Home > The Imposter's Inheritance (Glass and Steele #9)

The Imposter's Inheritance (Glass and Steele #9)
Author: C.J. Archer

Chapter 1

 

 

London, Autumn 1890

 

 

I’d been dreading dining with the Delanceys and their friends from the collectors’ club since we received the invitation a week previously. It was not my idea of an enjoyable way to spend an evening.

Part of that apprehension could be attributed to seeing Lord Coyle again. Our meetings were never easy, but they had become even more of a trial since he'd asked me to encourage Matt's cousin, Hope, to accept his marriage proposal. Doing so would expunge the debt I owed Coyle after he gave me information to blackmail Lord Cox into marrying Hope's sister, Patience.

Information that had somehow fallen into the hands of the very man who could destroy Patience's happiness with her new husband.

Lord Cox's half-brother, and the true heir to the baronetcy, had discovered that he had been robbed of his inheritance, and Lord Cox blamed me for telling him. The half-brother was the son of the previous baron and his first wife, a governess. The marriage had been conducted in secret, in front of strangers, so it was easy for him to set her aside in favor of a more appropriate high-born lady who also gave him a son. That second child inherited the Cox title and estate, but his parents' marriage had been bigamous, and so he was illegitimate. His older half-brother had been brought up none the wiser to his father's identity, let alone his duplicity.

I suspected Lord Coyle was to blame for informing the half-brother. I intended to find out tonight why he'd done so.

The confrontation would have to wait until after dessert, however. The marbled jelly, iced pudding, apple tart, vanilla cream and fruit selection were too delicious not to enjoy. Indeed, the food had made the evening marginally less tortuous than I'd anticipated. Being seated next to Professor Nash had also helped. I'd not been forced to endure conversation with the Delanceys, Lord Coyle, or Lady Louisa Hollingbroke. If I couldn't sit with Matt, then Professor Nash was the best dining neighbor I could have asked for. Even Oscar Barratt, sitting on my other side, wasn't someone I wanted to engage in casual conversation. I might blurt out that he was making a mistake in marrying Louisa.

The announcement of their pending nuptials had appeared in the previous day's newspaper and perhaps accounted for Oscar's invitation to dinner. Mrs. Delancey was a dedicated hostess and would have insisted he join us, along with his fiancée, as soon as she learned of the engagement.

"It's been an edifying collaboration," Professor Nash told me about his contribution to Oscar's book on magic. "I've learned some things from Barratt and, I humbly suggest, he has learned some things from me."

"I don't doubt it," I said. "Your knowledge on the history of magic is unsurpassed."

He chuckled as he scooped up a spoonful of jelly. "Thank you, you're very gracious, but we don't know if anyone else studies the topic. That's the problem with being persecuted; magicians must research and perform their art underground."

It would be ungracious to point out that he wasn't a magician. Magic had died out in his family with his grandfather, an iron magician. It was possible his family was distantly related to that of Fabian Charbonneau, my mentor and co-collaborator in furthering the study of magic, although Fabian didn't know of a connection.

"Have you ever traced your family tree?" I asked the professor.

"Only four generations back. There's no connection to the Charbonneaus, if that's what you're thinking. None that I've found, anyway."

"You read my mind."

"Speaking of Charbonneau, how are your studies coming along? Have you managed to recreate any of the remarkable spells of the past?"

I savored the last mouthful of apple tart, in part because it was so delicious but also because I wanted to think about my answer. I could only delay for so long, however. "Not yet."

"What are you working on? Something in particular?"

"We're still learning the words." I didn't tell him that Fabian and I were about to attempt to create our first spell. Matt was the only person who knew, and he wasn't thrilled with the idea. I'd assured him that it would be some time before we'd make it work—if it worked at all. We still didn't know how to pronounce many of the magical words on our list. It was going to involve a lot of trial and error.

I glanced at Matt over the bowl of exotic fruit perched on a vine-covered silver pedestal but he was in conversation with Sir Charles Whittaker and didn't notice. Mrs. Delancey appeared to be listening in, her head tilted toward them, her food forgotten.

"Have you received one, India?" Oscar asked. At my blank look, he added, "A threatening letter from some artless crackpot."

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Matt's head lift, his attention now on Oscar too.

"No," I said. "What are you being threatened with?"

"It's not specific." Oscar now had the attention of all the guests. "And it's not me who has been threatened but other magicians. My brother, for one, as well as some magicians I know who are all good craftsmen with successful businesses. That appears to be the common factor. I haven't received a letter, nor have you or other magicians of my acquaintance who don't have businesses relating to their particular magical art."

"How many of your friends have received letters?" Matt asked.

"Four." Oscar plucked up his cognac glass. "The anonymous author tells the recipient they should be ashamed for gaining their success through cheating and not through hard work like himself. He insists they cease using their magic or there will be consequences. The actual consequences aren't stated."

Mrs. Delancey placed a hand to the silver and jet cameo choker at her throat. "How does he even know who to write to? Most magicians are not open about their art."

Oscar shrugged.

"An educated guess." Lord Coyle leaned back in the chair, causing it to creak in protest at the redistribution of his considerable weight. "Once one becomes aware of the existence of magic, it's logical to assume that the most successful craftsmen and businessmen are magicians. Barratt's brother, for example."

"Who would send such letters?" Mrs. Delancey asked.

"A struggling businessman who wants to blame his lack of success on magicians," her husband said. "It's typical of that class."

I bit down on my retort.

"My dear," his wife scolded. "You forget yourself." It wasn't clear if she was reminding him they were among people from “that class” or that his own family had been in the wool trade before he turned to banking.

"And so it begins," Lord Coyle muttered with a glare for Oscar.

Oscar ignored him, as did Louisa. They seemed unconcerned that Oscar's newspaper articles about magic had propelled the topic into the public sphere. The attention had faded after he stopped writing them, but clearly anger and frustration still simmered in some quarters. His book would bring a fresh wave of interest.

And possibly a fresh wave of persecution.

Oscar didn't see it that way. He and Louisa hoped the attention would free magicians who'd lived in secret for generations. I wasn't yet sure if that would be the outcome. Hearing about these letters made me think that Matt was right all along, and bringing magic into the open would only cause trouble between magicians and the artless.

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