"Oh?" I said innocently. "You don't wish to be the object of Charity Glass's affections?"
"She scares me. Who asks about knives like that?"
"It could have been worse. She could have asked about guns."
"If she does next time, I'm throwing Willie into her path. They'd get along."
"Probably a little too well," I said. "It might be best to keep them apart. Letting Willie and Charity loose together in the city seems like a recipe for trouble."
He chuckled, and I hugged his arm, feeling some of the heaviness that had been weighing me down lift.
It didn't last long. Whenever I thought about the visit from the Glass sisters, my heart sank a little further. They all seemed set on Matt marrying Patience, as if the entire family had decided it was a foregone conclusion and not open for negotiation. Even Patience had accepted it, exchanging one fiancé for another as if they were as interchangeable as bonnets. Miss Glass, once staunchly opposed to Matt marrying any of the girls, now thought Patience would make a good wife. I felt utterly cast aside, even though Matt told me he had not agreed to the union. How long could he withstand the onslaught from his family? How long could he withstand the onslaught from his own guilty conscience?
That was my greatest concern. If anything convinced him it was a good idea, it would be his own guilt. I knew better than anyone how chivalric Matt could be when he thought himself at fault.
He returned but refused to tell us where he'd been, only saying he had an errand to perform. His secrecy stretched my nerves more.
He used his watch but refused to rest, even though he'd suppressed several yawns over luncheon. "We have work to do. Ready, India?"
I didn't want to sit in the coach alone with him, but I had no choice. He did not invite the others to join us. Inevitably, the conversation turned in a predictable yet unwanted direction.
"Bristow informed me that my cousins called this morning and that you and Aunt Letitia sat with them."
"Cyclops joined us for a while too," I said. "It was quite an entertainment watching him trying to avoid Charity. She doesn't give up easily."
"I'm not interested in hearing about Cyclops," he said darkly. "I want to know why my cousins called."
"Ask your aunt. I'd prefer not to discuss it."
"I'm avoiding her at the moment, as I'm avoiding the rest of my family. They have nothing to say that I wish to hear."
"Then you won't want to know why they visited."
He regarded me a moment. "Did they say anything to upset you?"
I crossed my arms, determined not to speak about it. Unless the situation changed, there was no point. I would only get more upset, and I was already too close to tears.
"India," he purred, "nothing they say can convince me to marry anyone but you."
My throat tightened. I turned to the window.
"Not even if my life depended upon it."
And what if her life depended on it, I wanted to say but did not. Patience's life may not depend on her marrying Matt, but her future certainly did, and that of her sisters. And as far as everyone else was concerned, I was the only thing standing in the way of them marrying.
That was a rather sobering thought.
"India—"
"Let's concentrate on the task at hand," I said. "Nothing good will come of discussing anything else."
He sighed and sat back. "As long as you know my feelings on the matter."
"I do."
We rounded a sharp corner and I suddenly found myself face to face with him, his hands planted on the seat on either side of me. He brushed his lips to mine then withdrew and gave me one of his boyish smiles.
"My apologies," he said, sitting down opposite again. "I lost my balance."
The corner would have seen him move to the side, not forward. But his smiles and the twinkle momentarily brightening his tired eyes had me smiling too.
"That's better," he said. "I like it when you blush for me."
"It's hot in here."
His smile turned wicked. "It certainly is."
Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately—the drive to Oxford Street was short. We could have walked but the coach was ready from Matt's earlier outing and a constant drizzling rain made walks unpleasant. We had to pay Abigail Pilcher's supervisor again before he'd let her speak to us outside the workroom. We didn't retreat outside the shop, due to the rain, but stood in the stairwell. The hum of the sewing machines provided a backdrop to our discussion but wasn't so noisy that we needed to raise our voices.
"We have reason to believe there is a magician at the convent," Matt told her. "Did you know of another there other than yourself?"
She crossed her arms, not as a show of defiance but to hug herself. "No."
"A wood magician," I added.
She shook her head.
"You never felt magical heat in any of the crucifixes?" I asked.
Another shake of her head. "It would be madness to work magic in the convent. Are you sure you felt its heat, Miss Steele?"
"I didn't feel anything. It was simply a theory."
"Then your theory is wrong. I never felt magic there, and only a fool would use it in a place where magicians would be called the devil's agent and worse."
We thanked her and headed back outside to our waiting carriage. "Do you think she's lying?" I asked.
"Do you?"
"No. Yes." I sighed as I climbed into the coach. "I'm not sure."
"I think she was holding something back from us. The question is, why?" He hesitated before giving orders to the coachman to drive to St. Mary's church in Chelsea.
"You want to speak to Father Antonio again?" I asked as he settled on the opposite seat.
"I want to ask him if he believes in magic."
I tilted my head to the side. "You think he's the magician? Why?"
"If Abigail is holding something back from us, it could be because she's protecting the magician. And who does, or did, she care about?"
"Father Antonio? Do you think she still cares for him, even now?"
"I don't know, but she cared enough once to be with him, and he is the father of her son. She might not love him, but she might not want his name associated with magic, either. It could ruin him."
"I see. Perhaps you're right. It's certainly worth investigating."
Matt stifled a yawn and his eyelids drooped.
"Use your watch," I said, closing the curtains. "Then rest for a few minutes while we drive."
To my surprise, he obeyed without a grumble. His easy acquiescence only proved how tired he was.
I watched him as he rested, his face slackening with every passing second until he fell asleep. Deep purple veins webbed dark eyelids, while the rest of his face sported the pallor of long illness. We shouldn't have left the house so soon after he returned home from his mysterious outing. I resolved to keep the conversation with Father Antonio short and get Matt home as soon as possible.
Fortunately, Father Antonio was in the rectory preparing his sermon for Sunday. He was not pleased to see us but forced a smile for the sake of politeness.
"I'll have my housekeeper bring tea," he said.