Second Sight

by Amanda Quick

  “I didn’t realize we had visitors,” Beatrice said.

  Marjorie turned toward her. “My deepest apologies for intruding on you at such an early hour. We took the liberty, being family. I do hope you don’t mind.”

  “Family?” Beatrice peered at her through her glasses. “Perhaps you have the wrong address.”

  “Yes,” Venetia said in rather desperate tones. “Wrong address. That’s what this is all about. Some sort of dreadful mix-up.”

  Everyone ignored her.

  “There’s just the four of us, my sisters and my aunt and me,” Edward explained to Marjorie. “We don’t have any other family.” He glanced quickly at Gabriel. “Not a real family, that is.”

  Hippolyte ruffled Edward’s hair with one large hand.

  “I have news for you, young man,” he said. “You’ve got a lot more family now. And I assure you, we’re very real.”

  36

  WE HAVE A DISASTER on our hands.” Venetia stalked to the far end of the small study. When she found herself confronted with a bookcase, she whirled around and started back in the direction from which she had just come. “A complete disaster.”

  Gabriel watched her from a chair near the window, calculating how to deal with the situation. The household had quieted down now that his parents had left to return to the town house, but Venetia’s mood was dangerously volatile. He elected to try reason and logic.

  “Look on the positive side,” he suggested.

  She threw him a scathing glare. “There is no positive side.”

  “Only consider, my sweet. There is no longer any need to send Beatrice, Amelia, Edward and Montrose out of town. I spoke with my father when I saw the carriage off a short time ago. I explained to him what had happened. He and I agreed that we will all move into the town house and stay there until this affair of the formula is concluded.”

  She was aghast. “You intend for us to move into your parents’ house?”

  “Everyone will be quite safe, I assure you,” he said. “As my father noted, there is a large staff to keep an eye on things. The servants have all been with my parents forever. They are loyal and well trained. You could not ask for better guards.”

  That gave her pause. He was not surprised. The safety of her family was, after all, of paramount importance to her.

  “But what about us?” She clasped her hands behind her back and continued pacing. “Your parents believe that we are married. You heard your mother. She is planning a reception, for heaven’s sake.”

  He extended his legs and regarded the toes of his boots. “I will break the news to my parents this afternoon. They will understand that the strategy of pretending to be married was necessary.”

  She frowned. “I’m not so certain of that.”

  “Trust me, my father is very keen on recovering the missing formula. He will accept whatever strategy is necessary.”

  “He also appeared quite keen on the notion of you getting married. So did your mother.”

  He shrugged. “I will deal with them.”

  She did another circuit of the room and then collapsed into the chair behind the desk.

  “Talk about weaving a tangled web,” she said, drumming her fingers.

  He smiled. “Fortunately, your family and mine are quite expert when it comes to keeping secrets.”

  37

  WHAT THE DEVIL do you mean, you aren’t married to Mrs. Jones?” Hippolyte came to a halt in the middle of the park and swung around to confront Gabriel. “You’re living in her house as her husband. Your mother and I were informed that the two of you are going about in public as a respectably married couple.”

  In spite of the assurance that he had given to Venetia, he had known that this was not going to go smoothly, Gabriel reminded himself.

  He had invited Hippolyte to accompany him on a walk in the park for the conversation. He knew his father well enough to expect fireworks when the news concerning the fake marriage was delivered. He was not disappointed. Hippolyte gave every indication of being about to burst into flames.

  “I am aware of how the situation appears, sir,” Gabriel said.

  “I demand to know what is going on here, Gabe. Your mother will be shocked to her heels when she discovers that you are posing as Mrs. Jones’s husband.”

  “I had hoped to have this entire affair behind me before you and Mother returned from Italy.”

  “Did you, indeed?”

  “Allow me to explain.”

  He gave Hippolyte a rapid summary of events. His father’s expression moved through a range of emotions, beginning with outrage and ending in astonishment.

  “Good lord,” Hippolyte said, reluctantly fascinated. “Didn’t think that black eye you’re sporting was the result of walking into a door in the dark.”

  “Well, it was quite dark and there were some doors.”

  Hippolyte sat down on a nearby bench and clenched both hands around the handle of his walking stick. “You think that this Mrs. Fleming and some unknown person with talents similar to your own are involved in the theft of the formula?”

  “Yes.” Gabriel sat down, leaned forward and clasped his hands loosely between his knees. “I have not been able to deduce how Mrs. Fleming and her associate learned of the formula, let alone why someone sent two men to try to steal the strongbox. I plan to continue my inquiries, but meanwhile I must be certain that Venetia and her family as well as Montrose are safe.”

  “We will see to that by moving them into the town house,” Hippolyte said. “No need to worry on that account. Once the house is secure it will be as good as a fortress.”

  “I could also use your assistance, sir.”

  “Could you now?” Hippolyte looked pleased. “What would you have me do?”

  “Mrs. Fleming must know who I am but I think it highly unlikely that she has ever met you. I was going to follow her about today, perhaps see if there is a way to get into her town house and have a look around.”

  “Ah,” Hippolyte said, enthusiasm brightening his green eyes. “You want me to play the spy for you?”

  “It would give me an opportunity to make some inquiries in another area.”

  “What other direction?”

  “I have been doing a great deal of thinking since the encounter with the intruder in Montrose’s house last night. What do you know about Lord Ackland?”

  “Not a great deal.” Hippolyte pondered briefly. “He moved in Society years ago, back when I was courting your mother. We met at some of the same balls and soirees and we belonged to some of the same clubs. Don’t believe he ever married.”

  “Is there any possibility that he might have been a member of the Arcane Society or closely connected to someone who is a member?”

  “Good lord, no,” Hippolyte said, very certain. “The man was not at all the scholarly sort. He was a notorious gambler and a rakehell in his younger days. Last I heard he had succumbed to senility and was on his deathbed.”

  “People keep telling me that.”

  38

  WHY THE SUDDEN interest in Lord Ackland?” Venetia asked.

  She sat across from Gabriel in an unlit cab, watching the street in front of Ackland’s mansion. The windows on the ground floor of the big house were illuminated but the curtains were drawn tightly shut. Outside, a thick fog reflected the glow of the streetlamps, creating an eerie, otherworldly atmosphere.

  Venetia was dressed in the masculine attire that she had worn to the Janus Club. She and Gabriel had been sitting in the motionless cab for nearly an hour. She was quite certain that both the horse and the driver had dozed off some time ago.

  “We have been assuming that he is Mrs. Fleming’s unwitting dupe in this affair,” Gabriel said. “A source of money and an entrée into Society. But Harrow and my father have both told me that they were under the impression that as of a few months ago, Ackland was not only losing his mind but gravely ill.”

  “What are you thinking?” she asked.

  “In the
course of the conversation in the park with my father this afternoon, it occurred to me that perhaps Ackland’s newfound stamina might be due to more than Mrs.Fleming’s therapeutic influence.”

  A chill that had nothing to do with the fog tingled across her nerves. “Are you implying that someone may be posing as Lord Ackland?”

  “When you consider it, masquerading as a doddering old fool in the thrall of a lovely schemer is excellent camouflage, is it not?”

  “But if he isn’t the real Lord Ackland, who is he and how did he come to take Ackland’s place?”

  “One question at a time,” Gabriel said. “We don’t know for certain yet that the man living in that house is a fraud. That is what I wish to ascertain this evening. With any luck at all, he will leave to visit the charming Mrs. Fleming for a few hours or perhaps go to his club. If he does, I am hoping that you will have an opportunity to view his aura.”

  “You think I have seen it before?” she asked uneasily.

  “Yes.”

  “One of my photography clients, perhaps?”

  “Hush,” Gabriel whispered. “The lights are going out inside the house. Ackland is either heading upstairs to bed or leaving for the evening.”

  She turned back to the mansion. The front door opened. The only remaining light was the gasolier in the front hall. Ackland was silhouetted briefly in its glare. Then he turned down the lamp and tottered out onto the steps, cane in hand. He paused to close the door before he made his slow, unsteady way down to the street.

  When he reached the pavement, he blew a whistle. A hansom appeared in response. It came briskly around the corner, heading toward Ackland.

  Venetia realized that in another few seconds the vehicle would be between Ackland and herself, blocking her view.

  She concentrated, letting everything inside her go still. The dark, fog-bound world became a negative photographic image. Across from her Gabriel’s powerful, controlled aura pulsed darkly. She was also vaguely aware of the aura of the driver of the oncoming hansom. It danced in an erratic pattern that made her suspect that he had been drinking.

  She focused on the hunched figure of Ackland, who was leaning heavily on his walking stick while he waited for the hansom to stop.

  Ghostly energy seethed around him—intense, disturbing shades of darkness that had no names but made her blood freeze.

  “Venetia?” Gabriel said softly.

  She blinked, drew a deep, steadying breath and returned to her normal vision. The hansom had halted in front of Ackland. He clambered heavily up into the narrow confines of the cab. The vehicle set off down the street.

  Gabriel leaned forward and wrapped his fingers around her wrist. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” she managed. She realized she was shivering. “Yes, I’m all right.”

  “He’s the killer, isn’t he?” Gabriel asked. There was the certainty of the hunter that has sighted prey in every word. “The one you saw fleeing the darkroom where Harold Burton drank the cyanide-laced brandy.”

  She clasped her hands very tightly together. “Yes.”

  “Ackland was at the reception with Mrs. Fleming that night. The two of them left before Burton disappeared. But Ackland could easily have returned to the exhibition hall using the stairs that descend into the alley at the side of the building.”

  “He must have arranged to meet Burton in the darkroom,” Venetia said.

  “I suspect that Ackland or whoever is playing the role was Burton’s mysterious wealthy client, the one who paid him to follow you about and keep track of the people you met.”

  “What are we going to do now? We have no proof of any of this.”

  Gabriel released her. He leaned back in the seat and studied the dark mansion with a thoughtful expression.

  “No servants,” he said finally.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “We have here a very large house and an obviously infirm old man living in it; a wealthy old man, at that. Yet there is no one to see him out the door, turn off the lights or summon a cab.”

  She examined the big, fog-shrouded house. “Perhaps he gave the staff the night off.”

  “I think it is more likely that he does not allow his servants to remain in the house at night because he fears they might discover his secrets,” Gabriel said.

  He unlatched the carriage door.

  Alarmed, she put her hand on his arm. “What are you doing?”

  He glanced down at his sleeve, as though surprised to see her touching him. “I am going to see if I can get inside that house and have a look around.”

  “You mustn’t.”

  “I will never get a better opportunity.” He made to move past her. “I will instruct the driver to take you straight to my parents’ house and see you safely inside.”

  “Gabriel, I do not like this.”

  “This business must be concluded as swiftly as possible.”

  He paused long enough to kiss her hard on the mouth, and then he vaulted lightly down to the pavement.

  He closed the door, spoke briefly to the driver and glided away into the deep shadows of the night.

  Venetia looked back as the cab rolled off down the street. She could not see any trace of Gabriel, not even his aura. He had vanished like smoke into the mist.

  39

  GETTING INSIDE THE MANSION required breaking a small, square pane of glass in the back door. He knew that when the shards were discovered the man who called himself Lord Ackland would realize that there had been an intruder but that could not be helped.

  The interior of the house was drenched in darkness but virtually every surface, every doorknob and every banister held the residual taint of one who was capable of killing.

  The disturbing psychical pulses excited his own paranormal abilities, heightening his senses. He was intensely aware of his surroundings. His hearing and eyesight sharpened as he moved down the hall.

  His sense of smell was more sensitive, too. He caught a strong whiff of dampness underscored by an unpleasant odor of rotting vegetation. The mansion smelled like a swamp. The odor was not emanating from the kitchen. Perhaps one of the bathrooms had been allowed to grow dank and moldy.

  He took a quick look around the kitchen but there was nothing of interest there or in the adjoining pantry. He went along the main hall and discovered the drawing room. The furniture was draped in dustcovers.

  A short time later he discovered that the same was true of the library. There were only a handful of old books on the shelves. The drawers in the desk were empty.

  It was as if Ackland lived here as a ghost.

  Between the weak streetlight filtering through the windows in the stairwell and his own psychically enhanced vision, he did not need to strike a light to climb the stairs.

  The unpleasant dampness and the rotting odor grew stronger as he neared the landing. He sniffed experimentally and caught the scent of earth and something else. Dead fish.

  Deeply curious now, he followed the noxious vapors down the hall and stopped in front of a closed door. There was no doubt in his mind that the foul smell was coming from the other side of the door. It was vaguely familiar. A memory from his youth floated through his head.

  The place smelled like a giant aquarium, he thought; one that had gone bad.

  He opened the door slowly and found himself standing in what had once no doubt served as the master bedroom.

  Large, elaborately designed Wardian cases stood on workbenches around the room. Through the glass domes of the cases he could see a variety of miniature landscapes. Ferns appeared to be the dominant form of plant life.

  There were other things inside the cases.

  Something skittered behind the glass of the nearest case. When he drew closer he caught the glint of cold, glittering, inhuman eyes watching him.

  The fraudulent Ackland evidently fancied himself a naturalist.

  He turned back to the aquarium. It was by far the largest he had ever seen, almost a small pond.

/>   The heavily reinforced tank was fronted on one side by thick glass. Even with his psychical vision he could not see into the depths. He struck a light and held it aloft. Two small dead fish floated just below the surface.

  No matter how he angled the light, he could not see more than an inch or so into the water because the tank was choked with aquatic plants. They formed a veritable jungle and created a leafy canopy on the surface.

  He put out the light and looked around. A desk was positioned near the window. Books filled a nearby bookcase. Unlike the volumes downstairs, these were dust-free and well used. When he got closer, he could read the titles on the spines. He recognized a number of natural history texts and Darwin’s On the Origin of Species. If Ackland had any other secrets they would be in this room, he thought. He began a methodical search for a safe or other secure hiding place.

  He had just pulled up the corner of a suspiciously positioned carpet when he heard the faint sound downstairs.

  Someone had opened a door.

  40

  VENETIA STUMBLED THROUGH the rear doorway of the mansion. Her wrists ached from being bound so tightly behind her. She had to fight off the panic generated by the gag that threatened to choke her.

  The man who had kidnapped her at gunpoint out of the carriage had identified himself as John Stilwell, but he still wore the white wig, false whiskers and old-fashioned attire that made up his disguise as Lord Ackland.

  Unlike Ackland, Stilwell was a man in his prime, fit and powerful. He had used a gun to force the carriage driver to halt earlier but Venetia had also glimpsed a knife tucked away in a special sheath beneath his coat.

  He pushed Venetia ahead of him into the hall. She lost her footing and sprawled on the floor.

  “My apologies, Mrs. Jones. Forgot you cannot see in the dark as well as your devoted husband and myself.”

  Stilwell turned up one of the wall sconces. He leaned down and pulled Venetia to her feet.