Page 8 of The Journal of a Thousand Years
Gabe asked him to do so.
Walter returned a few minutes later with a document that he handed to Gabe. “February 1898.”
Alex peered over Gabe’s shoulder at the file. “The troubles between artless and magicians had largely ended by then. He must have thought himself safe.”
Gabe agreed. “The police would have stopped actively searching for him. If he kept his head down and didn’t make any trouble, no one would find him.”
“Not even his sisters,” Myrtle muttered.
Gabe tapped his finger on the document. “He used the name Cooper here, the same name he was using in 1891 when he was involved with Lord Coyle. It was a risk not to change it again. So why didn’t he? Why keep using a name that linked him to the past?”
Alex pointed to the address on the document. “Let’s see if he’s home and ask him.”
Although Alex didn’t speakduring the short drive to Melville Hendry’s flat, I could tell he was anxious. He constantly checked the surroundings and drove as quickly as he could through the traffic. Fortunately, he’d given the driver of the Hendry sisters’ taxi the address so they didn’t have to keep up.
Gabe regarded Alex narrowly but didn’t comment on his friend’s speed. He kept a watchful eye on our surroundings, too, as we alighted from the Vauxhall. I couldn’t see anyone suspicious, but Alex’s caution worried me.
While we waited for the sisters to arrive, we spoke to the landlady. She informed us that Mr. Cooper was at work at the paper factory.
“We’ve just come from there,” Gabe told her. “He left early. He hasn’t returned home?”
The matronly woman wrung her plump hands together. “I don’t think so, but I’ve been out myself, so he may have come back while I wasn’t here. I’ll knock on his door.”
We waited somewhat impatiently while she headed upstairs. She returned a few minutes later, shaking her head. “There’s no answer.”
“We should go in and check,” Gabe said.
“What if he’s not there?” She looked Gabe and Alex over, biting on her lower lip. “It wouldn’t be right to let strangers in without his permission.”
It was fortuitous that the Hendry women arrived at that moment. Gabe introduced them as Mr. Cooper’s sisters, and me as another young relative, all of whom were concerned that her tenant had left work feeling unwell. Our physical resemblance to Mr. Cooper must have swayed her. She went to fetch the spare key, then invited us to follow her up the stairs.
His room contained a bed, narrow wardrobe, and washbasin on a stand on one side, and a table with a portable stove on the other. The copper kettle on the stove was cool to the touch, and the blue-and-white teacup beside it was clean. A wooden chair was tucked under the table, and a plate and bowl in the same blue-and-white pattern as the cup and saucer were placed neatly on a shelf by the window. The jars lined up on the second shelf proved to contain exactly what their neat handwritten labelsstated—sugar, tea, and other non-perishable essentials. The only other furniture was a comfortable-looking armchair positioned by the fireplace, separating the room into a sleeping half and a dining half.
The rug under the armchair was small but good quality, as were the armchair and crockery. They weren’t the type of things left behind when a resident moved, so I suspected he’d simply gone out to avoid seeing his sisters.
Gabe didn’t agree. “All his clothes are gone.” He went to close the empty wardrobe door, but Myrtle wanted to take a look, so he left her to it while he checked the small cupboard under the washstand. It was also empty. “There’s no shaving equipment or other personal items. He left.”
“But he hasn’t paid me this month’s rent!” the landlady cried.
“I’m sorry, but it doesn’t look like he plans to return.”
She clicked her tongue and muttered something under her breath.
I checked the name of the manufacturer on the base of the saucer. I recognized it. “This is magician-made. The set would have cost quite a lot. Surely he wouldn’t just leave it behind. The armchair, too, is good quality and worth taking to his new place of residence. Are the stove and kettle his?”
The landlady wasn’t listening. Her matronly manner had disappeared beneath the huffing and puffing of her fury.
Gabe inspected the plate and bowl. “They may be magician-made, but the bowl is chipped.” He fingered the jagged edge. “It’s also probably part of a larger set, or it was, once. My guess is that this was made years ago, and when the magic wore out, it got damaged. The owner probably threw it away or gave it to Hendry.”
“Or he stole it,” the landlady muttered.
Naomi bristled, but it was Rosina who stood up for her brother. “Melville wasn’t a thief.”
“Who’s Melville? My tenant’s name was Maxwell. Maxwell Cooper.”
“He went by more than one name,” Gabe told her.
The landlady wagged a finger at Rosina. “As his sisters, you are responsible for the rent he owed.”
