by Àìàíäà Êâèê
"It would be rather useful to find a record of the purchase of one or more of those damned clockwork devices." He closed the last drawer. "But there is nothing of that sort here. Just some blank paper and a few odds and ends."
Virginia began plucking books at random off the shelves. After half a dozen volumes, she opened one and paused.
"This is interesting," she said.
He rounded the desk. "What have you got there?"
"There are a number of photographs concealed in this book. They all appear to be of young women and girls about Becky's age." Virginia looked up quickly. "Dear heaven. I fear that this is a record of Hollister's victims."
He took the book from her and examined the photographs. Each showed a young woman dressed like a prostitute. Each girl in the pictures was lying on the bed in the mirrored room, clearly dead.
Wearily Owen closed the book. More victims he had failed to save, he thought. More images to haunt his nights. "He indulged his obsession for years, and no one ever knew."
Virginia touched his hand. The knowing look in her eyes told him that she understood what was going through his mind.
"There is no changing the past," she said. "There will always be monsters. You cannot hunt them all. You will do what you can, but you must accept that you will not be able to save every victim."
"Knowing that truth and accepting it are two very different things."
"One accepts such truths by concentrating on the present and the future, not the past."
He smiled. "Where did you learn such wisdom?"
"My mother told me that when I was thirteen and just coming into my talent. She said I must never forget that although I would see a great deal of evil in the mirrors, once in a while I would be able to find justice for some of the victims and provide a sense of peace to some of those left behind. She said those rare moments must be enough to sustain me or I would be driven mad by the afterimages I would view in the years ahead."
"Your mother sounds like a very wise woman." He tucked the book under one arm. "I will give these pictures to Caleb Jones. He can turn them over to his friend at Scotland Yard. Perhaps the police will be able to notify the families of some of Hollister's victims and assure them that the killer is dead."
"That is a good plan," she said.
He went toward the door that opened onto the hall. "Let's go upstairs. People are inclined to keep their most closely held secrets in their bedrooms."
They went down a long hallway and started up the broad stairs to the floor above.
"I remember coming up this staircase," Virginia said. She looked around uneasily. "The bedroom that Lady Hollister wanted me to examine was on this floor at the end of the hall."
"That was the room in which you were overcome by the drug?"
"Yes. I remember nothing after that until I woke up in that mirrored chamber."
The faint creak of a rope twisting on wood brought him to an abrupt halt. He looked up.
"Virginia," he said quietly.
She froze. "What is it?"
"If I am not mistaken, it is Lady Hollister."
The flaring light of the lantern revealed the body of a woman hanging from a rope secured to the banister two floors above.
"Dear heaven," Virginia whispered. "I'm sure that's her."
Owen went swiftly up the next flight of stairs. Virginia followed on his heels. They both looked over the banister. The light fell on the face of the dead woman.
"It is, indeed, Lady Hollister," Virginia whispered. "Was she murdered, too?"
Owen opened his senses and looked at the fluorescing light that clung to the rope and the wooden banister. Madness and despair radiated like a terrible poison.
"No. It is the same psychical energy that I saw downstairs in the tunnels where Hollister was killed. After she avenged her murdered daughter, Lady Hollister went about her wifely duties. She saw to it that her husband's body was quietly removed. She made up the bed and dismissed the servants. And then she hanged herself."
"And she managed it all without creating a scandal in the family."
Chapter 19
Virginia was in her study, a cup of tea in one hand, a note from a grateful client in the other, when she heard the carriage in the street. She ignored the rattle of wheels and the stamp of shod hooves until she realized that the vehicle had stopped in front of Number Seven. Her pulse kicked up a beat and then immediately settled back into its normal rhythm.Not Owen, she thought. If he came by cab today it would be in a fast, sleek hansom, not a large, private equipage.
She listened to Mrs. Crofton's quick footsteps in the hall and knew that the housekeeper had also recognized the unmistakable clatter of an expensive vehicle.
The front door opened. There followed a low, indistinguishable murmur of voices. Not a client, Virginia knew. She met those at the Institute. It was one of Gilmore Leybrook's policies, and she thought that it was a very sound one.
In her early years as a glass-reader she had been obliged to interview clients in her personal lodgings. Some of those who sought out the assistance of a glasslight-talent were more than a bit odd, to say the least. A few of the truly distraught had appeared on her doorstep at midnight, demanding second or even third readings, convinced that she had been wrong the first time. There had been some threats from time to time. All in all, life was vastly more peaceful when clients did not know the address of the reader.
But if the new arrival was not a client and not Owen, Virginia could not imagine who would be calling on her in such a fine carriage.
The door of the study opened abruptly. For all her professional polish and aplomb, Mrs. Crofton's eyes sparkled with excitement. She raised her chin and assumed a commanding tone of voice that was certain to carry out into the front hall.
"Lady Mansfield to see you, ma'am. Shall I tell her that you are at home?"
"Good grief,no. "
Virginia set down the teacup with more force than she had intended. There was a sharp, jolting crack of china on china. Tea sprayed across her hand and the note she had been reading. Mrs. Crofton frowned.
"Did you burn yourself, ma'am?"
"No, no, the tea has gone cold." Virginia seized a napkin and dabbed at her hand. "There must be some mistake."
"With the tea, ma'am? I'll bring in a fresh pot."
"I'm not talking about the tea, I meant the identity of my visitor. Are you certain it is Lady Mansfield?"
"Her card, ma'am." Mrs. Crofton produced the calling card with a triumphant flourish. "I put her in the parlor."
"Well, get her out of there." Virginia crumpled the napkin. "Please tell Lady Mansfield that I am not at home."
Mrs. Crofton got a steely look in her eyes. She moved into the study, closed the door and lowered her voice. "Too late to send her away. I already told her that you would be with her shortly."
"Now, see here, Mrs. Crofton, I am well aware that you feel you came down in the world when you accepted the post in this household. Nevertheless, I regret to inform you that I am your employer and I give the orders under this roof."
"Have you lost your senses, ma'am? Lady Mansfield is quality of the most exclusive sort. She moves in very elevated circles. Why, I cannot believe that she has called upon you in person."
"Neither can I," Virginia muttered.
"It is extraordinary. Most ladies of her station would have sent around a note summoning you to their homes to give them a psychical consultation." Mrs. Crofton waved her hands in exasperation. "You would likely have been shown in through the tradesmen's entrance."
"You know very well that I never accept commissions if I am expected to use the tradesmen's door. And for your information, Mrs. Crofton, Lady Mansfield did not bother to send me a note summoning me to an interview because she knew very well that I would have refused."
Mrs. Crofton was aghast. "Why would you do a thing like that?"
"I really don't think I need to explain."
"I must remind you, ma'am, this is precis
ely the sort of client we've been attempting to attract."
"We?"Virginia repeated, gravely polite.
Mrs. Crofton refused to be intimidated. "I have been giving your career a great deal of thought."
"I beg your pardon?You have been thinking aboutmy career?"
"If you want to advance yourself in your profession, you must acquire a better class of client. This is a golden opportunity. I will not allow you to pass it by. Our futures depend on it."
"I am flattered that you have aligned your fortunes with mine, Mrs. Crofton. Does that mean that you have abandoned any hope of moving back up in the world by finding another employer?"
"It's not as if I've got a great deal of choice at the moment, now, do I? Neither do you, I'm afraid. You know as well as I do that if you intend to better yourself, you need a housekeeper like me who knows the ways of the quality."
"Do you know, Mrs. Crofton, until I met you I had not actually planned to better myself? I thought that I was doing rather nicely as it was."
"Nonsense," Mrs. Crofton said. "You mentioned at breakfast just last week that you wanted to earn money so that you could make some investments to secure a comfortable retirement."
"Yes, but that is another matter entirely."
"I've got to think of my own retirement as well. As you just pointed out, we are stuck with each other. So I strongly suggest that you go into the parlor and accept Lady Mansfield's commission for a looking-glass reading."
Reluctantly Virginia pushed herself to her feet. "It is obvious that you are not going to follow my instructions to show her the door, so I will perform the task myself."
"Don't you dare be rude to her," Mrs. Crofton warned. "Once word gets around that you have performed a reading for Lady Mansfield, other fashionable ladies in her circles will want to commission readings. This is how one builds a quality clientele."
Virginia crossed the small room toward the door. "I appreciate the advice, Mrs. Crofton. Now, if you'll be so good as to get out of my way."
Mrs. Crofton did not move. "One more thing."
Virginia paused. "Yes?"
Mrs. Crofton lowered her voice a bit more. "Whatever you do, don't appear too eager or grateful for the commission. Just be reserved and polite. Professional. Tell her that you'll have to check your calendar before you commit to an appointment. Make her think she's fortunate to be able to obtain your services."
"I really don't know how I managed to conduct my business without your advice before you came to work in this household, Mrs. Crofton. Now will you kindly get out of the way?"
"Right, then." Mrs. Crofton stepped smartly aside and wrapped her hand around the doorknob. "I can hardly believe our good fortune. I wonder how your name came to Lady Mansfield's attention. Perhaps it is your recent association with Mr. Sweetwater. And here I've been worried about that."
"I have no idea why Lady Mansfield chose to call on me today, but I can tell you exactly how my name came to her attention. Indeed, she has been aware of me for thirteen years."
Mrs. Crofton opened the door. "How's that?"
"My mother was her husband's mistress until both Lord Mansfield and Mama were killed in a train accident. They were returning from a tryst at Mansfield's hunting lodge in Scotland."
Mrs. Crofton blanched. "What on earth?"
"Lord Mansfield was my father," Virginia explained in a tight voice. "I do apologize, Mrs. Crofton. I realize you had no way of knowing that you had assumed a post in the household of the illegitimate daughter of a high-ranking gentleman, but there it is. I don't think you need bother with a tea tray."
Virginia went out the door and down the hall. She paused on the threshold of the parlor and collected herself.
Lady Mansfield stood at the window. She looked out into the street as though there were something of great import there.
"Lady Mansfield," Virginia said.
Helen, Lady Mansfield, turned to face her. "Thank you for seeing me, Miss Dean. I apologize for the intrusion. But I am quite desperate, and I have nowhere else to turn."
"Lady Mansfield, I really don't think we have anything to discuss."
"Please, I wish only to ask you a simple question. If you will be so kind as to answer it, I assure you I will not linger under your roof a moment longer than necessary."
The thing that had always struck Virginia as inexplicable was the fact that Helen was a remarkably beautiful woman. Blond-haired and blue-eyed, she was endowed with a classic profile and a fine figure, enhanced by the latest fashions. She was one of those women who drew the eye. At the age of eighteen, when she had married her much older husband, she must have been breathtaking, Virginia thought. She had also been a great heiress, a fact that always enhanced a bride's charm.
With such a wife gracing his home and his arm when he went out into society, what had possessed Lord Mansfield to continue his longstanding, illicit relationship with a lowly glass-reader? Virginia wondered. It was not as if her mother had been a dashing actress or a much younger or more beautiful woman. Yet the relationship that Mansfield had begun with her mother years before his marriage to Helen had endured.
On those rare occasions when she allowed herself to sink into a dark mood and brood for a time on just how very much alone she was in the world, she summoned up the shards of memories of her childhood. When she did so, she took some comfort from knowing that Mansfield had loved her and her mother. One's parents were always great mysteries, she reflected.
She started to speak the little speech she had rehearsed on the short trip down the hall.There has been a mistake, Lady Mansfield. I am not receiving visitors this morning. I'm sure you will understand. But one look at the pleading expression in Helen's blue eyes caused the words to evaporate from her mind. She had seen that same look in the eyes of too many clients who came to her, seeking answers.
"What was it you wanted to know, madam?" she heard herself say instead.
"I am well aware that this is difficult for you, Miss Dean," Helen said. "Surely you realize that I find it equally uncomfortable. I would not have come here today if there had been any other course of action open to me."
I'm going to regret this,Virginia thought. But there was nothing else to be done. Helen was clearly in considerable anguish. Nothing short of desperation would have brought her here today.
"Please sit down," Virginia said. She motioned to one of the two dainty chairs that bracketed the unlit fireplace.
"Thank you."
Helen sank gracefully onto the chair, arranging the elegant folds of her expensive blue day gown with small, practiced movements of her gloved fingers.
Virginia took the matching chair and twitched the skirts of her plain copper-brown housedress into position.
"I realize that you have no reason to help me," Helen said. "But I am hoping you will feel some degree of compassion for me in my hour of need."
"Perhaps if you would get to the point, madam?"
"Yes, of course. My daughter, Elizabeth, has disappeared."
In spite of everything, Virginia felt herself grow cold. "You believe she is dead?"
Helen's eyes widened in shock. "God forbid." She pulled herself together. "I meant that she has vanished from her home. She ran away sometime this morning. She told no one where she was going. No one saw her leave. I will come straight to the point, Miss Dean. Is she hiding here with you?"
Virginia was so taken aback by the question that for a moment she could not think clearly.
"Good heavens, no," she finally blurted.
"Please do not lie to me. I must know the truth. I have been absolutely frantic since I discovered that she was missing."
"Why would she come here? She does not even know that I exist."
"I'm afraid that is no longer true." Helen's hands tightened into a knot on her elegant lap. "She learned recently that you are her half-sister."
Virginia went quite still. "I see. How did that come about?"
"Perhaps it was inevitable. I told myself that
no one would remember the old gossip. But there are always some who never forget ancient scandals."
"Yes," Virginia said.
"When Elizabeth came to me a few days ago, demanding answers, my first thought was that you had sought her out to tell her the truth. But I later learned that she got the story from a friend who had overheard her mother and another woman gossiping about the old tale. It seems the other woman was a client of yours." Helen looked down at her hands and then raised her eyes. "She remarked on the family resemblance."
"I am sorry," Virginia said gently. "I realize how upsetting this is. But I give you my word Elizabeth is not staying here with me. You may search the house, if you like."
Helen closed her eyes in anguish. When she opened them again, she looked more frightened than ever. "That will not be necessary. I can see that you are telling me the truth. I admit that I had pinned all of my hopes on finding her here. But if she is not in this house, where can she be?"
"I'm sorry," Virginia said again. "Perhaps Elizabeth is staying with a friend?"
"No, I'm certain that is not the case. I made a few discreet inquiries before I came here."
"I still do not understand why you believe she would have come to me."
"She is extremely curious about you. She has questions, you see. Questions I cannot answer."
"What sort of questions?"
Helen's mouth tightened. "My husband claimed to have some psychical powers. He said he could see shimmering currents of energy around people. He said the colors and hues of the wavelengths told him a great deal about the person. Indeed, he was always very good at predicting how others would act, and he had a knack for knowing when someone was lying. But I never believed he actually possessed paranormal abilities. However, when Elizabeth turned thirteen this year, she told me that she could perceive strange lights around other people."
"She inherited her father's aura-reading talent."
"For months I have tried to tell her that it was her imagination. I took her to our country house for a month. I thought the fresh air and daily walks would distract her."
