A Scandal in Battersea (Elemental Masters #12)(60)

One step at a time, she told herself.

But she wanted very much to ask Robin about this. And the Watsons. Both of them had spoken of other worlds. Both of them might be able to tell her if her feeling had any basis in reality.

So, chilling and horrific as it was, she kept working at the vision until exhaustion caught up with her, and eventually she fell asleep, and as far as she was aware, there was nothing in her dreams but the usual muddle of mismatched images she always had.

Fortunately, Amelia, too, slept undisturbed through the night.

Now that Sahib had turned over his import business to the management of a younger protégé—a former military man himself, with a knack for business and an eye for the sort of ornaments likely to be popular with the middle and monied classes alike—he had become an instructor at the school himself. As a result, he and Memsa’b took it in turns to eat meals with the students, in order to keep at least a semblance of decorum at mealtime. And it was Memsa’b’s turn this morning. So this morning Nan and Sarah and the birds were having breakfast with him, instead of his wife. He listened with interest to Nan’s detailed recitation of Amelia’s vision last night.

“Well . . .” he said, when she had finished. “I prefer to keep unpleasantness until after eating, but this telegram arrived this morning for us.” He reached into the breast pocket of his coat, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and read the contents aloud. “‘Second girl found Battersea. Coming afternoon. Watson.’ So, given what you saw last night, it seems that your impression that this was happening in the present was absolutely correct, Nan. And your initial conclusion, that Amelia’s visions had a concrete reflection of reality rather than a symbolic one, was also true. However, I do not think we should jump to the conclusion that the girls are being pulled into this world of the vision. I think it more likely that the vision reflects the horrific effects that something from that world is having on them in the real world. I would suggest a convocation in the greenhouse this afternoon.”

“So you also think we should summon Robin,” Sarah stated. “I agree. This has to concern him, if something from another world is reaching into this one.”

Nan kept her own opinions to herself, although Sahib’s idea was probably more likely than hers. That ruined London—well it could reflect the last thoughts of the victims as their souls were being torn from their bodies.

Which begged the question, of course . . . if that was true, what did this thing want with souls in the first place?

“I will confess I cannot imagine what possible use Memsa’b and I will be,” he added, “But I think we should be there, if only to have another set of brains to work on the problem.”

“We’ll go talk to Roan and have him take a message to Robin,” said Nan, pushing away from the breakfast table. Then she paused. “I would like one other thing on the agenda for this convocation. Whether or not we should continue to use Amelia like this. It seems . . . unfair.”

“In that case, I think we should include Amelia in the discussion,” Sahib replied. “As has been rightly pointed out, she is more than old enough to make her own decisions about when and how her abilities are to be used.”

With a nod of agreement, Nan and Sarah left the breakfast room and went down to the workshop, which was just off the stable. Roan was nowhere in sight, but they didn’t expect him to be. He seemed to have a much more “traditional” view of how a hob should behave than Durwin did.

The signs of Roan’s presence were quite pronounced however. The workshop was a hundred times tidier than it had ever been when Nan and Sarah had been at the school. Every tool was in its proper place. Paintbrushes were cleaned and neatly arranged. Paint cans were tightly capped and arrayed according to color. There was an actual painting station, an area with its own workbench away from where all the sawdust was. Instead of half-mended toys being distributed haphazardly about, there were toys in a logical progression of repair, with repainting being the last of the stages. The air was full of scents: the sharp, oily smell of paint and lacquer, the pleasant smell of sawdust, the tang of drying glue. One of the rocking horses that they had last seen in sorry shape, mane and tail gone, paint chipped and faded, one of the rockers splitting, now stood on the workbench in splendor. It had a brand-new horsehair mane and tail of shining, silky black and a real leather saddle, bridle, and reins. Both rockers were sound, and it was in the very last stages of painting, lacking only the fine details of the eyes, nose, ears, and hooves. In fact, to Nan’s eyes, the grand chestnut steed would have looked finished, and she only knew Roan was going to add details because of the array of small paint cans and fine brushes beside it on the workbench.

“This is amazing,” Sarah said, echoing her thoughts. “The craftsmanship is. . . .”

“Spectacular,” Nan finished for her. “I hope there is time enough this morning with all this work going on to let Robin know that we urgently need to meet him in the greenhouse around teatime.” If Roan was going to keep to the traditional ways of his people, she would certainly do him the courtesy of the same and pretend he didn’t exist.

She waited for an acknowledgement—not sure what she was waiting for—when a bell behind her rang twice. Or at least, it sounded like a bell. She had not seen any bells at all in the workshop.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” said Sarah. Nan nodded, and the two of them left the workshop so that Roan could get on with both his work and carrying their message to the Great Elemental that called himself Robin Goodfellow.