by P. N. Elrod
It was impossible to hide anything from a Reader. Alex gave up. “Yes.”
Heather abandoned the machine and came around, reaching out, but not touching. “Oh, Alex, I’m so sorry. Who?”
“I’m not allowed to talk about it. Not yet.”
“One of ours?”
“I’m not allow—”
“Is it to do with what’s going on? With everyone getting called in today? I had to be here, and it was quiet until a few hours ago. No one seems to know why and they’re annoyed about it. Mrs. George organized a Christmas dinner, but that’s not the same as being home with one’s family.”
Depends on the family, Alex thought. “I expect we’ll find out soon enough.”
Mr. Humboldt Sexton rapped on the doorframe to announce himself. “Hallo, all. Miss Pendlebury?”
Time to face consequences. “Yes. I’ll go along now. What sort of mood is she in?” Alex quit her desk.
Sexton blinked as he moved out of her path. “Um … distracted? I should tread lightly.”
“Who? What?” demanded Heather. “It’s to do with what’s going on, isn’t it?”
“Can’t really talk about it, Miss Fagan, sorry.” He turned to Brook. “Hallo, we’ve not been properly introduced.…”
Alex left them to it and hurried down the hall and up one flight of stairs. She noticed, with strange irritation, that the blue of her dress clashed with the pale blue walls. Why would something as silly as that even come to her notice?
Because what awaits is likely to be unpleasant and you want the diversion.
Fair enough.
Woodwake’s door was open. Alex knocked on the frame and went in.
“Close that, if you please,” said Mrs. Woodwake. “Turn the sign.”
A card hanging from a string tacked to the wall outside bore the declaration No Interruptions, which usually meant a Reading was in session. She flipped it around and softly shut the door.
CHAPTER SEVEN
In Which Miss Pendlebury Makes a Decision and a Discovery
The office was the same size as Alex’s but seemed larger with a single desk and occupant. The one tall window looked out on the Thames, visible through the bare winter branches of the trees on the Embankment. The river was the usual dull brown, its flat flow supporting a variety of boats and barges. To the right was a glimpse of Westminster Bridge. Woodwake faced away from the view, which put her figure in silhouette. She gestured at a chair opposite the desk, and Alex took it, aware that the light from the window was full upon her. She used such methods herself when interviewing people in the aftermath of a crime. Reading involved more than sensing another’s emotions; one had to study their features. The least twitch of the mouth, the slightest tilt of the head, any number of things helped to reveal what lay behind the eyes.
It wasn’t quite as bad as she’d anticipated. Delivering her report had a strange cathartic effect, lifting a portion of weight from her shoulders. Alex kept to the essentials of cold fact about the Harley Street murder room and did not allow emotion to color her narration. Now did she mention getting Fingate’s note, and the reaction was as she’d expected. Woodwake demanded to know why she was hearing of it only now.
“I am sorry, ma’am. I was about to inform you and Lord Richard in the coach when the shooting started. I didn’t remember again until much later when I was on my way to Pendlebury House with Inspector Lennon.”
“You should have sent a message to me about it.”
“Yes, ma’am. No excuses. I should have done that.”
“Did you then meet this man, this suspect in your own father’s murder?”
“He did not do it, and yes, I did meet him.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“Please explain why.”
Alex did so, recalling in detail the conversation on the Serpentine Bridge. She stressed the fact that Fingate was in the throes of a profound fear and not thinking straight. “I entreated him in the strongest terms to come with me to the Service offices.…”
Then she had to relate the incident of tackling Brook and the nearly fatal outcome of that debacle. Alex tried not to feel too much the fool. It had been an accident, after all.
There was, however, some satisfaction to be had at seeing Woodwake’s jaw drop.
Alex expected a question or comment at that point, but neither came. She continued, touching on, in the briefest terms, the conversation she’d had in the coach with Mr. Brook. This fleshed out the context around Sybil’s word-for-word echo of what he’d said.
“Is her name really Sybil? Or is it a title taken from the Oracle of Delphi?”
Woodwake shook her head, not as a reply, but in exasperation, and ignored the question. “I am not happy with you. Consider that to be a great understatement. You could have been killed.”
“But I was not, thanks to Mr. Brook.”
“He could have been killed. What if he’d been injured in the fall? You’ve a responsibility to your colleagues as well as to the Service. You took it upon yourself to meet with this Fingate, putting yourself and others in peril. I’m not talking about your near drowning, though that’s bad enough. Those bloody madmen with air guns are still out there and so is this ‘ghost’ that you could sense only by his lack of a trail. By your account he murdered your father and was lying in wait in your own home, yet you slip away alone—”
“I had to. Mr. Fingate—”
“Will be located in due time by the police.”
“I think not, ma’am. He is singularly resourceful.”
“I’ll grant that, but you are not thinking things through.”
“Progress was made. I Read him. He spoke the truth. My father was inquiring into something delicate for the Home Office—those are Fingate’s very words. He was told the only person he could trust was Lord Richard. Father impressed upon Mr. Fingate the necessity of trusting no one else, and that is why he’s hiding. At some point he will contact me again, I’m sure of it. He knows I work here; this is the most likely place to get a message to me.”
Woodwake gave a ladylike snort. “I suppose the man cannot be blamed for obeying his master, but he should have had the wit to stay with you.”
“He was overwrought about Father’s death and the Ætheric Society. One of the last things Father did was go to one of their meetings. Some woman was helping him—or so Mr. Fingate related. We must find where this meeting took place and who this woman might be.”
“If not for the fact that a man is dead—”
“Two men, ma’am.”
“Yes. Two deaths. If not for…” She shook her head. “It’s utterly absurd. The Ætherics are a joke, a bad one.”
“But what if they’re not? What if there is something dangerous about them?”
“We are aware that the Ætherics are rather more than what they present to the public, but they’re no threat except to themselves.”
“But if so, then why is the Home Office interested in them?”
“Perhaps they’re concerned with members of the government being subjected to blackmail, should any be foolish enough to join that so-called society. Some particulars about it are … distasteful.”
“More than my Reading a room with my father’s corpse hanging from—” Alex stopped. Anger would not progress things.
Woodwake frowned, but not unkindly. “I am sorry for your loss. I know this is difficult, but be aware that I am trying to protect you. Extraordinary events have overtaken us, and until we have a better idea of what’s behind them, I must be cautious. It will be a trial to your patience and inclinations, but it is necessary.”
“Is learning additional information about the Ætherics likely to be a danger to me?”
“Girl, you should have read law.”
“I might have, if not for this damnable ‘gift’ of mine.”
“And if not for mine, I should have … Well, I’d be anywhere in the world but here, and glad of it.”
There w
ere far worse places than a dim office by the Thames, but Alex knew better than to gainsay her.
Mrs. Woodwake shot her a look, as though picking up the thought, then shook her head. “All right, reports in the general press about the Ætherics may mention scholarly papers on esoteric topics. Members don robes and enact commemorative rituals celebrating ‘High Masters’ passing down great wisdom from some location in the Æther, wherever that might be. They enact elaborate magical rituals as well, which is enough to dismiss them as silly eccentrics. They don’t hide any of that.”
“So I’ve read in the library.”
“At first and even second glance, they are ridiculous. The only danger they present is embarrassment to themselves. Some members boast their association and thrive on the notoriety, while others are secretive, lest they suffer socially or financially from it, though the latter is unlikely. Ætherics tend to give preference to the wealthy when it comes to invitations to their meetings.”
“That would describe my father’s impersonation of ‘Dr. Kemp,’ posing as a physician made wealthy by a patent nostrum.”
“So it would seem. Now, we move to things that are not in the files. Miss Pendlebury, just how worldly are you? Notwithstanding your travels about the globe, what do you know about the nature of men?”
“I don’t understand the question.”
“Men have appetites and desires, and even beloved fathers are not immune to the demands of the flesh.”
Alex gaped at her, too shocked to draw breath.
“The hidden side of the Ætheric Society are the special meetings that take place in private houses. Those gatherings are open to a select few who have the means and mind to pay for certain services that are there rendered.”
“Services? Like a brothel?”
Woodwake grimaced, her ears going pink. “Exactly like a brothel, but dressed up in robes and with chanting. I am inclined to think that your father made a visit to the Ætheric Society for a baser purpose than to act as an agent for the Home Office.”
Understanding came in a flash. “I won’t believe that!”
“It is a more logical conclusion than them being a threat to queen and country. To save face in front of his manservant your father gave him to think he was investigating something important. It sounds better than to admit attending a Christmas Eve debauchery held by a bizarre remnant of the old Hellfire Club. As for this woman he mentioned, one could consider that she was hired for the occasion, though I’ve heard that some female members of the Ætherics are known to voluntarily fill such roles as required by their … rituals.”
Seething, Alex had to fight to keep from leaping up to strike the woman. She’d not been this angry in years. “How dare you?” she finally whispered.
Mrs. Woodwake remained silent, watching with a calm eye.
Alex pulled into herself, slamming the rage down and thinking, thinking. There was more going on here than this woman casting aspersions on the character of Lord Gerard Pendlebury. Woodwake was Reading her, of course, and the process often involved provoking the one under scrutiny.
“This is a diversion,” she pronounced, strangely reassured. “You know what’s true and what is not about Fingate’s story.”
“I know that you believed him and if you Read him accurately, then he believed his master, but that doesn’t mean Lord Gerard was being truthful with him or that there’s anything more sinister afoot.”
“Begging pardon, ma’am, but there must be or my father would never have been murdered. You made mention yourself of blackmail. That could well be the ‘delicate matter.’ Why else would Father adopt such an elaborate disguise?”
“The answer to that will doubtless be discovered in due course. Be confident that our best people are looking into everything concerning this case. The house servants, the neighbors, anyone your father had the least association with as Dr. Kemp, are under full scrutiny. We will find who is responsible.”
Alex picked up on the truth of that statement. While it was heartening, she was still annoyed over Woodwake’s attempt at provocation. I should have seen it coming, but then I’m used to delivering, not receiving. There was nothing more to be gained on that subject, though. Time to try another direction. “What about Lord Richard? Are the cases connected?”
“I cannot talk to you about it. You are removed from the first because of your relation to the victim and from the second because you are a witness. It would be a conflict of interest for you to participate in that investigation.”
“But you’re also a witness.”
“I am, and therefore I am also off the second case.”
That was unexpected. Considering her temperament, Woodwake would have insisted on being in the thick of things or knowing the reason why. Alex tried to come up with any name in the Service’s limited hierarchy who would be senior enough for the job. “Who’s taken charge of it, then?”
“Not your concern or mine.”
“It is being seen to, is it not?”
“Of course it is.”
Woodwake again spoke truthfully and with impatience, but Alex sensed something hidden. If she’d been the one conducting the Reading, she’d have pounced on it. A less direct approach was required.
“With regard to my father, Sybil called him ‘the traveler,’ and if she is a Seer, then that’s important. Of all the people in this building, I am the one she sought out and spoke to.”
“That’s not your—”
“If it’s not my concern, then it certainly must be yours. Allow me to help. That’s why I’m here.”
Woodwake’s lips parted as though to reply. Alex’s barriers were down and she felt an unpleasant emotional twinge from the woman, like an instrument out of tune. Woodwake was not merely uneasy, she was deeply frightened. That was unexpected, and at odds with her outwardly cool manner. It lasted but an instant, then she regained control. “I am aware of that. But for now, other business must be sorted out first. There’s the matter of your delay in reporting that message from Fingate.”
Alex couldn’t believe she was still considering such a minor issue. It’s another diversion.
“You will face disciplinary action on that, but not today. For the present, I require that you make your written report—in detail—and do what Sybil told you in regard to keeping your head down and mouth shut.”
“And eyes open.”
“Don’t press me, girl. Think. The unknown person who killed your father was waiting in your home for your return. He is a real threat to your life. You must impress upon yourself that you are in danger and like to remain so until he is caught.”
“I am cogent of the danger, ma’am, but I want to find him.”
“Of course you do, but my duty is to keep you safe. Reason things out. If his purpose was to kill you as well—then why? So far as he knew, he murdered a man named Kemp. You’ve no connection to him. Therefore, he knew Kemp to be Pendlebury.”
“But why kill Father? He’d been away from England for years.”
“So far as you know.”
“Indeed. But if so, then why kill me? Ma’am, is there any information from the Home Office yet on what he was doing? I don’t ask for details, only to know if there’s been progress.”
“It’s too soon to say.”
Which did not answer the question. “Will you let me know when there is progress?”
“I will consider it, providing you do as instructed. Do not disappoint me. Finish your report, then take a coach home to Pendlebury House and stay there. We’ll have at least two men on watch at all times.”
“If it’s a question of my safety, then is this not a far better place for me? I’ve no wish to put my uncle’s family at risk by my presence, and I expect those men can be used elsewhere. The apprentices’ dormitory will have a spare bed.”
Woodwake pinched the bridge of her nose.
“I can be of use here, especially when you break the news about Lord Richard. I’ll be one of the few who won’t be in shock.�
�
“W-what?” She looked up.
Alex felt a wash of … panic? She wasn’t sure, the emotion was too fleeting and instantly smothered. “Has the queen been informed yet?”
When the woman’s face flushed a deep, dangerous red, Alex knew that she’d pressed too far and had been caught out. The Reading in this session was to be one-sided. Woodwake stood and pointed to the door, apparently too angry to speak.
Alex left and hoped it didn’t look too much like a flying rout. It felt like one. She made it downstairs before realizing she’d been holding her breath and had to hang onto the stair rail to recover. Her head felt squeezed, turned inside out. An ordinary interview wouldn’t have that kind of effect on her; Woodwake was just bloody intimidating. But for all that, what had her so afraid?
Anything to do with Lord Richard.
Why?
Cold logic led Alex to wonder if the woman had aught to do with his death. Such fear … of what? Being discovered? Alex had dealt with that on more than one murder case. The guilty were always terrified of being found out.
However, it was highly improbable. Woodwake had been in the coach with the first attack and equally vulnerable to being shot along with Lord Richard and Alex. The second attack at James’s house was more questionable. The hooded men had focused their fire on Richard, but aimed more or less over the heads of everyone else in the room, at least until others in the house began firing back. Woodwake had done so. Had she hit any? Yes, certainly one, perhaps more. Alex had been busy ducking.
Absurd. Mrs. Woodwake’s loyalty to the Service was above question. Some other reason lay behind this oddness.
Might she have had a personal attachment to Lord Richard? Something stronger than the friendship of colleagues? If so, then she was more likely to be engulfed by grief, not fear. She’d want that kept private, but was it enough to account for that level of fear?
And I dared to Read her, spoke in that manner to her. Alex would be lucky if she still had a place here come Boxing Day.
If I am dismissed, then what?
She couldn’t and would not think that far ahead. First the report, then—
Not to Pendlebury House. At least not directly. There was a special line of inquiry she wanted to make about those air guns, and getting there wouldn’t be too great a detour. It was direct disobedience to orders, but bother that. No one would blame her for trying to turn up useful information.
