As Eldridge’s car rolled back into London, he came to the realisation that he was truly exhausted.

It was, he reflected, the problem with days of endless travel across France, spent alternating between car, boat, train, and even a stint on horseback. The latter was the most difficult, as not only was he drained from the extent of his travels, but now his muscles had knots only the soothing embrace of a hot bath could unwind.

This was the problem with greater political engagement. To Eldridge, it appeared as if his responsibilities had shifted from occasional dinner guest with his distant cousins to trusted advisor and some form of protector. ‘Some form’, because he could never see himself as anything more than a weak magician, at best. Unfortunately, however, these new duties directly contradicted the responsibilities he had voluntarily assumed; the protection of his new ward, and in his eyes, heir to his estate, Elvie Harper.

Elvie had come from the future, and in her, he had found a happiness he long ago thought lost. After his family had passed, his fate appeared sealed – to live alone while God granted him time on this earth, then die alone. Acceptance of that fact had brought him some form of peace, even if it was a peace found in darkness. His family could never be replaced, nor could the love of his wife and daughter. But with Elvie, Eldridge did not feel as if he was replacing his family, as opposed to growing it ever so slightly.

And that brought his priorities into direct conflict. On the one hand, his desire to protect Elvie; on the other, his growing responsibilities to the country and Empire. Deep down, he worried that those responsibilities would become more exacting, suspecting some greater plan from the King or Queen. After all, why send a middling magician on a diplomatic mission to France? No, something lurked beneath their intentions that he had not yet managed to puzzle out. But, that was usually the way of politics in the modern world.

Eldridge shook his head at the thought. ‘Always politics,’ he muttered to himself, hands tightening around the wheel with a brief flare of anger he immediately suppressed.

He’d been caught in politics before, and the consequences defined his life.

The Great War. That was what they had called it as volunteers flocked to join the battle against the evil Huns. It was a war that would define Europe for centuries to come, even ending the need for any in the future. Newspapers declared that any Englishman had a chance to be a hero of the empire – words designed to instil the flame of passion in every youth.

And Eldridge, like many others, had been ignorantly swept up in the enthusiasm of war. He hadn’t wanted to fight, as killing any man was abhorrent to those of a Christian faith, but surely he was defending something greater than just himself? His parents had firmly embedded faith and morals within his soul, but they also had embedded ideas of duty, service, and responsibility.

Politics had also played its part in dragging Eldridge to war. The magicians of Winter’s Island had entertained a request from select parliament members, including the Prime Minister, to employ magicians in the defence of the realm. Not strong ones – no, that would be too obvious. Weaker magicians, those whose use of magic would be difficult to notice in the chaos of battle. After all, this wasn’t a battle between magicians, but a battle between military forces. While the magical communities maintained their supposed neutrality, magicians slipped into the military, supposedly without the other side noticing.

Along with his now-deceased friend, Darius Vermont, Eldridge had been tasked with that responsibility. Darius was the stronger of the two, but was clever at hiding his magic. Eldridge was weaker but could create charms and shields to protect soldiers. So he’d accepted the commission, believing that making shields would keep him off the front line and away from the killing. How wrong he had been. How naïve.

Eldridge fought in the trenches themselves like every other man, gifted or not. He shot, and killed, and struggled to survive, barely using his magic at all. Four years, lost in a hell of mud and boredom, interspersed with a whirlwind of death, destruction and desperation. Bombs, barbed wire, gas attacks – charges over the top with bayonet affixed and fury in his heart.

The memory still sent shivers across his body.

Yes, he had been lost doing his duty and found no comfort upon returning home.

‘And yet here I am again,’ he muttered, turning onto the palace grounds to greet a waiting guard. Eldridge spoke briefly to the guard and was waved through to a designated parking area of the palace. ‘Here I am again,’ he repeated.

But this time one thing was different.

Eldridge had received a letter while in Paris – a letter steeped in worry. Now was not the time to think of his political duties and let events play out. No, now was the time for firm action. After all, he wasn’t returning to a lost family – he knew exactly where his family was, and exactly what he needed to do to ensure their safety.

‘God grant me strength,’ he prayed and, with iron resolve, stepped into the palace.

A bureaucrat slowed his progress in the palace's reception room, attempting to waylay him with questions of his intentions and appointment status. He was the first obstacle for Eldridge, and despite his usual tact, he quickly lost patience.

‘I’ll tell you again, my good man, nice and clear. I’d like to know where the Baroness Elvie Harper resides.’

The man looked him up and down to judge his status. ‘Sir, if you’d just wait the time it requires me to check whether she is taking visitors.’

‘You misunderstand me. I’m not willing to wait the time. I want to find her, now. Tell me where she is.’

‘I’m not sure, Sir. I will have to confer…’

‘No. This is a matter of utmost importance. I know she is here, somewhere, and I know you keep track of these things. I need you, the gentleman with this knowledge, to begin telling me where she is right now.

‘Sir, I will contact – ‘

‘No. You will not. I will not be delayed.’

He should have acted sooner, but events had been shifted beyond his control.

Days after Darius Vermont, his old friend, had confusingly attacked the throneroom and royal family, Eldridge had been ordered to travel to France. He was shocked, to say the least. Elvie was not yet entirely well, despite her presentation to the King and Queen. He could see it in her eyes; trauma and pain lurked behind her thoughts and haunted her sleep. Yet, in that moment, he had been told to do his duty and once again travel to France.

It was an ambassadorial mission, a chance to deliver confidential information face to face, rather than through words or letters which could be intercepted. Eldridge was to travel to France to meet politicians to gather support for collective action against Germany. But his goals did not progress as well as hoped for in Britain. With the French not willing to commit to anything other than a ‘review’ of future actions. They’d whispered the right platitudes. Yes, of course, the horrible Germans. How dare they attack a monarch! Yes, they’d be interested in continuing to work together…

But like many countries, the Depression struck France hard, and their politicians were still wading through the implications of it. While the French were willing to provide some general reassurances, they had no immediate plans to change their current political course.

After two weeks of these constant meetings with various government figures and officials, Eldridge had received Elvie’s letter. So he left.

‘You are going to take me to my daughter right now.’ There, he’d said it, choking up with emotion as he did. His daughter. She may have a father, but that did not change anything. His love and care for her made Elvie his daughter. ‘May the seventh ring of hell condemn me, but if you do not tell me where she is this instant, there will be consequences.’

‘It’s not proper –‘

‘I’m her guardian.’

‘Even so…’

‘Tell me now,’ Eldridge was adamant, leaning forward threateningly.

‘Well… Sir,’ he sighed as he crumbled. ‘Are you familiar with the garden room estates?’

‘Towards the rear of the palace.’

The man nodded in agreement.

‘Then that is enough. Good day to you.’

He stormed out of the reception hall, sick of the bureaucracy. Should that make him sick of himself? There was an irony to what was happening. A man of the government seeking to do aside with the typical processes. No, there was always a time and a place for civility and a time for action.

Right now, he needed to find his daughter.