Spellmaker

Standing, Elsie smoothed her dress and hurried to the door. “I’m getting a little tired of surprise visitors,” she said flippantly, though her stomach was in knots. Perhaps Miss Prescott had sent an aspector to her home? Elsie couldn’t recall any appointments, but she’d been so flustered as of late, she might have forgotten.

Ogden and Bacchus followed Elsie as she wound her way down the stairs, through the kitchen and hall, into the studio. Emmeline hadn’t exaggerated—the man waiting just beside the counter was a normal-looking bloke, indeed. He appeared to be a couple of years Elsie’s senior, and he wrung a cap in his hands. He was as well dressed as a working man could be, in all shades of brown, though his jacket was olive. He had a mop of wavy hair atop his head. He looked up when Elsie entered, and there was something oddly familiar about his blue eyes, but Elsie couldn’t place what. She was sure she’d never met the fellow before.

“Elsie . . . that is, you’re Elsie Camden,” the man said immediately.

Elsie hesitated, but nodded. “I am, but I’m not the artist here.” Ogden and Bacchus came in, and she pointed to the former. “He is.”

“Oh, uh . . .” He laughed awkwardly. “Not here about art. It’s just. Well.” He put his cap on, rubbed his hands together, then took his cap off again. “Well, this might sound a little strange.”

I assure you it’s already strange, Elsie thought with apprehension, glancing sidelong to Bacchus.

“But, uh, I saw your wedding announcement in the paper.” His eyes moved between Bacchus and Ogden before returning to her. “And, well, if I could ask you a personal question . . .”

Elsie frowned. “I’m not sure I should agree.”

“Please, Miss Camden.”

Emmeline met her eyes, and she looked so hopeful that Elsie consented with a nod.

He wrung that hat like it was a chicken’s neck. “It’s just that . . . Do you know your parents, Miss Camden?”

Her stomach tightened. “That is a personal question. And an odd one at that.”

“I know. It’s just . . .” He finally had mercy on the cap and set it on the counter. He took one step forward, no more. “It’s just that, you see, my parents . . . they were real poor, you know? Had a hard time keeping us. Left me with a family in Reading.” A soft chuckle passed his lips, but Elsie’s stomach tightened further. “And it’s just . . . I had a sister named Elsie. Haven’t seen her since I was eight. And you . . . you’re the right age. Haven’t been able to find an Elsie Camden until I saw the announcement last week, you see.”

Elsie’s hand moved up to her mouth. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be.

“Lad,” Ogden started gently, “what did you say your name was?”

“Reggie,” he answered, now wringing the hem of his coat. “That is, Reginald. Reginald Camden.”

And just like that, Elsie knew why his eyes looked familiar. Because she’d seen them every day in her mirror.

They were her eyes.

Tears blurred her vision. In a weak whisper, she said, “D-Do you know where they left her?”

Reggie shook his head. “I don’t. Somewhere near Reading. A small town. We lost her first, although I’m not sure why. I didn’t know they planned it for all of us. Ma and Pa . . . they never explained it to me. I didn’t understand until I was older.”

A sore lump pressed into Elsie’s throat. How could he know that? How could he know that, unless . . .

“You’re my brother,” she breathed, and a sob escaped her lips.

The man smiled, his own eyes watering. “Yeah, Elsie. I’m pretty sure I am.”

CHAPTER 13

“You really don’t remember?”

They all sat at the dining room table, Ogden at its head, Reginald—Reggie—in the chair across from Elsie. Bacchus sat beside her. Emmeline took up the other end of the table, silent and fascinated. Decorum meant one of them ought to be serving tea, but who could focus on tea at a time such as this?

Elsie was soaring and hoped to never come back down. She shook her head in wonder. “I knew I had a mother and a father, and I remembered a brother. I knew I remembered a brother!”

Reggie smiled. “That you did. There were four of us in all. Maybe you remember John. He was older than me. Found him, too, about six years ago.”

Elsie’s heart flipped. “You did? Where—”

Reggie stayed her question with a hand. “Don’t get too excited, Elsie.” His face fell. “I’m real sorry, but he’s not . . . not around anymore. Died of measles a few winters back.”

Elsie felt heavy in her chair. Beneath the table, Bacchus’s hand found her knee. The weight of the simple touch anchored her.

“I see. Where is he buried?”

Reggie was manhandling his cap again. It was a wonder it still held its shape. “Little town north of London a ways called Green Knoll. I could take you there if you’d like.”

“I would. I would like that. But . . . you said there were four of us?”

Reggie snapped his fingers. “A sister, younger than you. Her name was Alice, I’m sure of it. But I haven’t been able to find her. Don’t know if our parents kept her or left her somewhere, too. Could be anywhere.”