Mesmerized (19 page)

“Possible. Even plausible. But not enough, I’m afraid, to convince my mother.”

“Tom went through the other wing of the house this morning,” Olivia told him. “He opened the windows and took a lamp to search the dust on the floor for footprints.”

“Did he find any clear ones?”

“Much of the halls was a mess, with you and Tom having walked them, and Belinda and I backtracking several times. But he did find in two hallways a single set of footprints in the dust on the floor. Belinda and I were never apart. He also found footprints apart from the two pairs together that Belinda and I made. There was obviously another person up there.”

Stephen nodded. “Of course, we were sure of that to begin with. Convincing my mother is another matter. I am afraid it is going to take something much more blatant.”

“I know.” Olivia sighed. “I should have caught them yesterday. I was foolish. I said right out loud that the sounds must be coming from the fireplace. I didn’t even think about the fact that whatever was said in the sitting room probably traveled right back to them. So they knew I was coming after them, and they were able to get away.”

“Don’t fret over it.” Stephen smiled and took one of her hands in his. “You have been doing an excellent job. I couldn’t have asked for more.”

She looked up into his face, her heart fluttering a little in her chest. When Stephen smiled at her in that
way, she didn’t know what to say or do. He stepped closer to her, still holding her hand.

A voice came from the doorway. “Oh! My goodness! Have I interrupted something?”

Olivia took a quick step back from Stephen, blushing, as she turned toward the doorway to see Pamela standing there, an amused smile on her lips.

“I am so sorry,” Pamela said, her tone indicating she was anything but, and strolled forward into the room.

“Hello, Pamela.” Stephen’s voice was stony.

“My lady.” Olivia glanced around uncomfortably. Pamela had a knack for making her feel wrong and out of place, and the fact that she did so bothered Olivia even more. It was also most annoying that she felt guilty, when she and Stephen had been doing nothing wrong—and Pamela had no rights over him, anyway.

She cast a quick glance up at Stephen, who was looking at Pamela, his face unreadable. She could not help but wonder if, when he saw Pamela, he still felt the same rush of passion he once had. Was it anger or love in his heart—or a combination of both? Whatever it was, Olivia had a sudden urge to get away from the sight of them.

“I—um,” she began. “I was just about to go, um, work on something. If you will excuse me…?”

She turned and quickly left the room.

Pamela did not spare a glance at Olivia’s retreating figure. She looked at Stephen, her head tilted a little to one side, a slight smile curving her lips, her blue eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Really, Stephen,” she drawled. “Don’t tell me you are trying to make me jealous.”

His eyebrows rose. “I beg your pardon?”

She nodded toward the door through which Olivia had left. “That little scene with the duke’s dowdy daughter that I just witnessed. Holding her hand, looking into her eyes. Going riding with her…oh, and that touching moment last night when she came dragging in from the other wing, your arm solicitously around her waist.”

Stephen gazed at her coolly for a moment. “I am certain it will come as a great shock to you, Pamela, but nothing I have done with Lady Olivia has had the slightest thing to do with you.”

Pamela strolled forward, her skirt swaying gracefully, her eyes intent on Stephen’s. “Come, now, my dear, you can’t expect me to believe that you have any
interest
in the little thing. You forget, I know you.”

She stopped in front of him, only inches away. She put a finger on his chest and trailed it down the front of his shirt, saying, “I know your passion. She could never satisfy that. I know exactly the sort of woman a man like you wants.”

Her eyes glowed as she looked up at him, the full power of her charm turned onto Stephen. Smiling seductively, she slid her hands up the front of his chest, then went on tiptoe and kissed him.

S
tephen’s hands clamped like iron around Pamela’s wrists, and he jerked them down. She blinked at him, her mouth slightly open in surprise.

“Don’t make a fool of yourself, Pamela,” he bit out.

Her eyes widened, and anger flashed in them. “How dare you! Let go of me!”

“Gladly.” He released her wrists and stepped back.

“Are you going to try to tell me that you’re in love with that chit?” she cried, her cheeks flushed with rage.

“I am not trying to tell you anything, Pamela. What you do, what you say, what you think, is of no interest to me.”

“Of course. You want to hurt me. I realize that. I hurt you all those years ago, and it is only fitting that you retaliate.”

“I have no—”

“No.” She raised a hand, drooping artistically
against the back of a chair. “What I did to you was terribly wrong. I knew it. I regretted it as soon as I had done it. But then you were gone. I could not take it back, however much I wanted to.”

“Pamela, please, don’t—”

“I must,” she said quickly, turning away from him. “I never loved Roderick, not as I loved you. I was foolish, I admit that. I was only a girl, and my head was turned by the dazzle of a title…jewels, gold.” She sighed. “As I said, I was very young. It did not take me long to discover how little any of those meant when I was sharing my life, my bed, with a man I did not love. I had years to regret what I had done. Every day I wished it was you by my side, not him. Every time he kissed me or touched me, I pretended it was you. Always.”

“Stop it.” Stephen’s voice was clipped. “You are humiliating yourself to no purpose.”

He walked over to her and put his hand on her arm, turning her around. Her blue eyes were aswim with tears, and her face was soft and vulnerable, her pink lips trembling.

Grimly, Stephen said, “I am sure that many other men would be entranced by the picture you present. Try it on one of them. Not me. You forget, Pamela. I know you. I know that you are always playing a part, always angling to get the advantage of someone else. No one can really know you, because you would as soon lie as speak the truth.”

“I’m telling you the truth right now. I swear it!”

“Then I am sorry for you, for you’ve lived a very unhappy life, all of it of your own making.”

“I have,” Pamela agreed earnestly, reaching out to take his hand. “But I learned from my mistakes. I know now that all I want is you.”

Stephen grimaced. “I am sure that is true, since the title and wealth and jewels are now mine.” He pulled his hand from hers. “It doesn’t matter. Whether I believed you or not, it simply doesn’t matter. I have no feeling for you anymore.”

Pamela stared at him, shocked. “No…Stephen, that can’t be true. You love me.”

“I was infatuated with you, and it was a very long time ago. I feel nothing now.” He turned and walked out the door, leaving Pamela staring, openmouthed, after him.

They gathered in the same room that evening for the séance. As they started to take their accustomed places, Stephen said evenly, “I thought, Madame Valenskaya, that we might sit differently this time. I would very much like to sit beside you. I think it would help me understand what you do better. Don’t you?”

“No!” Madame Valenskaya’s eyes widened in alarm at his words. “I mean, it would not work. I must haff close de ones who believe.”

“Indeed.”

“Yes,” Irina said flatly. “Mr. Babington and I must sit on either side of Mama. It creates a better
link, you see, to the spirit world. A disbeliever at her side would break the connection. The chain.”

“Then perhaps Lady St. Leger could take your place. You would like that, wouldn’t you, Mother?”

Lady St. Leger smiled. “Why, yes, dear, that would be very nice. If that is all right with you, Madame.”

“Is not good,” the medium said hesitantly.

“Or Belinda,” Stephen went on, pleasantly unyielding. “Or Lady Olivia, perhaps.”

“No. No. Not her.” Madame Valenskaya’s eyes cut to Olivia and quickly away. “Irina sits here. And Mr. Babington.”

“But Lady St. Leger is a believer. Surely it would not make any difference if she sat beside you.”

Madame Valenskaya looked again at Lady St. Leger, who appeared eager to sit beside her. She chewed at her lip and said finally, “Yes. Is all right. Tonight. A, how do you say? Experiment?”

Stephen said nothing, merely held out the chair for his mother. “Shall I sit here beside you, Mother?”

“No, no,” Irina cut in quickly. “Your disbelief will still be too near. Your presence will frighten away the spirits.”

Stephen nodded and moved down the table to his usual seat. “Then how about a little light? I am so far away it is difficult to see Madame.”

“Spirits like dark,” Madame protested.

“Indeed? But, surely, does it have to be pitch-black?”

“Yes, why don’t we leave a small light on?” Oliv
ia suggested. “A candle—it wouldn’t have to be on the table. We could put it on the sideboard over there.” She demonstrated by carrying a candlestick to the small table beside the sofa, which had been pushed back to make room for the séance table. “It will be so much easier when the séance is over, don’t you think? Not having to scrabble around in the dark, trying to light the lamp.”

“That does sound sensible,” Lady St. Leger agreed.

“I am not sure the spirits will oblige us,” Mr. Babington put in. “That is often the case, I have found, when there are lights about.”

“It wouldn’t do any harm to try,” Olivia responded reasonably.

“Yes, could we?” Belinda spoke up. “I—well, after last night, I’d really rather not be entirely in the dark.”

“Of course,” Lady St. Leger said quickly, smiling in sympathy at her daughter. “I am sure you would rather not.” She turned to the medium, saying pleasantly, “Please, Madame Valenskaya, let us try it with a little light. Belinda and Olivia went through quite an ordeal, and I am sure they would both feel much better if it was not completely dark in here.”

“If you wish, my lady,” Madame Valenskaya replied, forcing a smile.

Olivia was careful not to look at Stephen, lest a grin of triumph flash across her face. It had been a bit of luck, Belinda piping up with the request for
light. It had made Lady St. Leger press for the light, and Madame Valenskaya could scarcely refuse her patroness. Rearranging the seating and having the light would make it easier to catch whatever sleight of hand Madame Valenskaya used—or make her abandon it altogether.

They settled around the table, and the other lamps were extinguished, leaving only the dim light of the lone candle halfway across the room. The people around the table joined hands, Olivia this time linking hands with Mr. Babington, since Lady St. Leger had gone to sit beside Madame Valenskaya. In the dim light, it was at least possible to make out the medium’s face.

Madame Valenskaya closed her eyes, and around the table, everyone settled into silence. Olivia watched the medium intently. She saw the woman relax, her head sinking down, then coming back up. “There are many spirits here,” she said in measured tones, the accent leaving her voice.

Olivia noticed that there had been no tunes playing tonight or ghostly hands and such appearing. Madame Valenskaya must have been afraid to risk it with Lady St. Leger right beside her and a little bit of light in the room.

“Roddy?” Lady St. Leger asked. “Is that you?”

“Yes. I come tonight. But I—it is difficult. The light…” Madame Valenskaya paused, letting out a deep sigh. “I cannot rest. We cannot rest. There are so many of us here. It is very dark here, and lonely.”

“Roddy, no! Why can you not rest? What is the matter?” Lady St. Leger cried.

“So much has been stolen,” the medium went on in the same flat, ponderous voice. “They cannot rest. The Martyrs cannot rest. None of us can. Until what was stolen is returned to them.”

“But what?” Lady St. Leger asked. “What must be returned to them?”

Madame Valenskaya’s head sank, and she was silent.

“Roddy?” Lady St. Leger said tentatively. “Please, darling…”

Madame Valenskaya jerked her head, then slowly raised it. “He is gone,” she said, not yet opening her eyes. “His spirit has left me.”

“What did he mean?” Lady St. Leger spoke up. “What are we supposed to return to these people? I mean, we can scarcely give up our lands and house.” There was a faintly mutinous look on the older woman’s face.

“I think it would be rather difficult to
give
a ghost anything,” Stephen put in dryly.

“Wait!” Madame Valenskaya exclaimed. Her eyes were still closed, and she began to sway a little. “I am seeing something—gold, something gold. I see a cross. Yes, a cross, large and gold.”

She opened her eyes now. “Forgive me. Is all.”

The people around the table looked at each other. Finally Irina said, “Does that mean anything to you, Lady St. Leger?”

“A gold cross?” Belinda asked. “I don’t understand. Are you saying the spirits want a gold cross?”

“I don’t know,” Lady St. Leger said doubtfully. “Do you mean the Martyrs’ cross?”

“I do not know, my lady,” Madame Valenskaya said. “I saw only gold, much gold—and a cross.”

“I think it is clear enough what she is talking about,” Stephen said, looking at Madame Valenskaya. “It is the Martyrs’ treasure you are speaking of.” He looked from her to Irina and Babington and back. “Isn’t it?” He leaned into his chair, his face disdainful as he went on. “I presumed you would ask me for money to ‘lay’ these restless spirits. But obviously it is the Martyrs’ treasure you’re after.”

Madame Valenskaya bridled at his words. “I am not ‘after’ treasure. I speak for the spirits.”

“Stephen!” Lady St. Leger admonished. “Really! How can you say that? Of course Madame Valenskaya doesn’t want any money from you.”

Olivia, watching the medium, noticed that Madame Valenskaya did not echo Lady St. Leger’s words.

Madame Valenskaya laid a hand to her forehead, saying, “I am so tired. Ferry, ferry tired.” She held out her hand, and Mr. Babington took it, helping her up solicitously.

“These sessions are very debilitating for Madame Valenskaya,” he said. “She must rest now. It takes too much out of her.” He turned to Lady St. Leger. “Perhaps it would be best if we were to return to London.”

“What!” Lady St. Leger exclaimed, horrified. “No, you mustn’t. Oh, please, Madame Valenskaya, don’t do that.”

“I am ferry tired,” the medium said again in a weak voice.

“It is very difficult for Madame,” Babington went on. “The spirits drain her, and it is so much harder, having to fight against Lord St. Leger’s cynicism and suspicion. The spirits don’t wish to come into such an atmosphere, you see.” He cast a reproachful look at Lady St. Leger. “And, I fear, my lady, that you are letting yourself be influenced by your son.”

“No! Oh, please…” Lady St. Leger looked so forlorn and scared that it hurt Olivia’s heart. “Don’t leave. You know that I believe in the spirits and what they say. I know Roddy is speaking to me through you. You can’t, you simply
can’t,
leave now. What will I do?”

Babington made a show of looking uncertain. “I don’t know, Lady St. Leger. I cannot allow Madame Valenskaya to wear herself out doing this, especially when she is not believed.”

Olivia wondered cynically what he would do if Lady St. Leger simply acquiesced at that point, but, of course, Valenskaya’s group knew their victim better than that. After more pleading and a little more dramatic indecision, Madame Valenskaya agreed to stay.

“No surprise there,” Stephen said with a grimace an hour later, as he and Olivia sat in his study. It was
becoming something of an evening ritual, their gathering there to discuss the events of the day and the progress of their investigation. Stephen usually poured himself a brandy, and once or twice Olivia had joined him.

“They certainly have their act down,” Stephen went on. “Pretending reluctance, then letting themselves be persuaded. It is one of the things that makes Mother feel they are perfectly honest. No one who was trying to trick or deceive her would decide to leave, she thinks. She doesn’t see how well they twist her around their finger, threatening to take away her access to Roderick so that she will abandon whatever doubts may have arisen in her mind.”

“She
was
beginning to doubt this evening,” Olivia replied. “She seemed somewhat offended at the idea that the St. Legers should repay the Martyrs for their loss.”

Stephen smiled. “That was a slip on Valenskaya’s part, I agree. Mother has always been fiercely proud of the St. Legers, and she loves Blackhope. She would not welcome any slight to them.”

“What is this ‘Martyrs’ treasure,’ anyway?” Olivia asked. “Why do they want it in particular?”

“It is something that was found after the St. Legers moved into this house, hundreds of years ago. The Elizabethans, you know, were great builders, and the first St. Legers here added on to the original house. Part of what we call the main wing includes the ad
ditions that the first earl made. They also renovated some of the original house. During the renovations, they discovered a secret room.”