A Hymn in the Silence

by Kelley York

  “And you’re working under someone, I’ve heard?”

  “Miss Eleanor Bennett. She’s a medium in Whitechapel. Brilliant woman, and she was kind enough to take us under her wing and teach us what she knows.”

  Adelia arches a delicate brow. “It sounds as though you’ve quite a story to yourselves. Does your business have a name? I thought you mentioned something about that when we met.”

  “Paranormal Punishers,” James pipes up.

  I slap his hand away again. “Please, Lady Adelia. Don’t encourage him.”

  “Ghostly Crusaders,” James says, all with a straight face. Adelia frowns in puzzlement.

  I sigh. “We don’t have a business name. As you can see, we are…undecided on one.”

  Adelia purses her lips. “…Fishy Occurrences.”

  James’ face lights up in a grin. My expression deadpans. “I’ll never hear the end of it now.”

  “Ghost Farmers,” James says.

  “Undead Collectors,” Adelia adds.

  “I am not medicated nor drunk enough for the pair of you,” I sigh, taking one last bite of food before pushing my chair back. “I’m going to see about a bath before the party tonight.”

  “Paranormal Poachers,” Adelia bites back a smile.

  “Spirit Tamers.”

  “Phantom Fighters?”

  James clutches his chest, eyes wide. “That was one of my ideas!”

  With a groan, I wave them both off as I head for the door. “Or maybe I shall drown myself and be spared having to listen to this further. Thank you for a lovely meal that James ate.”

  Their ridiculous suggestions follow me out of the hall. I head upstairs, stopping a servant along the way to request a bath to be drawn for me. I will need to change my bandages and get into some clean clothes that don’t smell of blood and sweat and a morgue, I think. And if I have time for a nap before the gathering, all the better.

  A hot bath coupled with the laudanum in my system only serves to make me wonderfully drowsy. I intend to dress and do my hair after bathing, but upon returning to my room, the call of a soft bed is too much, and I find myself crawling beneath the covers, entirely naked, and falling right to sleep. Even the knocking upon my door some hours later does little but drag a noise of complaint from me.

  “Rise and shine,” James says as he steps into the room.

  Another fitful sigh, and I roll onto my side and force my eyes open. “Must I?”

  He shuts the door behind him with a smile. “Well, do you want to be late to your own party?”

  “I would be willing to be fashionably late if you were to keep me in bed, yes.” I hide a smile behind my arm.

  James chuckles, crosses the room, and throws himself upon the bed—and me. “Nap time!”

  I yelp but can’t help a soft laugh as I roll onto my back and get my arms around him. “You big oaf.”

  He shoves his face against the crook of my neck. “Shh, sleep now.”

  My hands find their way into his hair, effectively mussing it up, and I breathe in deep. God, I want to go home to the comfort and privacy of our house. Falling asleep again would be quick, easy, except after a few moments tick by…James begins to nibble at the uninjured side of my throat, just above my pulse point.

  I sigh. “Is that my cue to get up?”

  “They’ll have food at the party,” James hums, nipping again. “I don’t want to miss it.”

  “You’re impossible.” I squirm free. “All right, all right, I’m up.”

  He sits up and slides a hand through his hair. He’s actually done a nice job of dressing for the occasion; his gold silk waistcoat and garishly coloured checkered trousers—which I’ve always thought looked ridiculous but seem to be all the fashion these days—and the tie that matches those trousers, are all something only James could pull off.

  “Did you sleep well?” he asks.

  I bite back a yawn as I slide from bed to dress. “As well as I ever do when you aren’t here to lie all over me and drool in my hair.”

  “I was thinking it looked a bit dry.”

  I smile sleepily as I begin to dress. “And how did you enjoy the rest of my lunch?”

  “Quite delicious. Oh, and how about Haunted Enforcers?”

  I groan, chucking a shirt at him. “Don’t start that again.”

  He catches it with a laugh. “She’s right, you know. We do need a name.”

  “Spencer and Esher Spirit Specialists. Simple and professional.”

  “Bo-ring. Two Men and a Ghost?”

  “You give me a headache.”

  “Give me about fifteen minutes and I can take that headache away,” he says with a suggestive grin.

  I snatch my coat and turn to him. “By medicating me? How kind of you.”

  His brows lift sharply. “Goodness. We’re calling that medicating now?”

  My cheeks warm as I step closer, carding my fingers through his hair. “You’re an absolute beast, you realise. Be on your best behaviour tonight and perhaps we’ll sneak away early.”

  James gives me his best ‘good boy’ smile as he stands. “On my mother’s life. Do I look presentable?”

  I take a moment to admire him, smoothing the lapels of his jacket. “You look like the sort of man I could fall in love with.”

  His eyes widen a fraction and then narrow. “I’m going to kick my own arse.”

  It takes significant effort not to laugh at that. Instead I take his face in my hands, bringing my forehead to his and lingering there a moment. He truly has no idea how precious he is, and the way his idiotic sense of humour warms me to my bones. I draw back, beckoning him along. Undoubtedly the party will begin soon and, as the guests of honour, it would be rude if we were late.

  James doesn’t offer my medicine, and as much as I want to ask for it, I refrain. Past experiences have proven that being medicated and drunk makes for a bad combination. Namely, me passing out or coming close to it, and remembering nothing the next day. The last time such a thing occurred, James damned near had a heart attack, swearing he’d witnessed my breath stopping. I’ve no interest in worrying him like that again.

  We sweep through the house, locating Mr. Foss giving instructions to various staff members, who are scurrying about decorating the ballroom. I had figured a party would simply involve a group in the parlour, not something quite so large. The thought of so many people has me already itching for a drink.

  James turns in a full-circle, admiring the room with its towering windows, each cracked open, curtains swept aside, the tables placed out for parlour games, and a grand piano in the corner that I would love to get a better look at. We could not afford one, and it’s been so long since I’ve had the chance to play.

  “This house is really quite lovely,” James says.

  Foss skims over a checklist in his hands. “Of course it is. Lord Wakefield and his late wife were quite insistent on creating such an environment. I fear Lady Adelia does not share the same interest.”

  I choose not to point out that not everyone has a love of such frivolous things, and Wakefield likely wouldn’t listen to her opinion anyway. “Speaking of Lady Adelia, she’ll be joining us tonight, I trust?”

  “While the lady would rather be in her room with a book, her presence has been requested.”

  The sound of Adelia’s voice from the doorway makes me turn. To no surprise, she looks stunning in a forest green gown with golden embroidery fanning up the skirt and spilling down the sleeves like waterfalls. It compliments her green eyes and makes the dusting of freckles across her cheeks and nose that much more noticeable.

  “You look lovely, Lady Adelia. You’ve done your hair differently,” I say. It’s piled high atop her head, and I can only imagine the time and effort such a style took.

  She sighs, a hand flitting up to touch it. “I’ve bee
n assured it’s the latest fashion in London, for whatever that nonsense is worth.”

  “Never fear. By the time the night is over, the latest fashion will have changed twice already.”

  A fleeting smile passes across her lips. “How are you two doing this evening?” As though we didn’t see each other a few hours ago.

  “Hungry again,” James replies.

  “James is a bottomless pit, I’m afraid. He insisted we not be late lest we miss out on the hors d’oeuvres.”

  “I’m a growing boy.”

  Adelia looks almost amused. “There will be plenty to eat. Poor Mr. Esher might even be able to sneak in a bite or two.”

  I scoff. “Unlikely. I waste away so that James can eat his fill.” Besides, I spot a server wandering by with a case of wine bottles, and that looks far more appetising. “What are your father’s parties like? Mr. Foss says ‘everyone’ is invited.”

  “I believe he intends this to be more a village celebration than any dinner party you might be used to. Not terribly stuffy, if that’s your concern.”

  I raise a brow. “So, he really does invite the entire community? Not just those within his own social circle?”

  “The entire community, yes. Those who wish to attend and have the time to do so.”

  James and I share a look, equally impressed. Not the sort of thing either of our families would do. Or…any family of means, for that matter. “I suppose we’ll have our opportunity to speak with the Fletchers after all. I suspect the Edisons won’t be in attendance.”

  “A party more or less celebrating that their deceased daughter was a murderer? No, I can’t imagine they would want to join the festivities.”

  Fair enough. “We’ll talk with the boy’s parents. But for now…” I trail off as Wakefield himself strolls into the room and makes his way over to us. He gives his daughter a smile, of course complimenting her on how beautiful she looks and slipping into the conversation that plenty of single young men will be in attendance. He asks James and I about our injuries, and the concern appears sincere.

  Before long, guests begin to arrive. The women are shown upstairs to leave their wraps and adjust their hair and faces before joining us in the ballroom. Wakefield leads James and me from family to family. He knows every single one of their names and, for those without titles of importance, he tells us what they do for a living. The interest he displays in those below his status is both impressive and admirable, I’ll admit.

  But, oh, I swiftly grow weary of being swept about the room, introduced to far more people and given more names than either of us could possibly memorise. This is a situation in which I can smile and be acceptably charming, but it quickly wears me down. James notices my fatigue and does his best to carry the burden of the conversations.

  The sound of people talking, enjoying the food, drinking, laughing and—after a while—dancing, ignites mixed feelings within me. These are the sorts of atmospheres I enjoy in theory, and hate in practise, because I desperately wish I were better equipped to be a part of it. I would love to have a seat at the piano and play a few songs for the dancers, except…

  I steal a glance at James. Not for the first time, I lament how depressing it is that I cannot simply take his hand and have a dance with him in front of everyone.

  Thankfully, there is drinking. I snag the first glass I can from a passing server, downing half of it in one go and finishing it off not long after. A few drinks in, surely, relaxing will be easier. At some point, I slip away from James, seeking solitude near the doors with my back pressed to a wall, willing my head to stop spinning with the noise in the room. I scarcely hear Adelia beside me.

  “Mr. Esher, would you care to have a dance with me?”

  It’s hardly appropriate for a lady to approach a man and ask for a dance, so at first, I’m taken aback, and my expression shows it. Rather than look offended or scolding her for her demeanour, I give a lopsided smile and place my now-empty glass aside. “I would love to,” is my warm reply, extending my arm out to her.

  “Do you always enjoy parties so much?” The sarcasm is evident in Adelia’s tone. She takes the offered arm and we walk to the other side of the room where couples are dancing.

  “I enjoy the atmosphere. It’s just that I find them…a bit overwhelming.” I glance around, wondering if James is watching, if it will bother him that I’m dancing with a woman. I hope that it won’t, but I cannot seem to locate him.

  Adelia peers into my face. “Your companion asked me to come dance with you, in case you’re looking for him.”

  My eyebrows shoot up at that. “Did he now?”

  “He did. He said you looked like you weren’t having fun.”

  That sounds like James. “Well, he’s correct, I suppose. And I do enjoy a good dance.” I take her hand and draw her to me. “Thank you, then, for humouring me.”

  “You’re doing me a favour, too.” Adelia’s other hand settles delicately upon my shoulder.

  “Is that right?”

  “Naturally. You heard Father earlier—plenty of young suitors here vying for the attention of any unattached women. He’d be insisting I pay them attention.”

  We begin to fall into step with the music, and it’s an utter delight to have a dance partner who clearly knows what she’s doing. The Christmas parties at Whisperwood could be entertaining, but those girls’ knowledge of dancing was usually limited to what their teachers taught them just for the party. “None of the gentlemen have caught your eye?”

  She scoffs. “I’ve no interest in marriage or being wooed, Mr. Esher.”

  “Why not?” I tip my head, not intending the question to be anything more than simple curiosity. “Too constricting?”

  “Too constricting,” she agrees with a faint smile. “If I wanted to have a man tell me what to do for the rest of my life, I needn’t look further than my father.”

  I can imagine that, and it would be disheartening to see a woman with Adelia’s spirit be pinned down by the rules and expectations of society. “Then the idea of falling in love and spending your life with someone, in and of itself, is not unappealing?”

  “No. I’m only human, after all.”

  “Then perhaps a gentleman who has no interest in controlling you will come along. I promise, one is out there who will treat you the way you deserve to be treated.”

  She chuckles. “I’m not a believer of fairy tales.”

  I didn’t used to be, either. “You’ll see. If you’ve no interest in marrying, what is it you hope to do with your life?”

  “Realistically?” She considers. “Spend my days reading and learning.”

  “Just learning? No goal in mind to apply your knowledge to?”

  That earns me a patient look. “I said realistically, Mr. Esher.”

  “I’m not asking for realism.”

  Her lack of hesitation suggests she’s spent a long while thinking about this. “I would be a detective.”

  A smile pulls the corners of my mouth. “You should do that, then.”

  “It’s your privilege that allows you to say such things as though it’s easy,” Adelia says mildly.

  “Perhaps, yes. Or perhaps I think you’re an extraordinary woman, and if someone had the ability to challenge the status quo, it would be someone like you.”

  Her chin dips, long lashes brushing her rosy, freckled cheeks. “Such faith in someone you barely know.”

  “I like to think I’m a good judge of character.”

  “If I didn’t know better, I would say that you’re flirting with me, Mr. Esher.”

  Am I? That was certainly not my intention, but—were this another time and place, had I never met James, had I survived school, Adelia would have been the kind woman to capture my attention. Someone sharp and brilliant, someone who knows what she wants in life.

  How do I convey that? How do
I say that I’m not flirting, but it isn’t any failing on her part? “You’re a fascinating woman, Lady Adelia. I believe I would be flirting were my own heart not otherwise claimed.”

  “I did say if I didn’t know better.”

  She pins me with such a knowing look then that my heart damned near stutters to a halt in my chest. It takes everything I have to keep my eyes on her and not immediately look around for James. We try to be so careful, but of course it’s possible someone observant would take notice.

  Adelia squeezes my hand, not breaking eye contact. “Don’t look so worried. I’m very good at keeping secrets.”

  I will myself to calm my nerves. James and I…it is not something I discuss. Not with anyone. Certainly, there are people who know. Preston Alexander, Benjamin Prichard, Miss Bennett, Virgil. But knowing and speaking about it are entirely different beasts. It’s easy for people to turn a blind eye to something and feign ignorance, after all. “Thank you. I believe that solidifies my earlier opinion of you.”

  She shakes her head. “It’s simple decency.”

  “Thank you, all the same.”

  We fall into companionable silence, enjoying one another’s company, enjoying the music for a time. When Adelia speaks again, it’s to inquire, “Would you like a break from dancing, Mr. Esher? A drink, perhaps?”

  I believe I’ve lost track of time. “William. Please. At least when your father isn’t within earshot to lecture us about propriety. And a drink sounds wonderful.”

  She smiles. “William. Let’s get a drink, then.”

  I take a polite step back and bow before leading her from the dancers. As we go I finally spot James, speaking with a couple across the room. The conversation appears to be heavy.

  “Who are those people with James?”

  Adelia follows my gaze. “Those would be the parents of that missing young man.”