Spellbreaker (Spellbreaker Duology, #1)(49)

Retrieving a ladder, Elsie began her reorganization project by tackling the topmost shelves, pulling things down to sort them. It wouldn’t hurt to dust the entire wall; lint bits stuck under her fingernails.

It was as she stretched on her toes to grab a book from the shelf that the culprit walked in. “Elsie, I’ve just gotten the most interesting letter.”

She snatched the book and set it on a lower shelf, one she could reach from the ground. “And what is that?”

“There’s a new women’s school in Ipswich—”

Elsie tottered and grabbed the ladder to steady herself.

“—for accounting and secretarial training. I’m surprised they even know who I am, but they’re offering a week-long course for my employees for a rather inexpensive sum.”

Elsie cleared her throat of incredulity. “Really?” Clever, Bacchus. Dusting off her hands, she climbed down the ladder and crossed the room. Ogden handed her the letter.

“Accounting. I already know my figures.” She looked over the smooth penmanship. Had he written this himself? How many confidantes did he have? “Oh, but it’s advanced . . . hmmm. That is inexpensive. I could pay for it myself.”

Ogden stuck his hands on his hips the same way he did when a nice-looking man came around the studio. Always looking out for her, he was. “Are you interested?”

Elsie considered how best to play this. She hated lying to Ogden, but it was for a good purpose. Not like she was going off on a tryst.

“A week long?” She feigned consideration. If nothing else, the Cowls’ demands had taught her to be convincing. “But it would be useful, to help more with the books.”

“You’re already quite helpful with the books.” He took the letter back, examining it.

He was doubting, so Elsie added, “The squire’s work is done. If there were ever a time to go . . . perhaps I could see what it’s about, and if it’s good, we could send Emmeline for the next course.”

“You’d have to leave tomorrow to make this class.” He spoke half under his breath.

Elsie hesitated a moment before saying, “I . . . suppose I don’t need to go. I’ll stay. I have shelves to organize.”

She saw the sliver of guilt form between Ogden’s eyebrows. Frowning, he glanced at the shelves. “I’ll pay for half.”

Elsie smiled. “It’s settled, then.” She kissed Ogden on the cheek. “It will be an adventure.”

And she’d make sure Bacchus paid her back.



Elsie waited outside Brookley on a gray day for her ride. The sun had not quite come up, though even if it had, the gray-smeared sky would have hidden any of its cheeriness. It sprinkled ever so slightly, but not quite enough for an umbrella.

Not a pleasant portent, as such things went.

A large carriage drawn by four horses pulled up on the muddy road; Elsie stepped back to prevent mud from splashing her purple dress. It was one of her nicer dresses. Not that she had any particular reason for wearing it. The mud didn’t splash on anyone else, either, for Elsie had insisted on waiting on her own, using the weather as her excuse. Ogden had accepted it well enough, but she had the feeling Emmeline was eagerly peeking through the drapery upstairs.

At the same time she noted there was no second carriage, Bacchus Kelsey kicked open the carriage door, his hair hanging loose. “I couldn’t convince the duke to give me two.”

Her stomach erupted into moths that attacked her throat, seeking a way out. She supposed it wasn’t entirely improper—times were changing—but . . . well, what would she have to say about it, anyway? I’m sorry, I insist you ride on the roof for the sake of my reputation, which of course no one actually cares about.

Besides, it would be nice not to sit here alone the entire time. Mr. Kelsey could be pleasant when he wanted to be.

One of the servants—John, wasn’t it?—ran up to grab her valise. Picking up her skirts, she said, “I’ll be sure to keep the curtains drawn to prevent wagging tongues.”

She hid a smile when he stepped into the rain to help her to her seat.



They’d ridden for about ten minutes before Elsie’s thoughts needed voicing.

“Is there a lot of crime in Barbados?” she asked.

Bacchus, whose sun-kissed hair hung in tight waves over his shoulders, looked at her curiously. “Not much. Why?”

“Perhaps I’m getting better at eavesdropping or reading the news, but it seems a good deal is happening here.” She knit and unknit her fingers over her lap. “I ran into Master Merton again on Sunday.”

“Is she well?”

“Well enough. She was a bit frazzled. Quite a few opuses had been stolen or misplaced by some acolytes at the Spiritual Atheneum. They were dismissed, of course, and she was covering for one of them, I believe.”

Bacchus—Mr. Kelsey, that was—frowned. “Interesting.”

“Is it?”

He folded his arms over his broad chest. “There was a constable at the duke’s last week, asking questions about a Mr. Shaw, who recently won a copy of an opus at an auction. He, too, was robbed. Though he still has his life, unlike others.”

“That’s unfortunate,” she said. “Was he a friend of the family?”

“No. But I was seen talking to him, so I was a suspect.”