Mesmerized (21 page)

A low, harsh moan issued from the end of the table where the medium sat, and the hair on the nape of Olivia’s neck prickled in primitive response. Howard
Babington’s head was thrown back, and she realized that the sound was issuing from his open mouth. As she watched, he rose slowly to his feet, moving almost as if someone were pulling him upward. His arms dangled at his sides. Then his head fell back down, so that he was facing the rest of them.

“I will have my revenge,” he said, his voice booming out, harsh and grating, like the creak of metal against metal. His face looked different—his eyes filled with a fierce light, his features hard and hate filled, his lips pulling back in an animal snarl.

He had pulled his hands from Madame Valenskaya’s and Lady St. Leger’s as he stood up. Lady St. Leger stared at him now in horrified fascination, her hand clutched to her throat.

“I will have what is mine,” Babington went on in the same deep, rasping voice, his words oddly accented. “I have waited hundreds of years, and I will not be denied. Death cannot thwart me. The whore will pay! No one will escape. They will kneel before me and beg.”

His eyes were wide and glowing with hatred, his face almost unrecognizable. He lifted his arms, fists clenched, and from his mouth issued something that could only be described as a howl.

Olivia shivered, goose bumps popping up all over her. She tore her eyes from Babington for an instant to look at Madame Valenskaya, and she saw on the medium’s face a look of undisguised horror. Next to Olivia, Stephen pulled his hand from hers and shot to
his feet, his chair falling over with the force of his movements.

The unearthly howl ended abruptly, as if cut off. Babington’s eyes rolled up, and he began to jerk, as if in the midst of a violent seizure. They all stared with horror as he trembled and shook. Stephen alone was able to move, hurrying around the table toward him. He reached out and grasped Babington’s arm as Babington went limp and slid to the floor.

S
tephen managed to grab the man with his other hand, as well, so that Babington did not crash onto the floor but went down more gradually, Stephen supporting his shoulders and easing his head onto the ground.

As if released from their frozen state, the women stood up from the table, their voices rising in a babble. Stephen knelt beside Babington and loosened his tie and undid his collar. Olivia moved quickly to his side and knelt down with him.

“Is he all right? What happened?”

“I haven’t a bloody clue,” Stephen replied, taking off his coat and folding it into a makeshift pillow to put beneath the man’s head.

“Is—is he dead?” Madame Valenskaya asked, edging closer and peering down at Babington.

Olivia looked up at the medium. Her face was pale, and her hands were clutching her skirts. Her accent, Olivia noticed, had disappeared utterly.

“No. He’s still breathing.” Stephen took the other man’s wrist in his fingers. “His pulse is racing. I don’t know what happened. He must have had a seizure of some sort.”

“It was the spirits,” Irina offered.

Madame Valenskaya stirred. “Yes,” she agreed, her voice dropping and reacquiring its guttural accent. “Spirits speak through him. Dey are unhappy.”

“I would say unhappy doesn’t even begin to express it,” Olivia commented dryly.

“Yes,” Lady St. Leger agreed, her face troubled. “He sounded quite…well…mad.” She paused, then added, “That was not Roddy. That could not have been Roddy.”

“Olivia, ring for the servants,” Stephen said. “We need smelling salts. I can’t awaken him. And someone please turn on some damn lights.”

It was Belinda who turned the lamp’s flame higher and brought it over to where Babington lay on the floor. Olivia summoned a footman and sent him running for smelling salts.

When the footman returned a few moments later with the smelling salts, Stephen waved the bottle under Babington’s nose. Babington coughed and turned his head away, but his eyes did not open. Stephen slapped his cheeks gently, but that had no effect on him, either.

“Oh, dear, what’s happened to him?” Lady St. Leger murmured tearfully.

“I think a spirit tried to speak through him,” Irina
said quietly. “And it seems to have been too much for him.”

“Yes. Yes. A spirit,” Madame Valenskaya agreed quickly, going back to her chair and sitting down.

Stephen sent a servant for the doctor, then had some of the footmen carry Babington up to his room and put him in his bed. The rest of the group trailed after them, standing in an uncertain clump inside his bedroom door. Olivia lit every lamp and candle in his room. Babington’s pallor looked even greater in the increased light.

Stephen glanced at the women. “I will wait for the doctor, and I will let you know what he says.”

Pamela looked greatly relieved at this statement and left the room almost immediately. Madame Valenskaya and her daughter hesitated, but it took little persuading to get them to retire, as well.

“I should stay with our guest,” Lady St. Leger told her son, giving Babington an uneasy glance. “It is my responsibility as the lady of the house.”

Stephen sent Olivia a significant look, and Olivia stepped forward. “But, Lady St. Leger, your son is the head of the house, after all, and I’m sure he is quite capable of remaining with Mr. Babington until the doctor arrives. No doubt poor Mr. Babington would be more comfortable with another man in the room rather than one of us women.” She nodded toward Belinda. “And I think Belinda is in need of her mother right now.”

Lady St. Leger looked at her daughter, who was
indeed quite pale and frowning with worry. “Yes, I am sure you are right, my lady,” Lady St. Leger said, unable to completely conceal the relief in her voice. Everyone, it seemed, felt uneasy in the presence of the eerily silent Mr. Babington.

Olivia eased Lady St. Leger and Belinda out the door, turning back once to look at Stephen. He smiled, saying, “Thank you. I will let you know what the doctor says.”

The three women went to Lady St. Leger’s sitting room down the hall. “Where do you suppose the others have gone?” Lady St. Leger asked, casting a vague look around the room.

“No doubt back to their rooms,” Olivia reassured her. “I think all of us could use a little peace and quiet after that.”

“What happened?” Belinda asked, her voice quavering a little. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

“Nor I,” Olivia replied candidly. “I am not sure what happened. Perhaps the doctor will be able to tell.”

“It was as if he was another person,” Lady St. Leger said. “And that voice—it sounded, well, not human.”

“It was very strange,” Olivia agreed.

“Do you think it was really spirits?” Belinda asked.

“I wouldn’t think so,” Olivia said stoutly. “I think perhaps Mr. Babington—well, I don’t know what
happened to him, but I feel sure there must be a rational explanation for it.”

“I cannot imagine what,” Lady St. Leger said honestly. Her face twisted in distress. “If the spirits of the departed sound like that, it must mean that they are dreadfully unhappy. I cannot bear to think of Roddy feeling that way.”

“My dear lady, I am sure he does not,” Olivia cried, her heart going out to the older woman. “I know he would not want you to feel so distressed.”

She cast about for something to take her ladyship’s mind off the frightening events of the evening. “You know, my lady, I did not know your eldest son. Perhaps you could tell me a little about him.”

Olivia soon realized she had hit upon the right topic, for Lady St. Leger immediately brightened and began to describe Roderick to her. Belinda joined in, and they were soon caught up in recounting all the sweet and warm memories they had of the man.

By the time Stephen joined them an hour later, both the St. Leger women were calm and smiling, even laughing, still happily recounting yet another joke that Roderick had played. Stephen’s eyebrows sailed up in surprise and he shot Olivia an appreciative look.

“Well,” he said, stepping into the room, “you look much better, Mother, I’m happy to say.”

“Oh, darling.” Lady St. Leger turned to him. “How is that poor man? Did the doctor come?”

“Yes, he did. He checked Mr. Babington over, and he could find nothing wrong—his heart is beating nor
mally, and his lungs sound clear and fine. But he is unable to wake up. The doctor is not sure what happened. He says it sounds as if the man had some sort of seizure and is now in a coma. He suggested that perhaps Mr. Babington had epilepsy. He asked about his medical history, but of course I knew nothing about it, and when we asked Madame Valenskaya and her daughter, neither did they. They said they had only known him for a year. They have never witnessed such behavior from him, but I suppose he could have managed to hide it from others most of the time.”

“But will he wake up?” Lady St. Leger asked.

“I don’t know. Dr. Hartfield would not say. He said he hoped so, and he said that he will come to check on him. There seems to be nothing to do at the moment except to wait and see that Babington is cared for. I have told the butler to have one of the maids sit with him all the time.”

“Poor man.” Lady St. Leger sighed. “And poor Madame Valenskaya.”

“She seemed rather upset,” Stephen agreed.

“Perhaps I should go talk to her.”

“I believe she said that she was going to retire.”

“Oh. Yes. That would probably be best for us all. Belinda, dear? Shall we go on to bed?”

Belinda agreed, although she said that she would prefer to spend the night in her mother’s room. Lady St. Leger, with a smile, said that she would prefer to
have company, as well. The two of them went off, and Stephen turned to Olivia inquiringly.

She nodded, getting up, and they made their way downstairs to Stephen’s study. Once inside the door, Stephen closed it behind them and turned and pulled Olivia into his arms, holding her closely for a long moment. She leaned her head against his chest, grateful for the support. What had happened with Mr. Babington had shaken her, and her efforts to appear calm and collected and keep Lady St. Leger and Belinda from dissolving into hysterics had taxed her strength. It was wonderful to be able to relax and draw on Stephen’s strength, if only for a few moments.

He let out a sigh. “I have been wanting to do this all evening.”

“Yes.”

He squeezed her a little more tightly, then released her. “I recommend a brandy,” he said, going to the liquor cabinet.

Olivia made no protest as she walked over to her usual chair and sank down in it. Stephen brought her a small snifter of brandy and took a seat in a nearby chair. They were silent for a moment as they sipped at their drinks. Olivia let the fire of the brandy trickle through her, warming and reviving her. She took another sip, then set it aside and looked at Stephen.

“All right. What happened?”

He shook his head. “I have absolutely no idea. I was hoping you would.”

“No. I have never seen anything like that. Never
heard of anything like that.” She paused, then went on. “I assume that what he said—about getting back what was his—was directed at the Martyrs’ treasure.”

“I would think so, given that the chest is what they seem to be after. I presume we are to think it was Lord Scorhill himself speaking through Mr. Babington.”

Olivia nodded. “Yes. But how—did you see his face? And his voice!” Olivia could not restrain a shiver at the memory. “He looked and sounded like someone else.”

“Someone rather frightening,” Stephen added in a massive understatement.

“It is hard for me to believe that Mr. Babington is that accomplished an actor. That anyone is, for that matter. And the fit he fell into afterward also looked very real. The doctor is in no doubt that he is in a coma, is he?”

“No. He is certain of it.”

“I cannot help but wonder if it was…well, real.”

Stephen looked at her. “What are you suggesting? That the Martyrs really do want their gold and jewels back? That Madame Valenskaya is not a fraud?”

“No,” Olivia replied hastily. “I am certain that our madame is a fraud, through and through. But I wonder if there isn’t something else at work here.”

“Such as?”

“I don’t know. But look at what has happened. Madame Valenskaya has done several things that I know are absolute fakes. I can explain how they were
achieved. The eerie music, from a music box wound up and hidden about her person, switched on at the appropriate moment. The ghostly hand in the air, merely a glove painted with phosphorescent paint. The crying, coming down from the nursery through the removed tile. The ghost capering outside, Babington dressed up in a dark, hooded cloak with a painted mask. As for Roddy speaking through her, it’s obvious that it is simply Madame Valenskaya lowering her voice and losing her accent—by the way, did you notice tonight, when she spoke after Babington’s seizure, she had no Russian accent at all?”

Stephen smiled faintly. “I caught that, yes. All right, so we are agreed she is a fake and the things she has done are all tricks.”

“Yes. But there have been several other things that are frankly baffling,” Olivia pointed out. “The woman you and I saw walk through the wall, the dream that the two of us shared—those are very peculiar and, at least to me, inexplicable. And this thing tonight falls into the same category. I cannot believe Mr. Babington was pretending that. How could he have made himself go into a coma?”

“Then what do you think it was? Are you saying he was invaded by a spirit?”

Olivia squirmed a little in her chair. “I find that just about as difficult to believe,” she admitted. “But I don’t think it was a fraud that Madame Valenskaya was perpetrating. I looked over at her a couple of times while Babington was…doing what he was do
ing…and she looked genuinely shocked and horrified. I think it was a complete surprise to her.”

“I agree that Madame Valenskaya doesn’t have the intelligence or the skill to come up with the visions or the dreams or what happened tonight. But if she is not causing them, where are they coming from? Is there someone else involved? Do you think it could be Babington who has orchestrated these other things somehow? Or that there is someone else, someone not here, but outside somewhere, manipulating it all?”

“I have no idea,” Olivia said. “But, frankly, it is beginning to frighten me.”

Stephen’s thoughts went back to the scene at the séance earlier—Howard Babington’s unearthly voice and wild face, his uncontrollable shaking and twitching and eventual collapse—and he nodded. “Yes, you’re right. It’s very frightening. And I haven’t the slightest idea what to do about it.”

Madame Valenskaya rubbed her hands together as she paced up and down the floor of her bedroom, as she had been doing almost the entire time since Mr. Babington’s collapse.

“I don’t like it!” she burst out, shooting a glance at her companion that was both wary and ill-tempered. “I’ve never seen anything like that in my life. And I hope never to see it again.”

“Calm down,” the other woman said quietly. “I didn’t expect it, either, but it will work to our advantage. As long as you can keep your mouth shut. Bab
ington’s performance is bound to scare Lady St. Leger into doing whatever the ‘spirits’ tell her.”