Conrad’s basalt eyes appraised their visitor as Hedwig introduced him, but the stitching didn’t cease.
He said: “My dear, the purple silk is missing.”
“Should I find it now?”
“It isn’t lost, it’s stolen. The culprit’s long flown. Remember, leave a bowl of milk outside this evening; he’ll take that as ransom, and will return the thread tomorrow.” Conrad held the old beliefs about appeasing the fae folk. Having given his instructions, he deigned to speak to Larkin. “My niece, Persephone, described you. And she said you have a tall tale to tell us.”
The creel of roses hung from Hedwig’s arm. She took it to the table, where a vacant vase awaited, and she would still be in earshot.
Larkin leant an elbow on the mantelpiece. Presumptious, Hedwig thought.
“I’m here as a distant relative,” he began. “With a desire to reconcile.”
“This doesn’t have the ring of truth. Your speech is wrong. We speak a specific way in this family.”
Larkin looked bemused; and Hedwig didn’t blame him. All her relatives shared spoken cadences – a rhythm – but Larkin could fairly point out such things were learnt, not genetic.
After pausing, Larkin tried again. “The story of Jemima Ramsay’s flight has passed down six generations of my family. I’m her descendant.”
“No. She died in 1821 and left no issue,” Conrad said firmly.
“She fled to Occitania with her lover; I’ve checked the church records there myself. The very month of her supposed funeral, she gave birth to a child who was baptised Philippe Jehan. She lived the rest of her life in France.”
“She didn’t; Oxford’s parish records mark her passing here. She’s buried up the road, at St Ignatius.”
“The coffin’s empty, I guarantee it. I’ve brought proof.”
“Mr Larkin, I have no desire to see your fake papers en français.”
“They’re not fake; but in any case, I also have one of Jemima’s possessions. It’s been passed down – my father gave it to me, as his gave it to him.” Larkin searched his inner pocket, then withdrew a small paper package, tied with twine.
Conrad stopped his sewing, finally, to watch Larkin pull the paper free. The twine unravelled – Hedwig shifted slightly for a better view – and Larkin triumphantly revealed a threadbare book. Without its packaging the book emitted a mildew scent that filled the room.
Larkin passed the book to Conrad.
“Look,” Larkin said. “She wrote her name on the flyleaf, and dated it.”
“Anyone could write that. You could have written it.”
“But I didn’t.”
Conrad turned the pages. “The rest is illegible. Just what’s this book meant to be?”
“I don’t know. It’s been ruined by damp. One of the pages can be read; there’s a diagram of a doll, all the limbs and joints labelled. Have you seen any of her other drawings? Does it resemble them?”
Hedwig knew that Conrad owned a safe for family documents. If pictures still existed, they were there. And Conrad seemed to recognise the diagram, because he took a lengthy look. She saw a subtle change in his expression. Conrad closed the book.
“Why d’you want to work for us, Mr Larkin?”
“To make people feel joy – and awe – and every other emotion that your magic brings. No other doll maker can teach me that. The Kendricks Workshop is unique.”
“So it’s sorcery that attracts you, not the craft of miniatures. But only the most gifted of our craftsmen are permitted to learn sorcery. I take it you lack craft?”
“Not quite. I studied Fine Art at Central Saint Martins, then spent a further two years training myself in the making of automata.”
“Have you ever worked for a firm that specialises in dolls?”
“No. I only want to work for you.”
A canny answer, Hedwig thought. Admitting prior allegiances, brief or otherwise, would rule Larkin out in Conrad’s view. The Kendricks hoarded their knowledge jealously.
“Let’s say I asked you to make a doll,” suggested Conrad. “One that caught my likeness—”
“I’d make a grodnertal,” Larkin interrupted.
Conrad chuckled. “Surely not! A wooden peg, sold for pennies? Do I look cheap to you?”
“No. Grodnertals are durable. They’re hard to break.”
“And what enchantment would be laid upon it?” Conrad pressed. “What feeling would it call to mind?”
The visitor dropped his gaze in deference. “Self-respect.”
Another laugh from Conrad. Hedwig noted he was charmed. He wasn’t, however, fully taken in.
“I believe your passion’s genuine,” said Conrad. “And the book is credible. Regrettably, that’s not enough to work here. You see, I don’t have arbitrary faith in birthright. What matters, over everything, is loyalty. Rewards for kin aren’t automatic. I must know their past – and know how they will act in future – and know they’ll never give our secrets to competitors. That’s of utmost consequence. If we must have new blood, I permit the hiring of a suitably vetted spouse – for marriage is a solemn, and legally binding commitment to the interests of this family, not easily undone. You have made no such commitment; I don’t know you; and I have no reason to believe you will be loyal.”
“Let me convince you,” Larkin pleaded, but Conrad merely handed him back the book.
Hedwig was unsurprised by Conrad’s decision. Twice in the months since she’d held the housekeeping position, men had made eager applications to join their firm, undeterred by the knowledge Kendricks was a family business. On both occasions, Hedwig’s own perspicacity had uncovered they were sent as corporate spies. Didn’t it make sense, then, to be suspicious by default of Larkin – no matter how charming he was? Hedwig only differed from Conrad in her belief a talented enemy could be turned, with the right incentive, into an asset. But outwardly she must show support for his actions.
“I’ll see you out,” Hedwig said to Larkin.
He stared as if, till then, he’d forgotten she was there. “Do you believe I have a right to be here?”
“That isn’t up to me.”
“Why not? Which branch of the family are you from?”
“Botham.” Hedwig said again: “I’ll see you out.”
“No need.” He left the room, the door clicking softly shut behind him.
Conrad resumed his sewing. Hedwig took the vase to the bay, because the window overlooked the garden and she wished to see their visitor depart. She saw him walking down the path, towards the river. Angrily, it seemed; he kicked a stone. It was a shame he would be leaving. She again considered Larkin’s readiness to buy the cracked doll, and what that signified of his finances. Paxton’s Eyot was short of wealthy men. Oh, half a dozen Sorcerers had money saved, but they were all old and married.
“Has he gone?” asked Conrad.
“Yes. He said he stayed at my mama’s last night – presumably he’s walking back there. Now you’ve turned him down he’ll pack his bags and vanish, I expect.”
“He didn’t say where he came from. Only mentioned where he studied, and – which part of France did he sojourn in?”