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With a dip of her head, Beth marched southward.
Hulda was grateful to leave Rhode Island.
She had a tendency to overthink things. She knew this about herself. Those closest to her—her family, Myra—knew that about her, too. Sometimes having a mind running as hot as a steamboat had its advantages. It made Hulda productive. She was an excellent juggler of tasks and an expert on many subjects.
But sometimes it tortured her, especially when her thoughts fell outside the comfortable realm of logic. And nothing was more illogical than emotions.
And so, leaning against the side of the speeding kinetic tram on her way to Boston, she found herself analyzing her every interaction with Mr.Fernsby this morning thrice over to ensure she had been strictly professional and nothing more. Only after she finished the third evaluation did she feel comfortable, certain that she’d maintained her decorous position.
She hadn’t had any of the lemon drops yet. In truth, she was afraid to, like they might be some sort of ambrosia that would warp both mind and resolve and transmute her into a desperate twenty-year-old again.
She sighed.Another reason not to read fiction. Really, Hulda.
She’d telegrammed ahead to the Genealogical Society; they should be expecting her. The kinetic tram had a stop close to their headquarters, so Hulda wouldn’t need to hire additional transportation. She shouldbe excited for the work ahead, for she’d always liked solving mysteries. There was something incredibly validating about sorting through questions to find an encompassing resolution. In this case, though, she partially dreaded the answer. Once they had the wizard’s identity set, she would have to exorcise the fellow, leaving Whimbrel House as ordinary as the next place. Of course, she’d truly have no need to stay after that. She and Miss Taylor both would be recycled elsewhere. Which was a good thing.
She ignored the displeasure weighing down her lungs as she strode from the station and onto familiar Boston streets, her sensible shoes clacking on the cobbles.
The building for the Genealogical Society for the Advancement of Magic was impressive; four times the size of the hotel that accommodated BIKER’s offices. A sculpture of a great tree stood in front of it, and Grecian columns coddled the doors, which were heavy, Hulda noted as she pulled one open and slipped inside. The ceiling was high in the large reception space she entered, which had an enormous half-circle desk. The man behind it looked frail, though he couldn’t have been any older than forty.
He stood immediately. “Miss Larkin?”
Her title ofMrs.didn’t exist here. “I am.”
“Excellent.” He stepped around the desk. “Right this way. Mr.Clarke took lunch in his office so he wouldn’t miss you.”
Hulda blinked away surprise. “Very kind of him.”
They passed the stairs and took a hallway north, then east, to a large office without any doors. It had a smattering of bookcases within, a heavy oak desk, and a large window, the sill of which was completely covered in various ferns. A taxidermy head of a buck jutted out from the rightmost wall.
The man on the other side of the desk set down a half-eaten sandwich and stood. He looked to be about sixty, with a nose possibly more prominent than Hulda’s own, though while hers protruded in thebridge, his stretched forward at the tip. He had dark eyes and white hair. That is, where he still had hair, in a ring above his ears and chops that ran down his cheeks. His smile was pleasant as he came toward her, hand extended. “Miss Hulda Larkin?”
She nodded and shook his hand firmly. “I am. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me, Mr.Clarke, especially at the last minute. In truth, I expected to speak with one of your employees.”
He gestured for her to sit, and the secretary discreetly left them. “Perfect timing is perfect timing. I hope your travel was fair?”
Hulda sat, propping her bag on her lap. “Quite, thank you.”
Mr.Clarke retook his own chair, sliding his lunch off to the side. “I’m so grateful for your response. It’s hard for us to find magically capable women who aren’t already spoken for or too old to—”
“Mr.Clarke.” Hulda was not one to interrupt, but her cheeks were already flushing at his insinuation, and she did not care to further darken them. “You have mistaken me. In my telegram, I stated I was here to research the Mansel name.”
Fortunately, Mr.Clarke did not seem insulted—he merely chuckled. “Ah, yes, so you did.” Reaching over, he picked up a small piece of paper, the telegram itself. “I was hoping we’d be able to discuss both things.”
Hulda straightened as tall as she could in her chair—sometimes a stiff spine made her flushing recede faster, and there were few things she loathed more than being red in the face, especially in front of a man. “I am still... considering the other matter of business. But today I’m here on behalf of the Boston Institute for the Keeping of Enchanted Rooms.” Snapping open her bag, she pulled out her list of names, as well as the rubbings of the graves. “I have a possessed house on Blaugdone Island and need to find the identity of the inhabiting wizard. These graves were found nearby.” She handed the papers over.
Mr.Clarke pored over the papers for several minutes. Hulda remained silent. She didn’t mind silence, especially when there was work being done.
“Very well done, Miss Larkin,” he finally said. “Some fifty years ago, we did a survey of early colonial townships—by we, I mean those before me—all the way back to theMayflower.” He shrugged. “Could be forty or sixty, with this brain of mine. And with this brain of yours”—he held up one of the rubbings—“you would be an excellent genealogist.”
She smiled at the compliment. “Thank you, but I am safely employed for the time being.”
Gathering the papers, Mr.Clarke stood, and Hulda followed suit. “Take these out to Gifford—he’s the one who saw you in. He’ll personally take you down to the files you need. If they’re not there, well, then I haven’t been doing my job.”
Hulda shook the man’s hand once more. “You’ve been a great help, Mr.Clarke.”
“Thank you. Do see me when you’re finished.” Sitting down, he pulled over his lunch. “So I can better explain what my earlier letter didn’t.”
Hulda nodded, if only to be polite, then left, her steps carrying her a fair bit quicker than they had before.
