“So, the Welsh connection is strong.”
“Very strong. Stand on the walls of Chantiloup and you can spit into Wales. Have a few holdings in Wales as well.” He looked at Alethea. “Better?”
“Yes,” she replied. “It was rather”—she hesitated as she searched for the right word but found none—“unpleasant. I knew, even as I reached for the handkerchief, that it was a mistake. The smell of roses warned me, but I was already in the act of picking it up.”
“May I look?” Iago began to reach for the sketchbook.
“Please do.” Alethea glanced at the other three men. “All of you. One of you may be able to understand what I saw. I fear the images came so quickly and so fiercely it will be a while ere I can puzzle it all out. And, the faces…” She shivered a little and quickly moved to pour herself another cup of heavily sweetened tea. “I do not recognize any of them.”
Hartley moved quickly to join his friends in studying the sketches along with Lord Iago. He was stunned by what he saw. Lady Alethea had filled the page with hastily but superbly drawn images. If her mind had been crowded with so many dark images, it was no wonder that she had been so badly overset.
“I see Peterson there,” Aldus said in a soft, unsteady voice.
“And Rogers,” said Gifford in a similar tone.
“And the Compte de Laceau and his lady,” whispered Hartley.
“They must be the strongest ones.” Iago pointed to his own sketching done on the facing page. “I saw the same earlier, saw their faces in the miasma surrounding Madame Claudette.”
Lord Uppington was also very skilled at drawing, Hartley decided as he studied the man’s sketches, although his work lacked the emotional impact of Alethea’s. Yet it was still chilling to think this man could see such things. Even more chilling to think that Iago saw it all around a woman Hartley had planned to bed. He was going to have to change his plans. It would prove impossible to feel any desire for Madame Claudette now. Despite his strong need to deny all he was seeing now, he knew he would forever see these images in his head when he looked at Claudette. The fact that he felt relieved over the possibility of ending his seduction of Claudette was something he would have to examine later.
Turning his study to the words Alethea had written by each drawing, Hartley frowned slightly. The word roses was very easy to understand. Alethea had already made it clear that the scent was Claudette’s signature. The other words troubled him, however. As he retook his seat by her side, he was relieved to see that she looked less pale.
“Why did you put the word laudanum next to Peterson?” he asked her. “He was not killed by that.”
“In a way, he was, I think,” replied Alethea. “I saw him dragged from a rose garden. He knew what was to happen. There was fury and fear, but his mind was clouded, and his body would not heed his commands. He could not save himself, and he was enraged.”
“Peterson exactly,” murmured Aldus as he and Gifford retook their seats.
“And the word hate written below the drawings?” Hartley asked.
“It came from many of them. The Rose was the most infected with it, however. Greed, too. That came only from The Rose.” She took a deep breath to steady herself, still trying to dispel the taint of all the ugly emotions carried within the vision. “Bloodlust and power. The Rose savors both, one feeding the other. The killing makes her feel strong.”
“The couple, the compte and his lady, were betrayed? That is the word you wrote next to their picture.”
“Yes. Betrayal, utter despair, and then a demand for vengeance was what I felt from them.” She frowned slightly. “There was something else. No, someone else. Two someones sheltered behind them, but I could not see them.”
Iago nodded. “I felt the same. The compte and his lady are now very clear to me, but they are not alone. There are two essences with them, clinging and shielded.”
“The children,” whispered Hartley, the sting of grief that seared through him telling him that he no longer doubted the gifts of the Vaughns. “But there were four children.”
“Only two others were with them,” said Iago.
Pushing aside her horror over the realization that Madame Claudette had sent children to their deaths, Alethea mentally reviewed her vision and nodded. “Yes, only two others were with them.” She struggled to recall exactly what she had seen and sensed concerning the French couple. “Young. Very young. One young enough to struggle with his words. His words? Ah, a small boy, then.” She shook her head. “Not enough seen or sensed for me to know for certain which two children were there.”
“But young?”
“Yes. Of that I am certain.”
“As am I,” said Iago.
“They had four children,” said Hartley. “Andre, who was but two years of age, Blanche, who was five, Bayard, the heir, and eleven, and Germaine, who was fifteen. The older children are from his first marriage. To my sister Margaret.”
Alethea sighed, knowing there was nothing one could say to ease the pain of such a loss. “I am sorry, Hartley. I did not see or sense the older children. Were they quiet children?”
“No. Bayard was quite spirited, and Germaine was a complete hoyden.”
Iago frowned. “I felt nothing…Yet, a girl so close to womanhood? And spirited? I think she would not be hiding.” He shook his head. “If you seek some clue that they still live, I am afraid we can give you none. I did not feel their presence, and Alethea has not yet seen them in her visions. It could mean that they yet live. Sadly, it could also mean that they, well, moved on, shall we say.”
“And there is no way you can seek them out?” Hartley asked.
“Not really. Alethea’s visions cannot be that well controlled, if at all. You just saw how she fell victim to it by simply picking up a handkerchief. If I see the spirits who cling to Claudette’s skirts again, I might seek them, might have a chance to gain some information from the strongest of them. I can promise nothing, however. Spirits are not always cooperative. The ones about Claudette are most specific about what they want, but they may ne’er be clear about why, or who they are. How long ago would they have died?”
“Nearly three years ago. That was when the escape was all planned, yet they never made it.” He mumbled a curse and dragged a hand over his hair. “I cannot believe I am accepting this, even suggesting more, and yet…” He waved a hand toward the sketchbook.
“Exactly,” said Aldus. “And yet. A shame it cannot all be controlled and used as one wishes, when one wishes it.” He looked at Hartley. “Give it a little more time, see if more comes forth, and then we will set our people on it.”
“But they have been looking for the de Laceaux for three years.”
“Yes, for a family, for the compte and his lady and four children. That could be blinding them. Once we can offer more than, er, visions to explain how we know only the two eldest children may have survived, we will do so.”
Hartley nodded and helped himself to an apple tart. “Bayard would be fourteen now and Germaine a young woman of eighteen. That would, indeed, alter the search that has been ongoing.” He struggled to temper the hope surging to life inside of him, but it was difficult. Although reluctant, he knew he was rapidly becoming a believer in what the Vaughns could do.
“If you have anything from that time,” began Alethea, and then she shook her head. “It would have to be something personal, something that was there when the deaths occurred or the danger was present.” She looked at the handkerchief still lying on the floor near the fireplace. “I could try to see if that stirs another vision.”
“But not today,” Iago said firmly. “We shall both have a go at it on the morrow, under the proper conditions. ’Tis possible Claudette had it with her and that she was there when the de Laceaux family was set upon. ’Tis also possible it but held some memories from those who cling to her. I favor the latter, for what woman keeps a handkerchief for three years?”
“One who was once very poor,” Alethea said a
s she poured herself yet another cup of tea. The harsher the vision, the more thirsty it left her. “One who has suffered the sting of poverty and the scorn that can come with it. The handkerchief is of the finest linen and the most expensive lace, things she never had the coin for. She will not rid herself of it until it is stained beyond cleaning or tattered.” She noticed all four men were staring at her, thought over what she had just said, and frowned. “I wonder how I knew that. Ah, and she was raised in a poor tenant’s cottage.”
“How do you know that?” asked Hartley.
“I have no idea. Something about chickens. Odd that that should come forth now.”
“It was probably overshadowed by all the more upsetting images,” said Iago.
“That must be it. Perhaps more will come to me later.” She smiled faintly at Hartley, heartsore that she could not provide him with something he could immediately make use of. “None of it is much help, is it?”
“It confirms a lot of our suspicions,” he replied.
“And gave us some information concerning the deaths that we had not had before,” said Aldus. “The sort of information that could be very useful if we get our hands on one of the ones who was involved. A mention of such details, the sort only those involved could know, can make a prisoner think you know it all, that one of his own has or is betraying him.”
“And it assures us that we are on the right path, have not been wasting our time,” said Gifford. “We do that too often in this game.”
Alethea smiled, relieved and pleased. “I know you cannot tell people how you came by the information and were concerned that that made it all useless. It is good to know that it can serve some purpose, be of some help to you. As Iago said earlier today, what is the worth of such gifts if they cannot be put to some use?”
“I, for one, wish we could put them to even greater use,” said Aldus. “The possibilities are endless, and both time and work could be saved, used more profitably elsewhere. And lives could be saved as well, many lives. Unfortunately, acceptance of such things is not widespread, as you well know.”
“Even those who do believe can be most reluctant to deal with such gifts in even the smallest way.”
“Or can begin to wish one could still pile kindling around your feet,” drawled Iago.
Everyone winced, and the conversation turned back to what little they had learned. Sensing that the Vaughns were in need of some time to recover from their ordeals, Hartley soon brought an end to the meeting. He still found it all unsettling, but he could no longer deny the truth. Alethea Vaughn had visions, and Iago Vaughn saw the dead. Part of the birth of his new belief was because of the Vaughns themselves. He realized he trusted them implicitly, and there were few people he could say that about.
“Damn my eyes, but I wish we could use this information openly, without fear of ridicule over how it was obtained,” said Aldus as their carriage started on its way back to Hartley’s home.
“We shall just have to think of some clever story to explain how we know what we know.” Hartley thought of the possibility that his sister’s children were still alive and fought against the surge of hope that tried to rise up within him. “And soon.”
“You think your niece and nephew may still live?” asked Aldus.
The man had always been able to sense what was on his mind, Hartley thought and sighed. “’Tis a possibility, a small one. They were just children. Yet Germaine was always a strong, clever girl. If any young girl could survive such a tragedy, survive on the streets of the madhouse that is now France, it would be Germaine.”
“Even with a young boy to protect and care for?”
Hartley nodded, absolutely confident in his opinion of his niece. “Even then. In fact, that would make her even fiercer and more determined to survive. I fear having my hopes raised, but I cannot stop it from happening.”
“Perhaps seducing Claudette—”
“No. A woman who kills so easily will not be brought down by seduction and pillow talk.” Hartley grimaced. “I would also fail in seducing her now, I fear. I will never be able to look at her, touch her, without seeing the faces of Peterson, Rogers, the compte and his lady, and those two innocent babes.” He silently admitted to himself that even his baser lust had stopped being tempted by the woman from the moment he had stared into a pair of silvery blue eyes.
Gifford nodded. “Just do not tell our superiors that.”
“Why not?” Hartley asked. “I shall need to explain why I am turning away from her.”
“Oh, you will still be able to do that, but I think we shall say that our knowledge comes from a careless slip made by Claudette as you worked your magic upon her.”
Hartley hesitated for only a moment and then nodded in agreement. It was a good plan. Unease tickled at him, however, and he suddenly realized it was because he did not want Alethea to hear that he was still sniffing after Claudette. He inwardly shook his head when he next realized that the only woman he wanted now was Alethea Vaughn, a woman who had a gift that sent chills down his spine.
Chapter 5
Biting the inside of her cheek to curb the urge to smile, Alethea greeted Hartley as he was shown into the small blue salon. He looked nervous, a look that did not sit well on his strong, handsome face. She doubted it was because he found himself alone with her. He paced the room until Ethelred brought in some tea, wine, and cakes. The moment the butler left, Hartley sat down on the settee facing her.
“Is Iago home?” Hartley asked, nodding his agreement when she silently gestured toward the teapot.
“No,” Alethea replied as she poured them each a cup of tea. “This is the night he goes off with his friends. If it is important that you speak with him now, I believe Ethelred could tell you where to look or send a message to him.”
“Ah, no. Do not do that.” He grimaced, a little surprised at how concerned he suddenly was with the proprieties. He had spent a lot of time in rooms alone with a lot of women and never fretted, but, then, those women had not been Alethea. “I did not expect to find you all alone.”
“I am not a young maiden, Hartley. A maid will be chaperone enough.”
“There is no maid here.”
“There is, if anyone has the temerity to ask or imply otherwise.” She smiled faintly. “Do not fear. If you call for help, Ethelred and Alfred will immediately rush to your aid.” She ignored the disgusted look he gave her. “Why are you here?”
Hartley took a bracing sip of the strong tea. “After what you told us two nights ago, after hearing all you had learned from simply holding that scrap of linen and lace, I began to think on what you might discover if you did touch something else, something that belonged to the prey instead of the predator.” He struggled to keep the image of her pale, tear-streaked face from his mind, because he needed her to do this, needed to find the truth.
“As I told you, I cannot promise anything.”
Alethea could understand what drove him to make the request. He needed to know what had happened to his niece and nephew. She could see the hunger for that knowledge in his eyes. Considering what might have happened to them, she was not eager to touch anything that might have been with the children that day, but she could not bring herself to refuse him. This was what her gift was for. If those children were alive, and she was, even in the smallest of ways, able to help him find them, then it was worth whatever unpleasantness she might have to suffer.
When Hartley saw the faint look of unease on her face, the memory of how upsetting it had been for her to hold that handkerchief, the grim images she had been forced to see, slipped free of the bonds he had put on it. He hesitated to add to that, to chance giving her new, even more upsetting images, but only for a moment. For three long years he had wondered what had happened to his niece and nephew, had searched and worried. Although he had also worried about the compte, his wife, and their two children, it was Bayard and Germaine he had been desperate to find. Aside from a few distant cousins, they were all the family he had l
eft. He could not fully discard what he had seen two nights ago, could not make himself dispute Alethea and Iago’s claims that the compte, his wife, and their two children were dead. His need to know the fate of his sister’s two children had grown with each hour since then. Hartley pulled Germaine’s locket out of his waistcoat pocket and stared at it for a moment before fixing his gaze on Alethea.
“I bought this for Germaine when she was but ten,” he said. “It was one of the few things found at the place where the whole family was to meet with me and my men.” He frowned at her and then glanced toward the door. “Should we call your maid in case you will be needing her aid?”
After considering that, Alethea shook her head. “You were here that night and saw what she did.”
“She stroked your hair and spoke softly to you until you recognized she was there. Only then did she take away the handkerchief. Then you drew those chilling pictures, and, once done, she had you drink tea.”
“Sweet tea. At least four lumps of sugar.” Bracing herself for what she might face, she held her hand out for the locket.
“I have to know,” he muttered when he still hesitated, both in apology to her and encouragement to himself, and then he placed the locket in her hand.
For a brief moment, Alethea thought nothing was going to happen. She was both relieved and heartily disappointed. She truly wished to help Lord Redgrave, to help those lost children, but she was not that fond of her visions, especially when they were of dark, frightening things. Just as she saw the hope Hartley tried to hide begin to fade, she was caught up in a dizzying barrage of images and emotions. Her whole body rocked with the force of its arrival. She saw it all, just as if she were one with the young girl who had worn the locket while her world had been decimated by violence. She experienced all the terror, the grief, and the rage. Then, ever so slowly, the mist began to clear. Alethea became aware of a pair of strong arms around her and a deep, melodious voice. Her senses returned, lured back by the scent of him. She was strongly tempted to wallow in that comfort for a moment, to soak up the warmth of the big, strong body so close to hers. The urge to record what she had seen prevailed, however.
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