Finally, the measurements seemed to be over. Mr. Lloyd’s assistant was sorting through a small pile of white gloves when the door opened again.
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Lloyd,” Wesley said, though his gaze was on Sebastian, “but it would seem that we have something of a situation. Do you have what you need from Don Sebastian?”
“Nearly,” said Mr. Lloyd. “He hasn’t picked a dress coat—”
“Whichever one you thought best,” Sebastian said hastily.
“Very well.” Mr. Lloyd lifted one of the coats off the bed, studying it. “We can have this ready for you by early afternoon.”
“We may be out,” Wesley said, glancing at Sebastian again. “But you can leave anything you wish in my room. Don Sebastian, if you could join us downstairs?”
“Thank you,” Sebastian said to Mr. Lloyd, and hurried out after Wesley.
“What’s going on?” Sebastian asked, in a low voice, as he fell into step next to Wesley, heading for the stairs.
“Miss Robbins and Mr. Zhang made port in Lisbon this morning and cabled immediately,” Wesley said, matching his volume. “It seems your other friend, Mrs. Taylor, followed the trail of Mr. Hyde to Tangier. And she found his doctor at a resort—dead. The man appears to have been murdered on holiday, while Mr. Hyde himself was nowhere to be seen.”
Sebastian’s eyes widened. “But then where is Hyde? Did he murder his doctor and escape? Or is he stilllost to Rory’s magic and wandering somewhere in Morocco?”
“We have a lead, at least,” Wesley said. “Hyde’s doctor was affiliated with a second asylum, here in the West Country. That’s where we’re going now.”
* * *
It was Sebastian’s first time meeting Wesley’s driver, Marcus, who turned out to be quiet man in his late thirties who’d served as a sergeant in Wesley’s company. When their group of four came out of the inn, Marcus tilted his head. But if he found it odd that his employer was joined by three Americans, he didn’t comment on it, and only said, mildly, “You said you needed to take the car, sir?”
“Yes, thank you,” Wesley said. “The innkeeper has promised to arrange transportation back to London for you and Mr. Lloyd.”
The car was parked on the drive, looking very familiar. Wesley and Marcus started walking toward it, and Sebastian followed. “Another Bentley Blue Label Tourer, yes?” he said, trying to sound casual. “Like the one I drove in Yorkshire? It’s convenient I already know how to drive it, yes?”
“You’re not subtle,” Wesley told him, but he had a hint of a smile. “You can only drive on condition that you pay attention to your right turns this time.” He hesitated, his gaze going back to his driver. “Marcus, you’ve met Mr. Kenzie and Mr. Brodigan before. This is Mr. de Leon.”
“The man who gifted the staff the new painting of San Juan that Miss Elsie enjoys so much?” Marcus said, eying Sebastian. “I saw it hanging up in the basementthe last time I spoke with Ned in his quarters. My compliments to the artist, sir, it’s a very fine painting.”
A paranormal painting that helped protect Wesley’s Kensington home, but the staff wasn’t aware of that part.
Wesley’s tone was very formal as he said, “We have some obligations in the West Country, but Mr. de Leon may choose to return with me to Kensington afterward.”
Sebastian kept his expression carefully blank. It would be nice to be with Wesley in his home. But Wesley had once said his staff was small these days—Marcus the driver, his footman, Ned, two maids, along with his cook, Mrs. Harris, and her eleven-year-old daughter, Elsie. Were they used to Wesley having men over already? But then, Wesley had also said he never shared a bed with lovers before Sebastian. So maybe if Sebastian was in his home, he would sleep in Wesley’s guest room like all the others before him.
Sebastian swallowed.
“Consider me at your disposal then, Mr. de Leon.” There was nothing but polite sincerity in Marcus’s tone. “I’m certain the others will look forward to seeing you again.”
Arthur and Rory joined them at the car, taking the bench seat in the back while Sebastian got behind the wheel with Wesley next to him in front. Soft droplets of rain dotted the Bentley’s cloth roof as they made their way west, out of town and down a narrow highway.
“So of the original seven relics, there are two still missing, one of which is unlocked through the murder of a paranormal with three kinds of magic, which Mr. Hyde has,” Wesley said, as they passed rolling hills in shades of green and brown under the gray sky. “Hasthere been an explanation for how Mr. Hyde was found and taken out of his asylum in the first place?”
“Rory and I did some digging this morning,” Arthur said, “and we think perhaps no one accounted for academics.”
“What do you mean?” Sebastian asked, as he slowed the car to wave at a grazing sheep.
“It’s unfortunately not uncommon for paranormals to wind up committed,” Arthur said. “Rory had the idea to ask the innkeeper last night to get us copies of recent medical journals. And sure enough, the asylum’s head doctor published a study on his patients.”
Sebastian groaned. “If you were watching the medical journals for signs of magic, a description of Hyde would definitely attract attention.”
“Exactly,” said Arthur. “And now he’s vanished, and we don’t know if he’s still bound by Rory’s psychometry or not.”
“But we’re gonna find out and we’re gonna findhim,” Rory added.
