“Forgive me, my lord, but why would you trouble yourself to warn me if you were full of nefarious intentions? It does not stand to reason, and you strike me very much as a man of reason.”
“People sometimes behave in ways that are beyond their control.”
“You fancy yourself a lunatic, then? Or perhaps you have an illness that renders you incoherent? A babbling, raging menace?”
“You mock me, Miss Pickett, after your fine demonstration of defense at the apothecary?”
“I do not mock you. I do not believe you are prone to behavior you cannot control.”
He smiled, but his expression would have appeared less menacing had he scowled. “You are naïve.”
“Perhaps. But not about this.”
His lips tightened. “As much as you would like to believe it, the world is not always a pleasant place.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I am not a fool, my lord. My work itself stems from a need to combat a depravity that turns my stomach.”
“And yet you continue with no thought of your own safety because you insist on trying to fix a world that doesn’t want to be fixed,” he bit out.
“Perhaps your corner of the world doesn’t want improvement, but I daresay the families of the two recent vamp victims in town would have appreciated the intervention of what I hope to discover.” Her temper flared, and Lucy reminded herself that she was a paragon of patience.
He shook his head. “That Daniel allows this is beyond reason. Do you never wonder if you are being followed? Pursued? Those vamp attacks occurred only after you arrived at Blackwell.”
The hold on her temper snapped. “Daniel doesn’t ‘allow’ me anything. I am an adult woman in my own right, and I have worked tirelessly for my current station. And as for the assumption that I have vampires on my trail—that is absurd. I am one research botanist. If I thought for even a moment that my presence would bring others harm, the last place I would go would be anywhere near my family.”
He was quiet, and she fumed in silence. Societal views on women’s roles were shifting, and it wasn’t an oddity that she’d had training beyond finishing school or that she held a position of respect in the world of science. But old attitudes tended to remain in place, and Blackwell was not the first to question Daniel’s actions as it concerned her own choices.
She forced herself to relax and take a deep breath as they traveled into the village outskirts, passing small homes along the way. When they reached Blackwell land, she was gratified to see the residences in good condition, neat and tidy, well-tended.
Blackwell pulled alongside one of the homes and paused, eyes on hers, before finally switching the engine off. Rather than speak, he exited the vehicle on his own side, held a hand out for the medicine, and then motioned for her to exit as well. She placed her hand in his and stepped out into the cold rain, gasping slightly when he pulled her forward toward the porch overhang and out of the weather in the blink of an eye.
His heavy scowl was in place, and she was tempted to admonish him for it before the tenants opened the door but decided she’d snapped at him enough for one afternoon. And as for apologies, well, he clearly needed a lesson or two.
Lucy worked in Marie’s garden with several grounds-keeping ’tons. It had been a relief to return to the manor after delivering medicine with Blackwell; conversation on the way back had been stilted at best. She was seeing significant progress now in the garden, which made her happy.
Mr. Clancy approached from the gate with a note. It was a request for her presence in the main house, and she frowned at the paper. She had established a good rhythm with the ’tons and hated to be interrupted. Mr. Clancy insisted he would stay in the garden and continue supervising.
Following the request on the note, she made her way to Blackwell’s study, where she found the earl and Kate, along with a young woman Lucy had never met. When Blackwell indicated a vacant chair in the seating around the hearth, she took it without acknowledging him.
“This is Miss Hazel Hughes, and she is a Medium, an expert in her field,” Miles said. “As activities of late concern all of us, I believe a discussion is in order so Miss Hughes will be better apprised of the situation.”
Kate gasped. “Lucy, you didn’t tell me!”
Lucy closed her eyes. She wished Blackwell would have given her some kind of warning he was bringing in a Medium.
“I didn’t want you to worry, Kate,” she said. “But it seems help is at hand!” She deliberately turned her attention to Miss Hughes. Lucy judged the woman to be roughly her same age and wondered that such a young Medium was already considered an expert in her field. People sometimes questioned Lucy’s own work, however—Present company included, she thought with a sniff—and she decided to set her initial reaction to the side.
Hazel Hughes wore the latest in fashion and a lovely, elaborate hat adorned with lace, feathers, and flowers and a pair of stylish goggles perched on the brim. Her thick hair was beautifully curled and coiffed, the color of dark honey. Her eyes were a striking shade of gold and green and showed a fair amount of—apprehension? A frightened Medium? Perhaps she was intimidated by Blackwell. He did have that effect on people.
As Hazel cleared her throat and began to speak, Lucy stole a glance at Blackwell. His focus was on Lucy, and she held his gaze without flinching. The fact that he had shown a compassionate nature when they had visited the four tenants even after the awkward exchange in the Traveler only served to further her contemplation. He’d provided medicine for ill women and children, for heaven’s sake. What was she supposed to do with that?
“ . . . see the spirit when she appears,” Hazel was saying.
“I haven’t seen her,” Kate said, “but I know she’s been in my chambers on more than one occasion—there have been flashes, and the sense that someone is there.”
“She has been in my chambers, too,” Lucy said.
“Have you seen her fully formed or just a sense of her?” Hazel asked Lucy.
“Fully formed.” Lucy swallowed. “Miss Hughes, I do not know exactly when Marie may show herself again to me, but I’m more than happy to have help interpreting her. What is your usual method when you perform this service?”
“Well,” she began, “I suppose I should remain here for a few days—I believe that’s how it’s done.”
An awkward silence settled in the room. Lucy was the first to recover her voice. “So this would be your first time, then?”
“I was under the impression you came highly recommended,” Blackwell said to the young woman, who blushed to the roots of her hair. Lucy shot him a look of reproach, but he didn’t so much as glance her way.
“I come from a long line of Light Magick users,” Hazel told him. “Each generation has been skilled at Medium work, and I am . . . told . . . I possess the traits necessary for”—she swallowed audibly—“communing with the deceased.” Hazel clasped her gloved fingers in her lap, twisting them and gripping them before straightening her spine slightly.
Blackwell closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.
Lucy bit the inside of her cheek and made a decision. “Miss Hughes, the late Lady Marie visits me at night. I would be happy to share the suite of chambers I occupy so that you’ll be close by when she arrives. There’s a room adjoining mine that I believe would suit you quite well.”
Lucy felt Blackwell’s stare but didn’t make eye contact with him. What did the man expect? Somebody had to take matters in hand, and if he was too irritated to do it, Lucy would deal with it herself. If he had issues that there would be yet another woman in his precious south wing, he had best learn to resolve them.
“Miss Hughes,” Kate said, “I have often heard of Mediums who can call spirits to them. Is this something you do?”
Hazel nodded, but her hesitation spoke volumes. “I am certainly willing to
try.”
“So,” Blackwell interjected, “you would come to this house under the pretense of expertise and then insult me with weak expressions of what you might be able to accomplish?”
Hazel Hughes colored significantly again, and Lucy’s heart turned over. The young woman had been thrown into something far beyond her capacity.
“Miss Hughes, I will not be requiring your services, and, furthermore, I intend to—” Blackwell started, but Lucy cut him off by quickly rising from her seat and making her way to him. She placed her hand on his arm and tugged.
“Lord Blackwell, I have remembered an urgent matter I was to have brought to your attention. Walk with me, please, while I explain. Miss Hughes, I shall return straightaway.”
Blackwell looked at her, his eyes fairly sparking with anger and the promise of retribution. Feeling far less bravery than she exhibited, she lightly shoved the man to propel him from the room. When her efforts met with all the effectiveness of trying to fell an oak tree, she looked up at his face with her eyes narrowed.
A muscle flexed in his jaw, and he gripped the hand she’d placed on his forearm. She thought he might thrust it from him, but he instead pulled it firmly through his arm and made his way from the den with large strides she struggled to match. He walked straight ahead, anchoring her to his side. In silence, he pulled her into the library, where he shut the wide double doors behind them and turned to face her.
“What in the world possessed you to speak for me?” he ground out. “I will not have that charlatan spending one night under my roof, let alone in my suite.”
Lucy took a deep breath. “Listen here, Blackwell. As long as my cousin is living in this home, I plan to help her present a façade of gentility and polish to the world in the name of this family. I’ll not have her living under a cloud of scandal and suspicion merely because she is now tied to your name by marriage. You were behaving like an absolute oaf, and it seems to me that Hazel Hughes deserves a chance to try her skills.”
“Her skills?” he exploded, throwing his arms wide. “What skills? She has none!”
“You do not know that!”
Blackwell spat out a curse beneath his breath, brushing past her to a sidebar along the wall where he poured himself a substantial drink. “Dr. MacInnes’s mother suggested her because Miss Hughes came highly recommended from her friend, who also happens to be Miss Hughes’s mother!”
“She said it herself—she comes from a long line of talent. If she truly has the gift, we will know by tonight. If not, you may send her on her way with your blessing.”
“Oh, well, I thank you for that, Miss Pickett.” He took a long swallow of the amber liquid and slammed the empty tumbler on the bar. “Is there anything else in which you’d like to instruct me before I go about the rest of my day?”
She wondered if steam escaped her ears. “As a matter of fact, yes. You may not have wanted the earldom, but it is yours. Regardless of your feelings about your responsibilities, you have the memory of your mother to consider. At least behave as though she were watching. Which she may very well be!”
Lucy spun on her heel and yanked open one of the library doors only to find three female ’tons listening at the keyhole. They jumped back in surprise, and Lucy stared them down as they scattered before she turned back to Blackwell. “You may consider having some of the staff reprogrammed. For ’tons with bland personalities, they are awfully nosy.”
She returned to the den where she caught Miss Hughes at the door. “Please, do stay,” Lucy said to the young woman, whose eyes were bright with unshed tears.
“His lordship is absolutely correct,” Miss Hughes said and attempted to move past Lucy. “I am here only because—” She cut herself off and chewed on her lip, inspecting something on her glove.
“Miss Hughes, is it true, about your lineage?”
Hazel nodded.
“Have you made any efforts to work as a Medium?”
“No. My mother . . . suggested . . . this would be an excellent opportunity to begin my career and carry on the family tradition. She is . . . difficult.”
“I see no reason you shouldn’t at least make an attempt. Stay the one night, and if you are dissatisfied with your performance, you will have the reassurance of knowing you made a noble effort. And you’ll be able to report to your mother with a clear conscience.”
Miss Hughes shook her head slightly and finally lifted her gaze to Lucy’s. She looked as though she wanted to say something further but merely nodded. “Very well. Thank you for placing your trust in me.”
“Think nothing of it. We shall settle you in the room by mine and see what we can’t conjure up tonight, yes?”
It might have been Lucy’s imagination, but she thought Hazel looked slightly green at the suggestion.
The large clock in the hallway struck midnight, and Lucy sat on the sofa by the hearth in the library with a very tense Miss Hughes. Lucy had made a point of telling anyone within earshot that they were not attempting to conjure Lady Marie until the following night so that she might ease Hazel into the task tonight without an audience.
“Suppose you tell me what you know of spirits before we begin,” Lucy said.
Hazel brightened and sat back on the sofa. “I know plenty. I have a very good memory—never forget anything I read. What sorts of things would you like to know?”
Lucy spread her hands. “I know next to nothing about ghosts. I wasn’t even certain they existed before I arrived here. To begin with, why can I not speak to Lady Marie? Or she to me?”
“Most spiritualists will tell you that there are only certain people who can commune with the dead. It is a gift that seems to be bestowed rather than learned.”
“And can Mediums actually hear spirits speak?”
Hazel nodded. “Yes, they converse as easily as you and I are right now.”
“And what is it that most spirits seem to want? Why do you suppose Marie Blake still lingers at this house? And why would she be spending so much time with me when I clearly cannot converse with her?”
Hazel’s brow pinched in a frown, and she glanced at the doors leading to the hallway. “I have heard rumors only, of course,” she said in an undertone, “and I hesitate to suggest anything unfair about his lordship or the family . . .”
“I suspect that those who died here recently did not succumb to natural causes,” Lucy told her. “So whether or not the rumors you’ve heard are true, there is indeed something unsettling about recent events. Please do speak freely.”
Hazel chewed on her lip as she looked into the flames gently dancing in the fireplace. “Spirits who have met a violent end often seek out those they feel might have the strength to help them, and they are allowed a certain amount of time in this realm to attempt to find justice for what is usually an untimely demise.”
“How much time?”
“Between six months and a year. Sometimes longer, depending on the circumstances, which is why there are some structures that seem to be haunted for years, even decades. There must be some reasoning behind the differences in individual instances, but nobody that I know of has been able to discern it. And each visit is only allowed to last a finite amount of time.”
Lucy frowned, thinking. “That would explain why Marie doesn’t linger. I’ve wondered why she disappears when she seems so clearly determined to tell me something.” She paused. “Both Clara and Marie have been dead for six months exactly.”
Hazel looked at her. “If his lordship’s sister is going to make her message known, she may be running short of time.”
“Why isn’t the late Lady Blackwell lingering here as well?”
“Did she die before her time?”
“I suspect as much, although I’m not certain.”
“Do you know much of her personality?”
Lucy nodded. “Some.”
“Typ
ically, the intensity of an individual’s personality will determine whether or not the spirit will remain here to seek justice. If she was a fairly passive woman, it’s likely she accepted her fate without argument and has moved on.”
“Ah. I believe Lady Clara was very much the passive sort. Lady Marie was very much . . . not.” Lucy paused. “She moved my bed.”
Hazel’s eyes widened. “Oh, my. She is a strong one, then.”
“I do not care for the sound of that.”
“Spirits rarely do physical harm to the living.”
“Nor is that very reassuring.”
Hazel smiled a bit. She was very lovely, Lucy realized. It was the first lighthearted expression she’d seen cross the young Medium’s face.
“Do you suppose you might try to conjure Marie right now?” Lucy said.
Hazel nodded with a small sigh. “I will try.” She stood and walked a few steps to the hearth, removing a piece of jewelry from her pocket. She fastened the chain around her neck and settled the talisman against her chest. With a slight shrug at Lucy and a dubious quirk of the brow, she closed her eyes and whispered something, slowly raising her arms above her head.
Lucy looked on with a fair amount of apprehension as her heart sped up. The one benefit, should Marie actually appear, would be that Hazel would be able to understand her. Unless, of course, Hazel wasn’t equipped with necessary Medium skills and Marie took offense.
Hazel’s voice was constant as she murmured a low chant, and the air around the room grew tranquil, serene. Lucy had had the misfortune, once, of being in the presence of a Dark Magick user, and the sensations she had felt were thick and suffocating; the memories of it still made Lucy’s skin crawl.
This was different, much to her relief. Lucy was so at ease and relaxed that if Marie appeared, she figured she’d offer her a seat for a pleasant chat. Wind and rain pelted the windows outside, but the crackle of the fire and the spell that Miss Hughes wove about the room was peaceful and warm. Hazel’s face was upturned, and she seemed to glow from within. She might not be able to commune with the dead, but she could definitely do something.
Beauty and the Clockwork Beast Page 17