by Adele Clee
The creak of the boards on the landing sent Valentine’s pulse racing. Fear had nothing to do with the sudden rush of blood. Vengeance burned now. He would play Cassiel’s game. Allow the mystic to think he had the upper hand.
Valentine remained seated in the chair positioned in the middle of the room.
The hinges on the bedchamber door groaned as Cassiel entered.
“You grow impatient for a message, my lord,” he said, closing the door and coming to sit on the edge of the bed opposite Valentine. “Do you have an item of jewellery, a watch or fob I may hold for a moment? Personal effects help to establish a connection.”
Having already given Maguire his watch, Valentine would be damned before he gave this thief his seal ring. He wondered what his mother had given. The diamond ring she had worn since her wedding had borne witness to many sleepless nights, many traumatic days. Valentine pulled his most recent purchase—a sapphire pin—free from his cravat and handed it to Mr Cassiel.
Cassiel inclined his head.
“You are a man of many secrets, Lord Valentine,” the mystic said in the pathetic voice he used to sound superior.
“As are most men,” Valentine retorted.
Didn’t everyone have something in their past of which they were ashamed?
Didn’t everyone carry guilt over a failed relationship?
The mystic clutched the cravat pin and closed his eyes.
Silence pervaded every corner of the room.
The stillness grew heavier until Valentine felt the weight of it pressing down on his shoulders. An icy chill touched his cheek. Men like Cassiel knew how to taunt and tease the mind.
The mystic started muttering, mumbling. A hum resonated in his throat like the morbid murmurs of the dying.
They were nought but theatrical tricks. Tricks meant to weaken the constitution.
“You were a boy when it started,” Cassiel said, his tone soft, slow, though his eyes remained closed. “Too young to understand.”
“To understand what?” The sickening feeling came upon him, the same curdling sensation in his stomach whenever he thought about his father.
“That it was his illness that spoke to you. That his violent temper had nothing to do with a lack of love.”
Bloody hell!
Valentine considered jumping to his feet and telling this devil of a creature what he thought of his parlour games. But something kept him rooted to the chair. The little boy inside him needed to hear more in the hope one word—sorry—might bring an end to his torment.
“Children often have an immature view of the world, a view moulded by their relationship with their parents.” The logic of the statement brought temporary relief from the anxiety settling in his chest. “I was lucky enough to have a parent brimming with integrity, a parent I respect and admire.”
Honora was strong, dependable, loved with all her heart. His father was unbalanced, irresponsible, too lost in the failings of his mind to appreciate love.
“But despite the light, darkness stalks you like an ominous shadow in the distance,” Cassiel said.
“Is it not the same for us all?”
Cassiel’s eyes sprung open. For a moment, they held the crazed look he had seen when his father’s mood turned sour, when his actions proved irrational, when no one knew what the hell he would do next.
“Your mother has suffered greatly.”
“She has,” Valentine agreed, despite wishing to tell him to mind his own damn business.
“She has hidden the secret for so long.”
Valentine shuffled uncomfortably in the chair. He did not like where this conversation was heading. Were these the random guesses of a clever man using specific words to incite a reaction? Were these the words of a mystic receiving information from a higher plane?
“We are not here to discuss my mother.”
“No, we are here because you fear that your father still lives inside you.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Valentine replied, quick to dismiss the notion that he was tainted, too.
A smirk touched the mystic’s thick lips. “Have you not behaved irrationally? Has the madness not extended its claws and dug its nails into your skin?”
The mere hint that Valentine had somehow inherited his father’s bad blood caused red-hot fury to rage within. Was that not proof the devil spoke the truth? Was anger not the way evil controlled the mind?
Valentine wasn’t sure how Cassiel knew the things he did, but this man was a criminal who thrived on treachery and deceit. Honora must have given away her secrets. She must have given the man the parts of the puzzle for him to piece together.
“There is only one madman in this room.” Valentine firmed his jaw. “There is only one man with a propensity for evil, and it is not me.”
Cassiel grinned. “The guilty always use threats as a means of defence. Give the matter some thought for I shall leave you alone for a time while I present messages to the other guests.”
Valentine’s temper had reached the point of no return.
“Messages? You deliver distress. You rouse the devil and allow him to do his devious work.”
“What? You are a man of piety now?”
“I am a man of logic.” Valentine leant forward. “You told Miss Kendall someone murdered her parents. Why?”
A brief look of shock marred his dark features. He swallowed audibly. “That is what I saw in my vision. That is what the voice of—”
“You’re lying.” If Cassiel could hear voices from beyond the grave why did he not know of their deceitful intentions? “What purpose might you have for causing her pain? What purpose might you have for breaking into her house and ransacking her room?”
Cassiel shot to his feet. He raised his chin, offered a perfect place for Valentine to land a punch. But he would not hit a man without provocation.
“You have inherited your father’s lunacy.”
That was the only provocation needed.
The punch came hard and swift. The jab connected with Cassiel’s jaw to send the man flying back onto the bed. Valentine grabbed Cassiel by the waistcoat and dragged him to his feet.
“Tell me the damn truth.” A strange smell clung to the man’s clothes and skin and Valentine resisted the urge to inhale. “Did you enter Miss Kendall’s home uninvited? Did you lie to her about her parents?”
Cassiel fought and wrestled to free himself from Valentine’s grip. “You have lost your mind.”
The mystic could not have said anything more damning.
Valentine dragged him from the room by his blood-red cravat to the staircase. “If I have lost my mind, then I may as well throw you down the stairs. Did you enter Miss Kendall’s house?”
Panic distorted Cassiel’s dark features. “I have not seen Miss Kendall since … since the night at your mother’s house.”
“You’re lying, damn you.” Valentine shook him. “Who told you about my father’s illness?”
The door to the master bedchamber burst open, and Drake came charging out. “What the hell is going on here?”
Drake’s arrival distracted Valentine momentarily. He loosened his grip on Cassiel’s cravat, and the mystic took the opportunity to yank himself free. With no time to lose, he raced down the stairs, slipped down the last few.
“That devil is a damn fraud.” Valentine hurried after Cassiel.
Arms flailing, the mystic reached the front door, but he would be lucky to set foot on the pavement before Valentine caught him.
Valentine was on the bottom stair when Miss Kendall came running out of the drawing room.
She threw herself at Valentine, mistaking his rage for distress. “What is it? What did he say to you?”
Valentine looked at Ava, noted the whites of her eyes were bloodshot, noted the dark circles beneath her bottom lids. Her face was porcelain white, her lips drawn thin, and all he could do was pull her into an embrace and offer soothing words of comfort.
Over her shoulder, he watched C
assiel scurry away.
The man would not get far. Come the morning Valentine would hunt him down and drag the truth from the devil’s lips.
“The man has evil motives,” Ava said. “He poured me a drink, but Dariell advised not to let a drop pass my lips.”
Dariell appeared at the drawing room door. “Come. Let us sit for a moment. We cannot tear through the streets at this hour. We should discuss our findings, no?”
Valentine agreed. They should compare notes while the mystic’s words were still fresh in their minds.
While Valentine, Ava and Dariell returned to the drawing room, Drake went to the study to fetch Juliet. Once they were all seated, and Dariell had taken it upon himself to light the fire and candles, the Frenchman gave his account of the mysterious goings-on in the drawing room.
“I am no expert when it comes to manipulating the mind, but Mr Cassiel, he does not hear the dead.”
Ava gasped. “But how can you be so sure?”
“The man’s words sent you into a deep meditative state, a trance.” Dariell sat forward. “If I spoke in a certain way—slow and hypnotic—it is possible to send a person to the far reaches of their mind.”
“Trust me,” Valentine began, trying to dismiss the theory that Ava had somehow lost control of her senses. “I was fully aware of all that took place. The man was playing games, using information about my family to cause me distress.”
“Information about your father?” Drake enquired.
Valentine nodded. “Information few people are privy to.”
“I cannot speak for what happened upstairs,” Dariell said, “but Miss Kendall’s mind did slip back in time. I was here. I heard what she said.”
Valentine glanced at Ava who had taken the seat next to a curious-looking Juliet. A mild sense of panic gripped him when he noted the distress in her eyes. “What did you say, Miss Kendall?”
“Nothing of great importance. He spoke about the prospect of me continuing my mother’s work.” She frowned as if struggling to remember. “But Mr Dariell is right. Somehow I travelled back in my mind to the day before my parents died.”
“You were just reliving memories,” Valentine said, softening his tone for he had no desire to make her feel foolish.
“But I saw my parents as clearly as if they were standing here. The smell of my mother’s perfume filled the room.” She inhaled deeply as if hoping she might still catch a whiff of the fragrance. “The scent is rare, purchased abroad.”
Drake cleared his throat. “Might the primary note be frankincense?”
“Why, yes.”
Drake stood. He crossed the room and offered Ava a small brown vial. “This fell out of Cassiel’s pocket during his tussle with Valentine.”
Ava’s hand shook as she accepted the tiny bottle.
Juliet looked up at Drake and gave a smile full of love and longing. Drake took his wife’s hand and squeezed gently before returning to his seat.
Ava studied the bottle before pulling the stopper and inhaling the contents. She closed her eyes. A tear fell and landed on her cheek. “It is so similar to my mother’s scent. In my confusion, it smelt the same.”
Valentine watched her. The knot in his stomach wrung tighter with every sniff, every tear.
Propriety be damned, Valentine thought. They were amongst friends, and so he rose from his chair and came to sit next to Ava on the sofa. He draped his arm around her and drew her to lean on his shoulder.
Drake smiled at them before saying, “I think it is fair to say that Mr Cassiel is a fraud, a very clever fraud. The question remains how he knew that was your mother’s preferred scent? Did you mention it to anyone?”
“No.” Ava paused. “I may have mentioned it at one of our meetings.”
“Miss Kendall meets with friends at my mother’s house every Friday,” Valentine informed.
Silence descended.
“Now I am rather glad Mr Cassiel did not come to visit me in the study,” Juliet said.
“He did not visit me, either.” Drake’s voice brimmed with tenderness. “But we do not need to hear of the past. All that matters is the present.”
Juliet smiled at him again, in the intimate way that made Valentine feel as if they were intruding.
Dariell sighed. “Drake is right. And yet Miss Kendall faces a situation that stems from the past but is very much active in the present. I am afraid to say she will have no peace until we discover what Cassiel wants.”
“I shall visit him tomorrow.” Valentine would relish another opportunity to punch the rogue.
“And I shall accompany you.” Drake seemed equally eager to flex his fists.
Ava shuffled in the seat to face Valentine. “But I have no idea where he lives.”
There was a moment’s silence.
“What do you mean? You sent a letter asking Cassiel to attend the dinner party, and he replied.” Valentine saw Ava give the boy the note but had not enquired as to the mystic’s address. “You contacted him and made the arrangements for him to come to my mother’s gathering.”
“Well, yes, though I did not contact him directly.”
Valentine frowned.
“Miss Faversham recommended him but was too nervous to suggest it to the group. She found the advertisement in the newspaper. Regarding the party tonight, I sent Miss Faversham a note asking Mr Cassiel to attend.”
“Then you have never met Mr Cassiel before that first night?”
“No. Miss Faversham booked the appointment on our behalf.”
Chapter Sixteen
“We must call on Miss Faversham as a matter of urgency.” Valentine sat back in the carriage seat and cursed under his breath. Ever since his conversation with Cassiel, he could not shake the sense of agitation writhing beneath his skin. “The lady’s timidity is a perfect mask for her deception.”
Ava cast him a disapproving look. “We do not know that Miss Faversham has deceived us. You have condemned her before hearing what she has to say.”
Valentine snorted. “Miss Faversham set up the initial meeting with Cassiel.” His tone was blunt, sharp enough to take the bristles off his chin in one clean sweep. “The girl is afraid of her own shadow, and yet she agreed to contact a strange man who delves into the black arts. The evidence speaks for itself.”
They had conspired to steal his mother’s ruby, had entered Ava’s house looking for other items of value.
A heavy tension filled the air.
Ava lifted her chin. “And I encouraged her to find her voice, to find the strength needed to survive as a woman on her own.”
“She won’t be a woman on her own,” he snapped. “The major will find her a suitable husband, and she will have no choice but to marry.”
“How noble of him,” Ava mocked. “Of course, I could always invite Miss Faversham to live with me.”
Agitation grew to irritation.
It crossed his mind to inform her that, as her husband, he would not have Miss Faversham living in their house, but the need to calm his temper forced him to say, “If that is what you want.”
Ava stared at him. Water filled her eyes. She turned to watch the dark shadows whipping past the window.
The pervading silence fed the restlessness within.
He had never felt more alone.
“Tell Sprocket that I wish to return to Park Street.” She did not look at him, but he felt the words like a sharp slap to the face.
Had Cassiel cast an evil spell that swallowed happiness, churned it up and spewed it out?
Twenty minutes ago, Valentine had been comforting her on Drake’s sofa. Now they were quarrelling about Miss Faversham. But this wasn’t about Miss Faversham’s duplicity. It was about the boy who feared he might one day wake up to find he’d inherited his father’s lunacy.
“It is not safe for you there.” Valentine knew what it was like to fear closing one’s eyes at night.
She turned her head slowly, struggled to hold his gaze. “It is not safe anywhere. And
you cannot take care of me forever.” She lowered the window and called up to Sprocket to relay her intentions before closing the window and sitting back in the seat.
Marry me.
That was all he needed to say. But he would tell her the truth about his past before gathering the courage to ask.
“Forgive me if I do not seem myself,” he began, laying down his sword to offer a truce.
She glanced at the window as if she had lost interest in the conversation.
“Being alone with Cassiel—” He paused. “Well, the man can play havoc with the mind.”
Her mask of indifference slipped. “I imagine he would struggle to unnerve a man with your strength and mental agility.”
“It has not always been the case.” It was not the case now. Thoughts of the past brought the fears of a weak and helpless boy to the fore. “Cassiel knew something from my past and sought to use it to weaken my stance.”
The information sparked her interest. “Did he succeed?”
Valentine sighed. “I think my mood since we settled into the carriage would suggest he achieved his goal.”
The scuffle on the stairs had given Valentine an outlet for his fury. Now, he needed another distraction if he hoped to banish the ghost of his father.
Ava swallowed visibly. “And what … what did he tell you?”
“He told me bad blood flows through my veins, too.” Valentine inhaled a deep breath. “He told me that I possess the same propensity for madness as my father.”
“Madness?” Ava frowned. She shuffled forward in the seat. “But that’s ridiculous. You’re the sanest, most rational man I have ever met.”
The compliment meant more to him than she could possibly know. Usually, words of praise and flattery failed to penetrate. He had heard enough falsehoods from fawning parasites to pay them no heed. And yet Aveline Kendall’s opinion touched him on a level he could not quite explain.
“My father suffered from a condition of the mind.” There were no words to express the debilitating nature of the illness—both for the patient and his family. “His behaviour was often irrational, unstable. By rights, he was a perfect candidate for Bedlam during his delusional episodes. But my mother chose to keep him at home.”