“You are a medium? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It never occurred to me to call myself that, and I did not think you would be interested anyway. Before last August, this never happened. Maybe I inherited it from you. Does this mean your powers are real?”
“Of course, they are real,” she snapped but caught herself and watched Immanuel’s reflection in the mirror as he slipped the necklace on. “I had the same problem as you did. Lord Rose’s brother was Katherine Waters’s fiancé. He came to the Spiritualist society to have a piece of her jewelry read, but I could not see anything. I felt so guilty. He was so distraught, and I—” Emmeline’s eyes brightened as the next step in their plan suddenly became clear. “I know who can help us. Lord Montagu, Lord Rose’s brother, has much more authority than we do. If he believes Lord Rose murdered his fiancée, he will surely do something about it.”
“But how would we convince him to turn on his own brother?”
“I could go to him and do a reading of Katherine’s necklace. When Lord Montagu came to the Spiritualist society, Alastair wanted nothing more than to keep him and that necklace away from the mediums. He was afraid that if one of us read it, then he would be caught. We are going to do exactly what Lord Rose does not want.”
“But you won’t be able to read it.”
“That doesn’t matter. I have seen fakes do it all the time. All you need is a little information.”
Immanuel watched Emmeline’s face enliven with purpose. For the first time, he felt a swell of hope bloom in his breast. “How can I help?”
Chapter Thirty-Four:
Memento Mori
“You know, you did not have to accompany me,” Emmeline said as she pulled the hood of her cloak closer and kept her head down for fear of running into her aunt or Lord Rose on their way to Berkeley Square. “Pull your hat down. Your face is pretty hard to miss.”
With a frown, Immanuel tipped the brim of his top hat to cover the upper portion of his scar. “I couldn’t let you go alone. You didn’t see him break free of two police officers like they were children.”
“What is he going to do? Kill me?” She slowed her pace as she counted off the house numbers. “Apparently, that is impossible.”
“We don’t know that, and I don’t want to die again. If he shot us both, we would probably die.”
“Well, we don’t know that,” she replied in a mocking, sing-song. In front of a house with a mansard roof and tall windows ensconced in bays or beneath pediments, Emmeline fell silent. Its white stone façade and ornamental rails topping the rooflines along with the gentle glow of lamps from within took the edge off her fear. She would have to be careful with her words, but she wasn’t afraid to go inside. “This is it.”
For a moment, Immanuel held Emmeline’s gaze. When had she gotten so strong? Those big brown eyes did not waver as she led him up the steps and pushed the bell. Eliza Hawthorne always seemed to be trying to coax Emmeline into throwing off her life of leisure to be a productive woman who could stand on her own without a husband’s guidance, yet she hadn’t needed her to do that. All she needed was a hint of success, a hint of recognition of her talents, for her to suddenly move forward. Lord Rose had been the force that nearly brought her life to ruin, and because he foolishly believed she was under his control, she was now able to outmaneuver him. By inviting her into his plot to spite her uncle, Emmeline had been given all the room she needed to seek every crack in his plan and work away at them until he crumbled. She may not have been book-smart or studious or even independent, but she was clever. Straightening her back, she held her head high and prepared herself for what was to come.
Immanuel smiled to himself. He wished he was that confident. After all that Lord Rose had done, he had survived in spite of him and even stood up to him when he attacked him at the Hawthornes’ door, but he was still afraid. Emmeline saw their shared soul as a means to invincibility, and while he was grateful that she had kept him alive several times, it meant that should he fall into Lord Rose’s hands again, it would be an endless cycle of torture where even death would not end his misery.
“Tell me again what her injuries were,” Emmeline whispered, keeping her eyes locked on the door. “Quickly.”
“Killed by electricity, three-pronged wound on her neck, and four scratches across her hand where her ring was pulled off.”
As the lock clicked inside, Immanuel fell silent. A footman in dark breeches opened the door but barely looked at either of the strangers standing on the porch.
“The master of the house is not seeing visitors,” he said flatly, but as he moved to shut the door, Emmeline stepped in the way.
“If Lord Montagu knows we are here, he will want to speak to us. Please, just take my card up to him.”
With a derisive sigh, the servant allowed them into the foyer. Placing her card on a silver salver, the footman disappeared up the stairs, but within seconds, a booming voice cried out. Emmeline and Immanuel flinched and instinctively drew closer as a door slammed and heavy boot-treads echoed down the hall. The imposing man barreled down the steps and stopped, running his eyes from Emmeline’s owl-like features to the man with the cracked face and two-tone eyes. Luckily, when he reached Immanuel, there was no flicker of recognition.
The Marquess of Montagu seemed to have aged from when Immanuel saw him at Katherine Waters’s bedside. His hair had dulled to a tarnished brass with a patch of grey growing at his temple. Set into his now bloated cheeks, his light brown eyes still flickered like hot coals as he ran a paw over several days’ growth of his grey and white peppered beard. Before Lord Montagu could speak, Emmeline gave a slow, delicate curtsey and met his gaze.
“Your lordship, my name is Emmeline Jardine, and this is my associate from the Spiritualist society, Mr. Winter. I would like to apologize for intruding upon you while you are still mourning, but I had a dream I could not ignore.”
“Go on,” the marquess grumbled as he glared down at them.
Immanuel resisted the urge to blink away the burning in his sinuses as he caught a singeing whiff of spirits on Lord Montagu’s breath. Even with the massive man towering over her and regarding her with suspicion bordering on contempt, Emmeline did not waver.
“Miss Waters came to me the other night and told me to try to do the reading again. Enough time has elapsed, and there is a pressing message she needs to convey.”
For an instant, his eyes softened. “What is it?”
“I do not know. I need to read something that belonged to her to make contact.”
Lord Montagu stared at the young woman in her royal purple gown and black cloak. He could scarcely recall the day he barged into the Spiritualist society and demanded a reading, the absinthe and gin took care of that, but he remembered her. The girl had tried when the others pretended not to see him. Taking a step back, he motioned for them to follow him into the study.
The heavy drapes had been drawn against the waning winter light, casting the room in a mulberry gloom. The room had been cleaned, but the subtle signs of chaos remained. Tobacco ash was smeared down the wallpaper near the door, and minute bits of crystal still crunched as they crossed the carpet to the chairs. Across the surface of his desk were rings where wet glasses had been left too long. A gleaming amber puddle had formed under a glass of what Immanuel could only guess was bourbon or whiskey. Immanuel and Emmeline waited behind the wooden and leather chairs as Alexander Rose stood in front of the empty hearth. He stared down at a red enameled frame fitted with a picture of Katherine, running his hand over the surface of the glass and the chain that hung from it. With a few twists of his wrist, the aquamarine and pearl necklace unfurled.
“Here, use this.” He carefully coiled the gold chain into Emmeline’s palm before sitting across from them. “It was her favorite.”
Emmeline ran the delicate chain between her fingers, knowing that even if she focused, Katherine would never speak from beyond the grave; Alastair had inadvertently made sure of that. Sile
ntly she recited a prayer for her mother to help her, and as she closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, she inhaled the familiar honey and vanilla aroma of her mother’s perfume. Rubbing her fingers against the smooth surface of the pearl like a rosary bead, she let what Immanuel told her and what she learned through bits of gossip flow. First, he had to hear what he wanted.
“She knew you loved her very much, and she wants me to thank you for all you did for her.” Emmeline furrowed her brows as if listening closely to someone. “You want to know if she is at peace, but that is impossible.”
The nobleman’s eyes stayed fixed on her. “Why?”
“Because her murderer has not yet come to justice, and he still believes he has gotten away with it.”
“Who is it?”
Shaking her head, Emmeline clenched her eyes shut and gripped the arms of the chair. Her voice trembled as she replied, “She will not say his name. She is too afraid of him... even now, but he was close to her. How much do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
Immanuel held his breath. While Emmeline’s artful reenactment of a séance held Lord Montagu under her spell, he didn’t seem aware of the young man’s presence beside her. She was doing so well, but now that she was at the critical juncture in the reading, he was thankful that the marquess was not watching his expression. Keeping his eyes locked on Emmeline, Immanuel recited the answers in his head hoping they were loud enough for her mind to catch.
A pearl slid between the medium’s fingers as she looped the chain around her thumb. “The man came in through the window and advanced on her. She does not know why he did it, but he had a— a vicious device. He sunk a claw into her neck, and electrocuted her with his machine. That is how she died. He didn’t do anything beyond that, but he took her ring. The purple ring is the key to finding him, and she knows where it is.” Emmeline resisted the urge to open her eyes. If she opened them, he would see through her. “The man keeps it in his bedroom, and you will find it under his bed. It is a canopy draped in red.”
“Can,” the marquess swallowed hard, “she give a clue as to who he is?”
For a second, Emmeline wasn’t certain what to say. She couldn’t be sure that Alastair and Katherine had been anything more than friends, and if she was wrong or insulted him, all they had done would be lost. But there had been a moment inscribed in her mind, when Lord Rose had shown his true self for an instant. It was fleeting, but she could never forget it. Licking her lip and opening her eyes, she met Lord Montagu’s hard gaze.
“He called her Kitty.”
***
“Do you think the guards will tell Aunt Eliza that we left together?” Emmeline asked as she hung up their cloaks and cast a sidelong glance out the foyer window at the plainclothes officer parked across the street.
“Probably not. They are here to make sure no one harms the prince consort, not to monitor whether we were chaperoned.”
“Thank Mr. Fenice for me next time you see him. Without his sister inviting my aunt and uncle out for dinner, we never would have been able to leave.” In the shadows of the parlor, the clock struck seven. “Do you want to see the body before they come home?”
Halfway up the stairs, Immanuel stopped. “Are you certain you want to? I don’t know what state it will be in.”
“I will have to see it soon anyway, and I want to see it now. I do not want to faint or vomit in front of the queen.”
“I cannot imagine you fainting or vomiting over anything.”
Emmeline’s lips curled into a smile as they made their way to the cellar door. “Do you mean it?”
“Of course.” Immanuel’s breath quickened at the sight of the timber walls. “You did very well with Lord Montagu.”
“Do you think he believed me? He did not mention his brother after. Maybe he suspects someone else.”
“Even if he does, he believed you. You should have seen the look on his face when you said ‘Kitty.’ He knew who you meant. That’s probably why he hurried us out. At least he wasn’t angry with us.”
Emmeline opened her mouth to speak, but her voice failed. Sitting in the center of the floor on a short, wheeled gurney was a bubbling tank. The emerald liquid churned and skittered across the skin of the man enclosed within the glass coffin. In the glare of the morgue’s electric lamps, the royal consort glowed an icy blue. The tall, robust man looked as if he had only died hours ago. Every dark hair was combed neatly across his balding pate, and his arms and stomach were plump yet not bloated like a corpse dredged from the river. Tiny beads of air rushed over and through the three holes on his neck.
Katherine Waters and Henrietta Wren’s lifeless bodies flashed before Immanuel’s eyes. Lord Rose hadn’t killed him, but his predecessor along with Emmeline’s grandfather had convinced the queen to murder her husband only to resurrect him later. A sharp bolt darted down his spine, contracting every muscle in his body at the thought of the machine flooding him with current. How could the queen have agreed to subject her husband to that sort of pain? When they concocted their scheme to conquer death and secure their legacies, did any of them know what he would go through? Somehow he doubted they cared.
“This is awful.”
Immanuel looked up, wondering if his thoughts slipped out against his will, but found Emmeline staring at the tank with wide eyes.
“Can you imagine spending thirty years in a jar? I spent thirty days in one room, and I thought I would go mad if I could not get out. If she knew what I saw when I touched Katherine’s jar, she would never have done this.”
“I don’t like it either, but what can we do?”
His eyes drifted to the generator humming behind the monarch’s head. He could rip the wire from the back and bring it all to an end, but Dr. Hawthorne would be the one to take the blame for it even if he confessed. The Hawthornes had been far too kind for him to do that. As he raised his gaze from the power supply, their eyes met. Nothing needed to be said. A plan was set, and if they could help it, Prince Albert would stay dead.
Breaking away from her owl eyes, Immanuel cleared his throat. “You probably shouldn’t see this. It is indecent.”
“You needn’t worry. My mother’s library had plenty of books with yellow covers, but we should go upstairs before they return.”
Without casting a glance back at the suspended monarch, Emmeline and Immanuel hurried up the steps. In the kitchen, Emmeline set to work making a pot of hyson tea while Immanuel filled two plates from what he found in the larder. Emmeline watched him as he hesitated with each selection, pausing to check whether it went with what he already chose. He was so careful and calculated yet guileless.
As she poured the hot water into a tea pot and brought it to the dining table, Immanuel placed a plate of bread, cheese, and leftover meat before her. Staring at the odds and ends, she couldn’t help but think of him on the night he was attacked. It was the first time she truly cared for him. She knew she had helped him out of the house on Mortimer Street half out of guilt and half from the fear that her mother’s ghost would terrorize her, yet he had rescued a stranger, asked her if she was hurt when he could barely speak, and tried to warn her about Lord Rose.
“Why are you nice to me?” Emmeline asked, her voice sharper than she intended.
“Because you were kind to me once when I really needed it. I don’t forget that sort of thing.”
She nodded. Of course, he would feel that way. “When all of this is over, what are you going to do?”
He took a sip of tea and shrugged. “Go back to Oxford and finish my studies, I suppose.”
“I mean, for the rest of your life. Are you going to stay with Mr. Fenice?”
Immanuel’s pulse quickened, but he tried to keep his face impassive.
“I have seen the way you look at each other, and I am envious. Don’t worry, I will keep it a secret. Do you love him?”
“I think I could.” Against his will, his lips curled into a smile. “After I finish my studies, I am h
oping to take a position in town and rent a room from him since his sister is leaving.”
She sighed as she tore off a piece of bread and rolled it between her fingers. “That is all I want, you know. Aunt Eliza wants me to be a nurse or a teacher or even a medium, but what I really want is a family and for someone to love me.”
“But you have your aunt and uncle.”
“Yes, but Aunt Eliza isn’t blood and Uncle James could not be bothered. Most of my family could not be bothered with me. I want to love someone and have them love me back. My mother was the only one who ever did that. I thought Lord Rose was my Prince Charming, but he is the farthest thing from it. At least if our plan works, I will only have to see him one more time.” Eying the vial’s chain peeking from the collar of his shirt, she asked, “Do you think they will kill him once he is caught?”
“I would not be surprised. Don’t you think he deserves it?”
“Yes, but I worry he would haunt me. He is the type to do that.”
Chapter Thirty-Five:
Forgiveness
As Immanuel slipped into this shirt, he was acutely aware of the pain in his half-healed ribs and the scabbed wound on his neck. Nothing would be the same; he could feel it in ever aching muscle and bone. All night he had stayed up, staring at the ceiling and turning the empty alchemical vial over in his hands. Now, the hour of the queen’s arrival was near, and all he wanted was to stay upstairs and hide, but with the charm hanging around his neck as it had for three years, the fear ebbed slightly.
Knotting his tie and buttoning his jacket, he crept into the hall only to find Emmeline already waiting outside his door. Rather than wearing her best dress, she had donned a subdued grey gown and swept her hair into a shell-like bundle at the back of her head, but near her collar was the enamel and pearl forget-me-nots.
The Ingenious Mechanical Devices Box Set Page 52
