Page 38 of Apt to be Suspicious
He’d not had a chance to share Mama’s notes, or his specific plans. But he had them. And he’d talked them out with Uncle Alexander. Edmund hadn’t been specific about what he was planning on doing, but he was sure Mama had mentioned at least some of it to his uncle. It would take a careful bit of questioning, a touch of the less invasive sorts of Naming magic, and who knew what else.
Fortunately, Phipps was at the dock right on time. Edmund had lured him into the conversation by saying he might know something about a piece of jewellery that had gone missing from his family home over Christmas. It— and Edmund’s generally harmless reputation— had made Phipps willing to talk. And they weren’t going far. If Phipps wanted to get out of the punt and walk home, he could choose to do that.
Phipps did not press to be the one punting, so Edmund steered them upriver smoothly. It was not quite three-quarters of a mile to Mesopotamia. That bit of walking path had been named by some wit long ago as ‘between two rivers’, since the Cherwell split and flowed on either side of it.
Once Edmund had poled them to the side, and looped a rope around a convenient pole, he settled down and offered a drink from the basket he’d brought. “I appreciate your coming out.” Edmund left the sentence there, mostly to see what the other man would do. Phipps was not one of the brighter set. He was reading Literature, and he’d gone to Harrow.
“You said you had information of some sort. Mater’s had no end of worry about it. A family piece, she gets sentimental about it.” Phipps took the flask of tea and leaned back in the seat.
“I do, but I’m also hoping you might answer a question or two for me. Did you have people up to stay around then?” Edmund had a guess or three, mostly because Mama had tracked down some of the gossip.
“We always do around the holidays. Not Christmas itself, of course, that’s for the family, but we had people arrive, oh, Boxing Day through Epiphany, in various groupings. Some my age, some friends of my aunt and uncle’s.”
“A big estate, plenty of space, and you’re— mmm. Good pheasant shooting, I gather?” Again, Edmund had done his prep. He knew perfectly well that the Phipps family had an estate renowned for the shooting season.
Phipps, rather predictably, lit up. “Oh, yes. Our gamekeeper’s got a wonderful eye for it. My older brother doesn’t care for it much anymore.” Edmund diagnosed a brother who’d fought directly, as opposed to Phipps, who was perhaps nineteen or twenty now, and who would not have seen combat. That was not difficult at all. “We had some people up. I can’t imagine it would have been any of them. What’s your interest, anyway?”
“I know someone who— well, the sort who worries someone might take advantage. And I love a good mystery, don’t you? I read them rather a lot. I know it’s a serious matter, and I’m sure you’ve had the police in, and all.” Edmund caught the flicker on his face. “Not helpful?”
“Not at all. They couldn’t see how it was done, not at all. And Mater was wearing it at supper. Her maid took it off, and we’re not sure what happened, actually. She sacked the woman, of course.”
Edmund thought that was likely unfair, but it had been how Mama had apparently got some of the details. Or rather, someone Master Benton knew, who knew the employment agency the maid had used for her next posting. Now Edmund took a breath and did his best to apply his magic. This was delicate, both because he was still so new to this, and because he did not want a heavy touch.
“Tell me a little about the jewel. A description, that sort of thing. And then, would you tell me about who you invited out? Was there anyone who hadn’t been there often before?” Edmund was careful in phrasing it that way. Asking about the jewel before the guests was one of those little interrogation tricks. Getting Phipps to talk about the easier point would lead into the more complex one.
The jewel was simple enough, more than enough— with the maid’s commentary— to do a thaumatological description to help in a search. He got a short rundown of the guests, several older and likely not of interest. And then, “Well, and C— Cecily.” There was a slight stutter on the name. Edmund made note of that, while not being sure how to interpret it. “Styles, she’s your year, isn’t she?”
“At Somerville, I believe?” Edmund knew that perfectly well, but making it into a question gave his magic rather more to work with.
“Yes, that’s her. Gorgeous thing, but her family’s not much. Great-aunt somewhere tiresomely ordinary, no money. I’ve had a grand time with her, always a laugh, everything just a cloud of delight. She’d come down for a day or two before the festivities, and then back after. Mater doesn’t like her, though, so she made me give her up.”
“Ah.” Figuring out what to say here was tricky, because if Cecily Styles were up to anything, he didn’t actually wish that on the Phipps. Even if Thomas Phipps seemed to be definitely asking for it. “How did she take that?”
“I—” Phipps froze. “I don’t rightly remember. I let her down gently, of course, and I’m certain she understood the situation.”
Edmund nodded. “No nasty gossip? Nothing like that? Nothing cropping up in your life?” Now, he extended himself just a little, encouraging his magic to call out the truth, even if Phipps was not precisely eager about telling it.
“Well.” Phipps glanced to one side of the punt and the other. “I can see we’re entirely private here.”
Edmund did not say either way, no need to lie. “Go on, do. Perhaps I can help?”
That got a story that matched up rather nicely with the odd notes in the paper. Things had begun well before Cecily had gone to the estate, but the more Phipps talked about it, the more Edmund thought they were connected. They’d started around the time Cecily had begun seeing him, early in Martinmas term.
There’d been a minor accident with an automobile, and he’d damaged something. There had been a note, of the sort made of cut-out letters from the newspaper, telling him to look for the advertisements. Each one meant a certain sum, delivered to the Islip post office. “It was rather a bother, and Pater is sure I’ve taken up gambling. But I shouldn’t have been— if he knew I smashed up the car, it would be worse.”
It was a young man’s trouble, someone who’d not had to fight for his life or send someone else to do so. Edmund found himself curiously both sympathetic and a tad impatient with the problem. “Well. That is odd, definitely. You take the payments up?”
“By train or bicycle, of course, I can’t drive the car. Wrapped a certain way, done up as a package, to be picked up. I don’t know about that part. I’ve never seen anyone in there but the postman or his wife.”
“Quite odd,” Edmund agreed. “Well. Let me ask a few people— privately— about the jewels. I might be able to find something out for you. We’ve a family friend who keeps an eye out for that sort of thing coming through sales. Quite private, no worry about comments getting out to others,” He might be laying it on too thick, but Phipps nodded.
“I suppose it can’t hurt.” Then the man let out a sigh. “Mind pulling up enough? I feel like I’d rather walk back.”
“Certainly.” Edmund rearranged the punt slightly, saw Phipps off, and then waited. A solid five minutes later, after Phipps was well out of sight up the path, Pen appeared from the trees. Edmund moved to help hand her into the boat and then blinked. She was a simmering fury, but a quiet one.
“What did you do?” Pen fumbled with the pin on her cardigan. “No. Wait. Do the thing with your book.”
Edmund sat down, giving her space, and pulled out his book of magic. He brushed his fingers across the charm— full of Mercury and ravens— that would give them privacy. Then he had to figure out what to say, and settled on the utterly correct and neutral, “We’re quite private.”
