The Spiritglass Charade (24 page)

Filled with excitement, I slid off the stool and, leaving a generous payment, hurried out of the pub. I knew it was unlikely I'd figure out where the spider couple had gone, but at least I could look around.

I could hardly wait to talk to Mina.

“E
xcellent investigative work, Miss Stoker.” My approval was sincere, for she had uncovered quite a bit of interesting information. “Most excellent. You may become my Watson after all.”

“Not bloody likely.”

But I could tell she was pleased.

It was the morning two days after the events at Vauxhall. At my request, Evaline had picked me up in her carriage after breakfast. The game was in full swing.

“So what have we learned . . . That one of our suspects has large gambling debts, which strengthens his motive of wanting to maintain control of Willa's finances—particularly if he was beginning to see the writing on the wall of the resolution of Mr. Treadwell's courtship of his cousin. This information requires a closer look at Mr. Ashton, who, I confess, I
hadn't given as much thought to until now. I shall endeavor to do so today when we visit Miss Ashton.”

“So that's where we're going. Nice of you to tell me.”

“Do you not think we ought to hear
her
side of the story—about what happened when she climbed out onto the roof and attempted to catch her brother's soul with a fishing pole? This latest development is quite concerning. She actually climbed onto the roof with a fishing pole. . . . Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps the villain isn't trying to drive her mad, but to go so far as to cause her
death
. We must tread carefully from here on out, Evaline. We must watch over Miss Ashton very closely.”

“I agree.”

“As for your experience at the Pickled Nurse . . . It does seem to indicate, at the very least, the return of
La soci
é
t
é
.”

“And the vampires.”

“Mm. Yes. I suppose one must accept that as well.” Since Evaline's encounter with the vampire at the Oligary Building, I had reluctantly acknowledged the existence of the UnDead. But I wasn't at all ready to believe in spirit-talking and messages from beyond. That was simply ludicrous.

“Did you see Miss Adler?”

“Miss Adler? Where?”

“At New Vauxhall. I thought I saw her in the crowd of people after you were pulled out of the river. But if she didn't speak to you, I must have been mistaken.”

“I would have noticed her. And surely she would have made herself known to me.”

Or perhaps she wouldn't have. The lead ball that had settled in my belly since Vauxhall grew heavier. Perhaps Miss Adler had witnessed my debacle with the thief and agreed with the spectators. And Inspector Grayling, who'd called me bat-headed.

After all, when Miss Adler pressed me and Miss Stoker into service for the Crown, our mentor never indicated she expected us to engage in fighting and running and drawing attention to ourselves. At least, in public. And perhaps the princess had heard of my lack of decorum and was displeased. I pushed the worry away.

“I did, however, have the misfortune of encountering Lord and Lady Cosgrove-Pitt.” That had been a moment of sheer mortification as I stood there with my hair dripping wet over my shoulders, required to be polite and deferential to the Parliamentary leader and his wife . . . the latter whom I had very nearly accused of being the murderous Ankh.

Not to mention that I was wearing the overlarge coat, complete with Metropolitan Police badge, that belonged to their distant relation. Fortunately, Lady Isabella hadn't seemed to notice.

“I'm not surprised. It seemed as if everyone in the upper crust of Society—and below—was at New Vauxhall Gardens last night.”

The carriage stopped in front of Miss Ashton's home. As Evaline and I walked to the front door, it opened. This action was not due to our arrival, but the departure of a familiar gentleman—Dr. Norton.

“Sad business, Miss Geraldine, Herrell.” The physician donned his hat. “Sorry to do it, but she needs protection.”

Mr. Ashton appeared weary and resigned, and the spinster aunt leaned heavily against him as they bid Dr. Norton farewell. “I know. That's why I asked you to come. I knew I could trust you. Why, Miss Stoker! And Miss—er—Holmes.”

Evaline exchanged glances with me. “Good morning, Mr. Ashton. We've come to visit Willa. Is everything all right?”

I had felt a prickle of unease when I saw Dr. Norton, and now it metamorphosed into apprehension. “Is she all right?”

Aunt Geraldine glanced from us to the physician, who tipped his hat and took his leave. “I'm afraid we've had another incident. Dr. Norton is quite concerned about my niece.”

“Do lie down, Geraldine,” Mr. Ashton said kindly. “This has been nearly as upsetting for you as it has been for Willa. I'll . . . see to our visitors.”

“Thank you, Herrell, darling. I do think I shall go put a cold cloth on my forehead.”

Aunt Geraldine went off and Mr. Ashton turned to us. “Willa is . . . a bit weary. I'm not certain she's in a condition to receive visitors.”

I opened my mouth to argue, for I wasn't going to be dissuaded from seeing Miss Ashton. And apparently, Evaline was of the same mind. The change that came over her was amazing in its speed and effectiveness. Her face altered into one almost unrecognizable in its vacuousness: Her eyes widened and her lips parted slightly, and she gazed up at him as if he were the most fascinating individual on the earth.

“Oh, dear, Mr. Ashton.” She placed herself directly in front of him, slipping a hand around his arm. Somehow she managed to manipulate him so we were facing the open door. “That's simply terrible news. I can't imagine how you all are holding up. But I'm certain you're being a solid rock for them both, aren't you?” She was very nearly batting her eyes at him, gazing up with large, thick-lashed hazel eyes. “Willa and Miss Kluger must truly rely on you and your strength to get them through this difficult time. But it all rests on your strong, broad shoulders.”

I must admit, Evaline Stoker was quite brilliant in those moments.

I followed the two of them into the house as my partner murmured, “I'm certain you could use a moment of ease as well, Mr. Ashton. Perhaps a cup of tea, and you'll feel right as rain.”

To my surprise, he agreed to this nonsensical suggestion and rang for a pot and some biscuits. Moments later, we were settled in the parlor and Evaline had made herself comfortable on the settee nearest Mr. Ashton's chair. He didn't seem
to be at all put off by this development, for his knee was very close to my companion's skirt and he'd hardly looked in my direction. So much for concern about his cousin.

I could have asked about the incident, but I decided to leave that to Evaline. She seemed quite adept at extracting information from the man. I, on the other hand, wanted to speak to Willa uninterrupted.

Mr. Ashton didn't seem to notice when I excused myself, ostensibly to wash my hands. But Evaline gave me a wink as I stood, and I took it to mean she'd keep him occupied as long as possible.

Well taught by my uncle, I had committed the structure's floor plan to memory during my previous visits. I climbed the stairs, and once I arrived at the second floor, it wasn't difficult to determine which was Willa's chamber.

I ducked inside and closed the door, turning to face its occupant. “Don't make a sound. Your cousin and aunt don't know I'm here.”

Willa's blue eyes were round with shock, but to my relief, they were clear and lucid. As I'd expected, she was propped in bed, golden hair falling about her shoulders and onto the pillow like a Rapunzel. The cat was settled on her lap, watching me with large, green eyes. Except for the dark gray circles under her own eyes, Willa Ashton appeared fragile and lovely. If Mr. Treadwell were the one to encounter her in this state, surely he would be even more charmed than he already was.

“Miss Holmes, thank goodness you're here.” She was intelligent enough to keep her voice to a whisper, but I could hear the terror there. “I don't know what's happening to me.”

“Please be calm. Evaline and I are on the case, and we aren't about to let anyone harm you.”

“But what about me harming myself?” Her voice went a little high with hysteria, but she lowered it and swallowed. “I'm so glad you're here.”

“Take a deep breath and tell me what's happened.”

Her agitation eased. “There's a chair for you. Please sit.” She gathered her cat closer, and I heard the rumble of its purr.

I observed the chamber. I wasn't surprised to see the ornate spiritglass sitting on a table in the corner. It was open, and its coppery-brass sides were folded back like a cogworked lotus blossom. The blue and green sphere sat in the middle, its colorful ribbonlike swirls moving as if alive inside.

Overall, the room was neat and clean, decorated with fine and expensive furnishings. Papered with pink and white flowers on green stripes, with frilly white curtains and a surprisingly soft cream-colored rug, her chamber was comfortable and inviting.

The dressing table was cluttered with earbobs, feathered hair combs, brooches, and small perfume vials. Lacy handkerchiefs, gloves, and silk stockings spilled from a drawer. Her large wardrobe was closed, but I suspected it held at least two dozen dresses.

Before I sat, I examined the papers next to the spiritglass. I recognized one of them as the message Louisa Fenley had scrawled during the s
é
ance, purportedly from Willa's mother. The second paper had a similar message, presumably from a more recent s
é
ance. It read:
I cannot rest. Help me, Willa. I need you
.

The handwriting was identical to that from Miss Louisa's first s
é
ance, and was surely markedly different from the medium's normal penmanship. Nevertheless, I was certain she'd faked the “spirit writing.” But again . . . what was the purpose? The only one I could deduce was to confuse, distract, and disorient Willa in an effort to have her eventually committed to a madhouse.

Someone who climbed onto a roof trying to catch her dead brother's soul with a fishing rod would appear well on her way to madness.

“Why did you go on the roof, Willa? Do you remember doing that?”

Her face turned pale as the sheets. “No. I didn't realize what was happening until I woke up . . . there. With the fishing pole. Way up there. I'm not even certain how I could have climbed up there.” Her fingers trembled against the blanket and I felt a wave of sympathy for her. “And last night . . .”

“What happened last night?”

“I went to bed as usual . . . and the next thing I knew, I was. . . .” Her voice wobbled. “I was outside, standing in the street. In my
shift
. And . . . bare feet. I had a butterfly net with
me . . . apparently, I was trying to catch my mother's spirit.” Her voice broke. “This was just after dawn. A cog-cart nearly ran me over. People were shouting and looking at me.”

I schooled my expression, barely managing to keep from displaying my shock. No wonder the doctor had been called. “I see. And you don't know why or how you were prompted to do such a thing?”

“No. I don't remember anything. And Dr. Norton was here today for luncheon. He said he was stopping by to return the gloves I loaned Amanda, but I know why he was really here. Herrell and Aunt Geraldine . . . they're afraid I'm going mad.” Her breathing was rapid and shallow and her words tumbled out. I feared she might hyperventilate or raise her voice enough that we'd be heard. “And I begin to wonder if it's true after all.”

I understood her fears, and I certainly realized Willa's precarious position. Thanks to the so-called Lunacy Law, it was frighteningly simple to have an individual committed to a lunatic asylum. The opinions of a mere three persons were required to send one to a madhouse: two physicians and one clergyman or a magistrate. Any of whom could be bought or otherwise manipulated as long as they signed the certificate—just as a greedy, spirit-talking medium could be paid off to create an environment where someone appeared to be going mad.

I'd never visited a sanatorium before, but I had heard stories and read articles about the most famous one of course: Bethlem Royal Hospital, better known as Bedlam.

It was not a place anyone wanted to be . . . especially the fragile, kind,
sane
young woman with whom I sat. I would
not
allow it to happen.

“I shan't lie to you, Miss Ashton. This is a grave situation. But Holmes and Stoker are on the job, and we have already made progress. I cannot imagine how frightening this must be for you. But I am quite certain you aren't going mad. In fact, I have the suspicion that you might have been mesmerized, and that is what is causing you to do these strange things like climbing on the roof.”

“Mesmerized?”

“The more common term is hypnotized. Somehow, someone has learned to control your mind to have you do certain things—such as climb onto the roof with a fishing pole.”

“Or wander into the street in the night in my shift?”

“Precisely. Usually, there is a signal that causes the mesmerized individual to go into a trance and conduct him or herself in the manner the hypnotist wishes. I must find out how and what that signal is. Once I determine how this hypnosis was done, I shall be that much closer to finding out who has done so.” I peered at her closely. “Now, I must ask you another question. Should something happen to you, it's your understanding that your aunt receives your money. But what happens if she dies as well? Who would inherit her money?”

I could read the horror and disbelief in Willa's face as the implication of my questions sunk in. “First of all, Mina, Aunt Geraldine—she doesn't need my money. She has her
own income, and it's quite comfortable. She doesn't need it, and she'd never do anything to hurt me. Never. And neither would Cousin Herrell.”