Page 9 of The Journal of a Thousand Years
Rosina crossed her arms. “We’re estranged.”
Gabe removed a banknote from his pocket. “Will this cover your lost rent?”
The landlady tucked it into her apron pocket.
Myrtle slammed the wardrobe door closed. She shook her head at her sisters. “He must have taken it with him.”
“What are you looking for?” I asked.
“A journal that’s been in our family for a long time. It disappeared along with Melville years ago.”
“It belongs to all of us,” Rosina added. “It has been handed down to the strongest male magician of each generation, so I suppose he felt he had a right to it.” She sighed. “All that history, just gone.”
Naomi took her sister’s hand. “Not gone. I’m sure he’s taking good care of it. And when we find him, we’ll tell him about the strongest magician in the next generation. She may not be male, but she certainly ought to have it.” She gave me a small smile.
Alex had been giving the room a more thorough search while we spoke. He’d checked under the bed and inside the jars. He’d lifted the rug and felt about for loose floorboards. He found nothing of interest until he checked the back of the armchair cushion. He removed a scrap of paper, no larger than a postage stamp, and handed it to Gabe. “He was in Ipswich.”
Gabe read the scrap then handed it to me. It was part of a train ticket with the word Ipswich clearly visible. It must have fallen out of Melville’s pocket when he sat in the armchair.
Recently we’d learned that the silver corner protectors on the Medici Manuscript had been made by a magician in Ipswich.Since my brother, James, believed he was a silver magician, we’d traveled there and learned that Marianne Folgate had been the daughter of the magician who made them. According to a neighbor, she’d left home shortly before her parents died and not been seen since. A photograph of a young Marianne proved she was my mother, the woman I’d known as Alice Ashe.
At each step, we’d learned of another man making the same inquiries, discovering the same things as us. It seemed likely that man was Melville Hendry.
I twisted the slim silver ring on my middle finger, one of the few possessions of my mother’s that I’d kept. She’d ensured our safety by moving from city to city, but I wished she’d told James and me why we were always moving, always keeping to ourselves and not putting down roots. It would have made life less confusing.
Although telling one’s children they were hiding from their cruel father wouldn’t have been an easy conversation for anyone.
The landlady locked the door to Melville’s room as we left. Alex led the way downstairs to the entrance hall, most likely to make sure the coast was clear.
“What’s he like as a tenant?” Gabe asked the landlady as we followed Alex.
“He kept to himself. I rarely even got a ‘good morning’ out of him. Nor did my other tenants. I never liked him. Now I know why. I have good instincts.”
The Hendry sisters chose not to defend their brother. Rosina and Naomi walked to the waiting taxi, while Myrtle hung back to speak to Gabe. “We’ll pay you back Melville’s rent just as soon as we can.”
“No need,” he said.
“We can’t let you do that for us.”
He gave her one of his charming smiles that no middle-aged lady could resist, even if she was a practical-minded one. “As much as I like you all, I’m doing it for someone else.”
“Ah.” She smiled at me. “Do let us know if you find him.”
We would have watched them drive away, but Alex ushered Gabe to the Vauxhall while Myrtle was still climbing into the taxi. Although both men were usually chivalrous, I was left to my own devices and had to open my own door.
“Were we followed?” I asked as I looked up and down the street.
“It seems so,” Gabe said as Alex cranked the engine. Once his friend had slid into the driver’s seat, Gabe asked why we were in such a hurry.
“A black vehicle sat behind us for a long time on the way here, but I think I lost him,” Alex said.
“Was it following us from the factory? Before?”
Alex hesitated then shook his head. “I can’t be sure. I wasn’t—” He swore loudly then stamped his foot on the accelerator.
The Vauxhall shot forward to join the traffic. I clamped a hand to my hat to keep it on my head.
Gabe turned around to look past me out of the rear of the vehicle. He swore, too, something he rarely did. “I need a new motorcar.”
