The Spiritglass Charade

by Colleen Gleason

  “I would never have stated it so inelegantly.” My palms had gone slightly damp.

  Aunt Geraldine merely smiled. “Have it your way, then, Miss Holmes. I had no idea you were so aware of what was happening. If I had, I’d have done something about it much sooner. I underestimated you, despite your family connections.”

  “Pity for you. And I suspect this won’t be the last time you’ll be outfoxed by a Holmes.”

  She laughed in a particularly nasty way. “I hardly consider myself outfoxed. Despite the conclusions you’ve drawn about my niece, you’re not about to come out of this situation victorious. After all, you’re trapped in my vehicle—oh, yes, I have the doors locked. There’s no way out of here until I allow it.”

  “Apparently I hadn’t considered that possible outcome.”

  “I should say not.”

  “But we are driving through the streets of London. I merely need to hail someone and call for help.”

  She scoffed. “London? No one will hear you. This city is an uncivilized place in comparison to my beloved Paris. I despised having to come back here when Willa’s mother died. And these windows are tinted gray to keep out the sun—which we had plenty of in Paris, but not so much here. No one will see you.”

  “Very well, then. I’ll trust your judgment on that at least. How much longer until we arrive at our destination?”

  “As I am driving a circuitous route to ensure we aren’t followed, and along less-traveled roads where it’s unlikely we’d be noticed, I estimate perhaps another twenty minutes.”

  “Excellent. That should give us plenty of time to discuss precisely why you would go through so much trouble to make your niece go mad—or even die. My initial supposition of the motive was money.”

  “My, Miss Holmes. How fascinating.”

  But I wasn’t finished. “Yet, I find money such a banal motive for what basically amounts to murder. And if you were a man, I might have been satisfied with that. But in this case, the perpetrator isn’t a man, but a woman—which I’d suspected for some time. And women aren’t quite as base and simplistic in their motives, are they?”

  “Indeed. Miss Holmes, I do believe if the circumstances were different, I might actually like you.”

  “It was you who hired Mrs. Yingling and eventually killed her, wasn’t it?”

  “I should have known you’d figure that.” Her voice wasn’t grim so much as admiring. “Was that what put you on to me? I realized later I shouldn’t have acted quite so rashly, but I was concerned that cloud-headed medium would reveal what she knew. And once I learned Her Royal Highness had set a Holmes on the case, I feared you might get your uncle involved.”

  “As you can see, it was not necessary for my uncle to become involved in one of my cases,” I informed her. “What precisely did Mrs. Yingling know? That you’d hired her to help make Willa believe she was going mad, all the while driving her to become more and more dependent upon the séances?”

  “Of course. And the beauty of it is, now that Mrs. Yingling is dead, I will regain the title of the little cottage in Sussex where she planned to retire and where I intend to relocate shortly. It’s an excellent plan, if I do say so.” Miss Kluger shifted the vehicle and turned down a dim, narrow street.

  “And what about Olympia Babbage? Did she know too much as well, and have you had her snuffed out, too?”

  “Once again, your astuteness astounds me. But no. Miss Babbage is too valuable to be removed from the equation. She has many diverse skills that would be a shame to destroy. However, like you shall shortly be, she is in our custody and we shall keep her until she is no longer useful.”

  I was relieved that the young female inventor hadn’t met the same fate as Mrs. Yingling. “What I’m most curious about is how you mesmerized Willa in the first place, and why. Why not just leave her be?”

  “That was a grave error on my part, and one I regretted from the moment it happened. The first time I mesmerized Willa—which was simply when I visited her chamber in the middle of the night and used a golden ball on a string—she wasn’t completely, as we describe it, amused. Enthralled, hypnotized—whatever you wish to call it. In a very malleable state of mind.”

  “And so she remembered what happened whilst she was amused . . . but as a dream. A dream where she visited Robby and saw that he was still alive. But it wasn’t really a dream. You took her there. And that was your mistake.”

  “Yes. I had no idea how powerful Willa’s mind was, to fight my considerable ability to amuse a person. When she began to remember that ‘dream,’ I knew it was only a matter of time until she realized it wasn’t a dream—”

  “And that she really had been in Smithfield, near a sign with a very big, so-called floating key—that is, Ivey & Boles. Their storefront is quite distinctive. When she mentioned seeing a large cogwork key in her dream, that caused me to realize she might not actually have been dreaming.”

  “Just so. You are quite brilliant, Miss Holmes. But it’s a shame you didn’t realize it was I who was the perpetrator before you got into this vehicle.”

  “Perhaps it was a miscalculation on my part. But I am also curious as to why—and how—you caused her mother to visit Willa in the first place, in her chamber. I assume you’re unaware I witnessed one such visitation last night. I confess, I haven’t been able to determine precisely how you conducted that particular sensation. It was quite . . . authentic.”

  “That’s because I didn’t. I can’t take credit for that, Miss Holmes. Those spiritual manifestations are real, and they are part of the reason I was forced to act as I have.”

  “You believe the ghost of Marta Ashton is actually visiting her daughter?”

  “I have no doubt of it. For that’s what has caused Willa to be so certain Robby is still alive.”

  “Is he?” That was one thing I hadn’t quite figured out yet.

  Aunt Geraldine gave me an enigmatic smile. “If Marta hadn’t been speaking to her from the spirit world, then Willa would never have pursued the belief that Robby was still alive, and she would have thought nothing of her so-called dream. It would have all died down, and I wouldn’t have been required to arrange for her to be manipulated by a medium in order to confuse the issue. Those visitations are authentic.”

  “The question of the authenticity of Mrs. Ashton’s visitations is, apparently, the first of two things on which we must disagree, Miss Kluger.”

  “What, pray tell, Miss Holmes, is the second?”

  “That you have been outfoxed by a Holmes for the second time.” With that, I withdrew the Steam-Stream gun from my voluminous skirts and pointed it at her. “Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Kluger?”

  Miss Holmes

  Welcome to La Société

  “I suspected you for quite some time, Miss Kluger.” I adjusted my weapon so it pressed into the side of her torso. “But it wasn’t until I smelled the pickle juice on the papers in Willa’s bedchamber that I realized it was you behind all of this villainy.”

  “Pickle juice?”

  “You’re quite fond of the Honey-Sweets in particular, aren’t you? That information, combined with the crickets I kept noticing inside an otherwise pristine house, finally made the pieces click together. Crickets are the preferred food of spider pets, are they not?”

  Miss Kluger shifted the vehicle and braked, driving into a spot beneath a dark, heavy overhang. “You are quite clever, aren’t you?”

  “I am a Holmes,” I replied modestly.

  “And here we are.”

  “And so I shall meet Gadreau now? Your partner—and, I must assume, your lover? The ringleader of this entire operation, and the current leader of La société. Is he expecting us?”

  “He’s certainly not expecting you.” Miss Kluger’s tones had become irritated. “But I had to seize the opportunity to remove you when I found you at the house. You are, as you said, a Holmes.”

  “I am.”

  My companion turned off her vehicle. I turned my attentio
n to the dirt-blackened brick wall looming above us. Clearly, there was a rear or hidden entrance, for the alley was deserted and there appeared to be no other sign of life. The only door was a heavy metal-and-cogged one of sturdy wood.

  I maneuvered myself across the seat to follow my captive out of the vehicle once she opened the door. I was prepared for her to slam it closed on me, so I positioned my foot as a blockade . . . but either she didn’t think of it, or didn’t bother to try.

  “Just to be clear . . .” I hauled myself out of the vehicle. This was a difficult prospect when maneuvering heavy skirts while training a gun on one’s companion. “I only wish to retrieve Willa, and her brother Robby—who I’ve deduced is still alive—and then I shall leave you to your revolting, blood-drinking société.”

  “Is that so?”

  “I have no qualms about using this weapon, and I can assure you, the steam that will shoot from it will sear your skin painfully. It’s unlikely you’d expire from the injury, but you’ll be hurting for some time. I want Willa and Robby. Oh, and Olympia Babbage as well. Then I shall be on my way.”

  I sincerely hoped I was wrong about my other, deep-rooted fear. That there might be yet another person I would have to rescue. No. I shook my head. He wouldn’t.

  Miss Kluger muttered something I took to be a reluctant assent, and I followed her to the door. My heart thudded and I drew in a deep breath as I pulled a heavy necklace from behind my bodice.

  I had been prepared for everything so far. My deductions had been spot-on. I severely hoped that wouldn’t change.

  She spun three of the cogs in the brass framework that embraced the door. I heard the clicks and automatically counted them, noting the direction she turned each one. It was rather like opening a safe, and focusing on such a mundane thing helped calm my nerves.

  The cogs and gears released with a soft groan, then parted in the center of the door. My prisoner pushed it open and I followed her into a dark foyer.

  The door closed behind us and I gripped the Steam-Stream gun more tightly. I hoped I hadn’t made a grievous error. And I hoped Miss Stoker would act on my message. Posthaste. The soiree at the Lyceum would have to wait.

  Lives were at stake.

  Including mine.

  I kept the gun pressed into Miss Kluger’s back as she opened a door at the opposite side of the foyer. At once we were admitted to a spacious room.

  My first impression was one of red. And heat. Cloying heat. And a heavy, metallic scent. Blood.

  The walls were covered with expensive red fabric—velvet, silk, cotton, tapestry—and paintings. I recognized a Rembrandt and what I was certain was a da Vinci, not to mention a number of others. The furnishings were heavy and ornate, made of mahogany, wrought iron, and bamboo. The place would be quite cozy and luxurious if I didn’t know this was the lair of an UnDead. A fire burned in a large fireplace on one wall.

  I found it enlightening that vampires wanted heat but could not tolerate sunlight.

  Sofas and settees piled with silky pillows littered the chamber. Several bottles of wine and trays of food filled a table on one wall. And sitting in a large, thronelike chair was a man—presumably the Parisian vampire Gadreau. He was surrounded by a group of children—his gang of pickpockets.

  Well then. I was going to have to rescue all of them, wasn’t I? I prodded Miss Kluger nearer.

  “Bonjour, ma chère. I see you’ve brought us a visitor.” Gadreau didn’t rise from his seat, but gestured with a slender, effeminate hand. He spoke English with an accent. “And who might you be?”

  “Miss Mina Holmes.”

  We were close enough now that I could see the gleam of his fangs, protruding from beneath his upper lip. A striking man, attractive in an aristocratic way, he appeared to be about thirty years old. However, since he was a vampire, I knew he had to be older in actual years.

  “Ah, Miss Holmes. Welcome.”

  “I’m here for Willa Ashton. And Robby, her brother.” I scanned the group of boys while keeping an eye on Miss Kluger. Fortunately, I recognized Robby straightaway from his sister’s pictures and drew in a relieved breath. He was here, and alive.

  Gadreau’s attention had settled on my chest. “I see you’ve come armed. So to speak.”

  He referred to the silver cross I’d hung around my neck. “I always come prepared.”

  “Indeed. And you seem to be in possession of someone most important to me.” He gestured to Miss Kluger. “And so if I give you Willa, and Robby—”

  “And Miss Babbage.”

  “Mademoiselle Babbage as well?”

  “Yes. I’ll not leave without them. And the rest of these poor boys. I cannot in good conscience leave them to your evil ways.”

  “But truly, Mademoiselle Holmes. You are very strict. How am I to live if I do not have my boys? My little—what do the English call them? My little snakesmen are indispensible to me.”

  “I’m certain they are. Your band of pickpockets has garnered quite a reputation here in London as having the fastest and lightest of fingers. I’m certain the credit is all yours, enthralling them and training them as you have—after you abducted them. Or was it Miss Kluger who provided them for you?”

  “But of course. I cannot go out in the daylight in search of those best suited for my work. Oui, my darling Geraldine has always had a talent for finding those with slick, elegant fingers and sharp eyes.”

  I turned to Miss Kluger in outrage. “Your own nephew? You would have sentenced him to work for an UnDead? Is it not bad enough that you have committed yourself to a life with him, but your innocent nephew as well?”

  “It was Robby’s own fault.” She drew up and away from me. “He saw me walking through here—it was the night he’d followed Herrell to his boxing club. Herrell sent him home, and while he was riding in a cab, Robby saw me. He followed me and Gadreau, and by the time I noticed—”

  “By that time, I’d seen the fine young man, and he’d seen us. We couldn’t allow him to return home and tell tales. Besides. I’d always wanted a son.” Gadreau smiled affectionately at Robby, who returned the favor. “We UnDead cannot breed, you know.”

  “And so you kept him captive here.”

  “At first he protested, but after a time, he became comfortable with his new life—as they all do. And then we introduced him to the joys of La société. The only problem was that he missed his sister Willa. He wanted to say goodbye to her.”

  “And so you amused her and brought her to see her brother.” I turned back to Miss Kluger. “But it didn’t work out as you’d planned, and she remembered the visit. And then you were in a pickle.”

  Gadreau, at least, appreciated my attempt at humor. His lips curved and his eyes glinted with humor. “Indeed.”

  “Perhaps you could enlighten me. What does an UnDead want with a gang of pickpockets? And food and wine and artwork. You subsist on blood, not bread.”

  “Ah. But just because one is immortal doesn’t mean one doesn’t appreciate comfort and beauty, or has lost one’s taste.” He swept his arm around the chamber. “My slick snakesmen and their quick fingers allow me—and my beloved Geraldine—to live quite comfortably. And though I may not need bread and cheese to survive, I am still a Frenchman and I still can appreciate the taste of a good Bordeaux. Aside from that, my boys must eat as well.”

  “I see.” I couldn’t suppress a little shiver, for at that moment I understood yet another purpose for the gang of boys: a ready supply of fresh, young blood for their master. “But how do you keep them from running away after you abduct them?”

  “It helps that Geraldine and I have our own particular way of—heh—amusing them in order to gain their compliance.”

  “You mean enthralling them?”

  Gadreau inclined his head in acknowledgment. “These youngsters come to enjoy their game of chance, of picking pockets and learning their way through the streets.”

  “Was that one of your snakesmen at New Vauxhall Gardens, on the opening
night? Ah, yes, I recognize the boy—there you are.”

  “Indeed. Poor Ferdy came back empty-handed that night, didn’t you, boy?” Gadreau returned his attention to me. “And so now here we are—you with your silver cross and lethal weapon, and your demands. It’s quite a list, now, isn’t it? Are you quite certain you don’t wish to search the back rooms to see if there is anyone else you might wish to negotiate for?”

  I didn’t care for the way his irises had turned more pink than red, and the sudden malevolent tone that crept into his voice. “I’m here to rescue Willa and Robby and Miss Babbage—and whoever else I can. I’m sorry about your gang of thieves, but I’m afraid I must take them with me. They will want to return to their parents once they are out from under your thrall.”

  “All of them. Indeed. But I’m afraid that’s not practical, Miss Holmes. Taking them all with you.”

  “I can easily find a carriage large enough, or we shall walk to the Underground—”

  Gadreau chuckled gently. “Ah, no, mademoiselle. You misunderstand me. You see, it’s not practical at all—for many of them . . . they do not do well in the sunlight.”

  As if on cue, several of the boys looked up at me with glowing red eyes and long, lethal fangs.

  I was so taken off guard I failed to notice Miss Kluger was edging away until she lunged to the side. Before I could recover, something heavy and flowing dropped on me, hot and suffocating. I struggled to drag myself out of the cloying material while fumbling in my deep pocket for the vial of holy water. . . .

  But the next thing I knew, I was pummeled to the ground, tightly enveloped in the heavy fabric . . . and smothered into darkness.

  Miss Stoker

  Wherein Our Heroine Has a Rude Awakening

  Moonlight streamed into my bedchamber through the window . . . where a dark figure was climbing in.