Evermore (Emily Chambers Spirit Medium Trilogy #3)(71)

"Forgive me," he said, bowing. "I couldn't help overhearing. My name is Sir Magnus Grimshaw. I live in the palace." He indicated the grand colonnaded fa?ade of the royal residence beyond the gates and fountain.

"Oh, then perhaps you could return the dog," she said, holding out the animal.

He winced and shook his head. "The guard will. I simply want to ask you how you knew it belonged to Her Majesty."

Tilda went cold. She hadn't been careful enough. "As I told the guard, I recognize--."

"But there are probably hundreds of dogs who get walked every day in the city. Do you mean to tell me you knew that this particular one was the queen's simply by looking at it?"

"The collar is distinctive," she said, thinking fast. "And mech dogs are more common than real ones nowadays."

"It's not that distinctive." He smoothed his thin moustache with his thumb and forefinger then turned to one of the guards. "Open the gates." The guard pressed a lever set into the wall. The mechanism hissed and the great iron gates yawned. "And take the dog. It does indeed belong to Her Majesty. I believe it was the very one that bit me last week." Sir Magnus strolled through the gates. As they slid closed behind him, he turned and added, "Find out where she lives."

Tilda felt sick. Her stomach roiled as she handed the dog to the guard. Should she flee or stay and pretend nothing was amiss. In the end, she found her legs were too unsteady to run so she answered the guard when he asked her where she lived. She didn't dare give a false address. If her lie was detected, Sir Magnus's suspicions would be confirmed. For he was suspicious. He must have guessed she'd found the dog's owner by using a paranormal skill. She only hoped he would forget about her or decide she was not worth bothering about.

But she knew with a dreadful foreboding that he would not forget.

A week later she was proved correct. Sir Magnus came to her house. Aunt Winnie and Letitia were out and Tilda had to entertain him on her own in the parlor. Mary brought tea and biscuits, forked a brow at Tilda in question then left when Tilda shook her head. This was a person she must face alone. Thank goodness her sister wsn't home. Letitia might have only a little skill at divination but she also possessed the unenviable skill of not being able to keep her mouth shut.

Sir Magnus stared out the window at an airship ascending into the clouds, its sails full and its engine humming, the great iron wings tucked into the side of the hull to minimize the disturbance over the city. It must have come from the docks which could be pinpointed in the distance by the hundreds of craft of all shapes and sizes hovering above it.

"Let's not beat around the bush," Grimshaw said, turning to Tilda. "You have the skill of divination."

"Not true!"

He snorted a laugh. "Don't try to fool me, Miss Upton, I can smell the magic on you." He sniffed the air which was now pristine thanks to the filter she'd fixed yet again that morning.

Ugh. "That is disgusting. I have no magic. If this is about the dog, I told you I recognized the collar--."

He held up a hand for silence. She swallowed her retort. She didn't want to antagonize him. If he lived at the palace he was most likely very influential. "I won't tell a soul," he said, "if you do one thing for me."

She swallowed. "Sit down, sir. Please avail yourself of my maid's biscuits." She tried to smile. It was difficult.

He flipped out his coat tails and sat. She poured him a cup of tea and handed him the plate of biscuits. He refused them and ignored the tea. He simply looked at her through eyes as black and round as the buttons down the front of Tilda's gown, and licked his lips.

"It's unusual to find a girl so pretty and not yet married at your age, Miss Upton."

"Twenty-four is not that old," she said, repeating an oft-said line. She was growing a little tired of the comments concerning her marital state, or lack of it.

"Not for a hellhag."

She dropped her cup into her saucer with a loud clank. "I am not a hellhag." It was all she could do to get the words out through her tight throat.

"You can divine, Miss Upton. Is there anything else you--?"

"Nothing else, I assure you! Most determinedly assure you."

He seemed to relax. His wiry moustache stretched as a fleeting smile passed over his lips and he nodded. He had been afraid of her! If she truly were a hellhag then he ought to be. But as a simple diviner, he had nothing to fear. And now he knew it.

"I see," he said. "Very well, then it is most fortunate you've come to me now."

"Pardon?"

"I wish to commission you, Miss Upton."

"Commission me? To do what?"

"Find someone. An Oriental man is traveling on an airship called the Adrienne bound for France. The ship belongs to the King of France and is heavily armed. I want you to bring the Oriental to me and the machine he carries with him. Understand?"

Tilda's head was spinning. Surely this was all a dream. Sir Magnus could not possibly be serious. And yet he looked quite serious going by the grim set of his mouth and the challenge in his hard black eyes.

"Out of the question," she said. "What an absurd suggestion. I can't simply drop everything to find a man for you, Sir Magnus, no matter who you are."