Page 28 of The Journal of a Thousand Years
“Think a little longer about it, then act based on common sense not petulance. You can’t marry Gabriel, even if he wanted to. You have no father, no family, no history. It’s as if you don’t exist. How could the Rycroft heir marry someone like that?”
She might be wide of the mark about my family, now that I’d discovered I was a Hendry, but in a way, that knowledge made it worse. Being Melville’s daughter would remind Gabe’s parents of a past they wished to forget.
I shook off the negative thoughts. Gabe had assured me he didn’t care who my father was, and that his parents wouldn’t either. I mustn’t let Mrs. Hobson burrow her way into my mind and infect me with her poisonous words.
She slowly circled me, her arms still crossed over her chest. I felt like I was back at school with a strict headmistress checking I was following the uniform rules. “A marriage between you would have repercussions beyond the social. Lord and Lady Rycroft have significant influence over government policy surrounding magicians. Their son needs to marry a magician from a good family, not a mousy nobody. You would ruin him.”
“Save your breath, Mrs. Hobson. You’re going to need it when the police arrest you. It’syourreputation that will be ruined.”
Mrs. Hobson laughed, a brittle sound that echoed around the cellar. “You are so naive, it’s almost charming. You will be the one wasting your breath if you go to the police upon your release.Wedidn’t abduct you. Mr. Thurlow’s men did. Who would take your word over ours when there’s no evidence we were involved?”
“There is evidence. My landlady can identify Ivy.”
None of the Hobsons showed a flicker of concern. They’d already thought of that. “Did she actually witness me kidnap you?” Ivy asked. “Or simply call on you? It’s not my fault I got the wrong end of the stick and thought Gabe was being kidnapped, or that you then followed me out of the house. I thought I was taking you to my motorcar, but it seemed you got into a different one. The vehicle sped away before I had a chance to stop you. My driver tried to follow, but we lost sight of you, alas.” She shrugged and batted her eyelashes oh-so-innocently. “Nobody witnessed us get into the same vehicle.”
A jury would adore her. They would eat up her testimony, particularly if she added a few tears.
Mrs. Hobson laid a hand on her daughter’s arm. “We’ll wait upstairs. The air is unpleasant down here.”
The thug moved aside to let them pass. The women lifted their skirts and marched up the steps. Bertie hung back, watching them go with stooped shoulders.
“May I have a book to read to pass the time?” I asked.
Mrs. Hobson paused on the top step and looked down. “No. Bertie, come.”
Bertie cast me a look filled with hopelessness, then followed his mother and sister out. The thug exited, too, and locked the door behind him.
I sat on the chair and buried my face in my hands. I prayed they were right and Thurlow would follow through on his promise to release me. Unlike the Hobsons, I was confident I could get Scotland Yard to believe my account of the abduction. Alex’s father, Cyclops, worked for Scotland Yard and would be on my side, and perhaps even Mr. Jakes. He would be very interested in hearing my account of Bertie’s admission.
But I had very little confidence that Thurlow would keep his word to the Hobsons and let me go.
When the door opened again, I thought it might be him, but it was Bertie, along with the guard. The thug remained by the door at the top of the stairs this time, instead of at the base.
Bertie gave me a weak smile as he handed me two books. “I could only find texts about leather goods, I’m afraid. There are no novels here.”
I accepted the books gratefully and held them against my chest. “Where are we?”
“I’m not supposed to tell you.” He glanced up at the guard then lowered his voice. “After his death, we discovered my father kept a small house in Bethnal Green.”
Bethnal Green wasn’t the sort of place where a respectable gentlemen had a house, particularly if he lived not far away in a much better area with his family. The fact he hadn’t told his family about it meant Mr. Hobson hadn’t been a respectable gentleman, after all.
Bertie smirked. “Mother was livid when she found out.”
I’d never had much to do with Bertie in the past. He’d simply been there in the background, looking like he would rather be somewhere else. I regarded him with renewed interest. “You don’t like your family, do you?”
“You’ve met them. What do you think?”
“I think you loathe the way they treat you.”
“My mother calls me to heel, like a dog. If I don’t come running, she has me whipped. Not physically,” he conceded. “But her verbal lashings have left scars nevertheless.”
I nodded in understanding but remained silent. I got the feeling he wanted to talk to someone who would just listen. He’d probably gone his whole life without being truly heard.
“When I came clean to my parents about my artlessness, they told me I was pathetic, useless. I was the son in Hobson and Son. I had a job to do; make the leather in our boots stronger by using magic. I’d pretended to be a magician when I was young to get them to like me, but they suspected I was artless for years before they finally admitted me to Rosebank Gardens in an attempt to draw it out of me.” His mouth turned down as if he would cry, but he rallied and continued. “It was a horrid place. The treatments were painful. I wouldn’t inflict them on my worst enemy. With Father alive, and Mother essentially running the show, it didn’t matter that I was artless. We all simply continued on, fooling ourselves that I’d one day simply gain magic abilities. Then when Father unexpectedly became ill during the war, I told them I’d take care of everything, that I’d ensure the boots received their magic. I thought I could do it. I thought Ifeltmagic inside me.” He tapped his chest. “I must have been wrong.”
“You probably convinced yourself because you wanted your parents’ love and acceptance.”
He shrugged. “Father was too sick to verify whether the boots held my magic, and Mother was busy ensuring his will and other financial details of the business were in place in case he died. Later, when we found out some of the boots failed and the batch could be traced back to the time when I was in charge, we all realized I was definitely artless. There was no longer any doubt, or hope. They blamed me for the boots failing, and rightly so. Itwasmy fault.” He closed his eyes and pressed hislips firmly together, as if that would stop him blurting out his emotions. When he reopened his eyes, the haunted look made him seem even more vulnerable. “Those poor soldiers who’ve lost their limbs… I tried to convince my parents that we needed to compensate them, but they refused. They said the future of the company depended on me being a magician. Admitting that a batch failed because I was artless would ruin us when it came time for me to take over.”
