“Just as long as you need. Charlus can fetch and carry for you if you need supplies. And I’ll set up at the table here, and work through the paperwork from my absence. You can interrupt me any time. It’s nothing fussy.” Griffin had figured that she’d do better without him hovering over her.
He’d expected she was going to be some time about it, and he was right. First, she did a full circuit of the room, to see how the various lines of metal and stonework connected. That included peering behind a table here or there to confirm the alignments. Around noon, there was a brief pause in his office for sandwiches - not terribly good ones, in an absolute sense - before they went back to the courtroom. This time, she worked far more slowly, both with a jeweller’s loupe and without. Griffin got through a fair bit of his accumulated paperwork and reports.
It wasn’t until he’d got through the official business that he turned his attention to those notes. Four of the six said basically the same thing, though in varied language: there had been politics afoot in his absence. Did he wish to discuss privately at some point? The fifth was from Harriet, and was about an ordinary piece of business, but it might have been an excuse for a private conversation. And the sixth was Lamont, who didn’t gesture at any of the gossip, but who did wish for a report when Griffin had a little more to share.
The four notes sat there while Griffin considered them. Three of them got replies saying that he was working closely with a consultant for at least the next day or two, but schedule some time. The fourth was Antimony. She got a comment in her journal saying he was back in Trellech. He wasn’t sure about his evening plans, but if she were free, drop a note in the journal and he’d write back if he was. After a moment, he added that he wanted to make sure Annice was settled in for the evening and didn’t need anything. Antimony was a clever woman. She’d read several things into that correctly.
Two and a half hours after they’d started, Annice came over and stood in front of the table he was using. “I don’t have answers for you, but I think I maybe know part of why it’s happening. But I don’t know how to test, not without taking things apart and damaging the jet.”
Griffin looked up, blinking, then grinning. “That’s a lot further than we’d got. What do you need to test?”
Annice looked down at the table, her hand fiddling with the fold of her skirt. “Is there a way to make sure of what the material is? I don’t think it’s a jet simulant, but I think it might be jet that’s not from Whitby. I can’t tell without some destructive testing, though, so is there a way to test it that isn’t?”
“Oh.” Griffin leaned back, needing to brace against the back of his chair. “That’s an interesting problem, yes. There is other jet, I suppose.”
“The most likely is Spanish, probably.” She winced. “It’s what helped take down Whitby’s jet carvers. But there are other options. I don’t suppose anyone found more records of what happened in 1902?”
Griffin shook his head. “A couple of notes from people who might have more, but no details in the piles of paper. I can check with people tomorrow.” He leaned back, tapping his fingers and thinking through the logistics. “The Penelopes have ways to test origins of materials, if they have samples to work with. I don’t have any idea what they have for jet. It’s not a destructive test for what you’re identifying, and it can, I think, be done in situ, but they might need a day to set up.” He looked up. “Charlus, can you take a note over to them? I think we need Penelope Mason, or maybe Penelope Witt, but tell them to read the note and assign whoever makes sense on their end.”
Annice was blinking at him. “Penelopes? Oh. Wait.”
“They solve problems. Often rather creatively. More people I know, though they’re more commonly working with criminal cases and some civil ones. Sorting out the accuracy of evidence, that sort of thing. Also making sure alchemy labs are safe after someone’s done something foolish. Ditto ritual spaces, or basically any other time people get creative with magic without good sense to go along with it.” He’d heard a few stories here and there, when everyone had a moment to swap stories rather than get back to work. “If they do what I think they will, they’ll need some time to set up.”
“Oh. More than a day or, um. Tomorrow’s Thursday. More than Friday?” Annice shifted from foot to foot.
“You’re welcome to stay at the inn - and if you wanted the theatre, Saturday would be grand. They set two tickets aside. Not as much chance of Friday, but I’m on the wait list if people cancel.” Griffin did not look up at Charlus, because Charlus might have thoughts about that, and Griffin was not ready to see them. “If you decide to go back to Whitby until Monday, though, you could also do that.”
“Do I need to decide now?” Annice’s voice had gone a hair breathy, the sort of thing that was nerves, Griffin thought.
“Oh, no. We’ll send Charlus round with a note and get more information, and then you can decide from there, all right? Or do more investigating yourself tomorrow and then decide, if you like. And I wanted to introduce you to someone for your project. Of course, we’ve an appointment tomorrow afternoon.” He’d mentioned that already, but he suspected it had slipped out of her head.
“Right. Yes. Um. Do we stay here?” Annice glanced around the court, which was pleasant, but not exactly comfortable.
“If you’re willing, you could come round to my flat. My housekeeper got things ready. I’ve cream to go with the tea, apparently, and also scones. And other food, but it’s getting on for tea time. We could start with that.” Griffin shrugged. “And then I could take you round to the inn. Charlus, can you journal when you have an answer?”
“Of course, sir.” There was a current of something in his voice, but it was all covered by amiable willingness to help. “And I can come round and show Mistress Matthewman to the inn if you decide you’d rather stay put for the evening.”
That would do well enough and give options. Annice wrinkled up her nose. “Do you have to be formal?”
“We are in formal spaces. It does rather become habit,” Griffin said, chuckling. “Does that suit?”
“If it’s not a bother. And, um. I could use a cuppa and a scone. Is it far?”
“Not very. Especially if we cut through the side streets. Ten minutes, maybe, once we get our things from the office.”
She nodded once. “Yes.”
“Right. Charlus, let me write that note, then we’ll be off at the flat. Journal when you get an answer, but I don’t expect that’ll be immediate unless we’re very lucky and all the relevant people are actually handy in the office.”
Charlus nodded and went to go tidy up what he’d been working on. Griffin dashed off a polite but explanatory note. He added that Charlus could answer further questions or that Griffin would be available by journal. Finally, he pulled out his sealing wax and slipped his signet ring off his finger. Once it was sealed by wax and charm, he handed it off to Charlus. “There we go. Now for tea.”
It was, in fact, a delightful excuse to get her to see his flat. He certainly wasn’t going to give up a bit more time with her, and somewhere outside of work.
Chapter30
THAT MORNING
Annice kept looking around. This time, Griffin was being far more direct. First, they went out again, down the ramp, across the street from the Courts, and then cut through a narrow street into Club Row. Griffin gestured at a couple of the buildings, the clubs he went to now and again. Annice had heard about the Schola House clubs, as most people had, but they were entirely mysterious to her, of course. No one she’d talked to at any length had been in one. Well, except Griffin, and presumably also Charlus.
