Asher found himself liking this brusquely spoken man. There wasn’t a hint of romance or sentimentality to him. “Interested how?”
“This notion of latent capacities has consumed me for the past year. I’ve collected stories of people who suffered physical trauma and nearly died. Upon revival they found themselves gifted with a strange new ability. It’s my contention that this brush with death somehow opened a door, helping them access those darkened areas of the subliminal self.”
“What abilities have you documented?” asked Elsie, her eyes wide.
Dr. Marshall looked away. “I’m currently locating subjects—people willing to be studied and have their abilities tested—but I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to divulge specific details.”
“Oh, of course.” Elsie blushed. “I do apologize.”
“It is gratifying to see your interest, Miss Atherton,” said Wakeham.
The young man was quite freely staring at Elsie, and Asher didn’t like it at all. He turned to Dr. Marshall. “Do you believe there is any way to consciously access this subliminal self?”
Dr. Marshall nodded, his eyes gleaming. “If there’s a way, I am determined to find it.”
A silence followed. Mr. Wakeham turned from Elsie to stare instead at his wineglass. He seemed vaguely troubled—certainly not as enthusiastic as Dr. Marshall. Asher opened his mouth to press them further, but Elsie spoke first.
“I’m curious,” she said. “If there is an energy left behind by the dead, does that energy have a purpose? Or is it just an echo from the past?”
Asher shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“I want to believe it is more than an echo,” Wakeham said.
“Is there a particular spirit you wish to contact?” she asked.
Mrs. Thompson cleared her throat as if in warning, but if Wakeham was offended he did not show it.
“I’ve scoffed at mediums in the past,” he said, “and even ridiculed the gullibility of their sitters, but I’ve never blamed the sitters for wanting to communicate with a lost loved one. Haven’t we all wished to do the same?”
“Whom would you contact?” Elsie pressed.
Asher didn’t like this. Elsie pried too closely into the man’s privacy, and he knew it had to do with what she’d seen—or thought she’d seen—during her seizure at the museum. If she continued in this way she might inadvertently confess something that would compromise them both. She seemed determined, however, to keep Wakeham’s attention upon her.
“I’d contact my father, for one,” said Wakeham. “He died when I was very young.” He lowered his gaze. “And more recently, there was a friend who died tragically. When someone close to us dies suddenly, we are left with so many questions. Unfortunately, mediums capitalize on this very cruelly.”
Asher stared at Elsie, willing her to turn from Mr. Wakeham. To see the warning in his eyes.
“I’m sorry for the loss of your friend,” Elsie said very gently.
Wakeham met her gaze again. “Her death came as quite a shock.”
At that moment Millie bustled in to set plates for the next course, and Asher couldn’t have been more grateful. Finally this very public display of private emotion would come to an end. Of course Elsie glanced at him, now that she’d already exposed herself, and it irked him that her expression was triumphant. Yes, I heard it, Elsie. Wakeham had said her death came as a shock—his friend had been female. Did she think she’d seen this very friend during her spell at the British Museum? It was a coincidence, surely.
Once the second course was served and the wineglasses refilled, the party occupied themselves once more with the food. Everyone, that is, except Elsie. Asher’s heart sank when he looked up from his lamb cutlet to find her staring again at Wakeham.
“Will you continue your studies at Trinity this fall, Mr. Wakeham?” Elsie asked.
“Actually, I leave for the Continent in less than a fortnight.”
Elsie’s mouth drooped. “How long will you be gone from Cambridge?”
“I’m not certain. Several months, perhaps. No more than a year. I do hope to follow my cousin’s lead and read for a Fellowship at Trinity. But, you see, I need to vacate my temporary summer housing before the new tenants arrive.”
“Simon has been living at our house on Chesterton Road while we’re between tenants,” Mrs. Thompson said. “You remember Stonehill, Elsie?”
Elsie smiled. “Oh, I do. We spent several weeks there one summer and had the loveliest time, but that was before …” She trailed off, biting her lip.
That was before your accident, thought Asher.
“Yes, child, that was before I took this post as principal of Summerfield,” Mrs. Thompson said, rescuing her. “My, what an ordeal it was to get all of Oliver’s books and papers moved to this suite! Wasn’t it a challenge, my dear?” She turned to her husband, who grinned bashfully.
Asher suddenly wished the meal were over. Elsie stared dreamily into the distance, and he felt quite certain of whom she was thinking. He well remembered how she’d looked at Simon Wakeham at the British Museum, and how she’d later praised him as “gentlemanly.” She’d actually predicted they’d see him again.
Did she now think she was clairvoyant?
Chapter 18
Kate returned to her room still shaking at the thought of Eliot being so near. Taking a breath to compose herself, she set about removing Elsie’s altered gown, reaching behind her neck and fumbling with the buttons. The gowns of fine ladies were meant to be buttoned and unbuttoned by maids—or by friends, as the case was earlier—and thus it required a series of awkward contortions to divest herself of the garment. With trembling hands she plucked the pins from her hair and brushed it thoroughly before braiding the customary plaits. How grand it felt to be plain Kate again! With that thought she pulled her nightgown over her underpinnings and settled into bed, expecting a knock at the door any moment. Mrs. Thompson was no fool—would she believe in this sudden illness?
She steeled herself at the first knock, but it was only a kitchen girl bringing broth and bread. Once she’d eaten her fill, Kate busied herself by sewing a thick felt sheath into her skirt, perfect for storing Billy’s knife. She smiled as she tied off the knot, imagining Mrs. Thompson’s expression if she ever learned the fate of her sewing scraps. Surely the lady’s eyebrows would climb all the way to her scalp.
More than two hours passed before the second knock roused Kate from her drowsing. Mrs. Thompson came through the door, set her lamp on the desk, and sat on the edge of the bed. “Are you feeling better, my dear?”
Kate nodded. “It was my stomach, ma’am. The broth helped settle it.”
Mrs. Thompson smiled gently. “I’m afraid Mr. Thompson and I are at fault. I invited Mr. Eliot because he is a Trinity man, but Oliver neglected to tell me of his involvement in Saturday’s séance—the one in which you lost your position. Of course you wouldn’t have wanted to see him at the dinner table. But Oliver has been so distracted of late, he must have forgotten.”
Kate bit her lip. The last thing she’d expected was an apology. “I … don’t know what to say.”
Mrs. Thompson studied her for a moment. “Get some rest, my dear,” she finally said, patting her hand as she rose to leave.
Kate watched the clock for half an hour before she slipped out of bed and went to the door. After making certain the corridor was empty, she stepped lightly to the head of the stairs and listened. The strains of conversation came from the sitting room, which meant they’d finished the meal. Her path was clear.
After Mrs. Thompson’s kindness, it seemed almost rude to sneak away. But the sound of Eliot’s voice had shaken her more than she’d expected. She ached to see Tec, to talk with him about Billy. He needed to know the truth, and she was the best person to deliver it.
Kate returned to her room and dressed quickly in her blouse and skirt, patting her right pocket to make sure Billy’s knife was secure. Then she pinned a hat to her head and took the shawl
that hung on a peg near the door.
She was accustomed to stealthy movement in darkness, so getting downstairs and out the side door gave her no problem. The iron gate was locked, but even if it hadn’t been Kate wouldn’t have gone that way. Walking under the street lamps along the avenue in front of the college would have left her too exposed. Instead she would find her way to the southeast corner of the college garden and take side streets to Queen’s Road.
During a rare burst of lightheartedness at the library, Freeman had confessed how she and her friends circumvented the wood fence that protected the south border of the college. The solution was simple—they merely lay on the ground and rolled underneath it. Kate had no qualms about rolling on the grass. After slipping out the Gatehouse door, she followed the path behind Summerfield Hall toward the fence.
The path ended in a padlocked gate. On a whim she yanked on the lock … and gasped when it came apart with ease. How long had it been broken? Since few girls remained during the long summer holiday, perhaps no one had bothered to check.
This made things much more interesting. If she could walk through the gate rather than rolling under it, she could borrow the battered bicycle stored behind Summerfield Hall. She’d been eyeing the contraption ever since the morning she saw Freeman and Barrett lean their own bicycles next to it. Freeman had made a display of turning up her nose at the shabby thing, but to Kate it seemed sturdy enough.
Before long she was pedaling north along the Backs at a steady clip, which was nothing to boast about but definitely faster than walking. She could barely see what lay ahead of her, but even if she’d possessed a match she dared not light the oil bicycle lamp. Anything could have been lurking in the dark shadows—a rabid animal, a footpad lying in wait to rob her, or perhaps something even worse than greedy-fingered Eliot.
She pedaled faster.
Castle End was unusually calm and quiet, but she still took special care to hide the bicycle in the shadows near the cottage. She had to knock several times on Tec’s door before she heard the bar being lifted. The door opened a crack.
“Kate?” Tec whispered.
“Yes. Let me in!”
He opened the door a little wider. “Come in quick.” As soon as she’d slipped through he shut the door and locked it again.
She looked around the room, expecting to find the usual collection of boys littering the floor. Just a week ago she would have seen Billy sitting near the stove—on a proper chair, though, as he wouldn’t have wanted to crease his suit. But the room was empty. “Where is everyone?”
“Just me now. Martineau has scarpered, and I don’t know any other mediums that’s needing our kind of talent.” He glanced about the room forlornly. “I’ve done my best to find new places for the boys. It’s been a tough few days.”
“I have bad news, too, Tec. Terrible news.”
“Yeah? What is it?”
“It’s Billy.” Tears welled in her eyes. “He’s dead.”
Tec blinked. “He can’t be. How could you say such a thing?”
“Because he truly is dead, Tec. I saw his poor little body.”
Tec stared at her for a long moment. “I … I don’t know what to say. Was it an accident?”
“There’s hardly a mark on him, but I know he was murdered. Problem is, I can’t think who would do it. Can you?”
He shook his head slowly. “I figured Billy got wind of Martineau’s plans and found a new place for himself. I’d no idea he’d gotten himself into trouble.”
“What scheme was he working?”
He looked away. “I don’t know a thing about it.”
“Really, Tec? You don’t have to protect me.”
“Honest, Kate—he never told me about no dangerous scheme. Poor mite must have taken on more than he could handle. Can’t believe he’s … gone.”
At the sight of his newly glistening eyes, all the control she’d exerted upon hearing the news of Billy’s death, upon seeing his body at the police morgue, vanished. The tears spilled down her cheeks, and she did not bother to wipe them away.
“What are we going to do?” she cried.
Tec placed his hands on her shoulders. “Katie, I’m sorry,” he said gently. “I know Billy was like a little brother to you.” He brushed at her tears with a calloused finger. “Have you found a new situation?”
She nodded, wishing he would pull her closer. “For now, anyway.”
“Good. We’re each on our own now—no more little detectives. You’ve got to be strong, right? And you can’t come here no more. There’s nothing here for you. It ain’t safe.”
“It isn’t? Why not?”
He glanced at the door. “Whatever happened to Billy … I’m afraid the trouble he found might come knocking on my door.”
“But how?”
“I don’t know,” he said gruffly. “But you’re better off keeping your distance. You’ll be at Summerfield for a few days yet, right? As soon as I get things settled, I’ll come find you.”
Her heart leapt. “Will you take me with you?”
“You shouldn’t take up with a rough boy like me.”
“But you’d keep me safe, Tec.”
After a moment’s hesitation, he pulled her into his arms. “Be strong, Katie. There’s a few things that needs figuring out. I’ll see you soon enough, but you’d best go for now.”
When he let her go, her eyes went again to the chair by the stove.
Tec sighed. “Every time I come in, I expect to find our Billy sitting in that chair. I woke in the wee hours last night, and I felt sure he was sitting there,” he continued. “The feeling came over me so powerful-like and so queer, but when I lit the lamp, the chair was empty.”
Kate thought of Elsie and that strange photograph she’d taken. “Maybe he is here, Tec. Maybe he’s come home.”
Tec shook his head. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure exactly. But I aim to find out.”
Elsie could not sleep.
Images and words flooded her mind, all circling back to Simon Wakeham. She’d hardly taken a bite during the meal, so conscious was she of his proximity. Most of the dinner conversation had floated above her head, but when he’d spoken of persistent energies that transcended death, her flesh had tingled. She’d hung on every word and, strangely enough, it had made sense to her. Everyone had these dark places in their minds, but only a few could access them. It wasn’t a curse after all—it was an ability.
She thought of her dead grandmother’s icy grip and shivered. Maybe for her it was a curse.
Elsie shook off the memory and turned her mind back to Simon Wakeham, reliving the conversation they’d shared as the dinner group retired to the sitting room.
“You are looking much better this evening, Miss Atherton,” he had murmured.
She’d blushed like the greenest of girls. “Thank you for not revealing our prior acquaintance, Mr. Wakeham.”
“I’m still wondering what it was at the British Museum that brought you from Cambridge.”
“It was a friend … a friendship, I suppose. But it has now ended.”
He held her gaze. “I continue to puzzle over the words you spoke that day. Do you remember what you said?”
She wanted to tell him. It would have been such a relief to confess everything. But it was too soon. And far too risky.
“No,” she lied. “But Mother always told me I spoke absolute gibberish when I was having a spell. Thank you for staying with me—for making certain I was safe. Many men would have walked away.”
Now she again rehearsed the conversation in her head, imagining his reaction if she’d been bold enough to speak the truth. I do remember what I said, Mr. Wakeham. I was repeating what the dead lady told me. She said she is with you, always watching, and that she is sorry. She loved you very much … and I can see why.
What would he have said to that?
A noise in the corridor startled her—the whisper of boot soles scuffing the wood floor. Elsie
threw the covers aside and lighted her lamp. Opening the door, she shone the light in the corridor. Kate froze before her own door, then turned slowly. “Elsie?” she whispered.
“Come in here now.”
Kate’s shoulders sank in submission.
Once Elsie had closed the door and settled Kate in the chair, she sat on the edge of her bed. “Where were you?”
Kate stared at her for a moment. “I went to see a boy I used to work with. I needed to tell him about Billy.”
“In the middle of the night? What if my aunt had caught you?”
Kate shrugged. “I had to see him. Thought he might know what happened to Billy.”
“Well? Did he?”
“No.” Kate looked down at her skirt and smoothed it with a trembling hand. “But I had a thought while I was there.” She raised her chin and met Elsie’s gaze. “Billy used to stay there quite often, you see. In fact, when I walked through the door, I could almost see him sitting by the stove. It was a common sight when he was alive.”
Elsie shook her head. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because … I think the three of us need to go to the cottage on Castle End. I think if it’s still possible to reach Billy, you could do it there.”
Chapter 19
Asher had just reached the second-floor staircase when the girls appeared, as if out of nowhere. Elsie put her finger to her lips as Kate beckoned him into the window alcove.
“Good morning?” he offered tentatively.
“We must go to Castle End,” whispered Kate. “As soon as possible.”
Elsie nodded. “Kate thinks we might make contact with Billy since he spent so much time there.”
“You can’t be serious!”
“Lower your voice.” Kate left the alcove to glance down the corridor. “We know you don’t believe,” she said as she rejoined them, “and I told Elsie we should just go without you, but she insisted we ask.”
Elsie smiled. “I’d feel safer with you there.”
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