She turned her head toward him; a lock of his pale hair tickled her face. “What does it say?” she whispered.
“It’s a request for recompense,” said Wil , ignoring the fact that she had addressed her question to Jem. “Sent to the York Institute in 1825 in the name of Axel Hol ingworth Mortmain, seeking reparations for the unjustified death of his parents, John Thaddeus and Anne Evelyn Shade, almost a decade before.”
“John Thaddeus Shade,” said Tessa. “JTS, the initials on Mortmain’s watch. But if he was their son, why doesn’t he have the same surname?”
“The Shades were warlocks,” said Jem, reading farther down the page. “Both of them. He couldn’t have been their blood son; they must have adopted him, and let him keep his mundane name. It does happen, from time to time.” His eyes flicked toward Tessa, and then away; she wondered if he was remembering, as she was, their conversation in the music room about the fact that warlocks could not have children.
“He said he began to learn about the dark arts during his travels,” said Charlotte. “But if his parents were warlocks—”
“Adoptive parents,” said Wil . “Yes, I’m sure he knew just who in Downworld to contact to learn the darker arts.”
“Unjustifiable death,” Tessa said in a smal voice. “What does that mean, exactly?”
“It means he believes that Shadowhunters kil ed his parents despite the fact that they had broken no Laws,” said Charlotte.
“What Law were they meant to have broken?”
Charlotte frowned. “It says something here about unnatural and il egal dealings with demons—that could be nearly anything—and that they stood accused of creating a weapon that could destroy Shadowhunters. The sentence for that would have been death. This was before the Accords, though, you must remember. Shadowhunters could kil Downworlders on the mere suspicion of wrongdoing. That’s probably why there’s nothing more substantive or detailed in the paperwork here. Mortmain filed for recompense through the York Institute, under the aegis of Aloysius Starkweather. He was asking not for money but for the guilty parties—Shadowhunters—to be tried and punished. But the trial was refused here in London on the grounds that the Shades were ‘beyond a doubt’ guilty. And that’s real y al there is. This is simply a short record of the event, not the ful papers. Those would stil be in the York Institute.” Charlotte pushed her damp hair back from her forehead. “And yet. It would explain Mortmain’s hatred of Shadowhunters. You were correct, Tessa. It was—it is—personal.”
“And it gives us a starting point. The York Institute,” said Henry, looking up from his plate. “The Starkweathers run it, don’t they? They’l have the ful letters, papers—”
“And Aloysius Starkweather is eighty-nine,” said Charlotte. “He would have been a young man when the Shades were kil ed. He may remember something of what transpired.” She sighed. “I’d better send him a message. Oh, dear. This wil be awkward.”
“Why is that, darling?” Henry asked in his gentle, absent way.
“He and my father were friends once, but then they had a fal ing-out—some dreadful thing, absolutely ages ago, but they never spoke again.”
“What’s that poem again?” Wil , who had been twirling his empty teacup around his fingers, stood up straight and declaimed: “Each spake words of high disdain,
A nd insult to his heart’s best brother—”
“Oh, by the Angel, Wil , do be quiet,” said Charlotte, standing up. “I must go and write a letter to Aloysius Starkweather that drips remorse and pleading. I don’t need you distracting me.” And, gathering up her skirts, she hurried from the room.
“No appreciation for the arts,” Wil murmured, setting his teacup down. He looked up, and Tessa realized she had been staring at him. She knew the poem, of course. It was Coleridge, one of her favorites. There was more to it as wel , about love and death and madness, but she could not bring the lines to mind; not now, with Wil ’s blue eyes on hers.
“And of course, Charlotte hasn’t eaten a bit of dinner,” Henry said, getting up. “I’l go see if Bridget can’t make her up a plate of cold chicken. As for the rest of you—” He paused for a moment, as if he were about to give them an order—send them to bed, perhaps, or back to the library to do more research. The moment passed, and a look of puzzlement crossed his face. “Blast it, I can’t remember what I was going to say,” he announced, and vanished into the kitchen.
The moment Henry left, Wil and Jem fel into an earnest discussion of reparations, Downworlders, Accords, covenants, and laws that left Tessa’s head spinning. Quietly she rose and left the table, making her way to the library.