A Clockwork Heart by Liesel Schwarz Page A

spider-veined face split into a smile when he saw Marsh. “My Lord Greychester, so good of you to come.” He half rose from his chair in a gesture that created the impression of exceptional rudeness given that Marsh outranked him considerably and should have therefore been the one to speak first.
    â€œPolice Commissioner, how do you do,” Marsh said, ignoring the slight. Willoughby had always been a brute with ideas above his station in life.
    â€œPlease, sit. Do make yourself at home. Would you like a drink?”
    â€œDon’t mind if I do,” Marsh said. “A nice brandy to banish the cold perhaps?” He settled in the leather-covered Queen Anne chair opposite Willoughby.
    â€œAh yes, a good brandy. Just the thing for a day like today,” Willoughby nodded at the waiter who had appeared by their side with a tray. “I am pleased you decided to join me.” Willoughby’s smile did not quite reach his eyes as he spoke.
    â€œI thank you for the kind invitation,” Marsh said “But I must admit that I was somewhat intrigued by your letter.”
    â€œYes. I thought we might meet here where we could speak in relative privacy as the matter is a delicate one.” Willoughby picked up his pipe and set about preparing a smoke. “You see, I am in need of a man with your unique talents,” he said after a few moments.
    â€œAnd what talents are those?” Marsh said lightly.
    â€œWe at the Metropolitan police make it our business to know people’s business, my lord. We know of your history with the Council of Warlocks.” He paused for a moment. “Let’s just say that you were recommended to me as a man who might be able to help.”
    â€œAnd who, may I ask, would be making such recommendations?”
    Willoughby gave him an oily smile. “Oh, I don’t think I’m at liberty to say. But they spoke very highly of the excellent work you did for the Ministry while in service of the Council. How is your lovely wife, by the way?”
    â€œThe viscountess is well. Thank you for asking.” Marsh kept his expression neutral. Willoughby knew more about his personal business than he was entirely comfortable with. But Marsh was a seasoned negotiator and he would not allow this man the pleasure of letting his discomfort show. “With such a recommendation, how could a man refuse?” he said instead. “But tell me first what this is about and then, perhaps, I might be able to confirm whether rumors about my work are true.”
    Willoughby gave a little short bark of laughter. “Well played, my lord.”
    Marsh inclined his head slightly.
    The waiter served the brandies. Marsh picked up his glass and swirled the brown liquid, watching it warm in his palm.
    Willoughby took a sip of his drink and wiped his moustache. “Lord Henry Alcott, the heir and seventh Earl of Mallory disappeared four nights ago.” Willoughby struck a match and held it up to his pipe. “His family have been beside themselves with worry. We have commissioned a search, but my men have found nothing. The boy has simply disappeared into thin air.”
    â€œI see,” said Marsh.
    Willoughby sucked on his pipe. “We’ve had word that the newspapers are going to publish news of his disappearance any day now and they are not going to be kind about the police.”
    â€œAnd how is this my business? I’m sure young Alcott will turn up.”
    â€œYes, well, this is where the problem arises. The earl does not want news of his son’s disappearance to be made public.” Willoughby looked uncomfortable. “Let’s just say that the lad was last seen in less than polite company.”
    â€œWho hasn’t gone missing for a few days after a night out at his age?” Marsh said.
    â€œWell, he was involved with a girl who was entirely unsuitable. Well bred, but poor, weak and sickly. They did all they could to discourage