Quicksilver (23 page)

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Authors: Amanda Quick

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“Hmm.”
Charlotte was not impressed.
“I have been a student of the paranormal since I was old enough to open a book. I have, in fact, written a few papers for the Arcane Society’s
Journal of Paranormal and Psychical Research,
which is, I might add, a far more legitimate publication than the Leybrook Institute’s ridiculous rag. It’s true that I write under a pseudonym, due to the fact that my family does not like to see the Sweetwater name in print, but that does not alter the validity of my work.”
“Oh, dear,” Virginia murmured. “I’m afraid Arcane is not the most helpful recommendation, sir.”
Nick switched his attention to her. “What do you mean?”
Charlotte cleared her throat. “For your information, Mr. Sweetwater, the Arcane Society carries very little weight in this shop.”
“How can you say that?” Nick swept out a hand to indicate one of the shelves. “It looks like you’ve got several years’ worth of the Society’s
Journal
over there. Which means you’ve got some of my research papers sitting right here on the premises.”
“I do subscribe to the
Journal,
” Charlotte agreed. “But that does not mean that I tolerate its members, which I have always found to be an arrogant and irritating lot.”
“So do I,” Nick shot back. “Which is why I am not a member of the Society.”
Owen cleared his throat. “Well, that and the fact that Sweetwaters are not in the habit of joining organizations of any kind.”
“That’s not the point,” Nick grumbled.
“No, it’s not,” Charlotte agreed.
Evidently concluding that the argument had gone on long enough, Owen took charge.
“Now that we have all survived the social pleasantries,” he said, “I suggest we move on to the particulars of the situation that brings us together today.”
“An excellent notion,” Virginia said quickly.
“My cousin is assisting me in the investigation,” Owen said. “This morning he tracked down the clock maker who made the clockwork weapons.”
“That’s wonderful news,” Virginia said.
Nick grimaced. “No, it’s not, I’m afraid. Owen and I paid a visit to the shop. It was empty. Mrs. Bridewell, the clock maker, has disappeared. There was no trace of any of her curiosities or her financial records left on the premises.”
“Oh,” Virginia said, deflated. “Now what do we do?”
“We will leave Mrs. Bridewell to J & J,” Owen said. “I want Nick to help us with another aspect of the investigation. He has agreed to attend the reception at the Institute tonight. I want him to assess possible suspects in the crowd.”
Charlotte narrowed her eyes at Nick. “Are you any good at that sort of thing, Mr. Sweetwater?”
“Yes,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I am.”
“How do you plan to get inside the Institute without a ticket?” Charlotte asked. “One must be invited to the reception or accompany an invited guest.”
“I have already dealt with the problem,” Owen said. “Nick will escort you, Miss Tate.”
Charlotte’s eyes widened.
“What?”
“Nick has a talent for noticing small details. I want his observations of the guests at the Institute to compare with my own.”
“Excuse me—” Charlotte began in ominous tones.
“Everyone at the Leybrook knows who I am by now,” Owen said, “or at least they think they know who I am. But no one will recognize Nick.”
“I don’t get out much,” Nick explained.
“You will introduce Nick as a new practitioner who is eager to establish himself in your community,” Owen explained.
Charlotte gave a small, ladylike sniff. “I cannot imagine that scheme working for even an instant.” She glared at Nick. “What sort of talent will you claim to possess, sir?”
Nick flushed. “I will pretend to be one of those charlatans who summon spirits. It is the easiest talent to fake.”
“Because there are no ghosts,” Charlotte shot back. “By definition, everyone who claims to see spirits is either a fraud or delusional. But there are literally hundreds of mediums in London, sir, perhaps thousands. Your talent will not appear exceptional.”
“Which is precisely the effect that we hope to achieve,” Owen said smoothly. “No one will pay much attention to one more practitioner who claims to summon spirits. Nick will not be perceived as a serious competitor or threat to business by anyone present at the reception. That will allow him to make his observations without drawing scrutiny.”
“I see,” Virginia said quickly, before Charlotte could produce another argument. “A very ingenious plan. I am also happy to say that Charlotte has offered to make inquiries at the agencies who provide paid companions. We suspect that Lady Hollister’s companion will now be searching for a new position. Charlotte may be able to find her.”
“Excellent,” Owen said. He looked impressed and very pleased. “Thank you very much, Miss Tate. That will be extremely helpful.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Charlotte said, mollified by Owen’s obvious gratitude.
“You will have to excuse us now.” Owen strode toward the door. “Nick and I have a number of details to see to before tonight’s affair.”
Nick inclined his head toward Virginia. “A pleasure, Miss Dean.” He looked at Charlotte. “It has been interesting, Miss Tate.”
Both men were out the door and lost in the fog before either Virginia or Charlotte could even say good-bye.
“Well,” Charlotte said, when she could speak. “Both Sweetwater gentlemen are quite expert when it comes to departing in a speedy fashion.”
“Indeed,” Virginia said. “One would almost think they had a psychical talent for disappearing.”
TWENTY-FIVE
 
A
t eight forty-five that evening Virginia stood with Pamela Egan in a relatively quiet section of the Institute’s reception hall. Together they surveyed the crowded room. Fifteen minutes earlier Virginia had seen Charlotte and Nick arrive. No one had appeared to take any notice of the couple.
When Virginia had walked into the room on Owen’s arm, however, the reaction had been decidedly different. The short silence that had fallen on the crowd followed by the sudden burst of loud conversation had told the story. Everyone had noticed.
Pamela surveyed the scene. “There is no getting around the fact that Gilmore Leybrook is a pompous ass.” She paused to down a healthy swallow of champagne. “Pity he controls the Institute.”
“The good news is that I understand he is planning to tour the Continent soon,” Virginia said.
“Bah. One can only hope that afterward he will feel compelled to tour America. When he is in London he lords it over the rest of us as if this were the Arcane Society and he was a genuine Jones.”
“I suppose he is the nearest thing we have to a Jones here at the Institute. Let’s be honest, Pamela, we are both making a good deal more money now that we can call ourselves Leybrook practitioners.”
“Trust me, Leybrook is well aware of the fact that we are in his debt.”
“It is the price of doing business, Pamela.”
“
Hmmph.
A damn high price, if you ask me.”
Pamela was a stately, full-figured woman in her early forties who conducted a successful business channeling the spirit of an ancient Egyptian princess. In tribute to the spirit that had done so much for her finances, she wore her artificially darkened hair in a style that her hairdresser had dubbed “the Cleopatra.” An imitation-gold diadem set with glittering crystals circled her brow, enhancing the dramatic effect. Her eyes were heavily outlined in kohl, and her elegantly tiered gown was in a color known as Egyptian green.
Pamela had waited until Owen had left Virginia’s side to collect two glasses of champagne before gliding through the crowd with the speed of a shark knifing through the sea.
She was a friend and former mentor who had offered kindness, support and excellent business advice when Virginia had embarked upon her own career as a practitioner. Virginia was very fond of her, but Pamela was a notorious gossip who prided herself on knowing the latest rumors and scandals.
“Speaking of Leybrook,” Pamela said, “I have heard that the relationship with his latest assistant has already begun to fray.”
“That didn’t last long,” Virginia said.
“His assistants never do.” Pamela swallowed some champagne and lowered the glass. “I suspect the charming Adriana has begun making demands.”
“Leybrook changes assistants almost as often as he does his socks. Adriana must have known that when she accepted the position. It is no secret.”
“True, but you know how it is. Each new assistant thinks that she will be the last.” Pamela’s mouth twisted in disdain. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear that Leybrook actually does have some talent: namely, a paranormal skill for seduction. What’s more, he can work his charms on men as well as women. Just look at the way people are flocking to get closer to the Presence tonight. Our guest of honor has been all but forgotten. Poor D. D. Pinkerton is stuck in the corner with Edward Drummer, who is surely boring him to tears. I see Mr. Welch is making his way over there to rescue Pinkerton.”
“It’s not necessary to resort to a paranormal explanation for Leybrook’s remarkable powers of attraction,” Virginia said. “He is handsome, and he is exceedingly clever. One must give credit where credit is due. He’s a brilliantly successful practitioner who draws sell-out crowds wherever he goes.”
From the moment of his fashionably late arrival that evening with his beautiful assistant on his arm, Gilmore Leybrook had been the star attraction. There was no question that he outshone the guest of honor.
Leybrook was holding court in the center of the room. He was tall, with chiseled features and a graceful, athletic build that was enhanced by his elegantly tailored evening clothes. His dark hair was cut in the latest fashion. No one knew where he had come from, but he had the manners and the accents of an educated gentleman.
Of course, Virginia thought, a good actor could mimic the attributes of the upper classes. Leybrook would not have been the first person of lowly birth to descend on the London scene and convince everyone that he had been born and raised in exclusive circles.
His assistant, Adriana Walters, looked as spectacular as ever tonight, but something in the atmosphere around her made it plain that she was not pleased. Her smile was tight, and her beautiful face looked as if it had been carved in stone. Evidently sensing she was being watched, she turned her head and looked straight at Virginia. There was so much rage in her eyes that for a few seconds Virginia could have sworn that she felt unwholesome energy shiver in the atmosphere.
“Oh, dear,” Pamela murmured. “I know that expression on her face, and it doesn’t bode well.”
“You don’t really think—”
“That the lovely Adriana is looking at you with murder in her eyes because she has reason to believe Leybrook is going to replace her with you? Yes, that is exactly what I think.”
“Ridiculous. Why would Leybrook want me as an assistant? It’s obvious that I lack all of the physical attributes he requires. My bosom is much too small, and my hair is too red.”
Pamela assumed an air of ominous portent. Her voice dropped to a lower, huskier register. “The princess tells me that he has altered his requirements,” she intoned.
Virginia ignored the theatrics. “Why would he do that?”
“I have no idea,” Pamela said, her voice returning to normal. “At least you’ve been given some warning. And I’ll add another word of caution.”
“What?”
“I wouldn’t accept any invitations to tea with Adriana. She’s the type to dump a spoonful of cyanide into the cup.”
Virginia smiled. “I’ll bear that in mind, although I think it is highly unlikely that she will invite me to tea.”
“In that case, let us turn to a far more interesting subject.”
Virginia braced herself. “That would be?”
“Your association with Mr. Sweetwater, of course.”
“I’m sure you’ve heard the news by now, Pamela.”
“Oh, yes, it’s all over the Institute.” Pamela gave her a sidelong glance. “But is it true?”
“I have agreed to allow Mr. Sweetwater to study me while I employ my talents. He is convinced that he can measure my psychical energy patterns.”
“You know what he did to Digby and Hobbes. After he exposed them as frauds, Leybrook was forced to release them from the Institute because of the bad publicity. Doesn’t it concern you that you may be next? How can you prove that you have a true talent?”
“He claims to believe that I do have talent.”
“I see.” A glint appeared in Pamela’s eyes. “That may explain the other talk that is going around.”
“What do you mean?”
Pamela gave her a knowing smile. “Rumor has it that your connection with Mr. Sweetwater extends beyond the boundaries of scientific research and experimentation.”

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