His Lordship Possessed

We sat and ate the fruit in silence. Doyle left me briefly to purchase two mugs of spiced tea from a cart. I warmed my hands against the sides of the hot porcelain before taking a sip.

“I came in to find a stack of complaints on my desk this morning,” Doyle mentioned as we watched a fierce- looking nan bend over her pram to coo at her fussy charge. “Funny thing, they all bore your name. Busy night, Kit?”

I shrugged.

He blew some steam from his mug before tasting. “The commissioner would very much like to, what were his words . . . oh, yes. ‘See that one dragged through the streets by her ankles.’”

I turned up my toes. “Not much to them. Knots had better be tight.”

“I also received a very interesting communication from Lord Dredmore.” Doyle finished his tea with a few swallows. “It seems that someone trespassed onto his property last night and stole a black gelding from his stables.”

I made my sigh heavy. “How terrible for him.”

“This particular gelding was trained to be ridden only by a lady,” Doyle said. “And yet no sidesaddle was found to be missing.”

“You know, I think I heard someone mention rumor of a black horse this morning, too.” I pretended to think. “Oh, yes. One was found at dawn standing outside Halter’s stables. Lovely big black fellow, name of George.” I glanced at him. “What a coincidence.”

“I’ll send a man over to collect George and pay Halter for his troubles.” He regarded me directly. “Now that I’ve told you how dreadful my morning has been, you will tell me exactly what you were doing last night.”

“Before being kidnapped and held against my will at Morehaven, or after?” I enjoyed the shock on his face. “You really should do some investigating now and then, Chief Inspector. I thought you Yardmen were trained for it.”

“Why would Lord Dredmore abduct you?”

“He’s a pompous, controlling ass; I’m difficult to scare off, and we’re competing for the same job.” I dropped my peach pit back into the bag.

Oh, and he believes that he’s in love with me. I kept that thought in my head.

“Were there any witnesses to your abduction and captivity?” Doyle persisted.

“Who were not in the employ of Lucien Dredmore? Ah, no, sorry. He’s not that stupid.” I saw the lines round his mouth deepen. “Just forget it, Tommy.”

“I don’t think I can do that just now.” He put his hand over mine. “Did he hurt you, Kit?”

Beyond all hope of recovery, I was beginning to believe. “No. Dredmore could never do anything to me but make me laugh.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

Here was my opportunity for some genuine revenge. Tom Doyle could take me to a physick, who would examine me and find the physical evidence of what Dredmore and I had done. Since I was unmarried and had never been charged with soliciting favors from gentlemen, I could claim ravishment and have Dredmore charged with assaulting me. Without witnesses it would be difficult to see him convicted, but filing the complaint along would be enough to destroy his reputation. He’d never again be invited to the governor’s mansion to show off his grubby bag of tricks.

It will end here and now. The memory of Lucien’s voice in the gardens at Morehaven echoed in my mind. All you need say is no.

“Nothing else happened between me and Dredmore last night that concerns the law,” I told Doyle.

“Perhaps you’ll change your mind after I tell you why I’m here.” He finished his tea. “You’re wanted at the magistrate’s.”

“Court?” I frowned. “Why, whatever for?”

He took my mug from me. “You’ll be arraigned on charges of practicing magic in a residential area.”

“Even if I did practice magic, which I don’t, my office is in the business district.” When he said nothing, I added, “My landlord had me evicted from the building about an hour ago.”

“The address cited in the warrant is for your flat, Kit.” He rose and carried our mugs back to the cartlass, who tucked them in her wash bin before handing Doyle back fo’pence for the return of her crockery.

I went to the fountain to wash the peach juice from my fingers, and was drying them with my kerchief when Doyle joined me.

“Do you know a barrister?” he asked. When I shook my head, he sighed. “You’ll need one. A good one.”

“Can’t afford so much as a bad one, Tom.”

“Bloody hell, Kit,” he snapped, startling a pair of passing nans. “Have you any idea of how much trouble you’re in? These are serious charges. Violation of trade practice law carries a sentence of three to five years, hard labor. What the devil have you been up to on the Hill?”

“I tried to help someone.” Before he could shout again, I added, “You needn’t fuss at me, Inspector. I was warned; I knew something like this might happen.”

“And you did it anyway.”

“Some things are worth a bit of risk.” I smiled up at him. “I don’t suppose you’d pay attention to the flowers for the next few minutes.”

“I wish I could, Kit, but my beaters are standing just over there, and they’d give chase.” He held out his hand. “I’ll speak for you at court.”

“And say what? You know I’m a good lass because we played together as children? You’ll get the sack.” I turned round and held my wrists behind my back. “Do your job, Inspector.”

A few moments later the cold steel cuffs of Doyle’s shackles clamped over my wrists. “Charmian Constance Kittredge, you are charged with practicing magic in a prohibited area. Be advised that anything you say while in my custody can be entered into evidence and used against you. You are permitted representation before the magistrate. If you cannot afford such representation, an aid-solicitor will be summoned to counsel you and speak on your behalf. Do you understand what I have told you?”

The reasons, no, but the words, of course. “I do, sir.”

“Right, then.” He arranged my cloak so that it covered my manacles and then took my arm. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Chief Inspector Doyle spared me the humiliation of taking me to Rumsen Main first to be glassed and recorded. While I knew eventually I would have my image and personal information added to the vast number of criminal countenances and case files kept in the police archives, the reprieve gave me a bit of time to decide what next I would do.

My enemy—either Dredmore or Walsh—had thrown down the gauntlet by having me hauled before the magistrate. My choices were to fight, arrange bail and flee, or surrender myself to an unhappy fate.

I wasn’t going to run away or give up, which meant I needed to arm myself.

Montford District, the building where the magistrate courts were housed, stood in the shadows of Montford Central, the judgment courts. Both were named for Lord Montford, the Queen’s Architect, whose building designs had been brought over along with Crown law after the Rebellion had been crushed. The only way I’d ever see the inside of Montford Central was if I killed someone, burned down a block of houses, or did something equally as dastardly; Montford District was reserved for civil and common criminal cases.

I suppose I should have admired all the grandeur of the soaring Doric columns and the heavy chiselwork above the archways, but the stodgy, Crown-nodding affectedness of the building’s design ruined any appreciation I might have for the bloody place. So did being hauled to it as a prisoner.

Doyle brought me into the great hall, which had been hung with paintings depicting the Empire’s triumph over the rebels and stone plaquettes inscribed with tiresome axioms about the nobility of justice.

“ ‘ The law of the Crown is a spring of life,’ ” I read one out loud as we passed it. “Do you think our forefathers would agree, Chief Inspector, seeing as it put most of them facedown in shallow, unmarked graves?”

“Be quiet,” he warned as he steered me through a security checkpoint and down to an entry marked Advocacy.

Inside were two chairs, a table, and a balding solicitor in a shabby suit who barely glanced at us. “Morning.