by Amanda Quick
“I had not planned to explain the killer’s presence to anyone.”
“That is not amusing. You know very well I meant how will you explain Mr. Sweetwater? It is one thing to allow people to think that you have agreed to let him study you, but the reception is not a venue for demonstrations of paranormal powers. It is a social occasion. You know what people will say.”
“The awkwardness of the situation did occur to me, but oddly enough, after visiting the scenes of several murders in the past few days and concluding that I may be next on the killer’s list, I find that I no longer care what people say about my association with Mr. Sweetwater.”
Charlotte brightened. A knowing look illuminated her eyes.
“Well, that explains it,” she said, satisfied. “And just when did you plan to confide in your closest friend? I refer to myself, of course.”
“What are you talking about?”
“There is something different about you lately. At first I thought it was the excitement of pursuing a murder inquiry. That would certainly be more than enough to thrill the senses. But I had a feeling that there was more to it.”
“Such as?” Virginia picked up the old book on top of the pile and opened it to the title page. A Treatise on the Art of Summoning Spirits in Looking Glasses. “Are these all of the books you have that touch on glasslight?”
“All of those that appeared to contain useful information.”
Virginia considered the stack of books in front of her. “There aren’t very many, are there?”
“Much of what has been written on the subject is superstitious nonsense. I didn’t think you would want to waste time on works of magic and the occult.”
“No, of course not.” Virginia tapped the big book she had opened. “But this appears to be a book on summoning spirits. What is that, if not superstitious nonsense?”
“Like many glass-readers, Llewellyn did not fully understand what he was viewing when he looked into mirrors. That doesn’t mean he did not have some fascinating observations to make. And stop trying to avoid the subject of Mr. Sweetwater. Your relationship with him involves more than the investigation, does it not?”
Virginia sighed. “Is it that obvious?”
“It is to me.” Charlotte smiled. “I have the distinct impression that you are no longer interested in booking an appointment with Dr. Spinner for one of his hysteria treatments.”
Virginia felt herself turning red. “To be honest, the prospect of being treated with an electrical device was always somewhat worrisome.”
“The dangers of electricity are well known.” Charlotte’s smile faded into an expression of concern. “But I think you may be facing another sort of danger.”
“Trust me, I am well aware of the risk involved in hunting a murderer.”
“I am speaking of your liaison with Mr. Sweetwater,” Charlotte said gently. “Do not mistake me. I am thrilled that you are embarking on a glorious affair. Indeed, I envy you. But try to maintain some perspective.”
Virginia raised her brows. “Perspective?”
“You must not lose your heart to Mr. Sweetwater. He will surely break it, even if he does not intend to do so. He comes from a different world.”
“I understand. But really, Charlotte, why should I bother to protect my heart any longer? I will have the rest of my life to recover from a doomed love affair.”
“Hmm.” Charlotte considered the question for perhaps five seconds, and then she nodded once, emphatically. “You’re quite right. After it is over, you will have the stirring memories. I, on the other hand, will have only the stirring recollections of my appointments with Dr. Spinner to warm my lonely old age.”
“Assuming you do not get electrocuted.”
Charlotte shuddered. “It is an alarming thought, isn’t it?”
“So is the prospect of a broken heart. But at least one survives that sort of thing, or so I’m told. Looking on the bright side, I’m sure there will always be doctors offering treatments for female hysteria to whom I can turn after my liaison with Mr. Sweetwater comes to the inevitable conclusion.”
“And given the amazing progress of modern science, we can no doubt look forward to many more advances in electrical devices of a medical nature.”
“No doubt.”
They looked at each other. For a moment neither of them spoke. Then, as happened so often between them, they both burst into laughter.
“Oh, Charlotte, what would I do without you?” Virginia said. She took out a handkerchief and wiped the tears away from her eyes.
“I would miss you even more than you would miss me,” Charlotte said. She sobered. “Are you absolutely certain that your affair with Mr. Sweetwater will end badly?”
“I think it is the most likely outcome.”
“But the two of you have so much in common.”
Virginia frowned. “In what way?”
“It strikes me that your talents are quite similar.”
“He hunts psychical killers. I see the dead in mirrors. How are those two talents alike?”
“Perhaps not alike but complementary, if you see what I mean. When you think about it, the two of you make a very good team.”
“For goodness’ sake, Charlotte, I would not want Mr. Sweetwater to marry me just because we make a good investigation team. Even assuming he was inclined to do so, it is not enough. You and I have both discussed this matter. We made our decision the night of my twenty-sixth birthday. We will marry for love or we will not marry at all.”
Charlotte grimaced. “It certainly seemed like a very modern, very romantic notion at the time. But sometimes I wonder if perhaps we may have been a bit too hasty.”
“Enough of this depressing conversation. Let’s talk about something else.”
“Such as?”
“I think there is someone who may be able to shed some light on this investigation.”
“Who?”
“Lady Hollister’s companion,” Virginia said. “There has been so much going on in the past few days that we have all but forgotten about her.”
“Why is she important?”
“She may well have been the last person to see her employer alive.”
Charlotte glanced at the copy of the Flying Intelligencer on the table. “According to the report in the press, Lady Hollister’s body was found by the housekeeper. The rest of the staff was dismissed the morning after you were kidnapped.”
“In which case the companion is no doubt searching for another post.”
“Yes.” Charlotte’s eyes gleamed with anticipation. “I could make some inquiries among the agencies that provide hired companions, if you like. It might take some time, but it shouldn’t be too difficult to find the woman who attended Lady Hollister.”
“That’s a brilliant idea,” Virginia said. “How soon can you start?”
She was interrupted by the tinkling of the bell above the door of the shop. She turned to watch Owen walk into the room. It seemed to her that he entered on an invisible tide of power. The lower edges of his unbuttoned overcoat swept out around him. She thrilled to his presence as she always did, with a stirring sense of awareness.
He was followed by a tall, lanky gentleman in need of a visit to his barber. The long-haired man wore an expensively tailored but sadly rumpled suit. His tie was a shapeless knot at his throat.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” Owen said. He came to a halt in the center of the room and inclined his head very formally in Charlotte’s direction. “Miss Tate, I presume?”
Virginia remembered her manners. “This is Mr. Sweetwater, Charlotte.”
Charlotte stared, fascinated, at Owen. “Yes, I know. Indeed, all the Leybrook practitioners are aware of your identity, sir.”
Owen looked amused. “Miss Dean warned me that was the case.”
Charlotte blushed. “You have a certain reputation in our world, Mr. Sweetwater.”
“So I’m told.” He moved one gloved hand toward the tall man in the rumpled su
it. “Allow me to present my cousin, Nicholas Sweetwater. Nick, Miss Dean and Miss Tate.”
Virginia and Charlotte both looked politely at Nick, but he seemed unaware of them. He had wandered over to the locked bookcase and was perusing the collection of ancient leather-bound volumes with great interest.
“I say, this collection looks a good deal more promising than I had anticipated, Owen,” he announced. “When you informed me that we were going to visit a bookshop that specialized in the paranormal, I assumed the place would be rife with lurid books on magic and the occult. But I see what may actually be a genuine copy of Wakefield’s Notes on Alchemy.”
“It is most certainly a genuine copy of Wakefield’s Notes, sir,” Charlotte snapped. “I would not have taken the trouble to store it in that locked case if it was a copy or a forgery.”
“What?” Startled, Nick turned around. For the first time he appeared to notice Charlotte and Virginia. He turned red. “Sorry. Good afternoon, ladies.”
Virginia murmured a polite greeting. Now that she could see him more plainly, she realized that Nick Sweetwater was younger than Owen, twenty-eight or twenty-nine, perhaps. There was some family resemblance, most noticeably in the broad shoulders and lean physiques of the two men. But Nick’s intelligent eyes lacked the dark knowledge that burned in the depths of Owen’s disturbing gaze.
“That particular volume is extremely rare,” Charlotte informed Nick in frosty tones.
“I am well aware of that,” Nick said eagerly. “I would very much like to examine it to determine its authenticity for myself.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Charlotte said a little too sweetly.
“What do you mean? This is a bookshop. I am interested in examining a book that I might wish to purchase.”
“I’m afraid I only allow legitimate practitioners of the paranormal and researchers who are known to me or vouchsafed by someone I trust to examine the books in the locked cases,” Charlotte informed him in lofty accents. “Many of those volumes contain dangerous information. I cannot let just anyone read them.”
Nick stared at her, shocked. Then he started to scowl. “I assure you I possess a fair amount of psychical ability. Just ask my cousin, here.”
Owen caught Virginia’s eye. She realized he was suppressing a grin.
“I am happy to verify that my cousin does indeed possess a high level of psychical ability,” Owen said.
“What of it?” Charlotte shot back. “That is not as important as his standing as a researcher. What are his academic credentials?”
Nick’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll have you know, Miss Tate, that I can read a number of ancient languages, including three or four that are dead, and I have deciphered the codes of several old alchemists.”
“Hmm.” Charlotte was not impressed.
“I have been a student of the paranormal since I was old enough to open a book. I have, in fact, written a few papers for the Arcane Society’s Journal of Paranormal and Psychical Research, which is, I might add, a far more legitimate publication than the Leybrook Institute’s ridiculous rag. It’s true that I write under a pseudonym, due to the fact that my family does not like to see the Sweetwater name in print, but that does not alter the validity of my work.”
“Oh, dear,” Virginia murmured. “I’m afraid Arcane is not the most helpful recommendation, sir.”
Nick switched his attention to her. “What do you mean?”
Charlotte cleared her throat. “For your information, Mr. Sweetwater, the Arcane Society carries very little weight in this shop.”
“How can you say that?” Nick swept out a hand to indicate one of the shelves. “It looks like you’ve got several years’ worth of the Society’s Journal over there. Which means you’ve got some of my research papers sitting right here on the premises.”
“I do subscribe to the Journal,” Charlotte agreed. “But that does not mean that I tolerate its members, which I have always found to be an arrogant and irritating lot.”
“So do I,” Nick shot back. “Which is why I am not a member of the Society.”
Owen cleared his throat. “Well, that and the fact that Sweetwaters are not in the habit of joining organizations of any kind.”
“That’s not the point,” Nick grumbled.
“No, it’s not,” Charlotte agreed.
Evidently concluding that the argument had gone on long enough, Owen took charge.
“Now that we have all survived the social pleasantries,” he said, “I suggest we move on to the particulars of the situation that brings us together today.”
“An excellent notion,” Virginia said quickly.
“My cousin is assisting me in the investigation,” Owen said. “This morning he tracked down the clock maker who made the clockwork weapons.”
“That’s wonderful news,” Virginia said.
Nick grimaced. “No, it’s not, I’m afraid. Owen and I paid a visit to the shop. It was empty. Mrs. Bridewell, the clock maker, has disappeared. There was no trace of any of her curiosities or her financial records left on the premises.”
“Oh,” Virginia said, deflated. “Now what do we do?”
“We will leave Mrs. Bridewell to J & J,” Owen said. “I want Nick to help us with another aspect of the investigation. He has agreed to attend the reception at the Institute tonight. I want him to assess possible suspects in the crowd.”
Charlotte narrowed her eyes at Nick. “Are you any good at that sort of thing, Mr. Sweetwater?”
“Yes,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I am.”
“How do you plan to get inside the Institute without a ticket?” Charlotte asked. “One must be invited to the reception or accompany an invited guest.”
“I have already dealt with the problem,” Owen said. “Nick will escort you, Miss Tate.”
Charlotte’s eyes widened. “What?”
“Nick has a talent for noticing small details. I want his observations of the guests at the Institute to compare with my own.”
“Excuse me—” Charlotte began in ominous tones.
“Everyone at the Leybrook knows who I am by now,” Owen said, “or at least they think they know who I am. But no one will recognize Nick.”
“I don’t get out much,” Nick explained.
“You will introduce Nick as a new practitioner who is eager to establish himself in your community,” Owen explained.
Charlotte gave a small, ladylike sniff. “I cannot imagine that scheme working for even an instant.” She glared at Nick. “What sort of talent will you claim to possess, sir?”
Nick flushed. “I will pretend to be one of those charlatans who summon spirits. It is the easiest talent to fake.”
“Because there are no ghosts,” Charlotte shot back. “By definition, everyone who claims to see spirits is either a fraud or delusional. But there are literally hundreds of mediums in London, sir, perhaps thousands. Your talent will not appear exceptional.”
“Which is precisely the effect that we hope to achieve,” Owen said smoothly. “No one will pay much attention to one more practitioner who claims to summon spirits. Nick will not be perceived as a serious competitor or threat to business by anyone present at the reception. That will allow him to make his observations without drawing scrutiny.”
“I see,” Virginia said quickly, before Charlotte could produce another argument. “A very ingenious plan. I am also happy to say that Charlotte has offered to make inquiries at the agencies who provide paid companions. We suspect that Lady Hollister’s companion will now be searching for a new position. Charlotte may be able to find her.”
“Excellent,” Owen said. He looked impressed and very pleased. “Thank you very much, Miss Tate. That will be extremely helpful.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Charlotte said, mollified by Owen’s obvious gratitude.
“You will have to excuse us now.” Owen strode toward the door. “Nick and I have a number of details to see to before tonight’s affair.”
Both men were out the door and lost in the fog before either Virginia or Charlotte could even say good-bye.
“Well,” Charlotte said, when she could speak. “Both Sweetwater gentlemen are quite expert when it comes to departing in a speedy fashion.”
“Indeed,” Virginia said. “One would almost think they had a psychical talent for disappearing.”
TWENTY-FIVE
At eight forty-five that evening Virginia stood with Pamela Egan in a relatively quiet section of the Institute’s reception hall. Together they surveyed the crowded room. Fifteen minutes earlier Virginia had seen Charlotte and Nick arrive. No one had appeared to take any notice of the couple.
When Virginia had walked into the room on Owen’s arm, however, the reaction had been decidedly different. The short silence that had fallen on the crowd followed by the sudden burst of loud conversation had told the story. Everyone had noticed.
Pamela surveyed the scene. “There is no getting around the fact that Gilmore Leybrook is a pompous ass.” She paused to down a healthy swallow of champagne. “Pity he controls the Institute.”
“The good news is that I understand he is planning to tour the Continent soon,” Virginia said.
“Bah. One can only hope that afterward he will feel compelled to tour America. When he is in London he lords it over the rest of us as if this were the Arcane Society and he was a genuine Jones.”
“I suppose he is the nearest thing we have to a Jones here at the Institute. Let’s be honest, Pamela, we are both making a good deal more money now that we can call ourselves Leybrook practitioners.”
“Trust me, Leybrook is well aware of the fact that we are in his debt.”
“It is the price of doing business, Pamela.”
“Hmmph. A damn high price, if you ask me.”
Pamela was a stately, full-figured woman in her early forties who conducted a successful business channeling the spirit of an ancient Egyptian princess. In tribute to the spirit that had done so much for her finances, she wore her artificially darkened hair in a style that her hairdresser had dubbed “the Cleopatra.” An imitation-gold diadem set with glittering crystals circled her brow, enhancing the dramatic effect. Her eyes were heavily outlined in kohl, and her elegantly tiered gown was in a color known as Egyptian green.
