Burning Lamp (11 page)

Immediately after the doctor had left, Adelaide made the decision to send word to the newly wed Mrs. Jones, requesting a consultation at the earliest possible hour. She had not been at all certain that there would be a response but she could not think of anywhere else to turn. The doctor who had closed the wound had scoffed at her concerns about infection. He was a good man, Adelaide had concluded, and quite deft with a needle and thread, but he was of an older generation. He gave no credence to modern notions of medicine.

“It was very kind of you to come out at such an early hour and in this dreadful weather,” Adelaide said. “I cannot tell you how very grateful I am. The doctor got the bullet out and I insisted that he clean the wound quite thoroughly but I have seen such injuries before. I know what can happen.”

“You were wise to be cautious.” Lucinda closed and buckled the satchel that she had brought with her. “In my experience, infection often proves more lethal than the original wound. But I’m sure he will recover nicely.”

“It is a relief to hear you say that. My housekeeper tells me that you possess great expertise in such matters.”

Lucinda contemplated Griffin. Behind the lenses of her spectacles, curiosity glinted in her eyes.

“I must say, I’m amazed at how quietly he is sleeping,” she said. “It is as if he had been given some opium concoction, but I do not detect any indication of the milk of the poppy.”

“I have some small talent for dealing with pain,” Adelaide explained.

Lucinda nodded, unsurprised. “Yes, I can sense that you possess some psychical ability, Mrs. Pyne. Do not worry overmuch about Mr. Winters. It is obvious that he is endowed with a very strong constitution.”

Adelaide looked down at Griffin’s broad, bare chest. So did Lucinda. There was a short pause while they both contemplated Griffin’s strong constitution.

“Yes, indeed,” Adelaide said. “Very strong.” She cleared her throat and hastily pulled the sheet up to cover Griffin’s chest.

Lucinda smiled. “Nevertheless, he will no doubt be in considerable discomfort when he does awaken. Men can get quite surly under those conditions.” She opened her satchel again and removed another packet. “I will leave you something for the pain, just in case. Mix a spoonful into his tea or a glass of warm milk.”

“Thank you.”

Lucinda buckled the satchel again and hoisted it in one hand. “Very well, then. I must be off.”

“A cup of tea before you leave?”

“Unfortunately I must decline. My husband is waiting for me in the carriage. We have another appointment this morning. Inspector Spellar from Scotland Yard has asked us to consult for him.”

“I understand. I will see you out.”

They left the bedroom and started down the staircase to the front hall of the big house.

“Again, allow me to express my gratitude, Mrs. Jones,” Adelaide said.

“Nonsense. Delighted to be of some assistance,” Lucinda said. “But I must admit I am surprised that you felt comfortable sending for me. My reputation in the press leads most people to believe that I am given to the pastime of poisoning people. How did you learn of my herbal skills?”

“I have had some experience of the press, Mrs. Jones. I am well aware of what it can do to a reputation. As for how I learned of your talent for concocting therapeutic remedies, I owe the knowledge to my housekeeper.”

“And who might she be?”

“Her name is Mrs. Trevelyan. She is acquainted with your housekeeper.”

“Mrs. Shute?”

“I believe that is her name, yes. The two have known each other since they started out in service together many years ago. Their world is a small one. Gossip flows through it just as freely as it does through the other social circles. Mrs. Trevelyan assured me that her friend would never have gone to work for an employer who was in the habit of poisoning the odd gentleman or two.”

Lucinda chuckled. “In other words my housekeeper provided me with an excellent character reference. I must remember to thank her for that.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Jones. And congratulations on your recent marriage.”

“Thank you.” Lucinda appeared mildly surprised. “You are, I gather, a member of the Arcane community?”

“My parents were Arcane but they died a long time ago. I spent the past several years in America and have had no contact with the Society. Growing up I was well aware of the Jones family, however. When the announcement of your wedding to Mr. Caleb Jones appeared in the papers I recognized the name and made the connection. That was when Mrs. Trevelyan informed me that her old friend was in your employ.”

“If you do not have any close connections within the Society, you may not be aware that Mr. Jones and I have recently founded a psychical investigation agency. Let me give you a card.”

Lucinda reached into a hidden pocket sewn into the folds of her elegant skirts and pulled out a crisp pasteboard.

Adelaide took it from her and glanced at the name of the firm printed in very fine black script.

“JoNes aNd JoNes,”
she read.

“Should you ever feel the need of our services, I trust you will send word to our office. Jones and Jones prides itself on discretion.”

“That is very good to know, Mrs. Jones.”

Adelaide slipped the card into the pocket of the starched white apron that covered her from throat to ankle. Beneath the apron was a fresh, plain day dress. She had sent Jed to fetch Mrs. Trevelyan shortly after arriving at the Abbey. Demonstrating her considerable professional competence, the housekeeper had quickly packed a trunk that contained fresh clothes and a variety of personal toiletries. She had also put in a set of silk sheets and one of Adelaide’s silk nightgowns.

Mrs. Trevelyan had never asked any questions about the silk sheets. She no doubt assumed that Adelaide’s rule of sleeping only in silk was simply an eccentricity. The reality was that it was a necessity as far as Adelaide was concerned. The disturbing energy of other people’s dreams and nightmares soaked into bedding and mattresses over the years and made sleep virtually impossible for someone with her unusual talent. She had discovered long ago that silk acted as a barrier to the unpleasant residue of old dreamlight.

Having seen to her employer’s immediate needs, Mrs. Trevelyan had promptly sailed into the kitchen and taken charge of the household. She reported to Adelaide that the large man named Delbert had put up some resistance at first. But he and the other enforcers had been won over when the fragrant aromas of a hearty breakfast and strong coffee had begun to emanate from the kitchen.

“Men generally respond very well to a good meal,” Mrs. Trevelyan explained to Adelaide. “Indeed, it has been my experience that they are more faithful to a good cook than they are to a lover.”

Delbert waited now at the foot of the stairs with Lucinda’s cloak. His coat was fastened around his bulky frame in a less than successful attempt to conceal the large revolver he carried in his shoulder holster. If Lucinda noticed the bulge she was too polite to question it.

Delbert was clearly unaccustomed to the business of assisting a lady into her cloak. He fumbled a bit with the long, sweeping length of fine wool and turned quite red when it did not settle properly around Lucinda’s shoulders. But Mrs. Jones did not seem to notice.

“Thank you,” she said politely.

“Yes, ma’am.” Delbert turned even redder.

Out in the street, rain was falling steadily. Adelaide watched from the doorway as Delbert used a large umbrella to escort Lucinda down the steps to the waiting carriage. The vehicle’s windows were securely closed against the damp weather.

The carriage door opened when Lucinda got close. A man dressed in a high-collared coat and a low-crowned hat kicked down the steps and got out. The heavy rain, combined with the hat, the coat and the fact that Delbert’s broad back and the bobbing umbrella were in the way, made it difficult to get a clear view of the gentleman. Adelaide was certain, however, that she was looking at the other half of Jones & Jones
.

There was a subtle intimacy in the way Caleb Jones handed Lucinda up into the cab. It spoke volumes. Mr. Jones, Adelaide thought, was very much in love with his wife and she with him.

The carriage door closed and the vehicle rolled off into the rain. Adelaide opened her senses and looked at the prints that the Joneses had left on the pavement. Hot energy burned in the rain.

Delbert lumbered back up the steps, paused to shake out the umbrella and then moved into the hall. He closed the door and looked at Adelaide. Anxiety scrunched his broad features into a grim mask.

“Will the Boss really be all right, ma’am?” he asked.

“Yes,” Adelaide said. She was aware of the other two enforcers, Jed and Leggett, listening from the shadows of the hall. “Jed and I got the bleeding stopped very quickly and the doctor who was summoned appeared competent.”

“He bloody well better be competent. Owes the Boss a favor, and that’s a fact.”

“I see. Well, rest assured, I called in Mrs. Jones merely as a precaution against infection.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Delbert hesitated, glancing up the staircase. “It’s just that the Boss is sleeping so soundly. Has us a bit worried, if you want to know.”

“Why? Sleep is what he needs now.”

“The thing is, he hasn’t been sleeping well for some time. The way he is at the moment, it strikes us as a bit unnatural is all.”

“He’ll awaken soon,” she assured him. “When he does he will need some nourishing broth. Please ask Mrs. Trevelyan to send up a tray in an hour.”

Delbert squinted. “How do you know the Boss will be awake by then?”

“Trust me.”

She seized handfuls of her skirts and flew up the stairs. The last thing she and Mrs. Trevelyan needed just now was for Griffin’s enforcers to wonder whether she was trying to murder their boss.

 

 

 

CALEB WATCHED LUCINDA LOWER THE HOOD OF HER CLOAK. Her energy was a tonic to all of his senses. He still could not believe that he was married to this remarkable woman.

“Obviously you were not immediately thrown out of the house as I predicted,” he observed. “Winters must, indeed, be in a bad way if he allowed a woman named Jones to attend him.”

“Mr. Winters does not even know that I was summoned,” Lucinda said. “He did not awaken during the time I was in the house.”

Caleb whistled softly. “Well, that certainly explains why you got past the front door. I wonder what he’ll say when he wakes up and discovers that he was treated by you.” He paused a beat. “Always assuming that he will wake up, of course. How bad is it?”

“Not as bad as it could have been. Mr. Winters was shot in the shoulder. But it is clear that he did not lose a great amount of blood, nor did he slide too far into shock, thanks to the quick actions of Mrs. Pyne. The major danger now is, as always in such cases, infection. That is why I was summoned. Mr. Winters is fortunate in his nurse. Mrs. Pyne seems well versed in modern notions of sickroom hygiene and cleanliness.”

“Any clue to the identity of the man who shot him?”

“No, and I did not want to push the matter,” Lucinda said. “It is obvious that the household is on guard, however. There are three men inside. They are all carrying American-style revolvers under their coats. I also noticed two very large dogs.”

“There is nothing odd about the presence of armed guards in that household. As the Director of the Consortium, Winters has made a lot of enemies. I wonder which one got to him last night?”

“Do you think Jones and Jones should make some discreet inquiries?”

“I doubt if we would get far. Winters comes from a different world, my dear.”

“The criminal underworld, you mean.”

“It has its own rules, just as our world does. Winters’s connections on the streets of his world are infinitely more impressive than our own. He will not need our assistance to discover the name of the shooter, nor would he welcome it.”

Lucinda watched him very steadily. “What will happen when Mr. Winters discovers the identity of the man who tried to kill him?”

“I expect the would- be murderer will quietly disappear. I can also guarantee you that there will be no evidence left behind that could be traced back to the head of the Consortium. Winters is nothing if not subtle. Scotland Yard will never touch him. Spellar, I think, actually owes him a favor or two.”

Lucinda shivered. “Mr. Winters is a very dangerous man.”

“Yes, and possibly on the brink of becoming more so.”

“Do you know him well?”

“Our families are linked through some ancient history, as you know, but the Winters and the Jones clans have steadfastly avoided each other for generations. I have never met Griffin Winters. He is the last of his bloodline. If he does not marry and produce a son, the legend of the Burning Lamp will end with him.”

“He is not a young man,” Lucinda said. “Midthirties I would say. I’m surprised that he is not married. Most men are at his age.”

“He had a wife at one time. She died in childbirth. There was some speculation on the street to the effect that she was involved in an affair with one of his most trusted men. It was all very sordid. Shortly after the mother and babe died, the lover disappeared. Quietly.”

“In true Winters style?”

“Yes. There have been rumors of discreet liaisons with other women over the years but no indication of offspring.”

Lucinda’s fine brows shot up above the rims of her spectacles. “It appears that you have kept an eye on him.”

“We thought it wise.”

“We? You mean your family?”

“Within Arcane, some legends must be taken seriously.”

“I did notice one other odd thing in that household,” Lucinda said.

“What is that?”

“Mr. Winters was sleeping very peacefully and quite soundly. It was not the sort of restless sleep that one expects after a serious injury.”