The Timeseer's Gambit (The Faraday Files Book 2) (19 page)

“Goodness, you don’t stop talking, do you?” Olivia asked, and the maid finally, still in the midst of a deep curtsey, dipped her head in apology. “I’m here about the dead one. Not the courting one.”

A flicker of uncertainty danced behind the maid’s features for just a moment. She smoothed it instantly, and finally rose from her curtsey. She extended a hand to Olivia. “May I see your categorization cards, please?” she repeated, as if the interlude for Georgie’s younger sister had never happened.

Olivia sighed and fished about in her reticule. “I suppose if it says ‘steelcutter’ or ‘wordweaver,’ you’re going to hustle me back out into the street?” she grumbled, finally producing the card and extending it to the maid, who looked at it, seeming even more confused than before. “What do you want now?” Olivia demanded, folding her arms.

The maid glanced up at her. “You’re not here for the meeting,” she said.

Chris recognized the flash of curiosity in Olivia’s eyes, the way her shoulders tightened just a little bit. Her ears practically perked up. He watched her mind sift through the available information and then, finally, quite slowly, she said, “The meeting for the new society of spiritbinders.”

The maid blinked. She opened her mouth and closed it again. “Perhaps I should go and fetch Missus Edison,” she said.

“Is Missus Wardingham present?” Olivia asked suddenly. “Or perhaps Mister Scrivener?”

“Yes, but―” the maid fumbled. She bit her lip. She knew that she was walking on hot coals, and knew that she had just burned herself. Chris hadn’t missed the significance of the names. Two of the four Olivia had marked out from his studying the receipts. “Wait here,” the maid said, her voice going flat and threatening. Which made Olivia grin. “I am fetching Missus Edison.” She bustled off, skirts snapping as she moved.

“They’re
here
?” Chris asked, shocked.

“Not hard to puzzle out.” Olivia shrugged, looking like the cat who’d eaten the cream. And the mouse. “I only assembled the pieces.”

Chris watched the maid vanish into the depths of the mansion. He sighed. “She’s probably going to lose her position for this,” he said. “Who knows if she’ll be able to find another job.”

Olivia shot him an irritated look. “Not my problem,” she grumbled.

He bit down on his retort, wrestling his gaze away. Moments later, Theresa Edison swept into the foyer.

She was as beautiful and prepossessing as she had been years ago. Her pale rose gown was bustled and trailed behind her, displaying her fine figure despite her four children very well. Her ivory bodice was tight and revealing and beaded with small pearls, but a matching gossamer scarf swathing her shoulders retained modesty, as did the long lace gloves that climbed her arms to the elbows. Her shining black locks were pinned, tucked, and braided with such skill that it made Olivia’s well turned out hair seem like a bird’s nest, and her fine slippers clicked across the floor as she moved. “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, her voice commanding and pleasantly throaty. “Elaine claims that you―”

She made eye contact with him. She stopped in place, swaying slightly. She blinked at him, and then narrowed her eyes, squinting across the way. “Do… do I know you?” she asked.

He didn’t know if he should answer. He glanced over at Olivia, who had her index finger tapping her chin. Her suspicious gaze matched Missus Edison’s. He met her eyes, and she gave him a tiny nod.

Olivia wanted him to take point. Well. He was already looking forward to his inevitable embarrassment. “Missus Edison,” he said softly. “How lovely to see you again after all these years. You look radiant. It doesn’t seem as if you’ve aged a day. It’s―I’m Christopher Buckley.”

Recognition came over her face. “Yes!” she exclaimed. She bustled forward, skirts rustling, until she was before him, clasping his hands in hers. “Yes, I knew you seemed familiar.” She glanced at him, head to toe, and looked up at him hopefully. “Have you been categorized, Christopher?” she asked. “You must be here to see Benjamin, then! Elaine says that your servant is a truthsniffer, but surely…”

Olivia snorted.

Chris realized what was happening. And he knew what would happen next. So he did it himself. He slowly pulled his hands out of Missus Edison’s grip and hardened his expression. And his heart broke just a little. For a moment, he’d had a vision of sliding into his old life here, being shepherded back into that world. But he’d never really known Missus Edison, and thus it was impossible that she maintained any real affection for him. Their knowledge of one another had all been filtered through Georgie… and her kindness was nothing but a product of her own misconception.

“Miss Faraday is my employer,” Chris said, taking a step back, and Olivia gave him a dark look, lips pursing. Doubtless, she wanted him to lie. Tell Missus Edison what she wanted to hear and infiltrate their meeting. “And, yes. I have been categorized. Wordweaver.”

Missus Edison’s face fell. “Ah,” she murmured. “That is… that’s very disappointing.” She paused. A glimmer shone in her eye as she looked him up and down. “But there is your sister, little Rosemary. I read about her in the papers! I remember how proud your father was of her. She was the wizard from White Clover, wasn’t she? And from Grapevine Street, too! Rosemary would be more than welcome to―”

There was nothing to harden him quite so quickly as yet another pair of grasping hands searching for Rosemary like a dog with the scent for a particular bone. Chris took another step back, his lips folding. “Rosemary lives in the country,” he said. “There were far too many people here in Darrington who wanted to make her more than welcome.”

A stormcloud crossed Missus Edison’s face. Its twin rolled across Olivia’s. Before either of them could express their disappointment in him, he pressed forward. “We’re here to talk about Georgiana.”

Missus Edison stepped back, pacing away from them. “I have no interest in discussing her,” she said airily, but there was a wound beneath the words. Chris could hear it. What had happened between them?

“I know it must hurt that she’s gone, but―”

“Sister Georgiana may be dead,” Missus Edison declared, “but that has nothing to do with me. My daughter, Georgiana Edison, hasn’t been welcome in this family since the day she came home with that categorization card!”

“
What
?” Chris demanded, stunned. “Do you mean to say that you―”

“Missus Edison,” Olivia stepped in smoothly. She slid in front of Chris, breaking his line of sight with Missus Edison, leaving him to stew on the knowledge he’d just been given. Georgie had been
disowned
? “We are incredibly uncomfortable, standing here in your foyer.” She produced her categorization card again. “I’m Olivia Faraday,
Deathsniffer
, and I have some questions to ask that I find myself much, much more curious about now than I did before.” She was holding herself as if she was about to launch into battle, scratching Missus Edison’s eyes out. “Because now you have a motive.”

Maris’s precious discretion began to circle the drain.

“What are you accusing me of?” Missus Edison demanded. Her voice had gone shrill.

“Being a joke of a mother,” Olivia said. Chris shot her a surprised glance. He’d expected her light, teasing, ‘what will you do about that’ voice, but instead, she sounded
angry
. “And possibly a killer. Let us in. We have to talk.”

“I have company,” Missus Edison said, her voice tight and faint.

“Yes, I’m aware,” Olivia shot back. “A group of about twelve moderate-to-weak spiritbinders who were either not invited or not willing to throw in their lots with the traditionalists. You think you can organize them into a circle of talented ‘binders the way your husband did when he conceived the Floating Castle, a group that my assistant’s father was a part of. A new high society, filling the void left behind by the bulk of Darrington’s ‘binders going over to the Combs family and their conspiracies. You’re not interested in conspiracies, are you, Missus Edison?”

“I… I’m not…”

“No. You’re interested in prestige. And a daughter who couldn’t even pass categorization? Hardly prestigious.” Before Missus Edison could retort, Olivia changed directions, spinning to look at Chris “Who is Benjamin?”

“Benji?” Chris asked weakly. Georgie’s irritating younger brother, just old enough to think that he ought to be included in their adventures. “He’s her son.”

“And how old would he be now?”

“Seventeen? Wait. No.” Chris sucked in a breath. “Eighteen.”

“As I thought,” Olivia shot at Missus Edison. “Just now categorized, isn’t that right? In fact, I would guess that little Benji had his fateful visit to Lowry roughly a month ago, just before Georgiana’s unfortunate encounter with a fiaran. Am I far from the mark?”

“How―?”

“I’m a Deathsniffer,” Olivia repeated. “And you look very bad right now.”

“… come in,” Missus Edison said primly, and she swept off.

Olivia didn’t shoot Chris one of her knowing, triumphant looks. She just stalked after their hostess, leaving Chris to scurry along behind them.

Chris’s numerous encounters with Olivia’s brilliance never seemed to make it less impressive. When they entered the parlour and his eyes flew across the gathered faces, he shook his head faintly when the company totaled twelve, the exact figure Olivia had guessed. He weaved in his open book.
Olivia is a genius.
He thought she might appreciate that later.

Or maybe she wouldn’t. She settled into the nearest chair without asking permission. There were no others open, and so Chris moved to stand beside and slightly behind. Twelve pairs of eyes watched them, wide and confused.

Chris and Georgie had often sat on the floor of this parlour playing cribbage when the younger children weren’t present, and noddy when they were. The adults had talked over their heads, and Chris remembered how perfectly simple it had been, the way their lives had been divided into youth and maturity. He thought acutely of Rosemary and wondered if she remembered any of this. Had she never been a normal child? She was as old as he’d been during that year before the Castle. Did she play cribbage in Summergrove? Did she have friends, or just girls she competed with?

There were no children on the floor, now.

The gathered faces were almost funny. Theresa Edison wanted to assemble a new class of spiritbinders, a new Darrington social elite. It would seem that the Combs family had beaten her to all of the attractive prospects. There wasn’t a single person gathered who wasn’t elderly, plain, mousy, pinched, patched, darned, or dreadfully lacking any sort of style. One lady had hair that was more flyaway than bun and scuffed grey boots that buttoned up to her calves. The things made Miss Albany’s choices of footwear seem smart.

Olivia folded her hands in her lap. “Eleanor Wardingham, Hugh Edwards, Rupert Scrivener, and Bryonie Pye?” she asked. Four heads bobbed around the room, surprised, including the lady with the halo of hair and the button-ups. “Though,” Olivia continued, “it occurs to me that all of you may have been on that list somewhere.” She studied the faces. She turned to Missus Edison. “Is this a charity organization?” she asked mildly.

“I don’t know why you’re asking, seeing as you seem to think you already know all of our purposes in being here!” Missus Edison retorted, raising her chin.

“All right.” Olivia turned away, looking at individual faces around the room. “I suppose there’s no point asking questions I know the answers to. I’ll rephrase that. This isn’t a charity organization. So why are you all taking business at churches?”

The woman with the shoes hurried to explain. “We take work anywheres we find it!” Her accent was heavily Vernellan, low-class and barely educated. “Churches has money, they do, so we bind there more often!”

“Miss Pye, I presume?” Olivia said primly, her polite tone at odds with the insult of calling a middle-aged woman “miss.” Bryonie Pye did not protest, merely coloured, proving Olivia’s theory correct. “Well, Miss Pye,” she continued. “You bind for churches an
awful
lot. Specifically, The Church of Eadwyr and Healfdene’s Loving Embrace, The Church of the Maiden’s Unblemished Soul, and The Sanctum of the Father’s Sheltering Arms.
Do you know what all three of those churches have in common, Miss Pye?”

No response. Olivia clucked her tongue.

“Well,” she pressed. “How about the rest of you, then? Can anyone point out the link between the three? What if I add in a fourth church, hm? The Cathedral of the Blessed Heart of the Holy Family! Does that help at all?”

“I
attend
that church,” Missus Edison spoke up. “What does it have to do with Georgiana?”

Olivia made a sound of disgust. “You’re one of the faithful, then?” she asked, shaking her head. “Isn’t that sweet. You attend church and ask for guidance from Mother Deorwynn in heaven and Mother Greta at Heart Church every Godsday, and when your own daughter is put up for the priesthood, you disown her.”

Missus Edison folded her lips.

Olivia wasn’t done. “Did you know that Brother Lachlan died two days ago?” she asked.

A gasp went up around the room. Missus Edison shivered. “What?” she asked faintly.