"I see," I said. "How can I help you?"
"I'm a leather worker, ma'am." He cocked his head to the side and studied me to see what impact his words had.
I made sure not to bat an eye even though my heart sank. I had expected this, but not yet. The article had only been published the evening before.
"Fossett, please leave us," I said, using Peter's surname as was the proper way in the presence of company. "Bristow, you will stay." Although I was certain all the servants knew about my magic now, after reading the papers, I did not want to be the latest downstairs gossip. Bristow would be more discreet.
"You're a magician," I said when Peter closed the door behind him.
"Yes, ma'am." Mr. Bunn screwed the cap tightly in his hands.
"How did you find me?"
"A friend pours drinks at the Cross Keys on High Holborn. Your grandfather used to be a regular there, and my friend remembers when you and Mr. Glass came looking for him. Mr. Glass gave his address to my friend to send your grandfather this way. Course, he didn't know he was a magician 'til later, when he read it in the papers."
"I see. And what do you want from me, Mr. Bunn?"
"I want to start my own shoe factory. I'll make men's shoes first then introduce women's when I've got enough capital. I've experimented using my magic on the leather and it makes the shoes sturdier and last longer, but only for six months. Then they wear out, just like any other shoe." His speech became faster as he became more comfortable expressing his idea. His enthusiasm couldn't be faulted. "I wanted to ask you to use your magic to extend mine, Miss Steele."
"I'm afraid that's not possible, Mr. Bunn."
"Course it's possible. I read about it in the Gazette. You're a time magician, aren't you? The granddaughter of the fellow what tried to extend a doctor magician's magic?"
I rubbed my forehead. I'd been a fool to speak to this man. Next time a stranger asked to see me, I'd find out his profession first. Any craftsmen would be sent on their way without an interview.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Bunn, but you've wasted your time. I cannot do as you ask."
I nodded at Bristow and he opened the door. I was glad to see Peter waiting just outside.
"But ma'am!" Mr. Bunn advanced toward me and I stood quickly. In my panic, I skirted the sofa, putting it between him and me. He stopped and had the decency to look ashamed. "You have to try, ma'am," he went on, with a softer voice that was no less earnest. "I know you can extend my magic. I know it!"
"Bristow, will you see that Mr. Bunn is reunited with his boots in the kitchen."
Bristow and Peter took one each of Mr. Bunn's arms and marched him toward the door.
"I'll give you a share of the profits!" Mr. Bunn cried over his shoulder. "Sixty-forty! That's more than fair."
His voice grew further away as he continued making me offers to partner with him. I flopped onto the sofa with a sigh.
"India?" Cyclops came racing in, followed by Duke and Matt. "Everything all right?"
"Fine," I said, giving them a smile.
"You seem rattled," Matt said, eyeing me closely. "Who was that and what did he want?"
"He was a leather magician. He wanted me to extend his magic so he could manufacture better shoes."
He drew in a deep, measured breath. "So it has begun."
* * *
The encounter with Mr. Bunn, coming so soon after Mr. Abercrombie's visit, overwhelmed me. I felt like I was being barraged by both disappointing and bad news lately. It was difficult to put on a positive front, but I was determined, for Matt's sake.
He was looking particularly unhealthy as we traveled to Abigail Pilcher's place of work. While his face was as gray and pinched as it usually was of late, there was a self-containment about the way he walked and held himself. It was as if he were holding himself together through sheer force of will. I suspected he was as determined to put on a brave face for me as I was for him.
Who would succumb first?
I felt the slight tremor in his hand as he assisted me from the coach, but did not let on how worried it made me.
We found Abigail in the workroom at Peter Robinson’s. Her supervisor did not appreciate our visit so soon after the last, and Matt had to slip more coins into his palm than last time to convince him to let her speak to us. Abigail was not pleased to see us either.
"What now?" she grumbled once outside in the corridor.
"You weren't the only magician at the convent," Matt said, his charm nowhere in evidence.
A flicker passed through her eyes but she quickly schooled her features. "Why do you say that?"
"We found a wooden object on the convent grounds. It had been infused with magic."
Her gaze met mine then fluttered away. She lifted a shoulder in a shrug.
"I felt its warmth," I told her.
"So? I haven't lived there for years. A new nun might be the magician."
"This box was made years ago." There was no point telling her that Father Antonio, her old lover, had told us he'd seen it when he'd been waiting for her one night. She might close up at the mention of him. "Who made it?" I asked.
"I don't know, and that's the truth." She tugged on a strip of old leather fastened around her neck and pulled out a small crucifix pendant from beneath her clothing. It was made of wood. "This was given to me by the reverend mother when I took my perpetual vows. When I became a full nun, after my novitiate was complete," she explained. "Touch it, Miss Steele."
I did. It was no longer than my little finger and considerably thinner, but the workmanship in the figure of Christ was exquisite. I could make out the hairs in his beard and the thorns in his crown. "It's made from a single piece of wood," I murmured. To carve such detail on a tiny canvas like this would require exceptional skill. Or magic. "It's warm," I told Matt.
"Mother Alfreda gave it to you?" he asked as Abigail tucked the crucifix away.
"Aye, but I don't know who made it. It could have been any of the nuns, or none."
"You never asked?" I said. "Weren't you curious when you felt the magic in it?"
"I wanted to forget I was a magician back then. I'd been brought up to believe it was evil, and I thought dedicating my life to God would cleanse me, cure me. It weren't until I left that I realized how wrong I'd been. So no, I didn't ask. I thought the nun who made it mad for exposing her magic like that. It was a big risk in the convent, a stupid risk. If she wasn't careful, they'd excommunicate her."
Perhaps they had. Perhaps it was Mother Alfreda herself who'd made the crosses and the box, and she'd been discovered, along with the baby magicians, and forced out of the convent in secret. Or worse.
Or perhaps she'd left of her own accord, taking the boys with her when it became clear she couldn't live without her magic. She could have buried their records to obliterate all trace of the boys having been at the convent. She could have taken them to safety and they all lived happily ever after. I liked that notion better.