“Merton is unlikely to show her hand more than this.” Ogden set down his sketchbook, which was opened to the drawing of the American Elsie had described. “Whoever this man is, he understands her meaning.”
“But this isn’t her end goal.” Elsie tapped the end of her pencil against the article on ravens. “Because she’s taking more than just spiritual opuses. She’s attacked aspectors from every alignment.”
“To gain power, perhaps,” he replied. “Or to weaken those who would oppose her.”
“But oppose her in what?” Elsie asked, and not for the first time. She picked up the Daily Telegraph article and murmured, “What are you after, Merton?”
Could they track down the American to ask? Elsie doubted he would come after her again. Perhaps she could—
The sitting room door opened. Ogden grabbed his sketchbook and closed it. “Yes, Emmeline?”
“Visitor for you.” She opened the door wider, and Bacchus strode in.
Elsie leapt to her feet, but her heart soared higher than that, and a flush of remembrance rose to her cheeks. “Bacchus! We weren’t expecting you.” I would have done something better with my hair—
Then she noticed the angry red line around his neck and gasped.
“What happened?” In her haste to get to him, she nearly tripped over the short table in the center of the room. She moved to embrace him, but stopped short under the gazes of Ogden and Emmeline. Instead she clutched his forearms, and he cupped her elbows. “Bacchus, you look like you haven’t slept.”
“I did on the way over.” His lilt was caught somewhere between feigned British and natural Bajan.
Ogden gathered up the articles and set them aside. “Please, come sit.”
“Thank you.” Bacchus offered a weak smile to Elsie and sat in the armchair; Elsie resumed her earlier seat. Before she could ask more questions, Bacchus said, “Master Hill was assaulted last night.”
“What?” Elsie blurted at the same time Ogden said, “Good God.”
“She’s alive,” he added. “In serious condition, but the doctors believe she will recover. She was transferred to a hospital in the city late last night after a temporal aspector slowed her bleeding.”
Elsie pressed a hand to her chest. “That’s . . . terrible. Was she shot?”
“Stabbed.”
Elsie blanched and reached for Bacchus’s hand. “You fought him, didn’t you? The attacker.”
Ogden turned to the door. “Emmeline, would you make us some tea?”
The maid hesitated, obviously wanting to hear the conversation, but she curtsied and left.
Bacchus’s nod was severe. “Briefly. But this was no Abel Nash. He was a physical aspector. A master one.”
Ogden cursed. “She’s found another pawn.”
“My thoughts precisely,” Bacchus agreed. “It was a man of average build, perhaps a little taller. He wore black entirely, even on his face. I had no means of recognizing him.”
Elsie said, “We could get a list of registered spellmakers in London and weed it down from there—”
“Who is to say he’s registered?” Ogden asked. “I wasn’t.”
“She never used you to kill spellmakers directly,” Elsie whispered.
Ogden frowned. “Not that I can remember, at least.”
Elsie reached for him as well, squeezing his hand before shifting her attention to Bacchus. “Where else are you hurt?”
“It’s nothing serious. Only bruises.”
Elsie sighed, pulling both her hands back to herself. “I want this to end. I want this to be over.”
“Soon enough it will be, one way or another.” Ogden picked up the stack of articles and handed them to Bacchus. “We should catch you up on our research. We’ve deciphered Merton’s code, though we’ve found only five articles under Elsie’s name.” He went on to explain everything they knew, which, unfortunately, did not take long.
“I see.” Bacchus flipped through the papers. “This is good. The information, I mean.”
Elsie’s eyes dropped to the line on his neck. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
Lowering the papers, Bacchus gave her a soft smile. “I am. In truth, it is fortunate I was there. I don’t think Merton, or whoever this attacker was, expected a second aspector to be in residence. He must have come upon her suddenly to avoid retaliation. She’d been stabbed three times . . .”
Elsie considered that. Bacchus had likely saved Master Hill’s life. That made one more opus that Merton didn’t have, and surely the attacker wouldn’t risk attacking a patient in a public hospital to finish the job. Not where there were so many witnesses . . .
Emmeline returned, and the conversation went silent under her watch. She set a silver tray on the table to Bacchus’s left and poured three cups, filling Ogden’s only half full with tea, then adding cream to bring the liquid up to the top. “Master Kelsey, how do you like your tea?”
A knock sounded downstairs.
“Oh.” Emmeline set down the cream. “I’ll answer that.”
“Thank you,” Ogden said.
Emmeline scurried from the room, wiping her hands on her apron as she went.
A moment passed before Bacchus said, “The vicar is available July 16.”
Elsie had forgotten the date they had discussed at the engagement dinner. “Oh. But . . . is Kent the right place?” She initially hadn’t wanted the ceremony in Brookley. The whole town might expect to be invited, and if she didn’t invite them, they might invite themselves. The last thing she wanted was the Wright sisters tittering over Bacchus.
But with the recent break from the Scotts . . .
His eyes turned downcast for a moment. “I also inquired of Mr. Harrison.”
Elsie nodded. Mr. Harrison was the vicar for Brookley. Nice enough man. And really, moving the ceremony to Brookley was the sensible thing to do, was it not? It would make things easier on Bacchus.
She rubbed her arms. “You’ve not heard from them.”
Ogden, clearing his throat, stood from his chair and moved to the window, peering down at the street below. It wasn’t the subtlest attempt to give them privacy, but Elsie appreciated it all the same.
“From the duchess, yes. I received her letter as I was leaving this morning.” Bacchus reached into his jacket and pulled out the folded missive. He handed it to her.
She glanced at his face, ensuring he did in fact want her to read it, before unfurling the message. It was rather long, the penmanship even finer than Bacchus’s. It was an apology interlaced with kind words regarding Bacchus . . . oh, and Elsie.
She really is a marvelous find. I only wish we could have resolved this in a better way. Please believe me when I say I had no idea, Bacchus. Isaiah didn’t want me or the children to know. He didn’t want us to worry. I’m not condoning his choice. Of course I want my husband to live a long life. Of course I want his health to be pristine. But I fear the cost has been too high. You are already greatly missed. All of our consciences are heavy over this, Isaiah’s especially.
Elsie folded the letter in her lap. “How are you?” she murmured.
Bacchus stretched his arm over the back of the couch, running a finger along one of the curls at the nape of Elsie’s neck as he did so. Shivers rained down her spine. “I believe her, of course.” He sighed. “It’s too much to sort out right now. I’ve not yet replied to her. I don’t know if I will. So perhaps Kent . . .”
When he trailed off, Elsie supplied, “I really don’t mind having it in the church here. It’s smaller. Fewer flowers, smaller bill.”
His lip quirked. “I don’t mind purchasing you flowers.”