The Magick of Merlin

2

2

William Elvyng lived less than fifteen miles from the city of York, which was the home of his emporium and his academy.

Naturally, he had an entire stately home all to himself.

‘Don’t ask about his wife,’ I said, as Jay and I drove up the driveway towards the house. The damned thing was huge — not so enormous as our House, of course, but crazily oversized for just one man. He had one of those elegant eighteenth-century piles, with a gorgeous symmetrical façade, formal gardens, stucco, a lake; everything.

‘Why not?’

‘She died, eleven years ago. According to the papers, William Elvyng never recovered.’

‘Do you know everything about these people?’

‘If I didn’t before, I do now.’

Jay, still in his not-quite-a-suit, looked sharp. He’d done something to his hair, too, some kind of windswept-but-orderly style that rather suited him.

I felt a moment’s envy; not over William Elvyng and his wonderful house, but the fortunate few towards whom Jay had directed his charm earlier in the day. I’d never seen him so well turned out.

I pulled up and parked just outside the handsome columned portico. I kid you not; as I got out of the car and smoothed my cream cotton dress, an actual butler appeared at the door to welcome us.

He even bowed. ‘Miss Vesper and Mr. Patel?’ he said.

‘That’s us.’ I walked over, smilingly intent upon not turning my heel on the gravel driveway. The Elvyngs’ butler was on the younger side, fortyish perhaps, with elegantly greying hair immaculately arranged, and a perfect dark suit, not too expensive.

‘Is that William?’ hissed Jay in my ear.

I shook my head. I’d seen pictures enough of Crystobel’s father, and this wasn’t him. ‘Butler, I think,’ I breathed.

Jay gave a tiny, almost inaudible snort.

Well, indeed.

I liked Mr. Butler, though, however incongruous his existence seemed in this day and age. He ushered us into the house as though we were honoured guests arriving for a garden party, and immediately promised to bring refreshments to the drawing-room. ‘Mr. Elvyng is expecting you,’ he said, and conducted us thither at once. He discreetly withdrew as soon as we were fairly through the door, presumably to fetch the aforementioned refreshments.

The interior of the manor matched its beautiful exterior, of course, in that it was perfectly maintained, and sumptuously decorated. The Elvyngs hadn’t made a museum of the place, and filled it exclusively with period-appropriate antiques. Instead, they’d had a top-notch interior designer in. That fortunate soul had created a look obviously inspired by fashionable décor of the seventeen-hundreds, but with a modern update. The house was plush, luxurious and gorgeously coloured and I entered William Elvyng’s drawing-room with a strong feeling that I could really make myself at home in his house.

My questing eye also detected more than one magickal trinket of interest and (no doubt) high value, artfully poised upon shelves and console tables. How the other half live, right?

William Elvyng was ensconced in an elegant, brocade armchair near the fire when we came in (an actual fire, despite the late summer heat beyond the walls of the manor). He rose upon seeing us, and came forward with outstretched hand and affable expressions of welcome. I admit to being agreeably surprised, though I don’t know why. Had I expected a repellent personality to go with all this wealth and ease?

‘So good of you to lend us your skills,’ said Mr. Elvyng. ‘Crystobel and I have always felt the greatest respect for the Society’s work.’

Crystobel’s father had an air of frailty about him, which perhaps explained the fire. He was rather older than I’d expected, considering Crystobel was only a few years off my own age. His pictures in the media I now realised were inaccurate, on the flattering side; he was well into his seventies and not in good health. His paper-white face, softened as it was with smiles, still had a pinched look about it, and his shoulders stooped. Someone had carefully arranged his thinning white hair to disguise an encroaching baldness.

‘It’s our pleasure,’ I was saying smoothly, and with perfect truth. Everything about the mission appealed to me, from the sleuthing to the visiting notable people in their spectacular houses. Did I have a taste for splendour? Apparently. Was that somewhat inconvenient considering my profession and prospects? Rather.

I resolutely turned my eyes away from a beautiful gilded clock enthroned upon the mantel, and fixed them instead upon Mr. Elvyng.

‘Is it all right if we ask you some questions about the grimoire?’ Jay said. ‘And the theft?’

‘Certainly, certainly,’ said Mr. Elvyng, gesturing us to take seats. He restored himself to the embrace of his own armchair with some care, and sat there looking as though a crane might be required to haul him out of it again. I felt rather touched that he had gone to the trouble of rising to greet us at all.

I installed myself upon the matched brocade sofa, conscious of a desire to move with an elegance to match the house, and folded my hands primly in my lap. ‘The police reports were lacking,’ I began. ‘Can you tell us what happened on the day of the theft?’

Mr. Elvyng’s lips twisted at my mention of the police. Clearly they had fallen some way short of impressing him. ‘The problem was, Crystobel gave them too much information,’ he said.

‘Too much?’ I repeated.

He nodded. ‘She should never have mentioned Merlin’s name. The officer who came to the house, well, he visibly stopped listening from that moment. Thought it some kind of publicity stunt, I believe. As though we need any more of that.’

I made a sympathetic noise.

‘I kept the grimoire here, under my eye,’ Mr. Elvyng continued. ‘Perhaps that was foolish of me, but you understand — an irreplaceable item — I couldn’t entrust it to one of the public buildings, with people going in and out all the time. And I couldn’t be comfortable with it lying in a vault somewhere, either. I wanted it where I could personally see to its safety.

‘Well, perhaps I could have prevented its theft — had I been here. But I once or twice every year I pay an official visit to the Academy in York. It’s expected. I go there to talk to the teachers, meet a few of the students, permit my photograph to be taken. That kind of thing. That year, when I returned, the grimoire was gone.’

‘How soon did you discover it missing?’ I said.

‘Within a day or two of my return. It is — was — my regular habit to go into the room where it was kept, and look at it. Read a few pages. You understand, perhaps.’

‘Absolutely,’ I murmured, and I did. If I owned something that spectacular, I’d have a hard time leaving it alone.

So would Val.

‘Well, I did so, perhaps, the day after I arrived home, and that’s when I knew it was gone.’

‘Where was it kept?’ said Jay.

‘You will be shown, shortly,’ said Mr. Elvyng. ‘But I kept it in its own annex off the library here at the house. The room has no access to the outdoors, and only one, small window, which is kept secure. I had a glass case created for it. It had every charm we could muster between us for its security, as I’m sure you can imagine. The thing is unbreakable, and kept locked at all times.’

‘Was it broken?’ said Jay.

Mr. Elvyng shook his head. ‘Perfectly intact. The lock as well.’

‘So someone had a key.’

‘It appears so. Before you ask, there are two known keys in existence: one in my possession, and one in my daughter’s. Both keys were accounted for at the time. Mine was with me at the Academy — I always carry it about with me — and Crystobel was travelling in France that week, her key with her.’

‘So either someone managed to make a copy,’ I mused, ‘or the lock was opened by some other method.’

‘Magickal, do you mean?’ said Mr. Elvyng. ‘It is not impossible, but nearly so. Believe me when I say the charms laid upon the case, lock included, were immensely powerful.’

I had no trouble believing him on that point. ‘Was the lock made from argent, by any chance?’ I asked, struck by a sudden insight.

His smile was faint. ‘Very insightful, Ms. Vesper. The lock itself is made from commoner materials, but some of the mechanisms were worked from argent.’

‘The keys, as well?’

Mr. Elvyng nodded.

The argent workings would be amplifying the effects of any charms laid upon them, which meant that the lock behind which Merlin’s Grimoire had been kept was probably the most secure in the whole of England, if not beyond.

Interesting.

‘Is there any way those charms could have been changed?’ Jay said.

‘If they were, they were changed back again before I discovered the theft,’ said Mr. Elvyng. ‘I noticed nothing amiss with the case.’

I wondered if the thoughts wandering through my own mind reflected Jay’s at all. If Mr. Elvyng was right, and the case was so impregnable, what did that suggest? Either someone had managed to copy one of the two known keys without their owners knowing it, and that would be difficult indeed, if both of them were made from pure argent. Who but the Elvyngs have a supply of magickal silver lying about?

The alternative must be that the case showed no signs of being broken into because it hadn’t been. Could it be possible that the apparent suspicions of the police had some truth to them after all? By Mr. Elvyng’s account, the only people who could so neatly have made off with the grimoire were either himself or his daughter. If this was the tale they had told to the police, no wonder they hadn’t been taken seriously.