The Cogspeare Conspiracy (The Cogspeare Chronicles Book 1) (10 page)

He wasted no time getting out of the room quickly, shutting the broken door firmly behind him. He would notify Talliburn’s church, the closet thing he had had to family, later.

Now, he began to walk, faster and faster, towards Mayfair.

It was over an hour before he got there, but, weaving in and out of the pedestrian, quadruped, and vehicular traffic had given him enough time to calm down and get his thoughts together. He told himself that he was a real reporter. And the next thing a reporter would do would be follow the evidence. Or lack thereof. And all those missing papers led him to Magnus Cogspeare. He had wanted them for some reason, and Glyndwr would bet tonight’s supper that it had gotten Talliburn killed.

But when he had announced himself at the offices of Grimsby and Associates, Magnus’s surprisingly young assistant told him that he had gone home for the day.

“Oh, back to his rooms?” he had asked nonchalantly. He hadn’t given his credentials to Addison, and Jim, busy with studying the racing pages, hadn’t asked, instead replying absently,

“No, they were flooded yesterday. He’s staying with his parents-” he had then looked up, but Glyndwr was gone.

Chapter 19:

Magnus had arrived home wet, upset, and with little to show for his efforts. Consequently, he was in a foul temper that could only have been remedied by a quiet night in a hot bath, with some warm milk and Judge Synder’s latest treatise on proposed amendments to Hyderal’s Law of 1791.

Instead, as he trudged up the front steps, Steamins opened the front door and said,

“Good afternoon, sir. You are home early. You weren’t expected until later this evening.” He sounded almost as if he were scolding Magnus. Magnus, being used to it, merely shrugged out of his hat and coat.

“Indeed. Well, plans change and-”

But he broke off when he heard the sound of uproarious laughter coming from the parlour.

“Is it...?” Steamins nodded.

“He just arrived, sir.”

All Magnus could do was sigh, and march towards the parlour. He opened the door and braced himself.

Before he saw anyone, he was immediately assaulted by the pungent smell of cigarillos.

“Good God, Quintus!” he accosted the newest arrival. “Since when have you smoked those things?”

Edwina and Minerva sat next to each other on the settee, wiping tears of mirth from their cheeks. Cornelius had somehow been lured down from his laboratory and was sitting in a wing-backed chair, while Sebastian, still in his school uniform, was sitting in the window with L.B snoring in his lap.

“Well, it’s good to see you too, brother! Good Lord, you look like something Schrödinger's cat dragged in.”

Quintus smiled his wicked smile, and, as much as he hated to, Magnus couldn’t help but smile back.

Though the second-youngest brother, Quintus was by far the most socially adept and suave of the Cogspeare clan. No one knew where he got it from. He was comfortable with everyone; a good friend to gentlemen and a dashing rake to ladies. He was perfectly put together at all times; today, he wore a burgundy suit buttoned asymmetrically near his heart, his auburn hair pulled back in a neat queue.

“And as for your question,” he sauntered over, twirling a walking stick, “I took it up this past term. Adds a bit flair, don’t you think?” It wasn’t entirely a rhetorical question. Like all of the Quintus brothers, Quintus looked to Magnus for…well, if not support, then at least a guideline of what was the perfectly respectable norm. Except the emotional norm, of course.

“I think we should open a window,” he replied. He went to sit down, but then remembered his filthy clothes.

“What happened to you, dear?” his mother asked, gently picking at one of his sleeves.

“I, um…had an altercation in the ink room at the
Daily Pulse.
” He tried to comb his hair into place, but then gave up.

“Who won?” Minerva asked. Magnus looked up, surprised at her wry humour. After a moment, he replied with a small grin,

“Who do you think?” They both smiled quietly. Quintus gave a startled glance at his mother, which she responded to with one of her own that said, as clear as thunder;
don’t say a single sarcastic word, my boy!

Magnus then excused himself, and it took him over an hour, two bottles of his father’s rubbing alcohol and an endless stream of hot water before he was finally clean.

Upon returning to the parlour, Quintus had settled himself opposite their father, Sebastian was writing and Edwina had taken up her needlepoint. Minerva was reading one of Magnus’s old law scrolls.

“You know, son, these aren’t bad at all,” Cornelius mused as he puffed on one of Quintus’s cigarillos. “What do you chaps say now?
Quite smooth
, what?”

Magnus decided to pull up a chair next to the sofa.

“You must be bored if you’ve resorted to reading Brattle-Fitzhugh-St. John’s
Early English Law
.” Minerva lowered the hefty scroll.

“Actually, this is one of the more readable works on the subject, don’t you think?” Magnus just stared for a moment.

“She wants to be a lawyer! Fancy that!” Quintus interjected from across the room after picking up the gist of her words with his supersonic hearing. Both Magnus and Minerva scowled at him, though for different reasons.

“And is there any reason that a woman cannot be a barrister, Quintus?” asked his mother imperiously. Before he could reply, she got up and went to go distract her younger son, leaving the judicially-minded couple to their conversation.

“Do you think there is?” asked Minerva quietly.

“Think that there is what?”

“Any reason for a woman not to be a barrister?” Magnus frowned, and Minerva was about to jump down his throat when he held up one long hand, and murmured,

“I’m just thinking.” And frankly, Minerva was slightly shocked, and flattered, that he would take a moment to seriously consider what so many had brushed off. It also annoyed her that he
had
to think about it.

Finally, Magnus steepled his fingers and said,

“No, I don’t believe that there is anything which women would not be able to do in the practice of the law,” she smiled, “but all barristers must first be conferred a university degree, and then be called to the bar by one of three Inns: women are admitted to none of these establishments, therefore they cannot practice law.” He sat back, rather satisfied with his shrewd answer.

“But you’re wrong!” she exclaimed. “Women
are
being admitted to universities, we do all the work asked of us, and yet we’re not given the
degrees
we study for! How is that fair, or
just
, for that matter?” Magnus shrugged.

“It’s not, but as of right now, nothing can be done about it.”

“Shouldn’t you be doing something about it? Isn’t that what the law is for? To right wrongs?” Magnus swallowed, and tried as hard as he could not to look guilty. In the other half of the room, his parents and siblings were trying equally as hard to not appear to be eavesdropping. It was touch and go as to which party was failing more spectacularly.

“The law is to keep the peace. Activists like you and my mother can grab the attention of politicians, who in turn will change the law, in due course.”

“
In due course
!” she spat back, “Not according to Brattle-Fitzhugh-St. John. And I quote,” she didn’t even bother to open the book, she knew the text so well, “ ‘And the Lawe shall en-sure that all Rights be equally dispersèd among the People, be they ever so humble or needy, so longe as They be loyal subjects to the Crowne.’ That’s from roll seven, passage four,” she finished cheekily.

“I know what roll it’s from,” he snapped back, trying to overcome his surprise at a person other than himself being able to quote the obscure text. “I wrote my dissertation on it.”

“You did?” But before she could question him further, Steamins appeared morosely at the door.

“Mr. Cogspeare, Mrs. Cogspeare- there is a man here to see Master Cogspeare. He is a rather…” he wrinkled his nose, “plebeian sort of person.”

“Working at a newspaper, I do know what that means, my good man,” Twym tapped Steamins on his shoulder. A lesser butler would have jumped or started; Steamins merely blinked in a very perturbed fashion.

“Glyndwr-” Magnus began, looking quite confused. Not knowing what to say, he quickly fell back on social niceties to fill the gap and began making introductions. After presenting Glyndwr to his family, Quintus, lounging laconically against the mantle, asked,

“Twym Glyndwr- are there any vowels in that at all?”

“Who needs them?” the newspaper man shot back with a smile and a shrug.

“Mr. Glands,” Edwina rose and went over to their newest guest, “Won’t you stay for dinner? I’m sure that we would love to hear more about your work, especially what you’re doing with Magnus.” Everyone tried not to smile at how she charmingly butchered his name.

While Magnus glared at her behind the newcomer’s back, the latter doffed his cap but shook his head, “No, thank you though, missus. I have to get back to my Alis. But you see,” he turned to Magnus, “I went to your office and your assistant directed me here. I’ve just been to Talliburn’s room.”

“Did he agree to let me see the files?”

Glyndwr darted a quick glance at the ladies.

“Um, perhaps we should…?” he bobbed his head towards the corridor, but Edwina wouldn’t hear of it.

“Say what you must, Mr. Glint. We are prepared for it.” She settled herself next to Minerva, who had observed the proceedings with her usual, quiet focus.

Talliburn reported how he had discovered his comrade’s lifeless body, with no sign of the files to be found. They were all quiet for a moment, until Magnus began to ask questions.

“Wouldn’t it be more logical if Talliburn kept his files in his office?” Glyndwr shook his head.

“No. You see, upstairs they don’t have proper offices. It’s all open, with desks all about. No privacy. And if George was working on something that he didn’t want anyone to get the scoop on, he would always take the scrolls home.”

Magnus began to pace.

“What about these notebooks- they’re all gone, you say?” Glyndwr nodded.

“Did anyone see you? Did you go to the police?”

“ ’Course not. They’ll be there soon enough. I came to you first because I know that these files must have something to do with his death.”

“That’s not necessarily true. It could have been any number of things that might have put him in mortal peril,” Magnus pointed out. “He could have owed money to someone, or been fooling around-” he darted a glance at his mother “-I mean, been closely acquainted with someone’s wife, or any number of things.”

“No!” Glyndwr protested. “George kept himself to himself. And only last year he was ‘saved’, so he’d become very pious. No drink, no women, no gambling- nothing.”

“Sounds God awful.”

“Quintus!”

“Sorry, Mother, but it does.”

Magnus paused in his pacing. “Well, that’s it, then.” Glyndwr frowned.

“What do you mean? This is just the beginning.” He took out the train stub and waved it in front of his face.

              “I found this at George’s desk. It was the only piece of paper in the entire place.”

              “What is it?” asked Minerva.

              “A STEAMer ticket bound for the south west coast from two days ago. It obviously has something to do with his murder!”

              “Now wait a minute,” Magnus said firmly. “You don’t know that. He might have been visiting friends there, or went for a holiday.” Glyndwr faced him, and though was almost half a foot shorter, glared at the tall barrister.

              “Are you trying to tell me that he was going to Cornwall in the middle of March for a holiday, for the nice weather? Next you’ll be saying,” his brogue began to show, “that he died of natural causes, what with a knife sticking out of his chest an’all!”

              “What I
am
saying,” Magnus replied with an iciness that sent chills down his own spine, “is that, as far as my client, the SWSMC, is concerned, there is no more information to be had from this line of inquiry. I wanted to make sure that I had all the facts, and now I do.” He took his comb and pulled it through his hair.

              Glyndwr was aghast. After a moment of staring with his mouth open, he finally found his voice.

              “You work for them? For those bastards! They killed my friend!”

              “Now steady on,” Quintus began, but it was Magnus’s words that shocked everyone into silence.

              “Well, you didn’t really think that the miners could afford my fees, did you?” He said it without malice, merely as a practical concern.

              Flushed and angry, Twym Glyndwr didn’t even bother to say goodbye, but spun around and stormed out.

              Minerva flung herself out of the settee and raced after him. As she passed Magnus in her hurry, she spat,

              “Didn’t you ever think to work
pro bono
?”

Chapter 20:

Minerva raced past the scowling Steamins and followed Glyndwr out into the gravelled walkway.