A Study in Silks

“What did you say?” Lord Bancroft demanded.

The moment hung in the sunny garden. At the other end of the lawn, someone smacked a croquet ball. Lady Bancroft looked away, hiding her face. Casually, as if merely moving to keep the sun out of his eyes, Tobias put himself bodily between his parents.

His father’s displeasure radiated like the blast from a furnace. “I’ve given you my opinion of your tinkering. It’s not an acceptable pastime any longer. Not with men like Jasper Keating, and their opinions count. You attract the wrong kind of attention to this house.”

“I have talent. How can that bring anything negative?”

“Unless you intend to mend pots for a living, you had best find other pursuits.”

“You were good with your hands once, too.” Tobias turned his head to look his father full in the face.

But Bancroft looked more drawn than angry. “This is no time to mock me.”

Tobias frowned. “I don’t understand.”

With a derisive huff of breath, his father stalked away. By the time he reached the drinks table, he appeared to be his smooth, urbane self once more. From what Tobias could see, whisky always improved Lord Bancroft’s mood. But once he had refreshment, he wasted no time in moving to the far end of the property, away from his son.

Tobias stuffed his hands into his pockets, and then turned to his mother. “At risk of repeating myself, I don’t understand.”

Lady Bancroft gave him a searching look. “Perhaps that is for the best.”

“He did wonderful work. He made that machine that cut out those pastries you like. And do you remember those odd dolls he made for Imogen and Anna?” As a child, he’d thought them hideous and frightening, but now he could appreciate the skill it had taken to make them.

His mother shuddered. “Ugh. Don’t mention those automatons. Those were what made him give it all up.”

Tobias just had time to wonder about that before they were interrupted by a tall man wearing an elegantly cut dark suit.

“Forgive my intrusion,” the man said, sweeping off his top hat to make an extravagant bow to Lady Bancroft. “Madam, I come to pay my respects.”

Everything about the man was foreign, from his looks to his accent to his presumption that he could address a respectable woman without proper introduction.

“Who are you, sir?” Tobias demanded.

His mother answered with a laugh. “Why, this is Dr. Symeon Magnus. It has been far too long. You have not aged a day. You must tell me your secret.”

Tobias looked on in astonishment. Now that they’d been introduced, he recognized him, but only vaguely. His childhood memories were jumbled at best.

When Magnus bowed a second time, Lady Bancroft offered her hand. He lifted it to his lips in such a way that it brought color to her pale cheeks. Whoever he was, the man was smooth.

“This is such a pleasant surprise. Have you been in England long?” she asked.

“Not so long,” he replied easily. “Rest assured that I would not delay the pleasure of renewing our acquaintance, my lady.”

“Do you remember my son, Tobias?”

“Indeed, but he is now grown, I see.”

As they exchanged a nod, Tobias catalogued the man’s features. His dark, saturnine face was set off by a neatly trimmed goatee and mustache. His hair was too long for English fashion, but was thick and dark. From the quality of his dress and the fine silver carving on his walking stick, he was very well off.

“What an exquisite ornament.” Lord Magus indicated the butterfly brooch. “It operates on a spring, I assume?”

“Yes, it does.” He’d had enough of the man smiling at his mother. “What brings you to our fair country?”

“There is something here that I seek.” Dr. Magnus leaned both hands on the head of his cane, studying Tobias like a piece of prized horseflesh. “And if what I hear is true, I have come to see you.”

A jolt of surprise raised his hackles. “What business have you with me?”

The man grinned, teeth white in his dark face. “Allow me to render you pleasantly astonished.”

“How can I refuse such an offer?”

A flock of his mother’s friends were descending, so Tobias led the man out of earshot. They came to a halt underneath the oak tree.

Magnus leaned idly on his walking stick. “I have reliable information that you were the creator of the machine that destroyed the Flying Dutchman. An associate of mine observed you in possession of the remains.”

Tobias tensed, folding his arms. “You are drawing a great many conclusions.”

“Perhaps, but that pin your mother wears confirms all.”

“What associate?”

Magnus gave an enigmatic smile. “You have an almost magical facility for creation in your blood. I was there at the Royal Charlotte. It was a juvenile act, but such imagination promises enormous potential. Even more, I think, than your father, and I knew him at the height of his powers as a maker.”

Instinctively, Tobias reached out for the tree trunk, needing support. He’d never had more of anything than the illustrious Lord Bancroft, much less a quality he valued. But who knew about the workshop? Had one of his friends had spilled the tale?

He finally pushed past the surprise enough to speak. “Your praise is very generous, given that it was, as you say, a juvenile prank.”

“You are defensive.” Dr. Magnus tilted his head, studying Tobias with dark, fathomless eyes. “I suppose I cannot blame you. Few understand real talent.”

The man’s undiluted attention made him want to squirm, as if he were no more than a boy in knee pants. “Let me be blunt. What might I do for you?”

“What do I want?” Dr. Magnus flicked at the grass with the tip of his cane. “Always a dangerous question, fraught with unexpected perils.”

“And yet you clearly want something from me.” Hadn’t he had this conversation with Evelina just yesterday? He’d given her an answer that seemed clever at the time, but surely gave her no more satisfaction than Magnus was giving him now.

The man studied the ground, his voice slow and measured. “I have a great deal of money, and a great deal of knowledge. What I lack is your artistic and mechanical talent. I’m wondering, if we pool our resources, just how far we might go.”

“Go?” The word promised everything, but specified nothing. Tobias was afraid to let himself become too interested.

“I have a number of projects in mind. When I first came to England, I meant to approach your father, but he seems, um, preoccupied.”

“My father?” Tobias asked in surprise. “He’s no maker. Not anymore.”

“So I’ve heard, sadly. He used to be, but I’m sure you know that.”

“I do.”

“Of course, we all used to be young. What I have in mind are young men’s projects, full of ambition and adventure. They are somewhat esoteric.” Magnus smiled, and the smile was filled with mischief and a little wistful sadness.

Tobias was intrigued. People had wanted him for his name, or his looks, or what he might do for them, but never for what he loved about himself. “And in return for all this money and knowledge, all you want is my talent? And I assume that of my associates? I cannot claim to have built the squid on my own.”

He couldn’t leave his friends out this stroke of good fortune.

Magnus raised a brow. “Yes, if they are willing, they are included. I want all your skill and imagination. I want your very best efforts.”

Suddenly, Tobias felt drunk, the ground seeming to shift under his feet. He clutched at the tree again, then