. She wasn't at all the dignified lady I expected, based on Mrs. Randley's answers to our questions, but I supposed people changed over time.

"I am sorry for my appearance," she said, slurring her words a little. "I'm not usually ready for callers this early in the morning, but my butler said you insisted."

It was eleven o'clock, according to the marble and gold clock on the mantel. We'd deliberately waited so as not to disturb her morning routine.

"We're very sorry," Matt said, "but your butler was right to insist. This is very important. You're the key to our investigation." He sat forward a little, and spoke directly to her without letting his gaze drop. His undivided attention, along with his insistence that she was important, certainly got the desired result. She was riveted to his every word.

"I am? How thrilling. Now, tell me, what are you investigating?”

This was the part I worried about most. A woman who’d had a scandalous liaison with a married man would not like talk of that affair to resurface, even years later. If we didn't handle it deftly, she could close up entirely and refuse to answer any of our other questions.

"My name is Parsons," Matt said. "Matthew Parsons."

Parsons! I managed to contain my surprise to a sharp look in his direction. My quick movement startled Lady Buckland, however. She squeezed her dog so tightly it yelped and leapt out of her hands. The footman chased it, but it retreated beneath another sofa, out of his reach.

Lady Buckland touched the fur collar of her dressing gown at her throat. "Go on, Mr. Parsons. What do you want from me?"

Matt offered her a gentle smile. "Just the answers to a few questions about my cousin."

"Cousin?"

"My father's cousin, to be precise. Dr. James Millroy and my father were first cousins, but my father moved to America and they lost touch. I wanted to connect with him on my visit here, but discovered he died, alas."

Lady Buckland seemed a little lost without her dog to hold on to. Her thumb rubbed the back of her hand, pushing at the loose skin over her knuckles. "And what has that got to do with me?"

Matt eyed the footman, now on his hands and knees trying to reach the dog. The dog was having none of it, crouched at the back corner, its dark eyes on the footman. "Cousin James told my father all about the two of you," Matt whispered.

The rubbing suddenly stopped. "Milo, come here."

I thought she was calling the dog but it was the footman who answered. "Yes, m'lady?"

"Please leave us. Shut the door."

He bowed and dutifully left but not before he shot the dog a warning glare.

"Dr. Millroy was my physician years ago," Lady Buckland told us. "Why would you come here to learn more about him? You ought to speak to his wife, if the dried up old prune still lives."

"She does and I have," Matt said easily. "But you are the one I really wanted to speak to, ma'am. You're the one who knew him best. You're the one he loved."

I almost choked, but Lady Buckland looked pleased with Matt's flattery. Her face brightened like a flower blooming beneath the sun.

"You know," she said simply.

"I know," Matt said. "Cousin James mentioned you frequently in his letters to my father. He wrote glowing words about you. Positively wonderful things."

"Tell me some of them."

The dog emerged from beneath the other sofa but did not approach. Matt bent down and clicked his fingers. "Here."

The dog trotted happily to him. It must be female.

"He wrote about your glorious hair and fine eyes." Fine eyes? I bit back my smile. Mr. Darcy couldn't have said it as smoothly.

A flush infused Lady Buckland's cheeks and her gaze became distant. "My dearest James. How I miss him."

Matt picked up the dog and passed it to her. "Tell me what you remember. I'd like to know everything about my cousin."

She stroked the dog's fur as it settled in her lap, her attention on the task as she watched the fur slide through her fingers. The dog closed its eyes and rested its chin on Lady Buckland's other hand in perfect contentment.

"James was clever and amusing. We had marvelous conversations and would stay up until all hours talking. He was generous too, and I'm not merely referring to the gifts he bought me. Generous of spirit, was my dear James. He was always complimenting me on this or that." She touched the gray curl at the nape of her neck. The rest of her hair was tucked beneath a lace cap. "He always had time for me too, and never asked for anything in return." She sighed. "Until… Well, until the end."

"You mean just before his death?" Matt asked. She nodded. "Did he change toward you?"

Tears pooled in her eyes. "I don't want to talk about it."

Matt waited until the silence became uncomfortable, then said, "His wife told me he was murdered and his killer never caught. What a terrible time that must have been for you."

"It was awful, particularly considering how things were between us in the days leading up to his death. If I could go back and make things right between us, I would. Not that I would have made a different decision, but I would have tried to smooth things over rather than argue."

Was she referring to giving up their child? Had Dr. Millroy not known until it was too late? I waited for Matt to ask her, but he did not. It was most frustrating, but I knew by now he often came to his point in a round about way to get the other person to trust him.

"Do you think an opportunistic thief attacked and killed him as the police assumed?" he asked.

"It seems the most likely answer, but…" She buried her hand in the dog's fur. "Let's just say there is another person with a reason to kill him."

"Who?" I blurted out. It was the first time I'd spoken, and Lady Buckland looked surprised to hear me speak at all. I'd been introduced as Matt's fiancée, the one who'd urged him to seek out information about his father's cousin, but she'd largely ignored me until now.

"Mrs. Millroy of course." She screwed up her nose and stroked the dog vigorously. "Cold, barren woman, and I don't mean in the sense she couldn't have children. Barren of heart was Mrs. Millroy. I wouldn't put it past her to have killed him, not from jealousy, but simply because I made him happy."

"Do you have any evidence that she did it?" Matt asked.

"You've met her. What did you think?"

"Her character is not evidence."

"It ought to be," she muttered.

"She told me the Surgeon's Guild had a heated argument with him over an experiment he conducted on a homeless man. Do you think that event could have triggered Dr. Millroy's murder?"

Her gaze narrowed. "Why do you want to know?"

"I don't like thinking of his death being in vain, or of his murderer going unpunished. Cousin James's wife said the police gave up looking for his killer. I thought perhaps I could find some answers. It seems right, somehow."

"You are a good man. A very good man. He would have been proud to call you family."

Matt offered her a gentle smile. "Thank you. So do you know about the experiment I'm referring to?"

"A little," she hedged. "He told me the Surgeon's Guild were hounding him over something. But, to be honest, we were not on good terms ourselves at that point, due to…a certain matter, so I know little about it."

"I am sorry to hear that. I know how much he adored you, and I'm sure he would have tried to make things up to you if he'd lived. Nothing would have come between you forever."

"Perhaps," she said on a deep sigh. "We'll never know now."

Again, I waited for Matt to press her about the child but he did not. "Perhaps the Surgeons Guild's master had him killed," he said.

"Good lord, do you think so?" She patted her chest as if trying to settle a racing heartbeat. "That's rather extreme punishment. Why not simply expel him from the guild if they were unhappy with his experimenting?"

"Why not indeed? Or perhaps the man he experimented on had a family who sought revenge."

"That's entirely possible too. I recall James wanted to find out for certain if the man was indeed alone in the world. Perhaps he located a relative and they…" She swallowed. "Considering his plans for the evening of his death, it's a strong possibility he found someone."

"Go on."

"He sent me a letter asking me to receive him the following day. But he died that night." She lowered her head and sniffed. "In the letter, he briefly mentioned his search for more information about the man."

Matt handed her his handkerchief. "Do you recall what he wrote?"

"Not the exact words. He said he wanted to meet me to discuss…our disagreement, but he couldn't until his conscience was clear. The experiment had played on his mind and even distracted him from what I'd done."

"What did he do to clear his conscience?" Matt asked.

"He wrote that he had to visit a doss house. That was all."

"The man had been staying in a doss house?" Matt asked.

"It would seem so. I suppose James hoped to find out more about him from the staff."

"What did he hope to achieve if he found the man's relatives?" I asked. "Compensate them for their loss?"

She lifted one shoulder then let it sag along with the other. She looked very much her age, all signs of youthful beauty gone beneath the weight of time and sorrow. "I think he just wanted to know for certain if the man had a family or not. It would ease his conscience greatly to know there wasn't one. At the time, he assumed there wasn't, but later, he began to have doubts. If you ask me, Mrs. Millroy planted the seeds of doubt. She was cruel like that, always saying little things to unsettle him."

"Do you think that's why Dr. Millroy was in Whitechapel on the night of his death? Because he'd gone to a doss house there to learn more about Wilson?"

"No. If he'd died in Bethnal Green I would have a different answer, but why he was in Whitechapel is a mystery to me. He only mentioned going to a Bethnal Green doss house in his note, you see."

"Bethnal Green?" I echoed.

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

"I wonder what he learned about Mr. Wilson at the doss house that sent him into Whitechapel," Matt said quickly.

"Mr. Wilson?" She shook her head. "That wasn't his name."

The news surprised Matt into silence for several seconds. "Do you know his name?" he eventually asked.

"It escapes me but…Wilson is not quite right."

"Perhaps it will come to you." He smiled.

She smiled back. "Perhaps it will. I am so glad you've come. You've brightened my day. I don't get out as much as I used to, and my friends do not call on me with any regularity." She lifted the little dog to her chest and cradled it. The dog seemed content enough to be woken up and adored. "Without Bliss here, my day would be unending boredom. Milo is pleasing to look at but not as much of a companion as I'd hoped he would be."

Milo was a companion, not a footman? Merry widow indeed.

"Does the name Chronos mean anything to you?" Matt asked, clearly not ready to leave.

She frowned. "An acquaintance of James's had an odd name like that," she said, once again settling Bliss in her lap. "I think that's the name of the man who assisted him with the experiment."

"Do you know his real name or profession? Anything about him?"

"We never met, and James merely mentioned him in passing. I assumed they were working on a new medical technique or device together."

"What about a woman named Nell Sweet?"

Her spine stiffened. "Was James seeing another woman?"

"No. You were the only love mentioned in his letters to my father."

She relaxed a little but her features remained strained, and her vigorous stroking of Bliss continued, much to Bliss's happiness. "I did wonder if I'd driven James away, if my action led him to fall out of love with me and into the arms of another. He was so angry with me, you see. So very angry."

Matt glanced at me, the first sign that he wasn't sure of himself. I gave him a small nod of encouragement. As sensitive as the topic was, we had to broach it.

"Ma'am, forgive me," Matt said gently, "but you've mentioned an argument between you and my cousin a few times now. I think I know what you're referring to." He paused. The silence felt weighty, oppressive. "I don't want to seem impertinent, but was the argument over your son?"

She did not seem surprised that he brought it up. Indeed, I wondered if her constant mentioning of the argument was a way of introducing it into the conversation. I suspected Lady Buckland wanted to talk about it after all this time.

"He was born in this house." She blinked up at the chandelier hanging from the ceiling rose. "I initially told James I'd keep him and raise him, telling people I'd taken in a ward in need of a home. Whether anyone believed that, I don't know. I'm sure the gossips enjoyed themselves at my expense. But that's not why I gave him up. I didn't care about anyone's opinion of me. I still don't."

"Good for you," I felt compelled to say. "Why did you give him up?"

She smiled wanly. "I quickly learned that motherhood is a difficult business and doesn't come naturally to every woman. Maternal instincts are not a thing, Miss Steele. At least in my case they are not."

"So you gave him away for adoption," Matt prompted.

She nodded. "I knew James wouldn't allow it, so I organized it in secret. When he found out, I didn't tell him where I sent Phineas, no matter how relentlessly he questioned me."

"He must have been furious," Matt said quietly.

"Oh yes. And I understand why. I do. James wanted a child so desperately but seed can't take root in barren earth. And Mrs. Millroy was a desert. He finally got a son from me then I sent him away. I don't regret it. Phineas could not be raised as James's own child, or even as mine. He would not be afforded privileges or James's name. At least by giving him up he had the chance of a good life." Her entire body sagged into the sofa, momentarily disturbing the dog before she resettled. "Phineas is much loved in his new home. I'm sure of it. Much, much loved with a normal family and lots of siblings."

"You know who adopted him?" Matt asked, rather incredulously. Or perhaps it was hopefully.

"Only in my heart."

Matt gave her an understanding smile, but I knew it wasn't genuine.

"I tried telling James that Phineas would be loved, but he wanted to hear none of it. He railed at me, demanding to know which orphanage I sent Phineas to. But I wouldn't tell him. I couldn't have him undoing all my hard work, all the hopes I had for our child. He would ruin everything by bringing Phineas back here. What did he think would happen? We could not live as a family, and I could not raise a boy alone. What did I know about children or mothering? I did the right thing," she said with certainty.

"But Cousin James didn't give up trying to find out where you took him," Matt went on. "Hence the letter he sent you on the day of his death asking you to meet him."

She nodded. "He sounded more reasonable in his letter, not as angry. I suspected he was going to try to coax the answer out of me instead of force it. He talked about how special Phineas was, how I didn't understand the gravity of my actions because I didn't know what his child was capable of becoming. His child, not mine." She rolled her eyes. "As if I had nothing to do with his conception."

Special. Dr. Millroy expected, and perhaps hoped, his son would be a magician. A rare doctor magician, at that.

"Do you know why he thought his child would be special?" Matt pressed.

She waved her hand. Bliss opened her eyes at the loss of her mistress's touch. "Doesn't every father think his son is special?"

I detected no lie, no understanding of magic and how it passed from one generation to the next. If she knew about magic at all, she had not once given an indication during the interview.

"Ma'am, thank you for your honesty," Matt said. "I knew from Cousin James's letters to my father that he had a son, and I'm glad you confirmed it. You've given me something to hope for."

"Hope for?"

Matt looked at her guilelessly. "Your son is my only surviving blood relative. I want to meet him."

She blanched.

"Will you tell me which orphanage you sent him to so I can trace him? They'll have records and—"

"No! Definitely not!" She pushed the dog off her lap. Bliss landed on the floor with a whimper then scurried under the other sofa as her mistress stood. "Good day, sir. I'd like you to leave now."

Matt stood so I followed suit. "Please, ma'am. If I could meet my cousin, it would mean the world to me. To us." He put his arm around me. It was hard as a rock, at odds with his soft plea. "I won't tell Phineas anything about you, if that's what you want."

She gave the bell pull a fierce tug. "No. I cannot risk him learning who I am. I cannot risk him coming here, expecting me to acknowledge him."

Milo entered and bowed but did not speak.

Lady Buckland barked a laugh. "Can you imagine it? He would be older than Milo. Isn't that absurd?" She went to Milo, arms outstretched. He took both her hands in his and kissed her flushed cheek. "What would he think of me?" she said, casting a dreamy look at her footman.

"Lady Buckland," Matt pressed. "Please, this is important."

She spun sharply. "Stop it," she hissed, her eyes flashing. "Stop it! You're just like James, demanding answers I cannot give. Get out of my house! Go!"

Matt took a step toward her but Milo blocked his path.

The footman cracked his knuckles and smiled. It was all crooked teeth. "You heard her ladyship," he said in a broad Cockney accent. "Get out."

Matt stared down at the floor, as if the roses woven into the carpet could help him. The room suddenly seemed too close, too cloying with its abundance of pink. I had to get Matt out before he got so frustrated that he shed his disguise and did something he would regret. Milo looked as strong as he was handsome.

I took Matt's hand and urged him toward the door, my mind searching for something to say to dissolve the tension. I spied a newspaper on a table and picked it up to idly discuss the news.

Only it was the latest edition of The Weekly Gazette, opened to Oscar Barratt's article. I forged on anyway. "What a sensation this article caused."

"Has it?" Lady Buckland said with disinterest.

Matt eyed Milo as if he wanted to punch him, and Milo continued to smile back at Matt. I'd seen that look before. It was the sort of smile a guilty man has when he knows the police can't catch him. He could do anything in this house to us and Lady Buckland would protect him with her money and status.

I pulled hard on Matt's hand and dragged him out before he buried us in a hole we could not climb out of.