Shadow of Night (All Souls Trilogy, #2)(140)

“Vallin took advantage of you, Mistress Roydon,” Kit pronounced. “You should refuse payment, Matt, and send the trap back.”

“No!” I protested. “It’s not his fault. We were talking about clocks, and Monsieur Vallin showed me some beautiful examples. I shared my pamphlet from John Chandler’s shop in Cripplegate—the one with the instructions on how to catch vermin—and told Monsieur Vallin about our rat problem. One thing led to another.” I looked down at the trap. It really was an extraordinary piece of craftsmanship, with its tiny gears and springs.

“All of London has a rat problem,” Matthew said, struggling for control. “Yet I know of no one who requires a silver-gilt toy to resolve it. A few affordable cats normally suffice.”

“I’ll pay him, Matthew.” Doing so would probably empty out my purse, and I would be forced to ask Walter for more funds, but it couldn’t be helped. Experience was always valuable. Sometimes it was costly, too. I held out my hand for the trap.

“Did Vallin design it to strike the hours? If so, and it is the world’s only combined timepiece and pest-control device, perhaps the price is fair after all.” Matthew was trying to frown, but his face broke into a grin. Instead of giving me the trap, he took my hand, brought it to his mouth, and kissed it. “I’ll pay the bill, mon coeur, if only to have the right to tease you about it for the next sixty years.”

At that moment George hurried into the front hall. A blast of cold air entered with him.

“I have news!” He flung his cloak aside and struck a proud pose.

Kit groaned and put his head in his hands. “Don’t tell me. That idiot Ponsonby is pleased with your translation of Homer and wants to publish it without further corrections.”

“Not even you will dim my pleasure in today’s achievements, Kit.” George looked around expectantly. “Well? Are none of you the least bit curious?”

“What is your news, George?” Matthew said absently, tossing the trap into the air and catching it again.

“I found Mistress Roydon’s manuscript.”

Matthew’s grip on the rat trap tightened. The mechanism sprang open. When he released his fingers, it fell to the table with a clatter as it snapped shut again. “Where?”

George took an instinctive step backward. I’d been on the receiving end of my husband’s questions and understood how disconcerting a full blast of vampiric attention could be.

“I knew you were the man to find it,” I told George warmly, putting my hand on Matthew’s sleeve to slow him down. George was predictably mollified by this remark and returned to the table, where he pulled out a chair and sat.

“Your confidence means a great deal to me, Mistress Roydon,” George said, taking off his gloves. He sniffed. “Not everyone shares it.”

“Where. Is. It?” Matthew asked slowly, his jaw clenched.

“It is in the most obvious place imaginable, hiding in plain sight. I am rather surprised we did not think of it straightaway.” He paused once more to make sure he had everyone’s full attention. Matthew emitted a barely audible growl of frustration.

“George,” Kit warned. “Matthew has been known to bite.”

“Dr. Dee has it,” George blurted out when Matthew shifted his weight.

“The queen’s astrologer.” George was right: We should have thought of the man long before this. Dee was an alchemist, too—and had the largest library in England. “But he’s in Europe.”

“Dr. Dee returned from Europe over a year ago. He’s living outside London now.”

“Please tell me he isn’t a witch, daemon, or vampire,” I said.

“He’s just a human—and an utter fraud,” Marlowe said. “I wouldn’t trust a thing he says, Matt. He used poor Edward abominably, forcing him to peer into crystal stones and talk to angels about alchemy day and night. Then Dee took all the credit!”

“‘Poor Edward’?” Walter scoffed, opening the door without invitation or ceremony and stepping inside. Henry Percy was with him. No member of the School of Night could be within a mile of the Hart and Crown and not be drawn irresistibly to my hearth. “Your daemon friend led him by the nose for years. Dr. Dee is well rid of him, if you ask me.” Walter picked up the rat trap. “What’s this?”

“The goddess of the hunt has turned her attention to smaller prey,” Kit said with a smirk.

“Why, that’s a mousetrap. But no one would be foolish enough to make a mousetrap out of silver gilt,” Henry said, looking over Walter’s shoulder. “It looks like Nicholas Vallin’s work. He made Essex a handsome watch when he became a Knight of the Garter. Is it a child’s toy of some sort?”

A vampire’s fist crashed onto my table, splitting the wood.

“George,” Matthew ground out, “do tell us about Dr. Dee.”

“Ah. Yes. Of course. There is not much to tell. I did w-what you asked,” George stammered. “I visited the bookstalls, but there was no information to be had. There was talk of a volume of Greek poetry for sale that sounded most promising for my translation—but I digress.” George stopped and gulped. “Widow Jugge suggested I talk to John Hester, the apothecary at Paul’s Wharf. Hester sent me to Hugh Plat—you know, the vintner who lives in St. James Garlickhythe.” I followed this complicated intellectual pilgrimage closely, hoping I might reconstruct George’s route when I next visited Susanna. Perhaps she and Plat were neighbors.