Clockwork Princess (The Infernal Devices, #3)(49)

“The one to her uncle?” Gabriel was dubious, but did as directed. He held the witchlight up, shining its rays over the desk as Gideon bent over and, having appropriated one of Charlotte’s pens, began to scratch out a missive to the Consul.

Gideon was blowing on the ink to dry it when the door of the drawing room flew open. Gideon jerked upright. A yellow glow poured into the room, far brighter than the dim witchlight; Gabriel put up a hand to cover his eyes, blinking. He ought to have put on a Night Vision rune, he thought, but they took time to fade, and he had been concerned it would have raised questions. In the moments that it took his vision to adjust, he heard his brother exclaim, aghast:

“Sophie?”

“I have told you not to call me that, Mr. Lightwood.” Her tone was cold. Gabriel’s vision resolved, and he saw the maid standing in the doorway, a lit lamp in one hand. She was squinting. Her eyes narrowed further as they lit on Gabriel, Charlotte’s letters still in his hand. “Are you— Is that Mrs. Branwell’s correspondence?”

Gabriel dropped the letters hastily onto the desk. “I … We …”

“Have you been reading her letters?” Sophie looked furious, like some sort of avenging angel, lamp in hand. Gabriel glanced quickly at his brother, but Gideon appeared to be struck speechless.

In all Gabriel’s life he could not remember his brother giving even the prettiest of Shadowhunter girls a second glance. Yet he looked at this scarred mundane servant as if she were the sun rising. It was inexplicable, but it was also undeniable. He could see the horror on his brother’s face as Sophie’s good opinion of him shattered before his eyes.

“Yes,” Gabriel said. “Yes, we are indeed going through her correspondence.”

Sophie took a step back. “I shall fetch Mrs. Branwell immediately—”

“No—” Gabriel held out a hand. “It isn’t what you think. Wait.” Quickly he outlined what had happened: the Consul’s threats, his request that they spy on Charlotte, and their solution to the problem. “We never intended to reveal a word she had actually written,” he finished. “Our intention was to protect her.”

Sophie’s suspicious expression did not change. “And why should I believe a word of that, Mr. Lightwood?”

Gideon finally spoke. “Ms. Collins,” he said. “Please. I know that since the—unfortunate business—with the scones you have not held me in esteem, but please do believe I would not betray the trust Charlotte has placed in me, nor reward her kindness to me with betrayal.”

Sophie wavered for a moment, then dropped her gaze. “I am sorry, Mr. Lightwood. I wish to believe you, but it is with Mrs. Branwell that my first loyalty must lie.”

Gabriel snatched up from the desk the letter his brother had just written. “Miss Collins,” he said. “Please read this missive. It was what we had intended to send the Consul. If, after reading it, you are still determined in your heart to seek out Mrs. Branwell, then we will not try to stop you.”

Sophie looked from him to Gideon. Then, with a quick inclination of her head, she came forward and set the lamp down on the desk. Taking the letter from Gideon, she unfolded it and read out loud:

“To: Consul Josiah Wayland

From: Gideon and Gabriel Lightwood

Dear Sir,

You have displayed your usual great wisdom in asking us to read Mrs. Branwell’s missives to Idris. We obtained a private glance into said correspondence and observed that she is in almost daily communication with her great-uncle Roderick Fairchild.

The contents of these letters, sir, would shock and disappoint you. It has robbed us of much of our belief in the fairer sex.

Mrs. Branwell displays a most callous, inhumane, and unfeminine attitude toward his many grievous ills. She recommends the application of less liquor to cure his gout, shows unmistakable signs of being amused by his dire ailment of dropsy, and entirely ignores his mention of a suspicious substance building up within his ears and other orifices.

Signs of the tender feminine care one would expect from a woman to her male relatives, and the respect any relatively young woman should give her elder as his due—there are none! Mrs. Branwell, we fear, has run mad with power. She must be stopped before it is too late and many brave Shadowhunters have fallen by the wayside for lack of feminine care.

Yours faithfully,

Gideon and Gabriel Lightwood”



There was silence when she had finished. Sophie stood for what felt like an eternity, staring wide-eyed at the paper. At last she said, “Which one of you wrote this?”

Gideon cleared his throat. “I did.”

She looked up. She had pressed her lips together, but they were trembling. For a horrible moment Gabriel thought she was about to cry. “Oh, my gracious,” she said. “And is this the first?”

“No, there has been one other,” Gabriel admitted. “It was about Charlotte’s hats.”

“Her hats?” A peal of laughter escaped Sophie’s lips, and Gideon looked at her as if he had never seen anything so marvelous. Gabriel had to admit she did look quite pretty when she laughed, scar or not. “And was the Consul furious?”

“Murderously so,” said Gideon.

“Are you going to tell Mrs. Branwell?” demanded Gabriel, who could not stand the suspense another moment.