Wondering Sight (The Extraordinaries Book 2)

by Melissa McShane

  She had never been good at inducing Visions while reclining, as their motion nauseated her, and although she had tried it with Lord Endicott’s fob anyway the day before, she had succeeded only in glimpsing a few meaningless images from his past and one clear Vision of the black-haired man she had seen many times in Dream. Whoever he was, he had the natural gift, possessed by a random few, for holding mutually contradictory intentions in his head at once, which defeated Dream for a time, but she was certain she would eventually be able to predict his actions, if that became necessary.

  It was a relief knowing Lord Endicott had in fact impressed something pertinent of himself on the lump of silver, but it brought her no nearer knowing which Vision would let her see through his eyes, and Sophia was beginning to despair of discovering that before his appointment at the warehouse sometime today. Tonight. She hoped.

  “Sophy, I beg your pardon, but am I boring you?” Cecy said. “Whatever are you thinking about?”

  “I was listening,” Sophia said. Cecy gave her a skeptical look, and Sophia laughed. “All right, so I was not entirely listening, and I beg your pardon. I was thinking of the Gates’s gala on Twelfth Night and wondering what new spectacle Eleanora Gates has in mind.”

  “I hope it is not the same as last year, when we all drew names out of a hat and had to pretend to be that person for the evening,” Cecy said. “I realize it is traditional, but Eleanora should have given more thought to which names she put into the hat, or at least had separate hats for men and women. I had to be Iago and was terrible at it.”

  “I can only imagine,” Sophia said. “I think it would be quite entertaining, all those men simpering around as if that were the only distinguishing characteristic any woman has.”

  “Well, I am sure she’s learned from the experience. Perhaps it will only be charades. She is very good at charades—planning them, I mean.”

  “She always invites good company. I am looking forward to it, after so many years away.”

  “I am so glad to hear that, dearest.” Cecy leaned forward and clasped Sophia’s hand briefly. “You have seemed so melancholy since the Duchess of Lenshire’s fiasco. I wish you would not hide yourself away so. I’ve told you, no one who matters is talking of your collapse. Your friends are all very concerned, in fact.”

  Sophia’s awareness of the watch fob hidden in her drawer burned. “I am simply not feeling entirely well yet,” she lied. “And the chance of meeting Lord Endicott—you said he appeared at Almack’s that night when he was not expected, and I do not feel ready to encounter him again.”

  “Yes, and I hate to say it, but I consider it fortunate your headache kept you home that night. Even so, you cannot avoid him forever, and the sooner you face him and show yourself indifferent to him, the sooner he will leave off tormenting you.”

  “You are probably right. But… not tonight.”

  “All right,” Cecy said with a sort of amused exasperation, “not tonight, but soon. Really, aren’t you bored with staying home all the time? Even you must grow weary of novels, and newspapers can only occupy you for so long.”

  “I do Dream occasionally,” Sophia said, “mostly on your condition, though I am afraid I do not know enough about the human body to make sense of what I See.”

  “You are not to exhaust yourself on my behalf, much as I love you for trying to learn how to cure me.”

  “I am being very careful. No more than one Dream in a night.” She still had not Dreamed since the night at the Duchess’s house, and guilt at lying to Cecy stabbed at her again, though doing so was unavoidable. Cecy should not have to worry about her when her own condition was still so painful, much as she might claim otherwise. She would only upset herself to know Sophia was still pursuing Lord Endicott, and Sophia wanted nothing more than to protect her.

  “Good,” said Cecy, and rose from her chair. “I am going to see Miss Travers, and you need not accompany me, I feel perfectly well and I know you dislike her.”

  “You make me feel guilty,” Sophia said. “There is nothing more wrong with her than her penchant for laughing at her own jokes, which are rarely funny, and I feel ridiculous laughing with her. You are so much nicer a person than I.”

  “I am not so nice a person as that. She is always helping the poor and it makes me feel virtuous to accompany her on her expeditions. So my motives are more selfish than not.”

  “I am sure the poor appreciate your generosity, whatever the motives. That is in scripture somewhere.”

  “Well, I intend to be back late this afternoon, and we will dine in, but tomorrow you will attend the theater with Lewis and me and we will all have a splendid time, even if it is Othello, speaking of playing the part of Iago. It is vaguely unsettling, watching something so serious during a time devoted to revelry, but Lewis is so eager for it I have not the heart to deny him.”

  “I am looking forward to it as well. Enjoy yourself, dearest, and I will see you later.”

  Sophia sat looking into the fire for several minutes after Cecy left, then rose to go to her bedchamber. She could sit on the bed, at least, because time was short and she would need to have success not only before Lord Endicott’s meeting, but before Cecy returned. But when she was seated on the edge of her bed, fob in hand, she rolled it over and over in her gloved palm until it was warm. This was the only sensible course of action. She might butt heads with that enemy Seer in Dream for days, or weeks, while Lord Endicott pursued his criminal activities, and if she wanted to have any effect at all on his plans, she needed a different approach. That Seer might be able to thwart her Dreams, but could do nothing to interfere with her Visions. Cecy would understand, when it was all over. She drew off her right glove and took the watch fob between her fingers.

  She once again swept away the echoes that crowded her Visions and the pressure she always experienced in Vision lessened, an unpleasant but not painful sensation, as if a weight were bearing down on her shoulders. Spending a great deal of time in Vision was not as exhausting and not as dangerous as too much Dreaming, and during her service with the War Office she had sometimes spent as many as sixteen hours in Vision without feeling more strain than an ache in her shoulders and lower back. Much longer than that was impossible, as tiredness eventually drove the Visions away, popping them like blue-tinged soap bubbles, so her current activity would not lead to a collapse so long as she did not also Dream excessively. She had no intention of worrying Cecy again.

  Though if you collapse here, at least Mr. Rutledge will not be present to humiliate you further, she thought, then banished that memory and sat up straighter on her bed. Mr. Rutledge had not humiliated her; the humiliation was hers alone. She had not seen him since the night of the Duchess’s gathering, and could not determine if that pleased or grieved her. And now she was wasting time. She would have to concentrate in order to See clearly. She had no doubt that, given time, she would be able to see the world through Lord Endicott’s eyes. Whether that would be in time to achieve her purposes was the real question.

  She could, for the moment, ignore the static images that appeared like the most detailed paintings one could imagine, crisp-edged and focused with the background fading to pastel. They might be of interest later, but now she needed a moving Vision. She picked one at random and let it draw her in the way Dream did, though this was more like flying than the gentle flowing pull of Dream. Dancing—a ballroom—a woman—nothing of importance there. She released the Vision and went back to scanning the images. Here, a moonlit night—there, horses running free—here, a boxing match, and a great deal of blood—she let that one go with a shiver of distaste. She reached for a different, less disturbing Vision, then stopped herself. She might be at this for hours, and be no closer to her goal. She would need to try a different strategy.

  She closed her eyes to shut out any possible distractions and relaxed, breathing from her abdomen until her shoulders drooped and she felt as if she might slide off the bed. Her left hand, resting on the smooth counterpa
ne, began tingling as if she had been sitting on it for an hour; she brought it up, slowly, to close over her right hand, which still gripped the fob hard enough it would leave dents in her palm. She had done this once or twice before, applying Dream meditation to her Visions, with no success, but it was worth the attempt, if it meant the possibility of bringing her more quickly to her goal.

  Breathing slowly, she watched the Visions begin spinning with greater force and speed than before, dizzying her until she thought she might fall over. She let them spin, let her eyes of Vision go out of focus, and—it was as if she had an invisible hand that reached out and plucked a Vision from the whirlwind. The Vision pulled her into it so rapidly it dizzied her further, taking her a moment to make sense of what it showed.

  It was not Lord Endicott’s current perspective. She slouched a little more in disappointment and tried to regain her balance by looking at the Vision more closely. It was an image of a short, slight, grey-haired man sitting at a desk, writing something—and then the Vision began again, little man at a desk, hand on paper, pen with ink glimmering at the tip of the nib, dipping down to scrawl words across the paper she could not make out. Sophia blinked the Vision away and swallowed against the nausea the swiftly flowing images had induced. It was not the Vision she wanted, but suppose her meditation had brought her something else of importance?

  She went looking for the little grey man in other Visions, and found him. Lord Endicott saw him frequently, though the Visions, both moving and static, in which he appeared were all extremely boring: talking, writing, sketching, more writing. All passive things; no Visions of him with any of the accoutrements of the forgery business. And yet she had a feeling his dealings with Lord Endicott were shady; the places where they met were rundown warehouses or litter-strewn alleys or offices—if one could call them that—in parts of London no respectable gentleman went.

  She watched the man fold a sheet of paper and seal the envelope; the address was Lord Endicott’s town house. Sketches, clandestine meetings in dark alleys, letters to Lord Endicott; this must be the enemy Seer. She had no basis for this belief other than circumstantial evidence and her own instincts, but it felt right, all the way down to her bones.

  She dismissed her Visions and checked her pocket watch, the gift of a grateful Swiss banker and one of her most prized possessions. Almost two o’clock, and Cecy would be returning soon. It was a small success, but she still needed to be able to See through Lord Endicott’s eyes, and she was fast running out of time.

  She had trouble concentrating on the conversation at dinner that night, and it took her nearly the entire meal to realize Cecy was also unusually quiet. When she brought it up, Cecy said, “I am merely tired, Sophy, nothing dire,” and Sophia left it at that. At the end of the nearly silent meal, Lewis went to his study and Sophia and Cecy retired to the drawing room, where Cecy took up her sewing and Sophia settled in with a book.

  “Miss Travers asked to be remembered to you, and to thank you for your generous donation to the foundling home,” Cecy said.

  “Now I feel guilty at disliking her, when she is so kind and unselfish,” Sophia said.

  “She is tedious. I wish I had not visited her,” Cecy said, but her last words came out choked with tears.

  Sophia dropped her book and went to put her arms around Cecy. “Oh, my dear, what is it? You are in pain, aren’t you? Oh, you should have stayed home, you have exerted—”

  “I am not in pain,” Cecy said, shaking her head violently from side to side. “It is nothing.”

  “Cecy, do you imagine me stupid, to believe those words when your tears tell a different story?”

  Cecy shook her head again. “No, but I—it is nothing, I can bear it, I do not wish to burden you!”

  “You are not a burden, you know that! Now, tell me what is wrong.”

  “I don’t,” Cecy began, then drew a great, shuddering breath as if it were all that stood between her and death. “We visited the home,” she said.

  “Yes? Everything is well?”

  “It is,” Cecy said, nodding, “but I….” She wiped her eyes. “So many children,” she said, “so many unwanted babies, and I have nothing, Sophy, I want my own baby and I will never have children, and it is so unfair! I wanted—Sophy, I wanted to snatch one of them up and carry it home with me, tell me why, Sophy!”

  “Cecy,” Sophia said, “of course you will have children. Dr. Garland said there was no reason you should not.”

  “And yet five years of marriage is not enough. Dr. Garland is telling me what I want to hear because she knows the truth will devastate me.”

  “Dr. Garland never tells anyone a comforting lie, Cecy, you know that.” Sophia hugged her more tightly. “She says you worry about it too much, and it keeps you from conceiving. It will come, I promise you. Why didn’t you tell me how this was troubling you?”

  “Because you were already so burdened with your worries about Lord Endicott, and you already bear me up when I am ill, I did not want to complain.” Cecy began to cry again, and Sophia held her close and rocked her like the child Cecy so desperately wanted. This happened so often, Cecy concealing things from Sophia in order to spare her pain—

  I am a hypocrite. And I have been treating Cecy like a child.

  All her justifications for not telling Cecy the truth seemed shameful now. She remembered how she had told herself she was doing the right thing and cringed inwardly. How could she be in the right if that required her to lie to her dearest friend?

  Cecy’s weeping had faded to a few shaking sobs now and then, and she wiped away tears and then put her own arms around Sophia. “I should not have kept this from you,” she said. “I feel better not to be carrying it alone.”

  “See, that is the sensible way to look at it,” Sophia said, detaching herself from her friend and pushing her a little to make room for her to sit on the couch. “And you will remember I forgave you for doing something so wrong as to try to spare my feelings, yes?”

  “That sounds more like a chastisement, Sophy.”

  “No, I simply have something to tell you that will likely make you angry.” Sophia clasped Cecy’s hands and said, “I am still pursuing Lord Endicott.”

  For half a moment, Cecy looked confused. Then anger creased her brow and she tried to pull away from Sophia’s grasp. “Sophy, you promised! How could you lie to me like that? Let me go!”

  “Because I wanted to protect you, and I was going to tell you when it was all over, but we both agreed it was wrong to do something like that and I am very, very repentant, and I am telling you now!”

  Sophia let go Cecy’s hands and Cecy jerked them away, hard. “What were you going to do if you collapsed again and died? Sophia, you cannot do this!”

  “I am not Dreaming. I… acquired… something of Lord Endicott’s, and I am following Visions looking for something I can use against him. You know that is not dangerous. Cecy, I don’t want to hurt myself, but I cannot allow him to go unpunished. I cannot. It hurts me to know the world thinks so well of him—did you know he has been spreading the rumor that we are close to an engagement? He continues to use me, and he will not be satisfied until he has destroyed my spirit the way he has my reputation. Please understand, Cecy. Help me.”

  Cecy looked away. “I will not help you kill yourself.”

  “No, but I believe—Cecy, I should have asked for your help weeks ago. I believe you can keep me from being absorbed in Dream. Is that your only objection, that I will be overwhelmed by Dream?”

  “I don’t know.” Cecy was still looking in the direction of the fire. “How did you get something of Lord Endicott’s?”

  A lie sprang to Sophia’s lips and nearly escaped before she remembered she was done deceiving her best friend. “Daphne and I went to his house… secretly… and we stole it.”

  “What?” Cecy said, turning to face Sophia so rapidly that her hair sagged out of its pins. “Sophia, that is illegal! Whatever possessed you—no, of course I know w
hat possessed you. You are desperate.” It was her turn to put her hand on Sophia’s. “You are that desperate, dearest, and I had no idea. You should have come to me sooner.”

  “We have both been trying too hard to protect one another. You are not fragile, and I am not weak. Will you help me, Cecy? And let me help you?”

  Cecy nodded, and then they were clinging to each other, Sophia shedding a few tears of her own. Then Cecy began laughing, and when Sophia drew back in surprise, she said, “You went to his house and stole it. That was no doubt Lady Daphne’s idea. What did you take?”

  “A watch fob,” Sophia said, and related the whole experience, making Cecy laugh and gasp by turns. “I cannot believe I successfully hid under Lord Endicott’s bed,” Sophia concluded. “It seems so ridiculous now—well, it seemed ridiculous at the time, too.”

  “And he has been telling people he is deeply attached to you!” Cecy said. “Making you seem fickle, or a tease, when you treat him with coldness. I insist you destroy him, Sophy.”

  “That is the kind of encouragement I need,” Sophia laughed, “but I still do not know how to see through his eyes, and I will not be able to see where he goes tonight.”

  “True, but even if he does go somewhere significant, he is no doubt accustomed to moving his operations often to avoid your Sight,” Cecy said, “and you already know the name and face of one of his important co-conspirators, so that knowledge would not be new even if you could See what he sees. So I believe you should turn your attention elsewhere. I believe you should pursue this enemy Seer.”

  “I have thought as much myself, but he is already blocking me at every turn, and I cannot See his intentions without them dissolving around me.”

  “Then Dream of something else. Dream of him. If he is employed by Lord Endicott, it is impossible that forgery is the only thing with which he is involved, yes? And he will not know to block that Sight. Who knows what you might be able to do, with the right Dream?”