It was the night after Ferghus’s death and Malcolm stared out the window of a carriage as it rumbled through London. It had been a difficult discussion with Simon about his encounter with Jane Somerset last year, and his decision to keep her a secret. It had been Jane’s wish, and he had to honor it. In the end, Simon understood, and refused to accuse Malcolm of endangering either Jane or their own group. Simon didn’t have to reprimand him because Malcolm knew well enough the peril he had unleashed by his silence. This was particularly true because they now had two pressing goals, and Simon was forced to split the group. While Kate, Nick, Hogarth, and Simon went through a portal to northern India in search of the Stone, Malcolm was tasked to find Jane Somerset.
The heavy stink of London crowding his nostrils always reminded him why he detested cities. Even the smell of the burnt Hartley Hall was preferable. Across from him, Charlotte fidgeted, shifting from side to side. Her hand rubbed furiously at her leg.
“Stop scratching,” Malcolm told her.
“I can’t! Everything itches!” She wore a petite green frock that boasted lace at the collar and sleeves.
“Because your skin is healing. But not if you keep scratching at it.”
Imogen, who sat next to her, grabbed Charlotte’s hand with boneless fingers wrapping around her friend. Sighing, Charlotte conceded, slumping back in her seat. Smoothing a ruffle on Imogen’s black dress, she leaned against her friend.
Penny glanced away from the lanky Scotsman, trying to hide a chuckle and failing.
Malcolm afforded her a cantankerous glance. “What?”
She bit her lip to still the smile and failed again. “You remind me of my mum.”
Malcolm slouched back in his seat and sighed. “I was aiming for something a bit more masculine than your mother.”
“What do you mean?” Charlotte stopped fidgeting to regard them across the seat.
“I mean I’m yelling at you like I was your da,” Malcolm muttered.
Charlotte’s jaw opened and her eyes widened. She sat back, exchanging an elated grin at Imogen. They both beamed at Malcolm, their faces full of wonder and delight. He felt flushed and glanced away.
Penny propped a foot up on the coach’s doorframe. “So what’s the story with this Jane woman?”
“Jane Somerset. I saved her from a cook.”
Penny fought the muscles in her lips. “A cook?”
“Aye, a dead one.” Malcolm practically growled at her. “An undead one.”
Penny nodded, but then remarked candidly. “I’m not surprised.”
“What does that mean?” Malcolm scowled at her, expecting her to make some sort of jest like Simon would.
“You risk your life for everyone. You like to play loner, but you’re just a decent bloke with a great huge heart. So tell me about her.”
Malcolm studied the grey city outside. He took a deep breath and shifted uncomfortably. “She’s a God-fearing woman. Believes her elementalism is a curse. I should’ve protected her, even from herself. She needed help with her magic. I should’ve brought her to Hartley Hall. That would’ve solved everything. Now she’s with Gaios and Lord knows what he’s done to her.” He had said more than he wished, exactly as he’d feared.
Penny leaned on her arm, watching him through the flicking bands of light from passing gas lamps. “So why didn’t you?”
“She asked me to keep her secret. And I said I would.”
The engineer shrugged with acceptance. “Oh. There you are then.”
Malcolm shook his head, tamping down the anger at himself. “It’s not so simple. It should be, but it isn’t. I knew she needed a great deal of help even after she saved my life.”
“Wait, she saved your life? I thought you said—”
“It was a bit of both.”
Penny laughed. “When was the last time you saw her?”
Malcolm realized Penny harbored no blame for his actions with Jane. He valued her straightforward support. For Penny, everything was about solving the problem as it existed, not worrying about how it might have been a different problem. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I spoke with her the night before the row at St. Mary Woolnoth. A few weeks after that, I went by the soup kitchen and her home, but she wasn’t there.” Malcolm pulled a grey wool scarf from his coat pocket and gave a slight smile. “She made this and gave it to me the first time she saw me at her soup kitchen. Thought I was a bedraggled thing needing care.”
Penny raised an eyebrow, allowing herself a winsome huff of laughter.
Malcolm folded the scarf and slipped it back in his pocket. “Her housekeeper said she had taken her sick father to a spa for treatment and wouldn’t likely be back for a year or more. I checked on the soup kitchen a few times after. Never thought much of it because the kitchen kept running. If something had happened to Jane, I assumed it would close up.”
“Do you think the housekeeper was lying?”