"That was a tragedy and won't be repeated. Chronos regretted it, and Mr. Barratt will say as much in his upcoming article."
He screwed up his nose in distaste. "You're a fool to put your trust in him. But you're not very good at trusting the right sort of man, are you?"
"I seem to recall you believed Eddie's story too," I shot back.
"I wasn't referring just to him." His gaze skipped from Duke to Cyclops. His mouth twisted into a grimace of disgust.
With his attention pre-occupied, he didn't see Willie's fist. It slammed into his jaw with a sickening thud. He reeled backward, only to stumble over the steps and land heavily. He lay sprawled over the staircase, moaning and clutching is face.
"Mr. Abercrombie!" The porter ran past us to reach his master.
Abercrombie shoved him away. "Get out!" he spat. "Get out, witch!"
I led the way outside, only too glad to leave him behind. Despite my determination not to let the man affect me, my nerves shook. I took Cyclops's offered hand and allowed him to guide me into the coach.
"So if Matt ain't there, where is he?" Willie asked, inspecting her knuckles. They were red but not cut or bruised.
"Do you want to go home, India?" Duke asked.
I nodded and he gave the driver directions before climbing into the cabin and shutting the door.
"You look troubled," Cyclops said quietly to me. He sat beside me, my shoulder rubbing against his arm. He took up quite a lot of space and seemed uncomfortable in the close confines. His knees hit Willie's, opposite.
"I've punched Mr. Abercrombie a thousand times in my imagination, but I'd never dream of doing it." I looked at Willie. "How can you be so calm about it?"
"Practice," she said.
"He deserved it," Duke added, shrugging. "Where we come from, people like him get punched all the time. It's called Wild West justice."
Willie rolled her eyes. "He just made that up."
"True, but I like it." Duke grinned. "Good shot, Willie. Maybe you can retire the Colt and just use your fists from now on."
"Not on your life, Duke."
We arrived home a mere five minutes before Matt returned. The four of us presented a united front when he entered. No wonder he hesitated just inside the door, faced with a wall of crossed arms and scowls.
"The Inquisition has arrived, I see." He handed Bristow his hat and gloves and indicated we should enter the library ahead of him.
Willie was the first to speak after he shut the door. "Where have you been?"
"That's not your business." He held up a finger upon her protest. "You, of all people, should respect my right to privacy."
That thoroughly doused her fuse before it began to even flare. She sat with a pout and a grumble.
I wouldn't be put off, however. "Did you visit Mr. Force?"
"No."
"Mr. Barratt?"
His gaze narrowed. "Enough questions, India. You won't get the answer out of me. I had business to attend to. That's all I'll say."
I sat with a huff too.
Duke took over. "We already know you didn't visit Abercrombie."
Matt frowned. "How do you know?"
"That's not your affair," I said before anyone else could tell him how we'd spent the morning. I didn't want to avoid answering out of spite—well, not entirely out of spite—but because I didn't want the lecture.
His lips flattened but he sat too and the matter was dropped. "One thing I can tell you," he said, "is the temperature of public opinion. Every conversation I overheard was about Force's article in The City Review. The city is humming with gossip and speculation, and it's still early."
"What are they saying?" I asked. "Do they believe it? Do they agree with Force's views?"
"Some but not all. Sides have been picked and people are defending their choice vehemently."
I hoped those who chose the side of the magicians didn't find themselves persecuted for their choice—or accused of being witches, as Abercrombie accused me. I suddenly wished I had my watch with me to feel the familiar smooth case, the magical warmth, and the faint throb of each tick. It usually comforted me.
"They also want to know who among them is a magician," Matt went on. "Names of craftsmen and manufacturers are being bandied about."
"In hatred?" Willie asked. "Fear?"
"Merely in curious tones."
"The hatred and fear comes later," Cyclops said heavily.
Duke grasped his friend's shoulder. "It may not happen that way."
The weighty silence that followed was broken by the entrance of Bristow with the mail. He handed a thick envelope to me. It was sealed with red wax.
"It's from Lord Coyle," I said, opening it. "He has invited me to a dinner party he's having on Saturday." I re-read the invitation then folded it again. "How odd. I hardly know the man. Why would he ask me?"
"Because he collects magical objects," Matt said darkly. "And thanks to Abercrombie and Force, he now knows your grandfather is a magician and therefore you are most likely one too."
"I think he already guessed after witnessing my watch capture Mr. Pitt."
"Perhaps, but the article must have confirmed his suspicions. The timing of his invitation coming the day after the article is too coincidental." He rubbed his forefinger lightly along his lower lip. "Damn it. This is what I was afraid of."
"It's just a dinner invitation," I said. "Anyway, I'm going to decline. I have far too much on my plate to bother with a nobleman I hardly know. I'll write a response now. When I'm done, shall we visit Father Antonio again? Or is that where you went this morning without me?"
"I wouldn't dare." He gave me one of his mischievous smiles. "I'm only half the investigator without you."
"I'm glad you realize it."
* * *
Father Antonio made us wait in the church for sixteen minutes before he met with us.
"You know that staring at your watch doesn't make time go faster," Matt said while we sat on the third pew from the front.
I snapped the watchcase closed and returned it to my reticule. "I need to look at something to soothe my nerves."
"You're surrounded by beautiful stained glass windows and are sitting beside a handsome man. Isn't that enough?"
I bit back my smile and made a show of glancing at an elderly parishioner in the pew across the aisle. He was either asleep or deep in prayer. "He is quite handsome, isn't he?"
Matt was saved from answering by the arrival of Father Antonio. The priest couldn't have been more than mid-fifties in age, making him quite young twenty-seven years ago. For a reason I couldn't remember now, I'd expected an elderly, cantankerous fellow who'd send us on our way immediately upon meeting us, but Father Antonio was all pleasant smiles and warm handshakes. The eyes behind the spectacles were equally warm.
Matt didn't try to hide the fact that we'd visited the convent and had some questions about events that had happened there in the past.
"You're the American they warned me about," Father Antonio said. "Mother Frances told me to send you on your way if you came here."