Clockwork Princess

to the bow was a small piece of rolled paper, like a tiny scroll. Tessa dropped to her knees, reached for the bow, and untied it. The bow fell away, and the cat immediately bolted down the hall.
    The paper came free of the lace, and Tessa picked up the paper and unrolled it. Familiar looping script traced its way across the page.
    Meet me in the music room
.
    —J
    “There’s nothing here,” Gabriel said.
    He and Gideon were in the drawing room. It was quite dark, with the curtains drawn; if they had not had their witchlights, it would have been as black as pitch. Gabriel was going hastily through the correspondence on Charlotte’s desk, for the second time.
    “What do you mean, nothing?” said Gideon, standing by the door. “I see a pile of letters there. Certainly one of them must be—”
    “Nothing scandalous,” Gabriel said, slamming a desk drawer shut. “Or even interesting. Some correspondence with an uncle in Idris. He appears to have gout.”
    “Fascinating,” Gideon muttered.
    “One cannot help but wonder exactly what it is that the Consul believes Charlotte to be involved in. Some sort of betrayal of the Council?” Gabriel picked up her sheaf of letters and made a face. “We could reassure him of her innocence if only we knew what it was that he suspected.”
    “And if I believed he wanted to be reassured of her innocence,” Gideon said. “It seems to me more likely that he is hoping to catch her out.” He reached out a hand. “Give me that letter.”
    “The one to her uncle?” Gabriel was dubious, but did as directed. He held the witchlight up, shining its rays over the desk as Gideon bent over and, having appropriated one of Charlotte’s pens, began to scratch out a missive to the Consul.
    Gideon was blowing on the ink to dry it when the door of the drawing room flew open. Gideon jerked upright. A yellow glow poured into the room, far brighter than the dim witchlight; Gabriel put up a hand to cover his eyes, blinking. He ought to have put on a Night Vision rune, he thought, but they took time to fade, and he had been concerned it would have raised questions. In the moments that it took his vision to adjust, he heard his brother exclaim, aghast:
    “Sophie?”
    “I have told you not to call me that, Mr. Lightwood.” Her tone was cold. Gabriel’s vision resolved, and he saw the maid standing in the doorway, a lit lamp in one hand. She was squinting. Her eyes narrowed further as they lit on Gabriel, Charlotte’s letters still in his hand. “Are you— Is that Mrs. Branwell’s correspondence?”
    Gabriel dropped the letters hastily onto the desk. “I … We …”
    “Have you been
reading her letters
?” Sophie looked furious, like some sort of avenging angel, lamp in hand. Gabriel glanced quickly at his brother, but Gideon appeared to be struck speechless.
    In all Gabriel’s life he could not remember his brother giving even the prettiest of Shadowhunter girls a second glance. Yet he looked at this scarred mundane servant as if she were the sun rising. It was inexplicable, but it was also undeniable. He could see the horror on his brother’s face as Sophie’s good opinion of him shattered before his eyes.
    “Yes,” Gabriel said. “Yes, we are indeed going through her correspondence.”
    Sophie took a step back. “I shall fetch Mrs. Branwell immediately—”
    “No—” Gabriel held out a hand. “It isn’t what you think. Wait.” Quickly he outlined what had happened: the Consul’s threats, his request that they spy on Charlotte, and their solution to the problem. “We never intended to reveal a word she had actually written,” he finished. “Our intention was to protect her.”
    Sophie’s suspicious expression did not change. “And why should I believe a word of that, Mr. Lightwood?”
    Gideon finally spoke. “Ms. Collins,” he said. “Please. I know that since the—unfortunate business—with the scones you have not held me in esteem, but please do believe I would not betray the trust Charlotte has placed in me, nor reward her kindness to me with betrayal.”
    Sophie wavered for a moment, then dropped her gaze. “I am sorry, Mr. Lightwood. I
wish
to believe you, but it is with Mrs. Branwell that my first loyalty must lie.”
    Gabriel snatched up from the desk the letter his brother had just written. “Miss Collins,” he said. “Please read this missive. It was what we had intended to send the Consul. If, after reading it, you are still determined in