Second Sight

by Amanda Quick

  Montrose opened his mouth in a manner that suggested that he was going to contradict that statement also. Gabriel shot him a silencing look.

  Montrose went back to his tea.

  “I will conduct the occasional meeting,” Gabriel explained to Edward. “Review the names of those who have been recommended for membership, establish committees to oversee various areas of research and so on and so forth.”

  “Oh.” Edward did not bother to conceal his disappointment. “That does sound quite boring.”

  “Yes, precisely,” Gabriel said.

  Venetia did not appear entirely convinced, he noticed. But then, she had seen the collection of relics and artifacts housed at Arcane House. He knew that she had been sensitive to the residual psychical energy emitted by some of them.

  Time to change the subject, he decided.

  “Due to events tonight, the situation has changed,” he said quietly. “I can no longer assume that this household is safe. The killer has made it plain that he is willing to use others as pawns in his scheme, and I cannot be here every minute of the day and night to protect you. I must be free to continue my investigation. Therefore, it will be necessary to take certain steps.”

  Venetia watched him warily. “What sort of steps?”

  “Tomorrow morning everyone in this household will pack for an extended stay in the country,” he said. “You will all take the afternoon train to a seaside village called Graymoor. That includes you, sir,” he added to Montrose. “I will send a telegram ahead. You will be met by people I know well who will identify themselves to you. They will convey you to a safe location.”

  Venetia stared at him, dumbfounded. “What on earth do you mean, sir?”

  “What about the gallery?” Amelia asked anxiously. “Venetia has several important sittings this week.”

  “Your shopgirl, Maud, will manage the gallery,” Gabriel said. “She can reschedule the sittings.”

  Edward bounced up and down in his chair. “I like trains. We took one when we came here to London. May I pack my kite, sir?”

  “Yes,” Gabriel said. He kept an eye on Venetia the way one keeps an eye on a volcano that is on the verge of erupting.

  “No,” she said. “That is impossible. Or, rather, I should say it is not possible for me to leave London. Beatrice, Amelia and Edward can be sent away for a time but I cannot cancel my sittings. Exclusive clients do not appreciate that sort of treatment. Furthermore, I have another exhibition next Tuesday night. It is the most important one to date.”

  He had known this was not going to be easy, Gabriel told himself.

  “We cannot take any more chances, Venetia,” he said. “Your safety and the safety of your family is our most important priority.”

  She straightened her shoulders. “I appreciate your concern, sir. And I agree completely that Edward, Amelia and Beatrice must be protected. But there is another priority that must be given equal consideration.”

  “What is that?” he asked.

  “The future of my professional career,” she said.

  “Damnation, where is your common sense? You cannot mean to put your business interests above your own safety.”

  “You do not comprehend, Mr. Jones,” she said. “Those sittings that you want me to cancel and that exhibition are crucial to my family’s financial security. You cannot expect me to walk away from my schedule. There is too much at stake.”

  He looked at her across the small space. “I understand the critical nature of your career. But your life is more important.”

  “I would appreciate it, Mr. Jones, if you would bear in mind certain facts.”

  “What facts?” He was very close to losing what little remained of his temper. He sensed that Venetia was struggling just as hard to hold on to hers.

  “After you have found your missing formula, you will likely disappear again, Mr. Jones,” she said. “Aunt Beatrice, Amelia and Edward and I will be on our own. To be blunt, sir, the profits from my photography commissions are all that stand between us and a life of desperation and poverty. I cannot put that future at risk. You must not ask me to do so.”

  “If it is money that concerns you, I will see to it that you do not sink into poverty in the future.”

  “We do not take charity, sir,” she said tightly. “Nor can we afford to be placed in the position of depending upon an income from a gentleman who has no strong connection to this family. We discovered the precariousness of that sort of situation after Father was killed.”

  Gabriel felt his temper flare. I am not your father, he wanted to shout. It took every ounce of willpower he possessed to keep his anger leashed.

  “I must insist that you go to the country with the others, Venetia,” he said in a tone that he knew was stone cold.

  She rose to her feet, clutching the lapels of her dressing gown, and faced him in the firelight.

  “Mr. Jones, may I remind you that you have no right to insist upon anything. You are a guest here, not the master of this house.”

  She might as well have slapped his face, he thought. Pain swept through him, mingling with the cold heat left over from the battle with the killer.

  He said nothing. He did not trust himself to say one damned word.

  No one else in the room stirred so much as a hair. He knew they were all shocked by the confrontation, uncertain what to say or how to react. Edward looked frightened.

  The silent battle raged for what seemed like an eternity but what in reality lasted only a few seconds.

  Without another word, Venetia turned and walked out into the hall. Gabriel listened to her footsteps. By the time she reached the stairs, she was in full flight. A moment later he heard the door of her bedroom slam shut.

  Everyone else in the parlor heard it, too. They all turned back to him.

  “Sir?” Edward asked uncertainly. “What about Venetia?”

  Amelia swallowed, visibly shaken. “I know her very well, sir. If she feels she must stay here in London, there will be nothing you can do to convince her otherwise.”

  “She is committed to taking care of this family, Mr. Jones,” Beatrice said quietly. “I fear you will never be able to dissuade her from what she views as her responsibilities, not even if her life is at risk.”

  He looked at each of them in turn.

  “I will take care of her,” he said.

  The tension eased. He knew that they had accepted the statement for the solemn vow that it was.

  “Everything will be all right, in that case,” Edward said.

  32

  GABRIEL SLUNG his overcoat around his shoulders like a cloak and let himself out into the fog-shrouded garden. He needed to move, to prowl, anything to work off the preternatural awareness and the restlessness that still heated his blood.

  It was as if the hunter inside him was expecting another villain to leap out of the shadows—perhaps even looking forward to another such encounter. He ached for release in the form of an act of violence or an act of passion; either would no doubt suffice. But neither was available to him, so he would pace.

  The argument with Venetia had only made an already untenable situation worse. He needed the darkness and the silence of the night to help him order his thoughts, soothe the savage beast and allow him to regain full control.

  Behind him the household was once again abed. It was also filled to the brim. He would be sharing the attic room with Montrose tonight.

  Montrose had insisted that he was perfectly capable of going home alone but he had been through an ordeal and Gabriel had been unwilling to put him at risk a second time. There was no telling what the killer would do next now that he had been thwarted.

  Gabriel moved off the small stone terrace and onto the little path that wound through the tiny garden. He had known from the outset that Venetia would be difficult to handle, he reminded himself. Indeed, he had welcomed the feminine challenge she presented. But deep down he had always assumed that in a toe-to-toe confrontation between them he could
impose his will on her.

  It was not male arrogance that had led him to that belief, he thought; not simply the fact that he was a man and she was a woman and therefore she would, in the end, submit. On the contrary, he had been certain that in a crisis she would obey him for the simple reason that she was quite intelligent and would realize he was trying to protect her.

  But he had failed to take into account the fact that she had her own responsibilities and obligations. He had blundered badly. The knowledge did not improve his mood.

  The kitchen door squeaked faintly.

  “Gabriel?” Venetia sounded tentative, as though she thought he might bite. “Are you all right?”

  He stopped and looked back at her through the fog. He wondered if she was viewing his aura. There was no way she could see him through the heavy vapor.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “I saw you from my bedroom window. I was afraid that you were leaving again.”

  Had that possibility genuinely worried her? he wondered.

  “I felt the need of some fresh air,” he said.

  She came toward him slowly, but she did not falter. She knew exactly where she was going. She must be viewing his aura, he thought, using it as a guide.

  “I was concerned,” she said. “You have been in a strange mood since you came home tonight. You are not yourself. That is only to be expected after what you went through at Mr. Montrose’s house.”

  Icy amusement flickered through him. “You are wrong, Venetia. I regret to inform you that I am, in fact, very much myself tonight. Too much so, unfortunately.”

  She stopped a short distance away. “I don’t understand.”

  “It would be best if you went back to bed.”

  She came a little closer. He could see that she was still garbed in the cozy dressing gown she had put on earlier. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself.

  “Tell me what is wrong,” she said, surprisingly gentle.

  “You know what is wrong.”

  “I realize that you are annoyed with me because I will not agree to leave London tomorrow but I do not believe that is the only reason for your present state. Is it your nerves? Are they overwrought because of the dreadful encounter this evening?”

  He gave a short, sharp laugh. “My nerves. Yes. That is no doubt as logical an explanation as any other.”

  “Gabriel, please. Tell me why you are acting like this.”

  The wall inside him crumbled without warning. Perhaps it was because he wanted her so badly or perhaps it was because his self-control had been pushed to the limit tonight. Whatever the case, he’d had his fill of keeping certain secrets.

  “Damn it to hell and back,” he said. “You say you want the truth? Then you shall have it.”

  She said nothing.

  “What you are witnessing is an aspect of my nature that I have spent my entire adult life attempting to conceal. Most of the time I am successful. Tonight, however, during the battle in Montrose’s house, the creature escaped from its cage for a time. It will take me a while to get it back under lock and key.”

  “Creature? What on earth are you talking about?”

  “Tell me, Venetia, are you acquainted with the work of Mr. Darwin?”

  There was a moment of acute silence. The fog grew colder around him.

  “Somewhat,” she finally said very carefully. “My father was fascinated with Mr. Darwin’s notions of natural selection and talked about them at some length. But I am certainly no scientist.”

  “Neither am I. But I have studied Darwin’s works and the writings of others who echo his thoughts on the subject of what he termed ‘descent with modification.’ There is a compelling logic and simplicity to the theory.”

  “My father used to say that is the hallmark of all great insights.”

  “Most of the members of the Arcane Society are convinced that paranormal talents represent latent senses in mankind that should be studied, researched and encouraged in our species. In cases such as your ability to see auras, perhaps they are right. Where is the harm in viewing an aura?”

  “What is your point?”

  “I, too, possess certain paranormal senses.”

  He waited for her reaction. It was not long in coming.

  “I suspected as much,” she said. “I sensed the energy in you when we were…together at Arcane House and then again in the carriage tonight. And I remembered how you could make out those two men in the woods three months ago. I noticed how you made your way out of the garden earlier this evening. It was as if you could see in the dark.”

  “You sensed my psychical abilities?”

  “Yes. They are the talents that allow you to move through the night with the ease of a hunting cat, are they not?”

  He stilled. “The phrase hunting cat is more accurate than you can possibly know. Beast of prey is a better term. When I employ my psychical senses, I become another kind of creature altogether, Venetia.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What if the paranormal senses such as the kind I possess are not new characteristics brought about by the forces of natural selection, but rather just the opposite?”

  She took a step forward. “No, Gabriel, you must not talk like that.”

  “What if my ability to detect the psychical spoor of others of our kind who are bent on violence is actually some atavistic sense that is, in fact, in the process of being weeded out of our species by the great forces of natural selection? What if I am some sort of throwback to something that does not belong in this modern age. What if I am a monster?”

  “Stop it, do you hear me?” She closed the space between them in a single stride. “You will not speak such nonsense. You are not a monster. You are a man. If possessing paranormal abilities makes one a beast, then I, too, am somehow less than human. Do you believe that?”

  “No.”

  “Then your logic is faulty, is it not?”

  “You do not understand what happens to me when I employ my psychical senses.”

  “Gabriel, I admit that I do not pretend to comprehend the precise nature of our metaphysical abilities. But what is so odd about that? I do not understand how it is that I can see, hear, taste, or smell, either. I do not know why or how I dream nor do I know what is going on inside my brain when I read a book or listen to music. I cannot even explain why I take pleasure in my photography. What is more, the scientists and philosophers cannot give me the answers, either—at least not yet.”

  “Yes, but everyone can do those things that you describe.”

  “That is not true. Some do not possess one or more senses and certainly no two people employ their senses in the same way or to the same degree. We all know that two people may look at the same picture or eat the same food or smell the same flower and each will describe the experience differently.”

  “I am different.”

  “We are all different in some way. What is so strange about the notion that some psychical senses are merely more acute versions of the normal senses that we already possess?”

  She did not understand, he thought.

  “Tell me, Venetia, when you employ your paranormal senses, do you pay a price?” he asked quietly.

  She hesitated. “I hadn’t thought about it in quite that way, but, yes, I suppose I do.”

  That stopped him for a moment. “What does it cost you?”

  “When I concentrate to view a person’s aura, my other senses grow dim,” she said quietly. “The world around me seems to lose color. It is like looking at the negative of a photograph. If I try to move it is like walking through a landscape where all the light and shadows are reversed. It is disorienting, to say the least.”

  “What I experience is far more disturbing.”

  “Tell me what it is that concerns you about your psychical senses,” she said as calmly as though they were discussing an interesting bit of natural history lore.

  He shoved one hand through his hair, searching for the words. He had never d
iscussed this with anyone except Caleb, and then only in an oblique manner that had left much unsaid by both of them.

  “When I encounter the fresh taint of violence, it is as though I have consumed a powerful drug,” he said slowly. “A predatory lust is unleashed inside me. It is as if I am compelled to hunt.”

  “You say it is the spoor of violence that arouses this sensation?”

  He nodded. “I can use my psychical senses without arousing the hunting lust but when I encounter the psychical traces of another who is intent on violence, a dark passion threatens to consume me. If I had caught the man who came into Montrose’s house tonight, I could have killed him without hesitation. The only reason I would have allowed him to live was because I wanted answers from him. That is wrong. I am supposed to be a modern, civilized man.”

  “He was the beast, not you. You were engaged in a fight for your life and the life of Mr. Montrose. It is no wonder that your strongest emotions were aroused.”

  “They are not civilized emotions. They come upon me like a dark passion. What if someday I am unable to control the sensation? What if I become like the man in Montrose’s house?”

  “You have nothing in common with him,” she said, startlingly fierce.

  “I fear you are wrong,” he said quietly. “I think he and I may have a great deal in common. He could see as well as I can in the dark and he was very, very quick in his movements. What is more, he knew enough about my abilities to lay a clever trap for me by leaving a false trail through the house for me to follow. He and I are two of a kind, Venetia.”

  She reached up and caught his face between her palms. “Gabriel, tell me, after that man fled, did you feel the urge to seek another’s death?”

  The question made no sense to him. “What?”

  “Your prey escaped. Did you feel an impulse to find another victim?”

  Baffled, he shook his head once. “The hunt was over.”

  “You did not fear that you would harm Mr. Montrose while you were still in the grip of this predatory lust you described?”

  “Why the devil would I want to hurt Montrose?”

  She smiled in the shadows. “A wild beast would not distinguish between his victims while under the influence of his baser instincts. Only a civilized man does that.”