The Mystery Woman (6 page)

“Mrs. Flint and Mrs. Marsh assumed you were dead, but I suppose you are aware of that,” Beatrice said.

“To tell you the truth, I had not considered the matter one way or another.”

“Is Mr. Smith still alive, as well?” Beatrice asked.

Joshua’s eyes went cold. “Our business together does not concern Mr. Smith.”

“So he is still alive.”

“Retired would be more accurate,” Joshua said.

She glanced pointedly at his cane. “Can I assume that you, also, have been in retirement for the past year?”

“Yes,” he said. He drank some more coffee.

She heightened her senses and looked at his footprints again. The seething iridescence in the psychical residue told her that retirement had not been a pleasant experience for Joshua. Not surprisingly, given the nature of his injuries, there was physical pain. But there was evidence of another kind of anguish, as well, the kind that cast a shadow on the heart and the senses.

“My employers informed me that you once investigated unusual cases that had a connection to the paranormal but that you, yourself, do not believe in the paranormal,” she ventured.

“I have never made any secret of the fact that I consider so-called psychical practitioners to be frauds at worst or deluded at best.”

He watched her, waiting for a response.

She smiled and sipped some coffee.

His eyes tightened at the corners. “Have I said something that amuses you, Miss Lockwood?”

“Sorry.” She set her cup back down on the saucer. “I’m afraid that the notion of the notorious Messenger—a supposedly brilliant investigator who can find anyone—employing Mrs. Flint and Mrs. Marsh as consultants but never realizing that they both have some paranormal talent is rather entertaining.”

“A
supposedly
brilliant investigator?”

“I didn’t mean to insult your skills. I’m sure you’re very good, sir.”

“I found you, didn’t I?”

She went cold. “Yes, you did. And if you went to all that effort merely to accuse me of having been a fraudulent practitioner, you have wasted your time. I have been out of that business for some months now.”

“I’m not concerned with your talents onstage during your association with Dr. Fleming’s Academy. I’m sure your performances were excellent. I always admire skill and competence of any sort.”

“I see.”

“And while we’re on the subject, I do not deny that Mrs. Flint and Mrs. Marsh both possess considerable powers of observation. Furthermore, I have always respected Mrs. Marsh’s scientific approach to investigations. But I see no reason to attribute their abilities to paranormal senses.”

There was no point arguing with him. As Mrs. Flint and Mrs. Marsh had often observed, those who did not believe in the paranormal could always find alternative explanations for psychical events.

“Where have you been for the past year, Mr. Gage?” she asked.

“I retired to the country and that is where I would have been content to remain had it not been for you, Miss Lockwood.”

She set down her cup and saucer with exquisite care. “If you have not tracked me down to level an accusation of fraud, what is it you want from me, sir?”

“The truth would be an excellent place to start. But in my experience that is usually the last place people wish to begin. For the sake of novelty, however, let’s try it. I will tell you what I know. You may confirm or deny the facts as I lay them out.”

“Why should I cooperate in your game, sir?”

He studied her with an assessing expression. “I believe you will want to assist me because I am looking for a blackmailer, and at the moment, Miss Lockwood, the evidence points to you as the extortionist.”

S
he stared at him, stunned speechless. She thought she had been braced for almost anything but this was the very last thing she could have imagined. When she finally managed to catch her breath, she shot to her feet, her hands clenching into fists at her sides.

“Accusing me of being a fraudulent practitioner is one thing,” she said. “But how dare you accuse me of blackmail?”

He did not seem to be affected by her outrage.

“Will you please sit down?” he asked, sounding almost weary. “If you remain on your feet good manners will oblige me to stand, too, and I would much prefer to remain seated.” He paused a beat. “The leg, you know.”

“Oh.” She hesitated. Unable to think of anything else to do, she dropped back down on the sofa. “Explain yourself, sir.”

“There is nothing complicated about the situation. At least, there didn’t appear to be any complications when I started. My sister is being blackmailed.”

“I’m shocked, of course, but I’m certain I’ve never even met your sister.”

“You’re wrong, Miss Lockwood, you have met her, although you may not recall the meeting. Her name is Hannah Trafford.”

“I don’t know who you are—” Beatrice broke off, suddenly remembering an attractive, well-dressed lady in her late thirties whose psychical prints had radiated anxiety. “Mrs. Trafford is your sister?”

“She attended several performances at Fleming’s Academy. She saw you onstage a number of times and was so impressed that she booked some private appointments.”

“I do recall the appointments, but there was nothing unusual about them. I certainly did not use anything I learned from Mrs. Trafford to blackmail her.”

“Someone at the Academy discovered my sister’s most closely guarded secret during the course of a treatment that no doubt involved hypnosis.”

“But I never used hypnosis in the course of the private sessions,” she said. “Dr. Fleming was the expert in mesmerism. I’m quite sure that Mrs. Trafford never booked any sessions with my employer. She was very specific about wanting to consult with me.”

“Which makes you my primary suspect, especially given the fact that Dr. Fleming is dead.”

“I don’t understand any of this,” she whispered, appalled.

“As far as I have been able to determine, there were no other employees at the Academy.”

“No,” Beatrice said. “At least not at the time that Mrs. Trafford booked her appointments with me. We had a medium for a while who conducted séances. Quite popular. But she ran off with Dr. Roland’s assistant. I believe they are now touring in America.”

“I looked into that pair. You’re right, they are currently in America. It’s highly unlikely that they are blackmailing people here in London because the instructions in the extortion note stipulate the location of the first payment—a country house named Alverstoke Hall.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” she said. “But, then, the only times I move in social circles are when I’m on assignment.”

“Lord Alverstoke is a noted eccentric whose collection of Egyptian antiquities is said to put the British Museum to shame.”

She frowned. “What in the world does he have to do with this extortion business?”

“I have no idea,” Joshua said. “Yet. But given what I do know about Alverstoke, I suspect he is being used. I’m told he is easily confused these days and has become somewhat absentminded. He has scheduled a country-house party at the end of the week. It is an annual event during which he shows off his collection. Alverstoke and my sister have a passing acquaintance but she has never before been on the guest list for these yearly affairs. She is not fond of country-house parties or Egyptian antiquities. But the blackmailer indicated that she must attend this one.”

“Alverstoke Hall will be overflowing with guests,” Beatrice said. “All in all, a perfect cover for a blackmailer. So many suspects.”

“Exactly. Assuming for the moment that you are not an expert in hypnosis—”

She glared. “I’m not.”

“Then let us consider another scenario. My sister tells me that she remembers the appointments with you. When she arrived at the Academy, Dr. Fleming always showed her into a dark room and told her that you would arrive momentarily. She recalls the consultations—”

Beatrice raised a hand to stop him. “One moment, sir. Did your sister describe me?”

“She described Miranda the Clairvoyant. That was you, Miss Lockwood. You used a black wig and a heavy veil in your act.”

“In other words, Mrs. Trafford never saw me, did she? She could not identify me.”

“No, but I am aware that you were Miranda, so there is no point wasting time trying to deny it,” Joshua said calmly. “To continue, at each appointment, my sister was shown into the consultation room. You entered. She talked to you for some time. But now I’m wondering if perhaps on one or more occasions Dr. Fleming returned to the room and put her into a trance during which he learned her secret. Perhaps he gave her a post-hypnotic suggestion instructing her to forget that he had ever come into the room. My sister then left the Academy remembering only that she had consulted with you.”

“That’s not what happened,” Beatrice insisted. “I am very sure that Mrs. Trafford never requested hypnotic therapy. Dr. Fleming never treated her in my presence or otherwise.”

“Then how did someone at the Academy learn her secret?”

“I don’t know.”
Beatrice paused, trying to marshal her thoughts. “What makes you so sure that whoever is blackmailing your sister was involved with the Academy?”

“The note my sister received implied that her secret had been discovered by paranormal means at the Academy. I discounted the notion that psychic powers had been involved, of course.”

“Of course.”

He ignored the sarcasm. Or perhaps he simply had not noticed the ice in her tone, she thought.

“My sister, however, has a long-standing interest in the paranormal,” he continued. “Hannah has consulted a number of practitioners over the years and belongs to a small society of researchers. She is convinced that if she did inadvertently give up her secret, it could only have been during the private sessions with you at the Academy.”

Beatrice narrowed her eyes. “Why am I the obvious suspect?”

“She believes you to be one of the very few genuine psychical talents that she has encountered in the course of her research. The others are not likely suspects. One currently resides in an asylum. One is a frail, elderly woman who does not practice professionally and does not take clients. Two are recluses who suffer from poor nerves and do not receive visitors. The last makes his living as a gambler. Two years ago he sailed for America because he heard there was a great deal of money to be made at the card tables in the American West. That leaves you, Miss Lockwood.”

Beatrice winced. “I see.”

“You may be interested to know that there is a new tenant occupying the rooms where you and Fleming conducted business.” Joshua finished his coffee and set the cup and saucer aside. “But the landlord was kind enough to allow me to search the premises.”

She watched him warily. “What did you hope to find after so many months?”

“Among other things, I found some old bloodstains on the floor of the office,” Joshua said. “Very hard to wash out, blood.”

She had been about to take a sip of her coffee but her fingers were shivering ever so slightly now. She set the cup back down in the saucer with great care.

“I also found an ancient stone tunnel behind an old wardrobe in the office,” Joshua added gently.

She took a deep breath. “You conducted a very thorough search, Mr. Gage. That tunnel was the route I used to escape the night Roland was murdered.” She paused, memories returning. “Roland and I kept our emergency packs just inside the tunnel in the event we were forced to flee from robbers or disgruntled clients.”

“More likely Fleming was afraid that sooner or later one of his extortion victims might come looking for him,” Joshua said. He raised a brow. “Or perhaps he feared that someone else in the same line would attempt to steal his secrets.”

“Dear heaven.” She was too shattered to think clearly. “I cannot believe that Roland was blackmailing people.”

But Roland’s dying words came back to her.
Do not let me die with that on my conscience. I have enough to repent.

“You said that you and Fleming both kept your packs inside your escape tunnel?” Joshua asked.

“Yes. I had to leave his there that night. I could not carry both. But I opened Roland’s pack to take out the money I knew he kept inside.” She hesitated. “I did notice that there were some odd items in the pack. A notebook. An envelope filled with photos. Some letters.”

“You could not carry Fleming’s pack,” Joshua said. “So perhaps you took out a handful of blackmail items along with the money and left the rest behind?”

Anger whipped through her.

“No,”
she said. “I took the money but nothing else. I wondered why he kept the items in his pack but I concluded they were all mementos that had some great personal meaning for him. The man who murdered Roland must have found the pack when he forced his way through the back of the wardrobe. Find him and you will have your extortionist, Mr. Gage.”

Joshua’s eyes burned. “That is precisely what I plan to do. With your help, Miss Lockwood.”

Y
ou believe me?” she asked, still wary.

“Yes,” he said.

“You truly don’t think that I mu
rdered Roland and started blackmailing his Academy clients?”

“I’m quite sure that you did not kill Fleming.”

“Ah,” she said, her spirits soaring. “Now that you have met me you don’t believe that I’m capable of murder and extortion.”

“Everyone is capable of murder under the right circumstances.” He paused, evidently thinking about the second part of her statement. “And most likely extortion, as well. As I said, it all depends on circumstances.”

She stopped smiling. “You have a very cynical view of human nature, Mr. Gage.”

“I prefer to think of it as a realistic view,” he said. “But in this case, I am certain you are not the killer.”

“Indeed? How can you be so sure of that?”

“There are a number of reasons. The first is that I read the doctor’s autopsy report. It was well done because Fleming’s death was something of a sensation at the time.”

Beatrice shook her head. “All that nonsensical speculation in the press about how he might have been murdered by forces from the Other Side. It was maddening.”

“Fleming operated a business named The Academy of the Occult,” Joshua said, his tone very dry. “It seems only natural that after he was murdered the press would go wild with speculation about spirits and paranormal forces.”

“The press, perhaps, but I expected better of the police,” she said. “I will admit they did not attribute his death to ghosts, but they focused their attention on me, instead.”

“The missing assistant, yes. You must admit they had good reason to do so. It was only logical to assume that you were the killer. You were the mystery woman in the affair. No one had ever seen your face because of your costume.”

“Roland thought the veil and the widow’s weeds added a certain drama to the demonstrations,” she said. “He also felt I would be safer that way. He said there were always a few strange people in any audience for a paranormal performance. He was afraid I might attract a deranged individual.”

Joshua nodded with a very serious air. “A wise precaution.”

“In the end, that is what happened. The man who stabbed poor Roland was just such a madman, someone who had fixated on me. Roland died trying to protect me.”

Joshua’s expression was almost feral. “Are you certain of that?”

“There is no doubt. The man who killed Roland came for me. I heard him vow to hunt me down. That is the main reason why I had to disappear.”

“A man with an unwholesome fascination for a woman he believes to have psychical powers kills the man who is in his way and then steals his victim’s blackmail stash and proceeds to exploit the secrets?” Joshua thought about that. “It’s possible.”

“It’s the only explanation that makes any sense,” she said, exasperated.

“Huh.”

She studied him for a long moment. “What was it in the autopsy report that convinced you I was not the killer?”

“Roland Fleming was a large man. The wound was high on his chest. The force and angle of the thrust indicate that the killer was tall, powerful and, most likely, an expert with a knife. Either that or he was extremely fortunate in his first attempt. Regardless, you are a rather small and delicately made woman. If you had used a knife, the wound would have looked much different. Actually, you probably wouldn’t have taken the risk of using a knife in the first place. In my experience, women prefer more tidy approaches to that sort of thing. Poison, for example.”

She was shaken by the cold, methodical manner in which he had analyzed the crime.

“Good grief,” she said. She took a deep breath. “Evidently you’ve had considerable experience with this sort of thing.”

He looked at her with his bird-of-prey eyes, not speaking.

“If you had already concluded that I wasn’t the killer, why did you try to frighten me with your suspicions?” she demanded.

“My apologies,” he said. “I knew that you were not the killer, but what I did not know—and still don’t know—is the nature of your connection to the killer.”

She froze. “I don’t have a connection to him.”

“That you know of,” he corrected quietly.

“For heaven’s sake, why would you think I am linked to a murderer?”

His eyes tightened at the corners. “There is something about this case that makes me think that everything is connected, including you and the assassin.”

“Assassin?”

“I believe whoever murdered Fleming was a professional who was very likely working for a fee that night.”

“Then there
is
someone else involved.”

“I think so, yes. I am looking for two people—the assassin and his employer. But where do you fit in, Miss Lockwood?”

“I have no earthly idea.”

“Can you describe the killer?”

“Not physically. But I heard his voice. He spoke with a thick Russian accent.” Beatrice paused. “He called himself the Bone Man. I heard him say
the
Bone Man never fails
. I also saw his footprints.”

Joshua frowned. “Footprints?”

“I know you will not believe me, but I saw his paranormal prints on the floor of the office that night. I would recognize them if I ever saw them again.” She shuddered. “So much violent energy.”

“Huh.”

Her brows rose. “I did not think that you would be impressed with that observation.”

He let that go. “Damnation. This case grows more bizarre by the day.”

She poured more coffee for both of them.

“How did you come to discover that I was Miranda the Clairvoyant?” she asked.

“Finding people is something I do very well.”

“Mrs. Flint and Mrs. Marsh said something along those lines.” She searched his face. “What is your secret, sir?”

“There’s no great trick to finding that which is lost. One simply looks in the right place.”

Mrs. Flint and Mrs. Marsh were right, she thought glumly. Whether he wanted to acknowledge it or not, Joshua appeared to have some paranormal talent for locating whoever or whatever he set out to find.

Feverishly she considered the possibility of packing a bag and booking passage on the next ship bound for America. But even as the plan formed in her head she knew it was doomed. Flight would do her no good. Joshua had found her once. He would surely find her again.

But there might still be a way she could turn the situation to her advantage, she thought. Granted, Joshua had his own reasons for finding the killer, but if he was successful—and given his talent that was a real possibility—she would finally be free of the haunting fear that had shadowed her for nearly a year.

“I do not deny that Roland billed me as Miranda the Clairvoyant during my association with the Academy of the Occult,” she said. “But I certainly never blackmailed anyone in my life. The only reason that I am not demanding that you leave this house immediately is because I find myself somewhat in your debt after the events of last night.”

He watched her with his unsettling eyes. “And because it has occurred to you that I am in a position to do you another favor. When I find the blackmailer, he will lead me to Fleming’s killer. You will not only have some justice for Fleming, but you will be free of the anxiety you must have been feeling for the past several months. It is hard to keep looking over your shoulder, isn’t it?”

It was as if he had read her mind. She fought the impulse to dump her cup of coffee over his head. Really, how could she possibly have found this man attractive?

“You sound as if you have no doubt but that you can find Roland’s killer and the blackmailer,” she said.

“I always find whatever it is I set out to find,” he said.

He was not boasting, she realized. As far as Joshua was concerned, he was simply stating a fact.

“Have you ever failed, Mr. Gage?” she asked, genuinely curious.

“No,” he said. He paused. “But once in a while I have arrived too late.”

And she suddenly knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was one of those occasions—a time when he had arrived too late to save someone—that explained the shadows in his prints and, most likely, the scar and the cane.

He stretched out his left leg and shifted position a little in the chair. She could tell from the almost undetectable tightening at the edge of his mouth that the motion cost him.

“You appear to be uncomfortable, Mr. Gage.”

“An old injury. It acts up occasionally.”

“Such as after you toss an unconscious man over your shoulder and carry him some distance to a waiting carriage?”

His mouth twisted in a grim smile. “I’m getting too old for that kind of exercise.”

“Richard Euston was not a small man.”

Joshua acted as if he had not heard the comment. “I stopped by the offices of Flint and Marsh this morning.”

“Did you?”

“Mrs. Flint and Mrs. Marsh assured me that you are one of their best agents,” he said.

“I’m pleased to hear that they are satisfied with my services.”

“I also informed them that I want to hire you as a paid companion,” he added coolly.

“What?”

“If you agree, we will set a trap to catch the blackmailer, who will, in turn, lead us to the assassin who murdered your former employer,” Joshua said.

“I do not appear to have much of a choice in the matter,” she said. “I will help you with your plan.”

“Thank you.”

“Tell me, sir, as a point of general interest, is this the way you regularly conduct your business?” she asked.

“Sorry. Not sure what you mean.”

She gave him a cold smile. “I am merely wondering if you are in the habit of applying pressure and threats when you wish to gain the cooperation of others?”

“I find pressure an effective technique. And I never make threats—only promises.”

“There is an old saying.
You can catch more flies with honey than you can with vinegar.
”

“Honey never worked well for me.”