"Do they still give those crosses to the nuns?" I asked.
"I don't know. I ain't been there for twenty-seven years." She clicked her tongue and glanced over her shoulder. "I have to go. I've got work to do."
We returned to our waiting conveyance on Oxford Street. After Matt gave the coachman orders to drive to the convent, he frowned at something up ahead.
"What is it?" I asked.
He ran off without answering. I leaned as far out of the carriage as I could, clamping my hand down on my hat to stop it blowing away. Up ahead, Matt stopped then returned.
"Did you see Payne?" I asked.
He settled opposite me, wincing as he sat. "I think I saw him about to get out of a hansom, but when he spotted me, he stayed put and the cab drove off."
"So he is following us."
"I think so."
"What do we do now?"
"We go on to the convent. If he follows us, I confront him and render him unable to follow us anymore."
"I see."
He winced again and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sorry, India, that was uncalled for. My baser instincts are getting the better of me at the moment." He did not retract his statement about rendering Payne unable to follow us, however.
Matt got his watch out, closed the curtains, and drew the magic into his body without me having to suggest it. He looked a little better afterward, not quite so tense across the shoulders, but the pallor of his skin remained the same. I didn't mention that. I didn't mention anything about his health, the use of his watch after so short a time, or any other sensitive topic that would see one or both of us becoming upset. That left only the matter at hand.
"Do you think Mother Alfreda was the magician?" I asked.
"I don't know, but I intend to find out today. Someone at the convent knows who made those crucifixes and the box, even if they don't know that person is a magician. It's time we got answers."
"I agree. I think we should ask Sister Clare. She's the one who approached us about the missing mother superior and babies. She's the only one we can be sure is not responsible for their disappearance or know who is."
Unfortunately, Sister Clare did not collect us from the sitting room. A young novice showed us to Mother Frances's office, and Sister Clare was nowhere in sight. The assistant's outer office was empty.
The mother superior greeted us cordially but coolly. "I do hope your visit has nothing to do with searching for that baby, Mr. Glass," she said. "My stance has not changed. I will not divulge personal information to you." She clasped her hands on the desk and offered what I suspected was supposed to be a conciliatory smile, but it came out strained. She looked overbearing and sour, ensconced behind a large bare desk in the austerely furnished room. Despite several flowers blooming in the garden, she did not have a single one on display. In Sister Clare's outer office, I'd counted three vases full of roses and peonies.
"Who makes the small crucifixes you give to your nuns when they take their perpetual vows?" Matt asked.
She blinked rapidly, the question clearly taking her by surprise. "The boys who attend St. Patrick's charity school. They make them in woodwork class. Why?"
"Is that where yours came from?" I asked, nodding at the heavy wooden cross around her neck. While it appeared well made, it was a simple cross, not beautifully detailed like the one worn by Abigail.
"It is."
"What about the crucifixes given to the nuns years ago?" Matt asked. "Before you became Mother Superior?"
"I don't know. It was so long ago."
"You must remember them. They were small and beautifully made."
"I do remember," she said, not bothering to hide her impatience. "I still have mine. But I cannot tell you who made them. Mother Alfreda issued them. When she left, and I became Mother Superior, Father Antonio suggested we get all crucifixes from St. Patrick's to support the charity. Is that all, Mr. Glass? If you don't mind, I have work to do. Of course, I'd be happy to discuss that donation you've been promising the sisters every time you ask them a question."
"Let's be clear," Matt said quietly. "I will not be donating until I find out what happened to Phineas Millroy. But I think you already knew that."
The mother superior's mouth worked but nothing came out. She stood and directed us to the door. "Then I'll ask you to leave without creating a scene and without speaking to anyone else."
"I can't promise that." Matt stood and held out his hand to me.
I took it but kept my gaze on the cross on the wall above the bookshelf. Like Abigail's crucifix, it was beautiful, the carved figure of Christ depicted in superb detail. I let go of Matt's hand and approached the cross.
"What are you doing, Miss Steele?" the mother superior asked.
"It's crooked. Let me straighten it for you." I reached up and touched the wood. It was warm.
My blood throbbed in response. I opened my reticule and pulled out my watch. It gently pulsed too.
"India?" Matt said quietly.
I turned to face him, but I did not have to say anything. He must have read my expression because he looked pleased.
"Reverend Mother, who made this?" I asked, indicating the crucifix.
I heard her grumble from several feet away. "I don't know. It was put there in Mother Alfreda's day."
Then it was time we found someone who did know. "Thank you for your time, Reverend Mother. We'll leave you to your work now."
"You have a plan?" Matt whispered as we headed for the door.
"Yes. We walk slowly through the convent and back outside," I whispered back. "And we hope we come across a nun who can help us."
"It's not much of a plan." He softened the barb with a quirk of his lips. He opened the door and waited for me to go ahead of him.
I entered the outer office and couldn't contain my smile of relief. "Sister Clare. How delightful to see you too."
"Miss Steele, Mr. Glass, it's a pleasure to see you too." Her smile suddenly drooped upon seeing the mother superior behind us.
"Sister Clare has work to do," Mother Frances said briskly. "She hasn't got time for silly questions about crosses."
"Oh, but the one on your wall is lovely," I said. "The person who made it should be applauded. Indeed, I think I'd like to commission one just like it."
"If someone from the convent made it," Matt added, "I'll pay handsomely and all the proceeds will remain here. You cannot object to that, Reverend Mother."
Her eyes flashed. I suspected she didn't want us to find out the maker just so she could win. I doubted she was keeping the information from us for any other reason except sheer stubbornness. She had something against us but not necessarily against us knowing the truth.
"Nobody remembers," she snapped.
"I do," Sister Clare said.
"Who?" Matt and I blurted out.
"Sister Bernadette."