We cross the street and arrive at the hotel.
“I’m looking for my niece, Maude,” Kelly lies to the doorman. “She worked here as a maid, I believe.”
“You should talk with Archibald Evans,” the fellow replies. “He’s in charge of all the cleaning staff.”
Evans must be the one the Cockney servants were talking about. The “Archie” who’s so difficult to satisfy.
Crossing the threshold, Kelly and I enter the Windsor lobby. The room is filled with voices, echoing through the rectangular space, saying little out of the ordinary. We stop at the concierge desk, and Kelly asks for Mr. Evans. “I’ll send for him,” the clerk replies. “Please wait over there, in the alcove.”
The overseer joins us promptly and Kelly repeats that Maude Lambson is his estranged niece. Archibald Evans accepts his claim without question. I’m a little uncomfortable with how well the doctor fabricates, actually. I may never believe another word that comes out of his mouth.
Archibald takes the seat next to Kelly, his old joints creaking. He smells like liniment, ulcer powder, and laundry starch. A curmudgeonly combination.
“Lambson left our employ some time ago. She was the worst maid I ever had.” Evans stops there, appalled by his own candor. “Beg pardon, sir. That was a terrible thing for me to say, you being her family and all.”
I feel Kelly lift the hand resting on the arm of my chair. The air stirs as he waves it magnanimously. “Don’t give it another thought, man. We aren’t close. Why did she leave?”
“To marry, of course. You surely must have heard that news. We had no inkling Lambson had a beau, let alone a fiancé. Took a break one afternoon, without so much as a by your leave, and sent for her things the next day.”
“Who collected them?” Kelly asks.
“Wouldn’t know. A hired coach arrived and the driver took her belongings.”
Kelly reaches into his pocket. I hear paper moving, being unfolded, and passed to Evans. Must be money. “Any hint where he delivered Maude’s possessions?”
“As I recall, the man complained about having to drop her suitcases off at the train station. In the public cloakroom where any Tom, Dick, or Harry could take them. An irregular situation, to be sure.”
“Ah, I see,” Kelly murmurs, slipping Archibald another bill. “And when was this?”
The elderly man pauses. “Over a year ago. Beginning of June, I think.”
That fits. It sounds right.
Kelly rises to his feet, then takes my arm and helps me up. “This may seem strange, Evans. But how would you describe Maude Lambson to me?”
“Well, I suppose that she was small, had reddish hair. Came from Cornwall.”
Kelly withdraws something from his pocket again. Doesn’t sound crinkly, not like money this time. “Did she wear gingham similar to this sample?”
“Quite often, sir,” Archibald Evans replies. “She had it on last time I saw her.”
15
Quo fata ferunt.
Whither the fates bear.
We leave the Windsor, and I am thankful to be out in the open air again, until we pass the chestnut vendor. The nuts smell foul in my opinion, but Kelly feels the opposite. He’s quite enthusiastic about them, and stops to buy a bag, crunching the odiferous nuts for the rest of the trip.
Cordelia greets us the moment we enter Kelly’s medical building. “Where have you been? I’ve drunk enough tea to float away. Oh, here’s your pipe tobacco, Doctor.”
Kelly takes the tin. “Right. Thank you, Miss Collins. You were very kind to get it for me.”
“Easily done, sir.” She touches my shoulder. “It’s Ma and Pa’s anniversary tonight, miss. Do you remember my mentioning it?”
I certainly do—although I had forgotten. Cordie scheduled the evening off weeks in advance. She had planned to leave for the family get-together halfway through our signing lessons, but Kelly and I threw her schedule into chaos by interviewing Evans at the hotel.
“Dear Miss Collins, please make haste to the celebration and wish your parents well,” Kelly says. “Our apologies for having caused you distress.”
Cordelia begins to button her coat and turns to me. “Willard’s at the tavern. He’ll drive you home.”
“Be at ease,” Kelly replies. “I’ll make certain she returns safely.”
Have fun, I sign. Go.
The doctor tells his secretary to send a message to Willard, informing him that his services won’t be needed. I must look surprised.
“I’ll take you home after lessons. I’d like to pay a visit to your mother and see how she’s feeling. You don’t mind spending a little more time with me, do you?”
I pretend to be dismayed and Kelly laughs. He leads me into his private office and drops the tin of pipe tobacco on the desk. We work for over an hour on signing, adding more words and phrases to my reserve. Since our second lesson, the doctor has allowed me to keep my gloves on. They are made of thin cashmere and fit my fingers well—that way I can easily feel the position of Kelly’s hands without actually touching any skin.
“You really are the brightest student a teacher could have,” he says. “How do you pick things up so quickly?”
Because I hail from a Roman goddess, Doctor, and there’s magic in my blood. I give Kelly a little smile, the Mona Lisa one that he enjoys.
“You’re a mystery, minx,” Kelly says, rising to his feet. “No doubt about it.”
He waits for me to stand. “Much as I would like to linger here with you, we’d better be off. I’d hate for your mother to worry.”
Kelly pays a coachman to drive us to The Revels. Once we arrive at my home, he climbs out of the vehicle and asks the driver to wait. He lifts me down, escorts me into the house. We enter the foyer, and remove our winter things, handing them to Martha. Kelly follows me up to Mama’s boudoir. She is resting quietly, and I sit in the chair by the fireplace while the doctor gives her a quick assessment. Mama’s voice is breathy as she answers his questions.
“Well, Mrs. Grayson,” Kelly says. “Your heartbeat is rather fast, and you still exhibit unusual swelling. This is the beginning of your fifth month, correct?”
“Yes,” she murmurs.
“Is the baby active? Kicking and moving?”
Mama’s voice brightens. “He did near somersaults after dinner.”
“That’s good,” Kelly replies. “Are you comfortable?” I hear him adjusting the blankets on the bed and fluffing the pillows. “Would you be willing to see an obstetric specialist? I have a colleague at the hospital vastly more experienced with troubled pregnancies than I.”
My father strides into the room now, smelling of spirits. “Troubled? What do you mean by that?”
Kelly proceeds to share his concerns about my mother, but Father isn’t impressed. “Maybe a bone-cutter like you isn’t up to the job.”
“That’s exactly what I was saying to your wife, Mr. Grayson. It might be in her best interests to make a change. I can refer you to the most qualified physician in the county. He has an office in the same building as mine.”
Up until this point, I have remained in my chair in the corner, calling as little attention to myself as possible. Then my cane slides off the chair arm and clatters to the floor. I sense that Father has turned my way. Anger. Embarrassment. Those are the emotions I smell on him, in addition to lots of brandy. He stumbles and the liquor sloshes within his glass.
“What’s this I hear, Hester, about you traipsing around the city today? Are you too simple to know your place is at home?”
Kelly steps between us. “Your daughter’s place is wherever she wishes to go, sir.”
Father takes a drink. “Ah, I see,” he says at length. “Can’t find yourself a normal woman so you take what you can get. There’s a good dowry, too. I’d pay a high price to be rid of her. ”
I hear the doctor move close to my father. There can only be a few inches separating them. “I’d call you out this minute, if I didn’t think it woul
d upset your wife and daughter. You’re in their debt today, Mr. Grayson.”
Kelly’s voice is so quiet and controlled. But scary too.
Grabbing my cane from the floor, I stand and walk out of the room, hoping to reach my suite before any further words are exchanged. Kelly catches up with me in the hallway.
“Wait, Hester,” he says. “Wait. I’m so sorry.”
I bristle at the sympathy behind his words. I would have preferred a witty, off-the-cuff remark instead. Angry words may hurt, but I’m accustomed to them. Receiving another’s pity is far more painful. I won’t have Kelly feeling that for me.
“Come downstairs, won’t you?” he asks. “Walk with me to the door?”
Absolutely. Why the hell not? My pride’s in tatters, but I’m still a good hostess.
Turning around, I follow the doctor down to the foyer. Martha helps him into his coat and Kelly sends her away with a curt expression of thanks.
“I feel badly, Hester—about what was said upstairs.”
I give a small shrug and then sign, Father jackass.
The doctor laughs softly. “That he is.”
Go home, Noah. Fine.
“Yes. I can see that you are.” He pauses briefly. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something for hours. Do you have plans for tomorrow night?”
Plans? Me?
“I discovered a bunch of old mail behind the trash can in my office this morning. As I sorted through the mail, I found an invitation to the Fall Cotillion at Griffin House. James Scarlett, the owner of the place, has invited me to many such occasions, but I’ve resisted. I thought I might escort you to this one, Hester. As I said, it’s tomorrow, which gives you very little time to prepare.”
What time?
“Eight.” Kelly puts his hand on my arm. “Maude Lambson is likely tied to Griffin House, given the ring found near her remains. Hopefully, we can identify the killer at the dance. Would you recognize his voice if you heard it?”
Immediately.
“Then tomorrow at eight, it is.”
Kelly leaves me with a kiss on the top of my head. And a new situation to explain to Tom.
I meet him at midnight, and all the worries of the day fade into nothingness. I can deal with the challenges of life when he’s with me.
Tom brushes the hair out of my face, tucks the strands behind my ear. It’s too cold to go up to the rocks tonight, love. Do you mind practicing with the knives at our barn instead?
Feeling sorry for other women, I count my blessings—because he’s mine.
Sounds perfect.
Tom nudges his horse to go faster. You’re certainly easy to please.
No. I’m just happy right now.
“Bad day, love?” he asks, going vocal.
There’s no reason to rehash the situation with my father. Tom already hates him, and it wouldn’t change anything.
No, just busy. Lots to tell.
“That’s fine,” Tom murmurs. “We have all night.”
So I share almost everything. How I learned Maude Lambson’s identity and met her employer at the Windsor Hotel. I tell him that I am attending the cotillion with Kelly, as a means of finding Maude’s killer, and he reluctantly admits it’s a good idea. Once the perpetrator is brought to justice, Lambson’s spirit will move on to the afterlife, and she won’t haunt me anymore. Then Tom and I will be able to focus on finding the heir of Archimendax.
I don’t share that the doctor gave me a goodbye kiss on the head. Tom thinks the cotillion is dangerous enough as it is. Knowledge of the kiss would only add fuel to the fire of his discontent.
“I’m going,” he says. “I’ll stay outside Griffin House, in the shadows, but I’ll be there to help.”
Thank you. I won’t be afraid if you’re near.
We ride across the Craddock ranch, and I sense Tom’s pride of belonging to such a spread. After reaching the stable, he tells me he has brought the targets down from the mountain. The barn is a large structure, far bigger in every way than his house. Tom helps me gain a sense of dimension and space in an isolated section of the building, and I throw my knives well. Arms aching, I finish with a flourish by hitting three bags within seconds of each other.
Tom picks up the knives and returns them to me. “Now you’re ready, love.”
The next day is a blur of activity. Cordelia and I visit the orphanage in the morning and practice signing for a few hours afterward. She finds me a dress in the armoire that I can use for the cotillion, adding a strip of black lace to the hem since I’ve grown an inch or so over the last year. Cordie says it’s midnight blue and has bits of jet beading sewn here and there. Around seven, I slip into the gown and my long evening gloves, and she gives me one final inspection. With my hair smelling of orange blossoms, ornate combs holding it high upon my head, my companion’s work is evidently finished.
The moment of truth has arrived, and it’s time for Cinderella to depart for the ball. I find a comfortable chair in the library and wait for Kelly, mink cloak draped across my lap. I check that my lucky pebbles are in the pocket and smile at myself for being silly. They’re just stones from a creek bed in the woods, nothing extraordinary. Except that they came into my possession during my first escape, when my nanny fell asleep in the rose garden after a picnic. Counting my steps, I walked the length of our property and ended up in the forest. I fell a few times but it didn’t matter, I was free and happy. I dunked my feet in the creek and found the pebbles, napped in the sun, and listened to the birds sing. My life at The Revels felt small and cold by comparison and I realized there was much more to experience than my parent’s home had to offer.
Yet I believed I could escape my sterile existence, if I was clever enough. Such knowledge brought a confidence, a boldness which I lacked before.
Rising to my feet, I pat the lucky stones in my cloak pocket and smooth my layered skirts. No use looking like a wrinkled fool at the cotillion. Upstairs, Father shouts for the butler to bring him his tonic, and my muscles automatically tense. I remind myself that I need not worry. He won’t be attending the ball tonight. His stomach is ill, the old ulcer flaring up again.
Don’t think of how angry he’ll be in the morning.
Without doubt, some sort of punishment looms in my future, but I would hate to be discovered now. Banished to my room without even completing this investigative mission. Leaving the library, I walk to the front door, open it quietly, and go outside. There are three steps ahead of me. I hold the handrail and descend them, using my cane only when I am out of earshot. Night sounds fill the air—the snap of a twig, fluttering wings, branches scratching a window pane.
And weeping.
A shiver runs up my spine as Freckles, or rather Maude Lambson, materializes. Do your job, Visionary. Or Death will come for you.
Maude begins threatening me with the worst kinds of torment. Is she telling the truth? Is the Reaper under her control? Knowing Maude’s tendency to blackmail, I think not or not yet at any rate. As an immortal, He’s seen most of the subterfuge the world has to offer, and I doubt a hotel maid could pull the wool over His eyes.
Maude/Freckles abuses my character even more, using bad language and Cornish insults. Then I begin to wonder if she really wishes to pass over to the other side or if she just enjoys the power of haunting. I feel Maude’s breath against the side of my neck. The ghost is standing a few inches away, temporarily exhausted from her tantrum. The scabbed-over scratch at my throat burns like it’s new.
Shut her out, Hester. Get to the cotillion; that’s your next step.
Maude Lambson suddenly gives me breathing room. She is distracted by the appearance of Carver, the old gambler ghost whom I last saw when I was bathing. I focus on his presence with my mind and envision him strutting about the driveway in his blue silk vest, marching like a soldier on guard detail. Carver pretends to carry a rifle. He tips an imaginary hat my way and points the invisible gun at Maude. She flies at him, thrilled to have a new victim to abuse.
I nearly fall while counting my steps to the end of the drive. I call out to Tom telepathically. He seems harried, too.
On my way, love. I’ll be at Griffin House when you arrive.
His affection and comfort surround me, and for a split-second, my anxiety disappears. I am so enthralled by our mental connection that I do not notice the doctor’s arrival and give a little jump at the sound of his voice.
“What are you doing out here by the road, Hester?” Kelly asks.
Ghosts, my father, nerves… Hello, I sign.
“Let’s get you into this carriage and be quick about it.”
Thank you. Kind gentleman.
The coach is a luxury model, large and comfortable. It must have cost the doctor dearly to rent. We travel to Griffin House, and I sense Tom’s presence, hidden away in the garden. A fashionable fifteen minutes late, Kelly and I climb the steps to the gentlemen’s club. By all accounts, this establishment is sumptuous. It has billiard rooms, a chess salon, an in-house barber, fencing practice, and a pugilism ring. Not to mention a library for the cerebrally inclined and a saloon for those who prefer to pickle their brains instead. Most well-to-do Stonehengian males over the age of eighteen dream of being members of this place.
The entry way is redolent with the smell of evergreen boughs and crushed cloves. I feel Kelly take something out of his vest pocket and hand it to the butler. We are then introduced at the ballroom door. “Dr. Noah Kelly and Miss Hester Grayson.”
I subdue my ears to better tolerate the quartet playing in the musician’s gallery above. The waltz is slow and lilting, and I wish I knew the dance steps to accompany the tune. Voices whisper on all sides, and I listen to one after another.
But nothing signifies, just a lot of idle conversation.
“Let’s have some punch, Hester,” Kelly says. “Circulate a bit.”
Veritas Page 13