Page 49 of Apt to be Suspicious
“Have I?” Edmund tried to pass it off, then he sighed and said, “I was thinking you were a bit distracted, actually.”
“I have a longstanding reputation for not answering questions. Don’t you try that. Besides, in this case, it’s something related to tonight’s meeting. I can’t discuss it with you. You, on the other hand, are my apprentice. I am permitted and even encouraged to ask prying questions. Is there some matter I could help with?”
Edmund set his notebook aside, stretching his hands first, then working each finger individually. “Are we private?”
There was a moment for three gestures, across, up and down, and smoothing things out. “There. We’ll see anyone who comes in, not that I think anyone is around yet for the meeting. Speak.”
“It’s that matter of Miss Styles. Major Manse got more information for me, but none of it’s conclusive. There is certainly a Cecily Styles, with all the relevant notations at Somerset House, of the right age.” That was where the non-magical records were kept, births and deaths and marriages.
“But?” Uncle Alexander at least seemed interested in the problem.
“It’s hard to tell without more research. But Major Manse came across a photo of Miss Styles at sixteen— she’d won a school prize— and one of her in her ATS uniform. They’re not unlike the woman now, but not entirely like, either. There’s something odd, but I can’t tell if it means anything. Or if I’m seeing shadows.”
“Ah. One of the lesser-discussed aspects of the aftermath of war.” Uncle Alexander nodded. “Do you feel you have a responsibility here?”
“It is more, Uncle Alexander, that I don’t know who does. It’s not a matter for Lord Davenport.” He was the current Lord of Oxford, a man some fifteen years older than Edmund. The University was at the heart of his demesne in some ways, and yet he rarely seemed to be visible. He came to one or two lectures or performances at the Academy each term and a handful of other events.
Edmund knew nothing much against him, but also nothing much to his benefit. It made him wonder if he should set Ursula on the problem, but the man was a confirmed bachelor. He had a nephew installed as his Heir. That young man attended a non-magical public school, and not one of the top ones.
“Impersonation is not a matter for the Guard unless the impersonation is being done as part of some other criminal act. And you had hints of that, but no proof, yes?” Uncle Alexander settled back a little.
“Nothing new. It bothers me, though. Maybe it was all the looking for spies.” That had not been a substantial part of Edmund’s war work, but everyone had been aware of it. It was certainly relevant to what he’d been doing. Uncle Alexander knew enough of the overview. He’d done his share of tasks for Major Manse as well.
“I see the problem. I—” Uncle Alexander was about to say something else when the door opened. Edmund had his back to it— better him than his uncle— but he wheeled around to find Gabe Edgarton there, looking bemused.
“Beg pardon, didn’t realise you were in here. I can wait.” The trick of it was that Gabe likely knew useful things here, but it might involve him taking notice formally, which could be a problem. He was of the generation between Edmund and his parents, long established as a gifted investigator for the Penelopes before his Challenge for the Council some seven years ago now. Seven and a half.
These days, he was a longtime ally of Edmund’s parents, just like his own parents were. Like Edmund, Gabe was Heir to his father. He and Ursula and Edmund had been talking more about that side of things the past year. The trick here was going to be whether he felt this could remain an informal inquiry.
“May I consult, Edmund? Gabe, do you have a moment, or are you in the midst of something? And do you know who else is around?” Uncle Alexander spoke deliberately.
“Let me double-check the board. Is this a conversation for here, or some other space?” Gabe tilted his head.
“Best in one of the private rooms. Green, if no one’s about.” Uncle Alexander waved a hand. “Leave the books for re-shelving there, on that cart. I’ll do it if you don’t get a chance. How long do you have today?”
Edmund replied promptly. “Lecture at five, at the museum, hair over half a mile, allow fifteen minutes for the crowds. Quarter to five at the latest.”
“And it’s half-three now. Right. Gabe, if there’s anything like sandwiches or tea or some tisane that’s not mint or nettle? We’ll meet you there.” Uncle Alexander set about tidying up the books for shelving, and Edmund put back the couple that involved the ladder fast enough. Five minutes later, they were seated in the green room, with a few rather uncertain sandwiches and a pot of fruit tisane.
Uncle Alexander claimed a cup and half a sandwich. “The initial inquiry, Gabe, is informal. Neither your Penelope hat nor your Council hat.”
“Oh, that intrigues.” Gabe gestured. “Go ahead, Edmund, then.” The thing about Gabe was that he had a gift for meeting people where they were. He never made Edmund feel absurdly young. That was a great deal of it. Uncle Alexander dripped age and experience, mysteries and thousands of things he knew that he’d keep secret to the end of his days. Gabe, well, everyone who knew him called him a magpie. He certainly had thousands of his own secrets or other people’s. But he also had a joyfulness in the solving of a puzzle or sharing information that felt entirely different to Uncle Alexander’s quiet.
Now, Edmund took a breath and laid out the basics. The initial things that had caught his attention and Pen’s, all about the notes in the paper, Miss Styles and her odd behaviour at the dance, and what Major Manse had found or not found. He had a great deal of experience with this kind of summary now, and when he finished, Edmund was rewarded by an approving nod and half-smile.
“You’re quite right that impersonation in and of itself is not sufficient for the Guard to take an interest. But I agree there’s a worry there. A cause for worry.” Gabe tapped his fingers on the table. “Hector Davenport would not take a letter from you, but I think I know a way around that. If he gave you permission, and if you could arrange a conversation in a space you had prior access to…” His fingers flicked once. “Not simple, bear with me. But I believe you could not compel the truth, but certainly bring it out. If you see the distinction.”
Uncle Alexander’s eyebrows went up. “Explain yourself, please. And how would such a thing be arranged anyway? The woman clearly is avoiding Edmund.”
“As to the ritual, you are Heir to your father, Edmund. You are competent in ritual magic— and I think the work in naming magics you’ve been doing might be of some great help.” Gabe did know about both of Edmund’s apprenticeships. “With Davenport’s permission, you could set up the space for a soc and sac court.”
That was the portable version of the courtroom magics. Edmund knew the theory. Papa and Master Benton had made a point of making sure he could do it once he turned eighteen. But he’d never actually called the truth magics. He’d only been present when Papa had done it once, two years before that. Most matters went to the Courts, unless there was some matter of urgency.
Edmund frowned. “Lord Davenport doesn’t care for you, I take it.” Using the last name was a definite sign there.
It made Gabe laugh. “He’s one of Vitruvius Thanet’s partisans. There’s a family connection a generation or two back. But they also just get on well for some reason, despite Vitruvius being older. That said, I think I could arrange a note he’d open. Might not even involve trading favours. The question is, could you come up with a reason to draw her out? And would you have any help in the moment?”
“I don’t feel I could leave Pen— Miss Stirling— out of the matter. She’s reading maths, and her magical interests—” Edmund paused. “Actually, I know she took Time and Place at Schola. There’s an ongoing interest in chronological and locational magics. That might be a help.” Especially with the part where there were likely some detailed calculations to do to cover the necessary space and no more. “As for the reason, I know the man she’s— at least we are fairly confident it’s her— been blackmailing. Or at least getting money from. He might be willing to be the lure. Claim he wants to talk to her in order to make better arrangements or something like that.”
