by Amanda Quick
Harold made notes. “These inquiries concern a business venture, I assume?”
“No, they are of a more personal and private nature. I want you to discover whatever you can about a lady named Caroline Fordyce.”
“Mrs. Fordyce?” Harold’s head came up swiftly. “Would that by any chance be the author, sir? The Mrs. Fordyce whose novels are serialized in the Flying Intelligencer?”
A sense of resignation settled on Adam. “I appear to be the only person in all of London who was not familiar with her work until quite recently.”
“Very exciting stuff,” Harold enthused. “Certainly keeps one guessing. Her latest is her most thrilling yet, as far as I am concerned. It is called The Mysterious Gentleman.”
“Yes, I know.” Adam flexed his hands and deliberately relinked his fingers. “I believe the villain’s name is Edmund Drake.”
“Ah, I see you are following the story, sir. We haven’t seen much of Edmund Drake yet but it’s plain that he’s a very menacing sort. Safe to say that he’ll come to a nasty end, just like Mrs. Fordyce’s other villains.”
Adam tried and failed to suppress his morbid curiosity. “Doesn’t the fact that you already know the identity of the villain and that he will meet with an unpleasant fate take all of the surprise and astonishment out of the story? What is the purpose of reading a novel if one knows the ending before one turns the first page?”
Harold regarded him with acute bewilderment. Then Adam saw the light of comprehension strike.
“I take it you are not a great reader of novels, sir,” Harold said, sympathy as thick as cream in every word.
“No.” Adam sat back in his chair and gripped the arms. “I do not count novel reading among my vices.”
“Allow me to explain, if I may. Of course one knows that in a sensation novel, the villain will pay for his villainy, just as one knows that the hero and heroine will be rewarded for their good hearts and noble actions. Those things are givens, as it were. They are not the point of the business.”
“Indeed? Well, what in blazes is the point?”
“Why, it is seeing how the characters arrive at their various fates that compels our attention.” Harold spread his broad hands wide. “It is the series of startling incidents in the various chapters that entertains and amazes, all the twists and turns and emotional sensations. That is why one reads a novel, sir. Not to discover how it ends, but to enjoy the strange and exotic scenery along the way.”
“I shall bear that in mind if I find myself tempted to read any more of Mrs. Fordyce’s work.” Adam narrowed his eyes. “Meanwhile, speaking of strange and exotic scenery, I think you had best go directly home and pack your bags. I want you on your way to Bath as soon as possible.”
“Yes, sir.” Harold got to his feet.
“Keep me advised of your progress by telegram.”
THIRTEEN
“I fear this may become a dangerous business for Caroline.” Emma propped her slipper-clad feet on the small hassock in front of the reading chair and contemplated the cheery blaze that warmed the small parlor.
Milly lowered her book and removed her reading glasses. She was well aware that her companion had been brooding on recent events for hours. After all these years together, she had learned that she had to allow Emma time to digest things.
“I do not think you need to be overly concerned about Caroline’s safety.” She put her glasses on the table. “I am quite certain that Mr. Hardesty will take excellent care of her.”
“But who will protect Caroline from Mr. Hardesty?” Emma asked in foreboding tones.
Milly opened her mouth to reply and then found herself hesitating. Her usual inclination was to take the most optimistic view of a situation. Emma, of course, could be counted on to take the opposite approach. In most cases they balanced each other very well.
Her first instinct was to defend Hardesty. She had respected him on sight and her intuition told her that he could be trusted. But what did she really know about him? She was forced to admit that Emma was right to be concerned. There were risks.
“Caroline is old enough and wise enough to deal with the likes of Adam Hardesty,” she said, trying to sound assured. “It is not as if she is unaware of the dangers. After what happened three years ago, she knows she must be cautious.”
“I’m not so certain of that. Did you see the way those two looked at each other this afternoon?”
Milly sighed. “Yes, I did.”
“There was so much electrical energy swirling between them that it was a wonder we did not have a miniature thunderstorm right here in the middle of the parlor.”
“Indeed.”
Emma looked at her. “You know as well as I do that an intimate connection with a gentleman such as Mr. Hardesty can only end in misery for Caroline. Men of power and property marry for purposes of acquiring more power and property. Hardesty can look much higher than Caroline when he selects a wife, and he will most certainly do so. The most she can expect from him is a discreet affair.”
Milly pondered her response very carefully. This was, after all, thorny ground.
“Would that be such a terrible fate?” she ventured finally.
Emma’s face went taut. “How can you even ask such a question? It would be a disaster.”
“You are thinking of your sister,” Milly said gently. “But let us speak plainly here. Caroline is not her mother. Her temperament is quite different. We have both known her since she was in the cradle. Surely you do not imagine for a moment that she is the sort who would take her own life merely because a lover tossed her aside.”
Emma closed her eyes. “I do not want to see Caroline hurt.”
“We cannot protect her from that kind of pain. Sooner or later every woman must learn to deal with it. That is the way of the world.”
“I know. Nevertheless—”
“Hear me out.” Milly rose from the sofa and went to stand beside Emma’s chair. She put her hand on her companion’s shoulder. “When we took on the task of raising Caroline after your sister died, we vowed that we would teach her to be a strong and independent woman. To that end we gave her a fine education. We have taught her to think and reason logically and to manage her finances. We have made certain that she understands that she need not wed unless it pleases her to do so. Indeed, she has had at least two offers that we know of and she let them both go past.”
“Because she was not in love,” Emma burst out. She clasped her hands very tightly together on her lap. “That is the point, Milly. What if this time she loses her heart to a man who will never offer marriage?”
“She is no longer a girl. She has not been one for some time. She can look after herself. Only consider what she has accomplished. In spite of the dreadful setback three years ago, she has succeeded in crafting a profitable career for herself. She would prefer to deal with the difficulties of making her own way in the world rather than be miserable in a loveless marriage. Any woman capable of arriving at that decision can certainly decide for herself whether or not to take the risk of having an affair with a man who is unlikely to marry her.”
Emma smiled wearily and raised a hand to place it over Milly’s fingers. “You are right of course, dear Milly. You usually are in such matters. But sometimes when I look at Caroline I can only think of what happened to Beatrice and of how I failed to protect her. I promised myself that I would not fail her daughter.”
“We have discussed this often enough in the past. I can only repeat what I have said countless times before. There was nothing you could have done to save Beatrice. And you most certainly have not failed Caroline. She is the intelligent, sensible, high-spirited woman she is today because of you. She is your daughter in every way that matters, Emma.”
Emma squeezed Milly’s fingers. “I did not raise her alone. You were there at every step along the way. She is as much your daughter as she is mine.”
They watched the fire for a while. There was no need to talk. They had been together
a long time. They could read each other’s thoughts.
FOURTEEN
The response to the request for a séance came in a very speedy fashion the following morning.
Caroline was still at breakfast with Emma and Milly. All three of them were attired in their new dressing gowns. The fashion for wearing the comfortable, loose-fitting garments down to breakfast had arrived recently from France and was rapidly being adopted by women at every level of society. The ladies at 22 Corley Lane had been among the first to take up the style.
The gowns were modest enough but they were considered extremely daring because they were loose-fitting. Critics raged against the trend, seeing it as a harbinger of yet another decline in morals. Some went so far as to warn that husbands would soon lose interest in their wives’ charms if those charms were carelessly draped in loose-fitting garments every morning at breakfast.
Few women paid much attention to such ominous prognostications. Certainly no one in this household, where there was a noticeable lack of husbands, cared a jot for the critics’ opinions, Caroline thought. Given the discomfort of the stiff, tightly laced corsets and bodices of modern dresses, not to mention the sheer weight of the heavy materials used in them, no female in her right mind was eager to don one any earlier in the day than necessary.
Caroline put down her fork and opened the message from Irene Toller.
“Ah-hah.” She waved the note aloft in triumph. “I knew it would not take long to receive an appointment for a sitting. Did I not tell you that Mrs. Toller was eager for new business?”
Milly put down her teacup. “What does she say, dear?”
Caroline read the note aloud.
Dear Mrs. Fordyce:
Regarding your request to experience a proper séance, I am delighted to inform you that I will be conducting one this very evening at nine o’clock. I have room for two additional sitters. You and your assistant are welcome to attend. I assure you that you will not be disappointed.
Yrs. very truly,
I. Toller
P.S. My sitting fees are itemized below. Payment is due before the séance begins.
Emma put down her spoon very slowly. “Promise us that you will be careful tonight, Caroline. I am still quite apprehensive about this venture that you and Mr. Hardesty have undertaken.”
“They will both be fine,” Milly assured her cheerfully. “What can go wrong at a séance?” She turned back to Caroline. “Emma and I are engaged to attend the theater with Mrs. Hughes this evening. Afterward we will no doubt play cards until all hours. You will be sound asleep, I’m sure, by the time we get home. But tomorrow we will want to hear every single detail concerning Mrs. Toller’s performance.”
“Never fear,” Caroline said. “I will take notes.”
Emma frowned. “What was that business about your assistant? Is that how you identified Mr. Hardesty in your message to Mrs. Toller?”
“Yes.” Caroline smiled, pleased with her creative solution to the problem of Adam. “I introduced myself as the author who has been making observations at Wintersett House and told her that I would be accompanied by my assistant. As you can see, she did not hesitate.”
Milly raised her brows. “Does Mr. Hardesty know that you have described him as such?”
“Not yet,” Caroline said. “I will explain it to him on the way to the séance this evening.”
“Now that promises to be a most entertaining conversation,” Milly said dryly. “A pity I will not be there to hear it.”
Caroline reached for a slice of toast. “Why do you say that?”
“Something tells me that Adam Hardesty is not accustomed to taking orders from anyone.”
At eight-thirty that evening Adam followed Caroline into the carriage and took the seat across from her.
“You told Irene Toller that I was your what?”
“My assistant,” she repeated calmly. “What else did you expect me to say? I did not think it wise to claim you as a distant relation for fear that we might stumble over some casual inquiry concerning our pasts and give ourselves away.”
“Surely you could have come up with a more elevated position for me.”
“I was afraid that any other explanation of your presence might convey the impression that you and I shared an acquaintance of an, uh, intimate nature.” She smiled very brightly. “I certainly did not want to embarrass you with that sort of suggestion.”
“I see.” His initial reaction to the news that he had been assigned the lowly role of assistant to a writer of sensation novels had been mild exasperation tempered by wry amusement. Discovering that Caroline had gone out of her way to ensure that no one mistook him for her lover, however, had a decidedly lowering effect on his spirits.
Evidently she had not responded to that kiss in the carriage yesterday quite the same way he had. The moment of surprising passion had left him with an abiding restlessness and a sense of longing that had only grown more intense with the passing of time.
Tonight Caroline looked enchantingly mysterious in the soft golden glow of the carriage lamps, he thought. Her gown was composed of an amber-colored bodice and reddish-brown skirts. The hem of the dress pooled around her feet. A tiny confection of a hat was tilted at a provocative angle on her gleaming hair.
He suddenly wished that they were not on their way to a séance. He wanted nothing more in that moment than to be en route to some snug, secluded room where they could be alone with a warm fire and a comfortable bed.
“I’m sorry if you are offended by the role I assigned you, sir,” she said briskly. “I thought it was a very clever notion.”
“It was certainly inventive,” he allowed.
She frowned. “You did leave the matter of arranging the details of the séance to me, if you will recall.”
“It seemed reasonable at the time. In hindsight, however, I cannot help but wonder if it was a rather glaring error in judgment.”
Her mouth twitched at the corners. “But surely you see that the position of assistant is the perfect cover for you. It will also ensure that you are not the object of gossip or rumor concerning your connection to me.”
So she was amused by her little joke, was she?
“As I said, it was creative.” He smiled coolly. “And I do appreciate your concern for my reputation. But as it happens, it was unnecessary for you to worry about embarrassing me.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“It would not have caused me any loss of sleep at all if you had chosen to imply that ours was an intimate connection.”
Her eyes widened. Her lips parted.
“Oh,” she said.
Satisfied that he had made her pay with a blush, he folded his arms. “What exactly does an assistant to a writer do?”
“I have no notion whatsoever,” she admitted. “I’ve never had one before.”
“Then I shall just have to make it up as I go along, won’t I?”
“Well, yes, I suppose so,” she said, obviously reluctant to place too much responsibility in his hands. “Now then, regarding the séance, you do realize that the sitters are expected to follow certain rules that are understood by everyone present, do you not?”
“Let me hazard a guess concerning séance etiquette. I’ll wager that no one is to question the effects produced by the medium, no matter how bizarre or outrageous they might be. Am I correct?”
“Quite correct.”
“Perhaps in my role as your research assistant, I could get away with striking a light or turning over the table to examine the fittings underneath,” he mused.
“Do not even consider it, sir.” She gave him a quelling look. “May I remind you that we are not attending the séance so that you can have the satisfaction of exposing the medium. We will be there for the sole purpose of providing you with a close look at Mrs. Toller and the interior plan of her house.”
He inclined his head. “Thank you for reminding me of my priorities in this affair.”
Irene Toller’s ho
use was located on a quiet street in a modest neighborhood. Adam noted that the upstairs and most of the ground floor were dark. A pale, eerie glow shone through the decorative glass panes above the door.
“Mrs. Toller evidently does not believe in wasting money on lighting,” he said to Caroline.
“Hers is a business that thrives in poor light.”
The housekeeper, a middle-aged woman of short stature and compact build, answered the door. She wore a dress of some dull, black fabric that lacked any hint of luster. A white apron and a cap completed her uniform.
“This way, please,” the woman said. “You are the last to arrive. The séance will begin shortly. You can pay me Mrs. Toller’s fee now.”
Adam caught a whiff of lavender scent. There was something vaguely familiar about the woman, he thought as he handed over the money. He did not recognize her face but he was certain that he knew her voice and the set of those sturdy shoulders.
It came to him as he followed her into the parlor. He gave Caroline a quick glance. She nodded, letting him know that she, too, recognized the woman.
Toller’s housekeeper had been the widow in heavy mourning at yesterday’s demonstration at Wintersett House; the one who had asked about the location of her late husband’s missing shares of stock. Evidently, in addition to her traditional duties, she worked as the medium’s assistant.
Adam followed Caroline into a small, overfurnished parlor. A fire warmed the hearth. A photograph of the queen dressed in mourning hung above the mantel.
Two of the other sitters were women of a certain age. They introduced themselves as Miss Brick and Mrs. Trent. Both were gray-haired and dressed in sensible woolen gowns.
The third person was a fidgety man of about thirty-five who gave his name as Gilbert Smith.
Smith had pale blue eyes and lank, nondescript reddish-blond hair that was almost the same color as his ruddy complexion. His coat, shirt, waistcoat and trousers were ordinary in terms of quality and cut.