Once I assured myself Miss Ashton’s room was free of any devices or mechanisms, I settled into a chair behind the dressing screen to wait.
I had instructed Willa to act normal as the remainder of the evening progressed. She was also to keep her maid from going behind the screen and—if possible—to keep her from the chamber as much as she could. It wasn’t that I suspected the maid. I simply wanted to ensure that no one except Willa knew I was in the house.
I’d purchased more yarn during my travels today, and now I sat, needles clicking quietly, and contemplated. Grayling’s description of the murder suspect in the Yingling situation both helped and hindered some of my theories. Unfortunately, the physical characteristics fit all the main suspects I’d been considering—Aunt Geraldine, Cousin Herrell, and the Nortons—either one or both of them. His information did, however, eliminate the black-haired, taller Mr. Treadwell, and the light-haired and shorter Miss Fenley.
I knitted faster, mulling over Grayling’s final words to me. Heroic. Foolish, but heroic.
Was that meant to be some sort of apology? My needles flashed and clicked as I remembered the way he looked down at me, standing in the corridor at Scotland Yard.
I realized my ball of yarn was finished and I had a long, narrow swath of . . . something. So I dug out a second ball and kept knitting.
Tomorrow, I intended to visit Louisa Fenley again. I meant to confront her about her quackery and use that as leverage to wrest further information from her—namely, whether she’d been hired to fool Miss Ashton. I also believed Miss Fenley’s skills could be of great use to me in my investigations.
“Good night, Mina,” Willa murmured just loud enough for me to hear. She was finally ready for bed. “Thank you for being here.”
I stepped out from behind the screen, still holding my yarn. The cat eyed me from her post on Willa’s bed, blinking once. “Sleep well. If something happens, I urge you to simply act as you normally do. Don’t call out to me or acknowledge my presence in any way.”
“I won’t.” She turned out the lamp. I heard her rustling under the covers, and then silence.
I moved the dressing screen aside so I could see the moonlit window—which remained open to an unusually balmy summer night—and the closed door, and I could also watch Willa’s bed. Then I settled back in my seat and continued with my knitting and my contemplations.
The house settled into silence around us. Sometime later, a clock struck midnight. And then half-past.
Herrell Ashton—deeply in debt, currently controls the finances and could eventually inherit. Encourages Willa’s séance experiments. Close friends with Dr. Norton. Easy access to household.
Aunt Geraldine—would inherit Willa’s money. Easiest access to the household and séance chamber. Does not encourage Willa’s spirit-talking.
Amanda Norton and/or Dr. Norton—A match between Amanda and James Treadwell was desirable. The doctor would be an excellent resource for committing Willa to a madhouse, thus getting the rival out of the way for a romance between Amanda and Mr. Treadwell.
Was there a money issue for the Nortons? What was their financial situation like? Did Mr. Treadwell have wealth to bring to a match? I realized I needed to consult the Kimball’s.
The clock struck two.
Willa sat up suddenly.
I immediately put down my knitting. I wasn’t certain if she’d seen or heard something or had awakened for some other reason.
A sound caught my attention. A soft whirring, the faintest buzz. . . . I discerned a faint blue light emitting from the corner of the chamber.
Willa climbed out of bed and walked toward the blue glow, which grew brighter by the moment. She clearly wasn’t aware of her surroundings, and I knew better than to wake someone who was engaged in the act of sleep-walking.
I crept behind her, careful not to touch her or move into her line of sight, but nearby for protection.
The blue light was coming from the spiritglass.
The sides had folded away to fully reveal the orb. What had once been dull and subdued was now bright and illuminated, emitting an eerie blue-green light. Willa picked up a paper from the table next to the spiritglass. Standing just behind her, I could see writing on the paper. Glowing writing.
Ghostly writing.
No . . . it was writing that could only be seen by the odd light of the spiritglass. I had to force myself to remain still and silent, but my fingers wanted nothing more than to snatch the note away from her. Willa shuffled through several papers on the table, papers that were from Miss Fenley’s ghostly spirit writings. Or so the medium would have us believe. Now I had another reason to visit her tomorrow.
Then Willa made a huff of disappointment or frustration and turned. Still silent, she passed by me as she walked back to her bed. I’d been prepared to follow her if she left her bedchamber, but to my relief that wasn’t necessary. She clambered back into bed and I caught a glimpse of her wide, vacant eyes, shining in the eerie blue light. The cat, who’d awakened during this episode but declined to move from his spot, glared at me as if it were my fault his sleep was disturbed.
As soon as Willa lay back down and settled into place, I moved silently to the table. The light continued to glow and I was able to read the words written on the papers. An ugly shiver trailed down my spine as I read:
You must help Robby by catching his spirit, Willa. Climb onto the high tower with his old fishing pole. Cast out for him and bring him home, tomorrow night when the clock strikes eight. Don’t be frightened. I’ll be there if you should fall.
A second paper said:
Come swimming with Robby in your shift, Willa, like when you were little. Bring the butterfly net so you can catch him and bring him with you. He’ll be waiting for you in the street at the next stroke of five. Come and save him.
The other papers were blank, likely explaining Willa’s disappointment. No new “messages” from her brother.
I allowed the notes to settle back onto the table, but not before confirming they were the same ones Miss Fenley had written on during the séances.
Now the plot was becoming clearer. Someone had written on these papers in ink only visible under this light, and then Louisa Fenley used the papers during her séance. I could see even in the odd light that the black ink had been written over the invisible ink. And that the handwriting was completely different.
The question was: Did the medium know about the secret message, or was she an unwitting dupe?
My second question—how did Willa know to wake up at two o’clock?—was more easily answered. I’d been searching for the key to her mesmerization, and the clock striking two was obviously it.
I settled back in my chair and picked up my knitting. In spite of the late hour, I was still wide awake and my brain clicked along as quickly as my needles.
The blue light from the spiritglass faded after several moments, and the clock struck two-thirty. Three o’clock. Four.
The night was dead and dark. My needles shone for brief moments when caught by the slender bit of moon shining through the window. I was onto a third ball of yarn.
And then something in the room changed.
It grew chilly. Cold.
The curtains fluttered near the window, but the shift in the air wasn’t coming from there. It was just . . . here. All around. My heart pounding, I put down my knitting and sat up straight, looking around.
My nose was cold, and when I gusted out a breath of nervous air, I could see the mist. My palms grew clammy. I looked over at Willa. She was still sleeping, but the cat was up and awake, its eyes wide. The moonlight outlined the hair rising all along the feline’s spine.
Goose bumps had erupted over my arms and other extremities. My breath was coming in faster, white puffs. The cat hissed, his back arched. He was staring at something near the window.
I looked over and my mouth went completely dry. A glowing, amorphous cloud had formed at the window. It was tinged bright green, and as I watc
hed, it billowed into the chamber, expanding into a column in front of the window.
Now it was freezing in the room.
I heard a sound from the bed, rustling among the sheets. Willa sat up. The cat hissed again next to her. Its green eyes reflected wide and angry in the dim light.
“Mother!”
I wouldn’t have been able to speak even if I wanted to. I could only stare in disbelief. Willa slipped from the bed, fully awake and lucid—unlike earlier.
“You’ve come back!” She stood in front of the green gas, which had formed into a sort of cylinder shape.
Willa tilted her head as if to listen. Then after a moment she spoke earnestly. “I’ve been trying, Mother. But I can’t find him. I’ll keep trying, I promise. I’ll bring him safely to you. I want you two to be together.”
The green cloud spiraled into itself once more, this time, becoming smaller and smaller, and then wisped away into nothing. The tiny light remained for a moment longer, then winked out.
We were alone. The night was dark once again. The chamber returned to its normal temperature.
I realized I was holding my breath, and when I expelled it, I saw it was no longer white with frost.
“Did you see that?” Willa whispered. Until that moment, I hadn’t been completely certain she was awake and aware. But her direct question, and the fact that her eyes clearly met mine, indicated her lucidity.
I nodded, not quite trusting my voice. When I stood, my knees were shaky and my fingers trembled. I went to the window, touching it, smoothing my fingers all around, hoping to find . . . something. Some sort of clue. But I had already examined it earlier. There was nothing there. No dirt, no warmth from a human body or mechanism, no disturbance.
Most telling of all: The four taut lines of invisible thread I’d strung across the opening were still in place.
Nothing solid had passed through that window. Whatever it was had been as insubstantial as air.
I must have dozed off in my chair in Miss Ashton’s bedchamber, although after the events of the night, I wasn’t certain how I’d ever quieted my mind enough to actually sleep.
But the bright sun streaming through her window woke me, and I straightened in my seat. A glance at Willa told me she still slumbered heavily.
I rose and stretched from many hours in the chair, then caught sight of the cat. He lounged on the bed, licking a paw as if nothing untoward had happened in this room.
But something had. Even I could no longer deny that something inexplicable, something otherworldly and Para-Natural had occurred.
The most telling fact was that the cat had reacted strongly to the green gaseous cloud. Common belief indicated animals were extremely sensitive to supernatural events and occurrences. This feline certainly had done so.
And then there was the indisputable fact that the room had gone ice-cold in a matter of seconds, and then returned to warmth just as quickly. I knew even physics didn’t allow for such drastic swings in temperature. Even a machine couldn’t cause such radical changes. One would feel the breeze. But last night . . . there’d been no such movement.
It just happened.
I swallowed hard. The thought that some supernatural, otherworldly presence had been here last night made me physically ill. Some entity that couldn’t be explained by physics or logic or mathematics or science.
It was unbelievable.
It was disruptive . . . and a little frightening.
I collected my thoughts and exhaled long and slow. I’d mull over it later. Perhaps an explanation would occur to me then.
For now, I had to figure out how someone had mesmerized Willa Ashton, and who was trying to get rid of her. The first thing was to determine the origin of the curious instrument, and how it came to be in Willa’s possession.
I wandered over to the spiritglass. It had spontaneously illuminated last night. Surely it had had some assistance, some hidden mechanism. A timer.
I admired its decorative lotus-flowerlike sides, noticing how they folded open to reveal the glass itself. The small orb, nestled among cogs and gears, was smooth and cool to the touch. It was this sphere that had shone with the blue light.
I picked up the sphere and realized for the first time it had been set upon a trio of three short metal spikes which appeared to affix the orb to its case. Perhaps those tiny metal flanges were the source of power for its illumination. Upon turning the sphere over, I noticed a design stamped on the bottom. Like the signature of the artist. No surprise the individual who’d created this fantastic device would have wanted to mark his—or her—work.
Bringing the spiritglass into the bright morning sun for closer examination, I caught my breath when I recognized the ornate CB marking on the bottom.
I had seen that identifying mark, and recently.
At the Charles Babbage display at the Oligary Building.
Miss Stoker
To Kick Some Ash
By the time Florence and I got home from Willa’s house and I pretended to go to bed, it was nearly ten. Then I waited another hour before I felt sure my sister-in-law was asleep. Bram was at the Lyceum, of course, and wouldn’t be home until at least two o’clock.
Thus, there was no one to notice when I climbed out my window and down the oak tree that shaded it.
Thanks to Pepper, who actually did know I was leaving, I was well equipped. Dressed in very wide trousers that looked like a skirt, I also wore a black feminine bodice that buttoned down the front. The decorative loops of satin at the hemline of the corsetlike top were large enough to hold stakes, a knife, and a small, ladylike pistol. I pulled on fingerless gloves and had my unruly hair pinned up in a smooth figure-eight bun. No stakes in my coiffure tonight, either, for they were all easy to reach at my waist.
At Pepper’s insistence, I had another dagger slipped inside my tall boot, as well as a vial of salted holy water in the other. Over my bodice, I wore a large silver cross on a chain, and Pepper had also pinned two more in my hair.
Vampires beware, I thought as I alighted from a horseless taxi near Pristin Canal, two streets from the Pickled Nurse. You’re about to meet your end.
Conscious of my invincibility, I walked boldly down the street, weaving among clusters of people on their way to a pub, dinner-house, or music hall.
I was stronger than any man and gifted with speed and skill. I had slain my first UnDead and proven my worthiness as a vampire hunter. I had a legacy to fulfill.
Woe to he who got in my way.
A chill filtered over the nape of my neck and I smiled grimly. UnDead nearby.
I sharpened my attention on each man and woman as I approached and passed them, measuring the sensation on the back of my neck.
The cool warning grew stronger as I neared a trio of men standing in front of an establishment called Ivey & Boles. A massive cogwork key dangled from the sign over their heads, which caused me to wonder if the place was a locksmith or some other metal-working business. The three talked and gestured, blocking the walkway to other passersby.
I slid a stake from one of the loops at my waist. One of the men had to be an UnDead, for the evil chill was growing fiercer and sharper as I approached. But they stood so close together, I couldn’t tell which one.
As I drew nearer, I noticed a small, lithe shadow detach itself from the alley behind the trio. I thought nothing of it until one of the men clapped a hand to his long overcoat and spun. “Stop! Thief! Stop!”
He and his companions whirled, stumbling after the boy. But the small figure had already darted into the shadows and was immediately lost in the alley.
I could have chased the pickpocket and easily brought him to task, but I wasn’t going to be distracted from my true mission. My destiny was a bigger, more dangerous prize than a street urchin who needed a silk handkerchief to sell for food.
The three men gave up their half-hearted chase after one of them tripped in the dark throughway and fell on his knees in a pool of sludge. They gathered on the str
eet again as they turned out their pockets in turn. It appeared more than one of them had had his pocket lightened by the quick-fingered thief.
But now that I was right next to them, I realized my warning chill had evaporated.
Blast it. The prickling at the back of my neck had gone, and so had the UnDead.
Growling to myself, I continued along the street. Turning down the alley to Nickel’s, I headed toward the Pickled Nurse. I felt an occasional chill during this patrol of sorts as I paced along the street in front of the pub, but I was still too inexperienced to know whether it was really an UnDead. So I looked for glowing red eyes, but even that strategy didn’t reveal any vampires.
By the time the clock struck two, I was frustrated. Either I was wrong about La société and vampires being in this area, or they simply weren’t out and about tonight.
Nevertheless, I wasn’t ready to return home. I was still spoiling for a fight. After all, that was what I was born to do. Not to sit back and contemplate clues, concoct theories, and make deductions. And knit.
No. I was meant to do. To seek out danger, to fight for life and safety, and to risk my own skin for others.
And so I headed to Spitalfields.
Though it was only a couple hours till dawn, Fenmen’s End was loud, crowded, and as brightly lit as that establishment ever was. Which wasn’t saying much.
I pushed open the doors and looked over the crowd, hoping to see Pix. Or at least Big Marv. Maybe he’d give me some grief for twisting his fingers, and I’d have an excuse for a good fight.
Of course, after Pix’s appearance and disappearance in Vauxhall without a word to me, I could probably just as easily spar with him. I still didn’t understand why he’d been so dark and cold that night. And I was annoyed that he’d vanished without a trace.
This time, I chose not to make a grand entrance and no one seemed to notice me. In the back, a group wagered over two men arm wrestling, but neither of the contestants was Pix. Several tables boasted dice or cards, and there was another where the patrons pressed in around a tiny wind-up dog that sprang up and then plopped into a small glass of golden liquid. The dog was removed and the patron drank to raucous cheering. It seemed to be some sort of game.
The Spiritglass Charade Page 20
