The Watchmaker Of Filigree Street Part 25

'He's praising the bombing of the Yard in May,' he said urgently. 'And Parliament, and Carrow, we must leave. Yuki, I'm terribly sorry, I feel unwell.' And then they were out. Grace looked back in time to see one of Yuki's friends pat his arm, though he looked disappointed. Matsumoto shook his head.

'I'm sorry. He told me it was just a nationalist meeting. He didn't say it was the unofficial gathering of Clan na Gael. Christ.' He looked back toward the doors as they crossed the road again. 'That was a call to arms. I can't believe they have meetings like that. Anyone could have gone in.'

'It isn't illegal,' Grace pointed out. 'There were probably policemen there. Clan na Gael is only the extreme arm of the Irish nationalists. They have a representative in Parliament. Parnell. I've had tea with him. They're not just madmen in a little room somewhere.'

He laughed incredulously. 'I am continually surprised at the political leniency of a government that's already been bombed half out of Whitehall. That's the British for you. What's the time? Only seven. We can walk back, if your aversion to the trains is too much for you.'

'Hold on, should we not extract Yuki first? If he's listening to all that and living in a firework shop-'

'He says he's been going there for months and the firework shop's still there. Besides, it belongs to his father; he'd be destroying his own living if he did anything silly.'

Grace nodded. They had only gone on a little way, and she had taken a breath to remark on the horses that were sliding on the ice as they tried to pull their cabs up the hill, when Matsumoto cut in first.

'I meant to say; are you all set for tomorrow? Your mother's had a talk with you?'

'I hope you don't mean what I think you do.'

As usual, he couldn't have been less embarra.s.sed. 'Look, I've heard your views about biology. I seem to recall your claiming that it's the study of yeast and ooze. That doesn't bode well.'

'Kind of you to be concerned, but no need.'

'Are you certain? I don't trust your mother. I imagine she explained it in the terms of something like an appendectomy. That's wrong, you know. A man does not want to feel like a surgeon working without anaesthetic.'

'For the love of G.o.d, Matsumoto, shut up.'

'You can't say I didn't warn you.'

She looked up at him. 'We're marrying because I want a laboratory and he has a widowed sister with too many sons. It's a business arrangement.'

'No, no, hiring one's tailor is a business arrangement. You're going to live with this fellow and he isn't bad-looking or unpleasant.'

'Matsumoto.'

He took a breath, but then let it out again, and his levity faded. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ... one says silly things, you know, when one is ... ' He struggled, then shook his head. 'When one is in shock over the marriage of one's ugly friends.'

She thumped his arm and they walked on bickering, and slipping every now and then. Matsumoto complained bitterly about the Arctic weather, and Grace thought of the way Thaniel had walked on the ice, lightly, with both hands in his pockets. She didn't know how he did it, but he suited the winter. His eyes were the right colour for it. With any luck, the snow would come tomorrow to match him, and the old graveyard of the little Kensington church would be hidden and pristine, and her mother's flowers would seem all the brighter. And Mori, if his views of the weather were anything like Matsumoto's, would be less likely to change his mind at the last minute.

TWENTY-FOUR.

Although St Mary's spire was not especially high, it was high enough to see that the tallest things in the city were other church spires. Thaniel cracked the seal of the snow vial, spraying little shards of red wax over his hands, and then held it up to let the wind take the winking dust. He was doubtful about it. London sprawled under a white sky, interrupted only by the patch of frosted green that was Hyde Park; half a vial of powder was not much beside such a wide s.p.a.ce. Above him, the bells made a s.h.i.+mmering sound as the particles brushed them. While he waited, he looked down into the street for Mori, who was easy to find because his was a grey coat in among all the black. He was walking west, away from home. There was time to wonder why but not to reach any conclusions before the first snowflake stung his cheek. He leaned out through the open arch. The clouds were gathering and the air was turning grainy with ice. By the time he was at the altar, the snow spun and eddied, and the frozen mud of the churchyard was hidden under a fresh white.

When Grace arrived, she had a white parasol for the snow. He saw her spin it through her hands on the porch to shake off the damp before she let it down. Because her father still disapproved, it was Matsumoto who brought her down the nave.

The ceremony was over quickly, though it felt long in the cold, and then they moved on to the Westminster. It was much warmer there. In the dark afternoon, they had lit candles along all the tables. Thaniel's nephews soon set to playing with the wax. They sounded Scottish now so did Annabel, who had aged since he had seen her last. He sat watching them and listening to Grace and Matsumoto on his other side. Having not seen him since they were tiny, the boys were nervous of him and, when forced to speak, kept looking uncertainly at their mother. They weren't precocious. He didn't push them, because he could remember, vividly, how much he had hated being forced to chat to obscure relatives he didn't know. He wished that he could have learned Mori's knack for speaking to children.

Across the dining room, a pair of bronze birds flitted in through the open doors. Some of the women diners squeaked, but the birds were clearly unaccidental, because they executed an elegant loop-the-loop in tandem, glimmering oddly as they flew. Thaniel recognised them a second before they both shed a cascade of colourful sparks along the length of the table. The guests ooed and laughed. Delighted, Annabel's boys ran after them as they sang off around the hall, making shapes with the fireworks. Before long, the birds looped back and hopped on to Grace's wine gla.s.s, one on either side. She lifted one of them down. Like a real swallow, it held her finger tightly, leaving six pale marks on her skin. It puffed up its bronze feathers and s.h.i.+vered, clinking.

'I'm sorry that Mori didn't come,' Grace said.

'Are you?' said Thaniel. Since everyone was distracted, he had slipped a tiny packet of Lipton's out of his pocket and into one of the white coffee cups. When she spoke, his mind was still taken up with the question of how to call for some hot water without alerting Lord Carrow. The champagne must have cost a fortune, but he hated champagne.

'No,' she said. 'But he should have come. It's your wedding.'

'He should,' he agreed quietly. He had thought that if he didn't say anything, Mori would come and sit at the back of the church. He had known there was a chance he wouldn't, but he hadn't realised how bleak it would be without him.

On Grace's other side, Matsumoto leaned forward. 'I don't suppose I might see one of those birds?' he said.

Grateful for the interruption, Thaniel cupped his hands around the nearest and handed it over.

'I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but just now, you were talking about...' Matsumoto hesitated. 'It's Keita Mori, isn't it?'

They both turned to him. 'How do you know that?' said Thaniel.

'This is his clockwork.' Matsumoto looked between them. For once, he didn't smile. 'How well do you know him?'

'Well,' said Thaniel.

'Then you know the circ.u.mstances in which he left his home town?'

'No, it's never-'

Matsumoto tucked his chin down in the most fractional nod. 'No. Well, let me tell you. Keita Mori is the b.a.s.t.a.r.d son of old Lord Mori's wife. His legitimate brothers were killed in the civil wars and so the familial castle went to his cousin, Takahiro. Takahiro was not an easy man, but not a bad one either. He was honourable: he believed in blood and n.o.bility, so he never much liked Mori. Of course, Mori didn't like him, either.' His brown eyes caught briefly on Grace. 'Then one day, they argued, and an hour later Takahiro was killed under an unstable section of the castle wall. I saw it happen. Coincidence indeed, but coincidences follow Keita Mori. I should think you've noticed.'

'Yes,' said Thaniel. 'But you don't land a wall on someone's head because you vaguely dislike him.'

'That's not the point,' said Grace. 'Matsumoto, you said coincidences, not coincidence. Are you saying that there are others who have died?'

Thaniel's nephews crept up and tried to steal the other bird, which soared a little way along the table, then again when they chased it. When it flew, its metal wings beat so quickly that they hummed a clear, sunny yellow. It gave Thaniel the odd feeling of sitting in broad daylight, despite the candles and the dark winter afternoon. He shook his head, aware that Matsumoto had been talking.

'-don't know. I was only eight when Takahiro was killed. I think one would have to know Mori very well indeed before one could tell between a train derailing by chance and a train derailing because he distracted the engineer at the right moment.'

'He doesn't derail-' Thaniel began.

'Thaniel lives with him,' Grace interrupted. 'He doesn't like me.'

'Then I suggest you try for an emba.s.sy posting in Morocco,' Matsumoto said to Thaniel. 'Before she's. .h.i.t by an omnibus.'

'For G.o.d's sake, he won't do that. He's spent three months not hitting you with an omnibus, I really doubt he intends to begin now, don't you?' To ensure that neither of them could reply, Thaniel called to a waiter. Grace's eyebrows rose slowly when he asked for hot water.

'You've smuggled in your own tea.'

'Yes. I'm sorry. I don't like champagne.'

She kissed his temple. He caught a s.n.a.t.c.h of her summery perfume and its Italian spices, too strong today. Matsumoto stood suddenly and said that he would have to go if he was to catch his train, so they both saw him out into the snow and laughed when he put up his umbrella with an operatic flourish. Thaniel began to turn away, but Grace went with Matsumoto right to the door, her dress hissing as the hem spun. He had caught her arm.

'You know,' he said, pitching his voice softly, 'Mori spent twenty years not landing a wall on Takahiro. If you're going to stay here ... well. You must know what you will do, if you think he's on the edge of something unfortunate.'

She nodded once. 'I've a vague idea.'

'Not vague would be better.'

'It wouldn't. If I think, I'll decide something, and he will know it the second I do. I'm trying to hold it in stasis.'

Thaniel watched their voices change to the colour of the snow.

Matsumoto looked worried. 'Can you?'

'You know when you've two big numbers to multiply, and you could do it in your own head if you made the effort, but you feel lazy and you hold them still until you can reach an abacus?'

He glanced out into the snow. 'Yes,' he said after a small pause. 'I see what you mean. You're quite clever enough to puzzle it out if the time comes. Well. Best of luck. I had better go.'

She put her hand out to shake his, but he stepped back from her and bowed at her instead, leaving her to clench her hand uncertainly in his wake.

'Come back in,' Thaniel said quietly. 'He'll be all right.'

She rubbed her arms as she came back. 'Of course he will. There's an opera ballet in Paris.'

With an air of great reluctance, Lord Carrow announced that he was needed at Horse Guards in half an hour. After that, the rest of Grace's family left in slow twos and threes. Grace shepherded out the last of them while Thaniel waited for her at the foot of the hotel stairs. They had a suite for the night. When she came back, she caught up the hem of her skirt so that she could climb the stairs, awkwardly, because none of her usual dresses were so long. Thaniel went slowly to keep pace with her, close to the wall so that they wouldn't knock elbows.

'Thaniel!' Annabel said.

'I thought you'd gone? I'll follow you,' he added to Grace, and went back down.

Annabel smiled and put her arms around him once she could reach. 'Dear me,' she murmured. 'That was all a bit strange. Are you sure about her? She looks like a boy.'

'I like her. Were you all right tonight?'

'We had a lovely time, yes.' She looked behind her, where her sons were waiting by the door, well away from them. 'I'm sorry about the boys. I thought they remembered you more.'

'They're better than I was with uncles.'

'All our uncles were fat anglers who smelled of fish,' she pointed out. She sighed and pushed her hair from her eyes. It was a duller colour than it had been. The rest of her was dull too. He hadn't recognised her when she had arrived on the sleeper from Edinburgh, and when he had, he had cried and pretended it was because he was happy. 'There wasn't another girl, was there? Poorer but better?'

'No. Where do you think I'm meeting women? There aren't the hours in the day. I go home from work, argue with my mad landlord about cats or suffragists and then I go to work again.'

'Well. It's a very smart match, then. Are you sure about sending the boys to school?'

'For G.o.d's sake, what am I for?'

She looked relieved. 'I'll see you in the week, then.'

'Is it Thursday, you're going?'

'Early, yes.'

He saw them out to the cab and stood in the snow for a while, half to watch them go, half because a little dying hope at the back of his mind was waiting for Mori. The street was nearly empty. He turned back inside with snow on his sleeves.

When he found it, the room, or rather rooms there was a parlour had the immensely clean hotel smell that comes of everything being boiled and ironed, and repainted, much more often than usual. There were deep carpets and chairs in different shades of blue and white, and on the low table by the fire was the remains of the wedding cake. The porters had brought it up ahead of them.

'I'm changing,' Grace called from behind a pair of closed doors. 'Don't come in here for a moment. How is your sister? I didn't speak to her.'

'She's well. She says you look like a boy.'

She snorted. 'The two of you are from the same mould, then.'

'I get it from her,' he said, taking off his tie and collar. The big windows looked out over the Thames and Waterloo Bridge, where the cabs crawled along with lit lamps. The river had frozen completely now, and there were lamps moving there too as pedestrians cut across to save climbing the bridge. The light sparkled where it caught on the frosted bulkheads of s.h.i.+ps stranded in the ice. Snow was criss-crossing again. He thought that he could see the steeple of their church in Kensington. He counted sideways until he found a point of electric light that might have been Harrods. Filigree Street was somewhere behind it.

The fire snapped and sent a flight of sparks up the chimney, although for all its determination it was not giving out much heat. He clasped his hands, feeling the cold. He never would have before, but Mori's expectations of temperature had spoiled him. He had looked up j.a.pan on the map a while ago. The south shared a lat.i.tude with Morocco. He went to the hearth to put in another log and then edged the chairs closer. Grace came back in a dressing gown too white for her colouring.

'I think I might turn in,' she said. 'Or, cake first, then bed. I'm exhausted. That was an awful lot of standing up and putting up with my parents.'

'I'll just steal a pillow and a few blankets to bring out here, then.'

'Oh, you can ... I don't mean for you to sleep out here,' she said.

'It's all right.' He went through and opened cupboards until he found extra bedding. Grace's wedding dress was draped over the end of the four-poster bed. He rescued it gently and put it on a hanger, then turned to find her by his elbow.

'I mean to say I should rather you stay,' she said. She winced as if it had come out badly and curled her fingers around her sleeves. 'It is our wedding night, after all. You mustn't spend it on a couch.'

'I'd never be able to sleep on a feather bed, I'd only keep you awake.'

'I don't mind.' She took his hand and squeezed it. Hers were colder than his, and so was her silk sleeve. He caught her perfume again, strong because it was in her hair, which had been set into as much of a curl as it would hold. 'You deserve a proper bed after all that.'

'I know it sounds as though I was brought up down a mine, but I'd really prefer the couch,' he said, easing his hand away so that he could go back to the fire. While he moved the cus.h.i.+ons from the long couch, which creaked quietly with horsehair, she cut some cake and held out a plate. He took it, though he was starting to feel tight, as if he were getting a cold and the muscles across his chest were stiffening. It hurt when he pressed his fingertips under his collarbone. She was right; there had been too much standing up.

'Well, good night,' she said.

He smiled. 'Night.'

She kissed him too lightly, so that it was only a cold brush of damp and the chalk smell of her powder. He flinched and pushed his hand over his mouth before he could stop himself.

'Sorry I'm getting a cold. I don't want to give you-'

'Oh. Yes; you don't look very sparkling. Sleep well, anyway.'

He nodded and turned out the lights once the s.p.a.ce under the bedroom door turned dark, but didn't lie down or undress. He waited until he stopped hearing her turn the pages of her book, then stood up, quietly. It was too dark to find his coat, so he left without it.

The lights were on at home. When he let himself into the workshop, heat furled out to meet him. The brazier was on as always, but Mori was using a soldering iron too, the pen-fine tip of it glowing red as he traced steaming lines along something inside a watch. It was how he etched the cogs. The thing was so hot that he did it standing, so that he could step back in time to save his hands if he dropped it. He had pushed his chair off to the left. Katsu was draped over it, basking.

'Is it warm enough for you yet?' Thaniel said, trying to sound offhand.