Matt's narrowed gaze focused on me. "What did you tell them?"
"That we're not going to ask about the box at the convent," I said breezily.
His eyes narrowed further. "That's not what I meant."
"I think we should speak with Abigail Pilcher. She has no particular loyalty to the convent and she's a magician. She might be able to tell us who the woodwork magician is. Come along, Matt, up you get and have some breakfast." I hurried out before he had a chance to harden his glare even more.
I heard voices as I descended the staircase, one of them Bristow's, the other belonging to someone I had no wish to see but decided to confront anyway.
"Good morning, Mr. Abercrombie," I said to The Watchmaker's Guild master. "This is a surprise. I didn't think we'd see you here ever again after Eddie Hardacre proved to be a fraud."
"I never trusted him." He sounded smug, as if I ought to be humiliated since I had once trusted Eddie. "There was something not quite right about him. Something low born in his nature that couldn't be eradicated, no matter how good the actor. Of course, I wouldn't expect someone like you to notice."
"You're correct. I didn't notice whatever it is you think distinguished his birth from yours. What I did notice, however, was his sycophantic nature. It made me glad our engagement ended, as I wanted nothing to do with him when that side emerged."
"How good of you to put your morals ahead of your future," he said slickly. "A pity you must now stoop to seeking whatever employment you can find."
I bristled but forced myself to smile. "On the contrary. I like being employed by Mr. Glass. I have independence, financial means, and companionship. I'd say I'm the envy of many women trapped in a loveless marriage. Speaking of marriage, how is Mrs. Abercrombie? Do you still live with both your mother and wife? How lucky for you to have two such strong-minded women to run your household."
His face fell, and I felt a measure of satisfaction, along with a little guilt for my biting remarks. Mr. Abercrombie's wife and mother not only bickered incessantly with each other but with him too. It was why he spent long hours at his shop or the guild hall.
"What're you doing here?" said Willie from the landing. She came down the stairs, flanked by Cyclops and Duke. All three of them scowled.
"He hasn't yet said," I told her.
"Is Mr. Glass in?" Mr. Abercrombie addressed Bristow, not me.
"He is unavailable at present," Bristow said. "May I leave a message, sir?"
"I'll wait. Show me to your drawing room."
"I'm afraid all the reception rooms are being cleaned, sir. I'll let Mr. Glass know you were here."
Mr. Abercrombie looked as if he'd scold Bristow for his impertinence but backed down when Cyclops, Duke and Willie stood behind the butler. None were in good humor and it didn't take a clever man to realize they would not be trifled with today.
"Please inform Mr. Glass that I'd like to have a word with him about Mr. Barratt's latest article in The Weekly Gazette," Mr. Abercrombie said.
"Why not have that word with me?" I asked. "Since I am, after all, the one Mr. Barratt is referring to."
"No." Mr. Abercrombie planted his hat on his head. "I want to speak to Mr. Glass himself."
"Then speak." Matt trotted down the stairs as if he was as healthy as a horse. "What is it you want, Abercrombie?"
Mr. Abercrombie shuffled a little away and presented his shoulder to me. "I want you to consider the implications of employing Miss Steele now that it's clear her magic can be used to extend the magic of others."
The nerve of him! "You are quite the despicable creature," I spat. "You make Eddie look harmless in comparison."
He simply sniffed and lifted his chin. "Do you understand my meaning, Glass?"
Matt strode past him and opened the door. "I am aware of the implications for my household. As to whom I employ, it is none of your business. Good day, Abercrombie. You're not welcome here if you wish to insult my friends, family or staff."
"Insult? No, no, no, Mr. Glass, you misunderstand. I have your best interests at heart. Your loyalty blinds you to the possibilities. Think on it. Not only will she become a target for other magicians, but she'll be considered a person of interest to the government, too. Do you think they want someone walking the streets who can potentially extend someone's life? Isn't that what her grandfather was trying to do with that doctor magician? The authorities will want her for themselves, Mr. Glass. So if I were you, I'd cut her loose and—"
Matt grabbed Abercrombie's arm so hard that Abercrombie squeaked. Matt shoved him through the door and slammed it in his face. "I'm going to have breakfast," he said, dusting off his hands. "India, will you join me?"
"I, er, that is…yes. Thank you. I could do with a strong cup of tea."
We did not speak about Abercrombie, or what he'd said, but of the box and what it meant. The brisk conversation allowed me to shut Abercrombie's words out of my mind, though only briefly. While Matt spoke to his aunt alone in her rooms before we left, and I waited for him in the entrance hall, I could think of nothing else. Abercrombie could not possibly be right. To think the government would be interested in something that I could potentially do but hadn't proven possible, was ludicrous. He was scaremongering in an attempt to alienate me from my friends and employment. It was his newest scheme to ruin me.
And it wouldn't work.
Matt took longer than I expected. After seven long minutes, he still hadn't come down. The coach waited outside, and Bristow hovered nearby to see us off. I was about to see what kept him when Mrs. Bristow, the housekeeper, emerged from the back of the house.
"Excuse me, Miss Steele," she said. "There's a man here to see you. He's waiting in the kitchen."
"To see me? Why?"
"I couldn't say, miss."
"Show him to the drawing room, Mrs. Bristow."
"The drawing room!" The Bristows exchanged glances. "But miss, he's wearing workman's boots." Poor Mrs. Bristow spoke as if workman's boots were made by the devil himself. "He can't wear them into the drawing room. They're filthy."
"I can't speak to a guest in the service area, Mrs. Bristow. This man deserves to be received in the drawing room, just like anyone else. Please show him up."
The Bristows exchanged another speaking glance then Mrs. Bristow disappeared back to the services stairs. I waited for the man with the dirty boots in the drawing room.
Peter the footman escorted in a shoeless man holding his cap in his hand. He couldn't have been more than twenty, with a mass of dark blond hair that curled around his ears and cascaded over his forehead to meet his eyebrows. He dipped his head and smiled tentatively. Peter introduced him as Mr. Bunn before standing by the door with Bristow. They must suspect the young man would run off with the silver.
"Where are your shoes, Mr. Bunn?" I asked.
"Kitchen, ma'am. The housekeeper made me take 'em off before coming upstairs. I didn't want to argue with her."
"Very wise," Bristow intoned.