The Timeseer's Gambit (The Faraday Files Book 2) (24 page)

Olivia reached across the way and snapped his notebook out of his hands like a striking serpent. Her eyes scanned the page of small biographies he’d written for each priest who’d been in that room. “Oh, yes,” she crooned, a smile spreading across her face. “Oh, yes, fine work, indeed.” She laughed delightedly. “Here we’ve been scouring for connections, and they were all connected all along. They
know
each other. Well. Doesn’t that just change everything?”

“We need to question them again!” Chris insisted, but Olivia raised a hand and gave him an arch look.

“No. No, I want to wait. They’re insular, aren’t they? They didn’t hide that they were acquainted, but they certainly didn’t
offer
it, either, did they? No… no, I want something more before I go to them. In case this is some sort of… what?” She shook her head in amazement. “Priestly… conspiracy? Goodness. Could they have
hired
a ‘binder? Together?” And she lapsed into silence. Chris could practically see the gears turning behind her face. When he reached for his notebook, she released it into his custody without acknowledging that she knew he was there, her eyes fixed on something only she could see.

Finally, timidly, he asked. “Ah. I didn’t hear what you told the cabbie. Where are we to next, Olivia?”

Olivia blinked slowly. She opened and closed her mouth and rolled her head on her shoulders, as if reminding herself what her body was used for aside from supporting her brilliant mind. “Oh,” she said. “Home. It’s late. I have some things I want to take care of before this Godsday, and…” Her eyes met his with intent.

He cringed. The full force of her gaze was like a raptor’s. “Wh-what is it?”

“Are you lonely, Christopher?” she asked.

Chris flushed. He dropped his eyes. “Miss Faraday,” he murmured.

“It would make sense if you were,” she said, almost as if she were rushing to reassure him. “You’re used to having your sister around the house, and Fernand Spencer was often present, and my mother has said that your live-in staff also took advantage of my invitation―”

“Only one person. Rosemary’s nanny,” Chris felt the need to say. “Employed by the day, not―not live-in.” He couldn’t stand for Olivia to think him loose with funds, not after he’d told her he was impoverished at their first interview, months ago.

Olivia laughed. “And she went all the way to Summergrove just to keep an eye on your sister? Goodness. What
dedication
. You’re avoiding my question.”

“I have William,” Chris said. “I did apologize to him, like you said I should.”

“It’s yes or no, really.”

Chris sighed. He rubbed his temples. Olivia would have it her way. Olivia always did. “Yes, Olivia. I suppose I am lonely. What is this? I thought you wanted to avoid personal matters, or does that rule only apply to
your
personal matters? Are mine open season?”

She threw back her head and laughed delightedly. “Goodness, you are such a very prickly person, sometimes!” She wiped tears from her eyes. She shook her head, choking down chuckles. He really could have walked away in a huff if they weren’t in a conveyance. “Christopher,” she said finally. “I’m asking because…” And now
she
avoided
his
gaze. Was that colour in her cheeks? Impossible. This was Olivia Faraday. “Well, there is an
event
this weekend. I’ve been invited because of some of my connections, and I think I could manage to use that clout to hold my foot in the door.”

“An… event?”

She waved a hand dismissively. “A grand ball,” she said, in the same tone one would say “afternoon tea,” “Rather a lot of fuss, considering the purpose of the event.”

“And what purpose would
that
be?” Chris was dizzy and quickly losing control of this conversation.

“An exhibition of sorts, by a brilliant mind. One Emilia Banks.”

The name sounded familiar, and yet Chris couldn’t place it. “An exhibition of what?”

Olivia rolled her eyes and fell back in her seat. Clearly, the amusement of the situation had passed. She shook her head. “Does it matter? I don’t know anyway! It’s all a grand secret. Hush hush hush! But there will be a ball, with dancing, and with very fine clothes, and that seems to be a thing that you would be interested in, so I thought I would be
nice
enough to invite you! Is that not good enough for you?”

“No,” Chris hurried to say. A smile touched his lips. He saw what she was doing. “Of course, I… I would love to attend, Olivia.” He winced. “Though there is the matter of―”

She waved him off. “I invited you. I’ll foot the bill for your toilette. Worry not, my rich little pauper!”

A wave of pure gratitude washed over him and left him dizzy. He realized there were tears in his eyes. “Olivia…” he murmured.

“See to that tonight,” Olivia said, coughing and avoiding his gaze. “The sooner the better. The event is Godsday, remember. If you’re fitted right
now
, you’ll still be lucky to have something decent delivered to your estate in time!”

Chris reached across the way and took one of her hands in both of his. It felt as if he held a tiny bird. “Thank you, Olivia,” he said.

A strange look crossed her face and she pulled her hand away. “Yes,” she said, sniffing and smoothing down her plain skirts. “Well. Don’t think
too
much of this, please, Christopher. It’s only just that I feel bad for you.”

“Of course,” Chris agreed, and the carriage rolled to a stop. He glanced out the window and saw, to his surprise, that they were parked in front of his estate.

Olivia thrust her nose into the air. “There’s no reason for you to walk in this bloody heat, is there? It was on the way. I just asked the cabbie to make a short stop. Now… get on with you. 8 o’clock tomorrow morning, Christopher! Don’t be late! In fact, be
early
. I finally have some ideas!” She tapped the side of her head and then glared fiercely at him when he opened his mouth to thank her again.

So he opened the door and descended down from the carriage into the blistering, unforgiving day. Heat rose from the cobblestones and he closed the door behind him, hurrying toward the estate and the cool fiaran-spun air inside.

By habit, he glanced to the bench to see which of his afternoon visitors he was entertaining, today.

The bench was empty.

“Buy something decent!” Olivia called out the window as the hackney jolted off again, and Chris managed to turn away from the empty bench long enough to salute her. He crossed the street in a daze. There was no old paper, no birdseed shells, and the bench was as cool as anything was in this weather. No one had been there for hours.

He shivered.

here was no one there?” Miss Albany’s forehead creased. “But… you say that someone has been there every single time you’ve come home.”

Chris ran his hand through his hair. He stood in his bare feet and coattails, his top and waistcoat both shed the moment he walked through his door, in this foyer. The empty bench seemed somehow more malicious than a full one had. Despite his state of undress, speaking to Miss Albany just seemed… right. “I know,” he said, sighing. His heart was beating erratically. What were they up to, now? “I know I’ve said that. It’s the truth. But today… no one!”

Miss Albany’s gaze sharpened. “The Livingstone trial,” she said.

Another weight fell onto Chris’s shoulders at the words. “Olivia says that she’s been working on it,” he said, more to reassure himself than to inform Miss Albany. “It’s… a shock, honestly. I never expected her to… but it’s in four days, now. There’s absolutely no way that she could find anything in enough time.”

“Yes, exactly,” Miss Albany said. “Four days from now. The entire movement―
both
movements―must be so focused on the trial that you and Rosemary are a distant thought. There are more important soups to tend than you!”

“I…” Chris blinked. “I, well, yes. That does make sense, doesn’t it?” His panic eased slightly, but he found Miss Albany’s manner entirely… odd. Hesitantly, he opened his mouth. “And yet, you seem so…”

“It’s a perfect opportunity,” she said. “Mister Buckley, wasn’t I just saying that Rosemary misses you badly enough that it’s started to affect her wellbeing? We have a moment where no one is looking in her direction, nor in yours! It’s ideal!”

By all the Gods, she was right. And yet―Chris folded his lips. He hated to say no, but as he shook his head, he knew he could see no way out of it. “I
can’t
leave Darrington right now,” he said. “Olivia and I are in the midst of a case, and it’s―well, it’s very important.” At the very least,
he
could handle being discreet. For a moment, he let himself wallow in pure bitterness for his employer and for the priest killer. “Olivia needs me terribly. I couldn’t leave on such short notice.”

Miss Albany’s face fell. Some of the high colour that had infused it drained away. She lowered her eyes. She had very long eyelashes, glimpsed from the right angle. She was full of all sorts of tiny surprises, small treasures that could make a man startle and realize that Rachel Albany was actually somewhat pretty. Chris was acutely aware of it right now. “Then I suppose…” She trailed off. Chris angled himself so that the wind-chime icicles suspended from the chandelier blew air right down the back of his shirt. Now that his unnecessary panic over the lack of a spy had abated, he felt extremely silly to have contacted Miss Albany like this, in the afternoon, when he knew Rosemary was at dancing lessons.

“I’m sorry. This is entirely―” he began.

At the very same time, Miss Albany said, “But perhaps there is a different way to―”

They broke off in perfect tandem, and then they both burst into embarrassed chuckles. Chris liked the way that Miss Albany’s cheeks coloured. Two little spots of pink. “I guarantee,” he said, “that whatever you were going to say was of infinitely more value than what I had started.”

Miss Albany took a deep breath. “It is―it is a somewhat irresponsible thought, but I had to vocalize…”

“What is it?”

“What if Rosemary and I were to come to Darrington, instead?”

Chris’s heart stopped. When it started again, his mouth did, too. “To
Darrington
? Are you mad, Miss Albany? I mean no disrespect―you―you have proven a more than adequate caretaker for Rosemary, but to
Darrington
? Haven’t we
proved
that there is nowhere here even remotely safe for her? You cannot be―”

“I am
quite
serious!” Miss Albany snapped, and Chris’s mouth clapped shut. Now her colour was up for an entirely different reason. She glowered at him through the mirrorglass and he was suddenly ashamed of his outburst. “Please do not raise your voice at me,” she said. Her tone was firm. “I am sure you can agree, Mister Buckley, that I am giving up a considerable amount to care for
your
sister, and my compensation is not so very impressive as for that to be a selfish act!”

“Of course. I―of course.” He’d taken the tone with her once before, the day she’d introduced him to Doctor Francis Livingstone. He’d been wrong then, and he was wrong now. He shouldn’t find it so easy to treat her as a mere employee when she’d proven herself so much more. “I’m sorry, Miss Albany.”