by Amanda Quick
He took his gun out of the pocket of his coat and went quietly along the hall. Edmund followed close behind.
The voice grew louder as they approached the last bedroom on the left. A cold draft of air whispered from the room. Someone had opened a window.
“. . . I have been poisoned, you see. That is why I can talk to ghosts. Hulsey has murdered me. He blames me for her death. Really, how was I to know . . . ?”
The words were spoken in an eerily normal, conversational fashion, the same tone that a man might have employed in his club to comment upon the weather.
“. . . It wasn’t as though I had any choice. Not after Jones got involved. There was no telling, you see. No telling what the apothecary knew. No telling what Hulsey might have said to her . . .”
Caleb stopped at the open door of the last bedroom and flattened himself against the wall. Edmund drifted past, a silent shadow, and took up a post on the opposite side of the doorway.
Caleb looked into the room. A man sat in a reading chair in front of a cold hearth. His legs were casually crossed at the knee, his elbows propped on the arms of the chair. He put his fingers together and spoke to the swath of moonlight that sliced through the open casement window.
“. . . Looking back, it was a great mistake to bring him into the Circle. Should have known better. But I was convinced I’d need his talent, you see. Didn’t know about the insanity in the family, of course. Would never have agreed to make him a member if I’d been aware of that, I can assure you . . .”
Motioning Edmund to remain out of sight, Caleb lowered the gun to the side of his leg and moved into the room.
“Good evening, Thaxter,” he said, keeping his voice very even and unthreatening. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“What’s this?” Thaxter turned his head, showing mild surprise but no alarm. “I say, are you another ghost, sir?”
“Not yet,” Caleb said. He walked into the patch of moonlight and stopped. “My name is Jones. We have met.”
Thaxter peered intently at him and then nodded. “Yes, of course,” he said in the same too-casual tones. “Caleb Jones. I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Have you, sir? Why is that?”
“I knew you would show up sooner or later.” Thaxter tapped the side of his head with a forefinger. “Those of us with talent can sense these things. But I expect you know that as well as I do. You are a man of considerable power, yourself. Well, it is too late now, I’m afraid. I’ve been poisoned, you see.”
“By the founder’s formula.”
“Nonsense. By Dr. Basil Hulsey. Gave me a fresh supply of the drug last night, you see. Told me it would be far more stable than the previous version. Don’t mind saying I’d been having a few problems with the old one. We all have.”
“Hulsey gave you a new version of the formula?”
“Yes, indeed.” Thaxter moved one hand impatiently. “It transpired that he was most upset because we removed Daykin. But, really, what else could one do? It was his own fault.”
“How is that?”
“Hulsey should never have taken the fern from Miss Bromley’s conservatory and made the poison for Daykin. That brought you into the situation. There was a risk that you would eventually find your way to the apothecary. It was obvious she had to be removed. Didn’t tell Hulsey but of course he found out immediately.”
Caleb remembered the photograph in Daykin’s rooms. “Daykin and Hulsey were lovers. She was the mother of his son. Hulsey poisoned you to avenge her death.”
“Should have known better than to become involved with someone of Hulsey’s background and station. That sort tend to be unreliable. They don’t know their place. Problem is, Hulsey’s combination of talent and skill is extremely rare. Not like one can just trot down to the workhouse and hire a scientist with psychical abilities, now is it?”
“You didn’t murder Daykin, did you, Thaxter? You sent Allister Norcross to do it for you.”
“That was his talent. The reason I agreed to bring him into the Circle. Knew he’d be useful to have around.”
“You weren’t concerned about his background?”
“Of course not. Norcross was a gentleman. As I said, I wasn’t aware of the streak of insanity. Well, what’s done is done, eh? We all make mistakes.” He pulled out a gold pocket watch and studied it closely. “Not much time left, I see.”
“Where is Hulsey?” Caleb asked.
“What’s that?” Thaxter sounded distracted. He pushed himself up out of his chair and went to the chest of drawers that stood near the open window. “Hulsey? He and his son stopped by earlier tonight. Said something about wanting to see how the experiment was progressing. Evidently the poison takes a couple of days to kill. Hulsey explained he wanted me to have some time to think before I went on to the Other Side.”
“Hulsey and his son were here tonight?”
“Took all my journals and records with them when they left. Told you, that sort can’t be trusted.”
“Do you know where they went?”
“Expect you’ll find them in that laboratory of theirs over in Slater Lane. Hulsey practically lives there. Well, I must be going. Entire project is a failure. One doesn’t survive such disasters when one is a member of the Order of the Emerald Tablet. That has been made quite clear.”
“Tell me about the Order,” Caleb said.
“The Order is for gentlemen and there is only one proper way out for a gentleman in a situation like this, isn’t there?”
Thaxter reached into the drawer.
“No, damn you.” Caleb launched himself across the room.
But fast as he was, he wasn’t quite fast enough. Thaxter took the pistol out of the bureau, put it to his temple and pulled the trigger in one swift, efficient move.
Miniature lightning flashed in the darkness. The roar of the gun was deafening.
And then there was only the acute and sudden silence of death.
THIRTY-NINE
THE LABORATORY HAD BEEN STRIPPED OF ANY VALUABLE instruments or notebooks that it might once have contained. All that remained was some shattered glass and a few bottles of common, readily obtainable chemicals.
“Hulsey and his son would have been in a great hurry to disappear after they gave Thaxter and Norcross the poisoned drug,” Edmund said.
Caleb turned up the lamp and studied the chaotic scene. “Something died in here quite recently.”
“There’s a cage at the back of the room.” Edmund walked forward cautiously, nose wrinkling in disgust. “Rats. Half a dozen of them.” He turned away. “Well, it appears that the Jones agency has two mad scientists to track down now.”
“Both of whom will no doubt soon be looking for someone to finance their research. That is the thing about science. It is impossible to pursue it without money. Sooner or later Hulsey will find a new patron. When he does, we will find him.”
“It strikes me that you will be needing assistance in tracking down Hulsey and his son and the other members of the Cabal.”
“You do not need to remind me of the enormity of the project that lies ahead,” Caleb growled.
“I would just like to take this opportunity to let you know that I stand ready to offer my professional services to your firm at any time in the future.”
“This isn’t an employment agency, Fletcher.”
“Right.” Edmund cleared his throat. “Just thought I’d mention it. What do we do now?”
“Search the place. The last time Hulsey was forced to flee, he left behind some of his papers. With luck he might have left us something that will tell us where he went.”
“I wonder if he had Miss Bromley’s fern here,” Edmund said, looking around. “I see no sign of it.”
“I will bring Lucinda here immediately. She may be able to find some evidence of a botanical nature.”
“I doubt that there will be anything for her to discover.”
Caleb crossed the room to the cage. He looked at the motionless bodies of the six
rats inside.
“I’m not so certain of that,” he said.
“MY AMELIOPTERIS AMAZONENSIS was here,” Lucinda said, fuming. “I can sense it. That nasty little thief Dr. Hulsey took it with him when he cleared out the laboratory. That makes twice that he has stolen it.”
“The rats, Lucinda,” Caleb said patiently.
With a sigh, she crossed the room to the cage and contemplated the dead rats. Her senses shivered. She pulled her cloak around herself.
“He fed them the same poisoned version of the drug that you found in the snuffboxes that Lord Thaxter and Allister Norcross carried,” she said. “He must have tested it on the rats first to make sure it would kill.”
“Hulsey wanted to be certain of his revenge,” Caleb said.
FORTY
“I BROUGHT THE NEW VERSION OF THE DRUG WITH ME, sir.” Hulsey produced a packet from the depths of his rumpled coat. He put it on the workbench. “Thought Mr. Norcross would drop around the laboratory this morning to collect it but when he didn’t show up, I decided to deliver it myself. I know you are unable to leave your house these days.”
Ellerbeck looked at the packet, trying to fight his rising sense of despair. Allister had left two nights ago saying that he intended to follow Caleb Jones. He had not returned.
Something had gone terribly wrong, Ellerbeck thought, but he had no means of making inquiries. Allister had been the one who brought him news of the outside world. There was little he could do now that he was alone. He dared not risk contacting Scotland Yard to inquire if the body of a certain gentleman had been discovered on the streets of London. He certainly could not contact the Jones agency for assistance.
Ellerbeck had racked his brain but he could not think of anything that his son had carried on his person that would lead anyone back to his home in Ransley Square. If Allister was, indeed, dead, it was likely that the first news of it would come in the form of a report in the press of the mysterious death of an unidentified man.
“You’re certain this new version will work?” he said to Hulsey.
“Yes, indeed, sir.” Hulsey bobbed his head. “The rats are thriving. There appear to be no ill effects whatsoever. I assure you that you’ll be feeling much better in a day or two. Try it. You’ll see what I mean. Very stimulating stuff and ever so much more stable.”
Ellerbeck picked up the packet and opened it. He took a pinch and examined it closely, trying to assess it with what was left of his talent before he inhaled. He was aware of strong energies but that was all. The problem was that his senses were so badly warped now that he could no longer detect the nuances of botanical currents.
“It appears to be much more potent,” he said. A tiny spark of hope leaped inside him. Maybe it was not too late.
“Yes, indeed,” Hulsey said. “I can also assure you that in this new form it will keep much longer.”
“How long?”
“Oh, a month or two, I should think.” Hulsey surveyed the conservatory with great enthusiasm. “I say, very interesting collection you have here, sir. Mind if I stroll around and have a look?”
“Some other time,” Ellerbeck said curtly. “I’m not feeling at all well today. I’m not disposed to give tours.”
Hulsey flinched at the rebuff but recovered quickly. “Yes, of course, sir. Sorry, sir. Didn’t mean to presume.”
Ellerbeck inhaled a pinch of the powder. Nothing left to lose.
A diamond-sharp awareness blossomed inside him, driving out his anxiety. Power surged across his senses. For the first time in weeks he could feel the full force of the shifting currents that flooded the conservatory. Euphoria gripped him. Not too late, after all.
He would not only survive, he would become the most powerful member of the Order. According to Stilwell’s notes, the drug had the potential to revive a man’s potency and vigor. Stilwell had believed that it had the power to add a couple of decades to a normal life span. He would have time, he thought, to father more sons—healthy offspring—to take the place of Allister.
“You’re right, Hulsey,” he whispered, fighting to contain the sheer ecstasy that was flushing out his clogged senses. “It appears to be quite effective.”
“Yes, sir. As promised, sir.” Hulsey cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind, Mr. Ellerbeck, I’m afraid I must request my wages. Expenses have been quite high in the laboratory lately, what with all the new ingredients needed to perfect the formula.”
Disdain shafted through Ellerbeck, followed by amusement. “You may be a brilliant scientist, Hulsey, but Thaxter is right. You really are a shopkeeper at heart, aren’t you? Just like the apothecary.”
“Yes, sir.” Behind the lenses of his eyeglasses, Hulsey’s eyes glittered. “Just like the apothecary.”
FORTY-ONE
CALEB LOUNGED AGAINST A WORKBENCH IN LUCINDA’S conservatory and watched her examine the underside of a fern frond with a small instrument. It always gave him pleasure to see her at work here in her cheerful little jungle, he thought. The energy around her was so invigorating. Then again, he got similarly invigorated just watching her drink her morning coffee. Hell, all he had to do was think about her and he got invigorated.
“What the devil is that?” he asked.
“Gymnogramma triangularis,” she said, not looking up. “Gold fern.”
“Not the fern, the instrument you are using to examine it. Looks like a little spyglass.”
“It’s a folding brass linen prover. Those in the cloth trade use such devices to count the number of threads in a square of cloth. Very handy for looking at fern spores. One can carry it around in a pocket. Mr. Marcus E. Jones recommends it highly in his book Ferns of the West.”
He smiled. “Is that so?”
She paused, a thoughtful expression on her face. “I wonder if he is a relation of yours?”
“Marcus E. Jones? I don’t think so.”
“Pity,” she said. “He is a very well-respected pteridologist, you know.”
“Jones is a common name.”
“Yes,” she said, “it is. So common, in fact, that a firm that specializes in a field as unusual as psychical investigations might want a more striking name than, say, Jones and Company.”
“I disagree. The name, as it stands, provides a degree of anonymity that I think will prove very useful in the future.”
“Hmm.” She went back to peering through her glass again. “Any news on Hulsey?”
“Nothing, damn it. He and his son have disappeared. They’ll no doubt be looking for new patrons soon.”
“Not if word gets out that they poisoned their last financial backers.”
“With luck, it won’t. I told Gabe about the poison that was given to Thaxter and Norcross but he has decided not to inform the Council. He’s convinced there are other highly placed members of the Society who are involved in the Cabal. Doesn’t want to warn them that Hulsey might be a somewhat unreliable employee.”
“So the case of the poisoned formula becomes yet another deep, dark agency secret?”
“At this rate it is going to be difficult to keep an account of all the secrets of the Jones agency.”
Lucinda paused again, the little glass poised in midair. “Hmm.”
“What?” he asked.
“I wonder if Dr. Hulsey and his son are using the formula.”
“Good question. I’ve got one, myself.”
“Yes?” she prompted.
“I keep thinking about the third snuffbox.”
“What do you mean? Thaxter must have given it to Hulsey. He will have absconded with it even if he wasn’t using it to keep a supply of the drug. After all, it was quite valuable, and Hulsey appears to be always in need of money.”
“Maybe,” Caleb said.
She beetled her brows. “You never say maybe, Caleb Jones. When it comes to assessing possibilities and probabilities, you always give numerical answers.”
“Sometimes.”
She cast her eyes up toward the roof of the conse
rvatory in a silent plea for patience. “Well then, do you think Hulsey and his son have left London?”
“I’m almost ninety-nine percent certain that if they have left, it will be a temporary hiatus.”
“Why temporary?”
“It would be difficult to find the kind of patrons they require in the wilds of Scotland or Wales. The problem is that the Jones agency isn’t a police force, damn it. I don’t have hundreds of agents to send out to scour the streets, let alone the countryside. And it is not as though I don’t have other cases to see to. Got a new one this morning, in fact.”
She looked up quickly, her eyes bright with interest. “Does it involve poison?”
Her enthusiasm was gratifying.
“I’m afraid not. Evidently someone endowed with a fair degree of talent is posing as a medium.”
“What is so unusual about that? There must be several thousand people posing as mediums in London these days. They’re all frauds.”
“This one actually possesses some talent.”
Lucinda gave a ladylike sniff. “Well, she certainly isn’t using it to contact spirits in the Other World. That is quite impossible. Anyone who claims to speak with the dead is an out-and-out charlatan.”
“Apparently this medium is supplying her own ghosts.”
“What do you mean?”
“The client is convinced that the medium murdered one of the members of her séance group. The victim is certainly dead, so I agreed to look into the situation.”
Lucinda pocketed the little glass and looked at him. “You don’t have time to investigate every case personally, Caleb Jones. You are going to have to learn how to delegate. In addition, we really must build up a roster of agents who can be brought in to assist in various investigations.”
He looked at her.
“We?” he repeated carefully.
“I’ve decided to accept your offer of a partnership.” She smiled serenely. “Provided, of course, that my name will also go on the firm’s cards.”
“If you think for one minute I’m going to order a supply of calling cards with Bromley and Jones imprinted on each one—”