Page 49 of Heir of Uncertain Magic

She was mulling over the idea when a society bookkeeper arrived, spotted her, and unlocked the doors to the building.

“Anything I can help you with today, MissLarkin?” she asked, stepping back to hold the door for Hulda.

Hulda nodded her thanks. “Just a light would be helpful. I’m happy to peruse on my own. I’m sure you’ve better things to do than tend to me.”

The woman nodded, fetched her a lantern, and walked her to the door that opened onto the stone steps leading down to the basement, where most of the records were stored. Then she left her to it. Hulda released a relieved breath about halfway down; she had worried over what excuses to use if the woman had insisted on accompanying her. She didn’t want any chance of her inquisition getting back to BIKER.

Because, in truth, she was not here to dig up information on a client or the owners of an enchanted house. She was here in the hope she might uncover something on Mr.Alastair Baillie. Because not knowing was driving her a wee bit mad.

Hulda knew the Genealogical Society almost as well as she did BIKER, so she found the aisle and shelf she needed quickly. Found some Baileys and some Baillies, but not even a sifting brought up any records of Alastair. She wasn’t surprised, only disappointed—Alastair was an English citizen and had never lived in America, and it would appear none of his close relatives had done so, either.

Twisting her lips, Hulda shoved the Bailey and Baillie boxes back where they belonged, picked up her skirt, and trudged back upstairs, where the morning light streaming through the windows hurt her eyes. Mr.Gifford’s reception desk was empty; Hulda blew out her lantern, set it aside, and helped herself to a pen and parchment. Scrawled a written request for genealogical records to a contact in Britain, leaving off the reason for why she needed them. With luck, her name and association with BIKER would be enough. At the end, she did say,Please write directly to me.Last thing she needed was Mr.Baillie or Mr.Walker opening up her questionable post.

After folding up the letter, she stuffed it in her black bag and checked the time. She had enough left to run to the post office before getting to work. And when she got to work, she was going to check the stock of wards to see if Myra had left her anything to protect one against hysteria.

If Mr.Bailliewasindeed more masterful in hysteria than he claimed, the very least Hulda could do was ward her bedroom walls.

“You want tohirehim?”

Hulda stood on the opposite side of Mr.Walker’s desk, completely flummoxed. She’d come in to file another formal complaint against Mr.Baillie, who had been conveniently absent when she arrived, but the conversation had immediately gotten away from her.

“You didn’t mention he was a wardist.” Mr.Walker gestured to the chair in front of him, and Hulda hesitantly sat. “We always have a place for people with talent.”

She worked her mouth until Mr.Walker chuckled. She snapped it closed and organized her thoughts. Here she was ready with a defense and explanation about yesterday’s horrendous events, and ... for all thetwisting and turning she’d done in bed last night,thiswas not one of the reactions she had prepared for. “I ... will inform him of the offer.”

“What is he doing now?”

“He’s an author.”

“Really? Anything I’d know?”

“A Pauper in the Makingis published. It’s something of a crime adventure.”

“Interesting!” He wrote down the title.

“But, Mr.Walker, I need to discuss Mr.Baillie with you.”

He nodded. “I’m not surprised.”

Her pulse danced beneath her wrists. She squared her shoulders to fight embarrassment. “Oh?”

“You and Myra Haigh were close; it’s understandable that you’d be upset about the investigation and the audit. I’m happy to approve a holiday for you.”

Her gut shifted. “Is that what Mr.Baillie told you? That I was upset over MissHaigh?”

He tilted his head. “Is that not the case?”

“Heused magicon me, Mr.Walker.” She did not yell, but one might call the force behind the words excessive. “He riled up my emotions until I could barely think straight!”

He frowned. “Mr.Baillie is—”

“A weak hysterian. So you’ve said.” She clutched her armrests. “And I insist you are mistaken. Ask MissSteverus if you need validation of my character, Mr.Walker. I am not some simpering, afflicted woman. Mr.Baillie has targeted me, I believe because you’ve selected me as a possible replacement for the director position here.”

Mr.Walker’s frown deepened, but he didn’t outright dismiss her, which she supposed could be taken as a victory.

“Thus Mr.Fernsby’s ... reaction,” she added.

Opening a drawer, Mr.Walker retrieved a thin ledger and opened it. Flipped a few pages. Dipped his pen. “I will look into it. In themeantime, it might be better for you and Mr.Baillie to work in, let’s say,individualizedspaces.”

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