The Spiritglass Charade (31 page)

The usually perfectly groomed woman was a wild mess—her hair straggling, her eyes wide and desperate, her hands wringing her skirts.

“Miss Kluger!” I stepped out of the way so she wouldn't bowl me over.

“Miss Holmes, forgive me, but I haven't any time. It's Willa! They've taken her away, and I must try and stop them. I must save her!”

“She's not mad,” I told her. “Willa isn't a lunatic. I can prove she's been manipulated into certain actions that cause her to appear to be—”

“Is this true?” She halted. “What you say, is this true?”

“You can trust my word. But I don't know where she's been taken.”

“I do! Oh, will you come with me, Miss Holmes? You must tell them, prove it to them . . . before it's too late. Will you come with me?”

“Of course I'll go. But we mustn't delay. We must leave immediately. Is that your carriage?” I gestured to the Two-Seat Charley.

“Yes, oh, yes. I just returned from trying to find Herrell, but I couldn't. He seems to have disappeared! I didn't know what to do. I am so relieved you're here, and that you can help!”

I took a moment to scribble two messages, giving them to Rightingham to have delivered to Evaline and Mr. Treadwell, respectively. Then a footman helped me into the seat of the small, mechanized carriage. Miss Kluger climbed up next to me, and I was intrigued by the fact that she meant to drive it herself. Perhaps such a vehicle could be the solution to my transportation woes, and I wouldn't have to rely on Evaline any longer.

“Where are we going?” I asked as Miss Kluger navigated neatly through the busy streets. She was an expert driver, and again I considered how much more independent I would be if I should acquire my own form of transportation.

“There is a place in Smithfield where they've taken her.”

“Ah. As I suspected. I trust it's near the locksmith Ivey & Boles?”

“You suspected? Is that so?” Her expression changed to a very cold smile. “And did you suspect that you would be joining her there as well, Miss Holmes?”

My heart skipped a beat. “In what way do you mean, Miss Kluger?”

“You seem to know an uncomfortable amount about my niece's situation. I think it would be best if you stayed with Willa at our purlieu in Smithfield. Then no one else will hear
about your theories or proof that she was—how did you put it? Forced into doing things she didn't mean to?”

“I would never have stated it so inelegantly.” My palms had gone slightly damp.

Aunt Geraldine merely smiled. “Have it your way, then, Miss Holmes. I had no idea you were so aware of what was happening. If I had, I'd have done something about it much sooner. I underestimated you, despite your family connections.”

“Pity for you. And I suspect this won't be the last time you'll be outfoxed by a Holmes.”

She laughed in a particularly nasty way. “I hardly consider myself outfoxed. Despite the conclusions you've drawn about my niece, you're not about to come out of this situation victorious. After all, you're trapped in my vehicle—oh, yes, I have the doors locked. There's no way out of here until I allow it.”

“Apparently I hadn't considered that possible outcome.”

“I should say not.”

“But we are driving through the streets of London. I merely need to hail someone and call for help.”

She scoffed. “London? No one will hear you. This city is an uncivilized place in comparison to my beloved Paris. I despised having to come back here when Willa's mother died. And these windows are tinted gray to keep out the sun—which we had plenty of in Paris, but not so much here. No one will see you.”

“Very well, then. I'll trust your judgment on that at least. How much longer until we arrive at our destination?”

“As I am driving a circuitous route to ensure we aren't followed, and along less-traveled roads where it's unlikely we'd be noticed, I estimate perhaps another twenty minutes.”

“Excellent. That should give us plenty of time to discuss precisely why you would go through so much trouble to make your niece go mad—or even die. My initial supposition of the motive was money.”

“My, Miss Holmes. How fascinating.”

But I wasn't finished. “Yet, I find money such a banal motive for what basically amounts to murder. And if you were a man, I might have been satisfied with that. But in this case, the perpetrator isn't a man, but a woman—which I'd suspected for some time. And women aren't quite as base and simplistic in their motives, are they?”

“Indeed. Miss Holmes, I do believe if the circumstances were different, I might actually like you.”

“It was you who hired Mrs. Yingling and eventually killed her, wasn't it?”

“I should have known you'd figure that.” Her voice wasn't grim so much as admiring. “Was that what put you on to me? I realized later I shouldn't have acted quite so rashly, but I was concerned that cloud-headed medium would reveal what she knew. And once I learned Her Royal Highness had set a Holmes on the case, I feared you might get your uncle involved.”

“As you can see, it was not necessary for my uncle to become involved in one of my cases,” I informed her. “What precisely did Mrs. Yingling know? That you'd hired her to help make Willa believe she was going mad, all the while driving her to become more and more dependent upon the s
é
ances?”

“Of course. And the beauty of it is, now that Mrs. Yingling is dead, I will regain the title of the little cottage in Sussex where she planned to retire and where I intend to relocate shortly. It's an excellent plan, if I do say so.” Miss Kluger shifted the vehicle and turned down a dim, narrow street.

“And what about Olympia Babbage? Did she know too much as well, and have you had her snuffed out, too?”

“Once again, your astuteness astounds me. But no. Miss Babbage is too valuable to be removed from the equation. She has many diverse skills that would be a shame to destroy. However, like you shall shortly be, she is in our custody and we shall keep her until she is no longer useful.”

I was relieved that the young female inventor hadn't met the same fate as Mrs. Yingling. “What I'm most curious about is how you mesmerized Willa in the first place, and why. Why not just leave her be?”

“That was a grave error on my part, and one I regretted from the moment it happened. The first time I mesmerized Willa—which was simply when I visited her chamber in the middle of the night and used a golden ball on a string—she wasn't completely, as we describe it, amused. Enthralled,
hypnotized—whatever you wish to call it. In a very malleable state of mind.”

“And so she remembered what happened whilst she was amused . . . but as a dream. A dream where she visited Robby and saw that he was still alive. But it wasn't really a dream. You took her there. And that was your mistake.”

“Yes. I had no idea how powerful Willa's mind was, to fight my considerable ability to amuse a person. When she began to remember that ‘dream,' I knew it was only a matter of time until she realized it wasn't a dream—”

“And that she really had been in Smithfield, near a sign with a very big, so-called
floating
key—that is, Ivey & Boles. Their storefront is quite distinctive. When she mentioned seeing a large cogwork key in her dream, that caused me to realize she might not actually have been dreaming.”

“Just so. You
are
quite brilliant, Miss Holmes. But it's a shame you didn't realize it was
I
who was the perpetrator before you got into this vehicle.”

“Perhaps it
was
a miscalculation on my part. But I am also curious as to why—and how—you caused her mother to visit Willa in the first place, in her chamber. I assume you're unaware I witnessed one such visitation last night. I confess, I haven't been able to determine precisely how you conducted that particular sensation. It was quite . . . authentic.”

“That's because I didn't. I can't take credit for that, Miss Holmes. Those spiritual manifestations are real, and they are part of the reason I was forced to act as I have.”

“You believe the ghost of Marta Ashton is actually visiting her daughter?”

“I have no doubt of it. For that's what has caused Willa to be so certain Robby is still alive.”

“Is he?” That was one thing I hadn't quite figured out yet.

Aunt Geraldine gave me an enigmatic smile. “If Marta hadn't been speaking to her from the spirit world, then Willa would never have pursued the belief that Robby was still alive, and she would have thought nothing of her so-called dream. It would have all died down, and I wouldn't have been required to arrange for her to be manipulated by a medium in order to confuse the issue. Those visitations are authentic.”

“The question of the authenticity of Mrs. Ashton's visitations is, apparently, the first of two things on which we must disagree, Miss Kluger.”

“What, pray tell, Miss Holmes, is the second?”

“That you have been outfoxed by a Holmes for the second time.” With that, I withdrew the Steam-Stream gun from my voluminous skirts and pointed it at her. “Wouldn't you agree, Miss Kluger?”

“I
suspected you for quite some time, Miss Kluger.” I adjusted my weapon so it pressed into the side of her torso. “But it wasn't until I smelled the pickle juice on the papers in Willa's bedchamber that I realized it was you behind all of this villainy.”

“Pickle juice?”

“You're quite fond of the Honey-Sweets in particular, aren't you? That information, combined with the crickets I kept noticing inside an otherwise pristine house, finally made the pieces click together. Crickets are the preferred food of spider pets, are they not?”

Miss Kluger shifted the vehicle and braked, driving into a spot beneath a dark, heavy overhang. “You are quite clever, aren't you?”

“I am a Holmes,” I replied modestly.

“And here we are.”

“And so I shall meet Gadreau now? Your partner—and, I must assume, your lover? The ringleader of this entire operation, and the current leader of
La soci
é
t
é
. Is he expecting us?”

“He's certainly not expecting
you
.” Miss Kluger's tones had become irritated. “But I had to seize the opportunity to remove you when I found you at the house. You are, as you said, a Holmes.”

“I am.”

My companion turned off her vehicle. I turned my attention to the dirt-blackened brick wall looming above us. Clearly, there was a rear or hidden entrance, for the alley was deserted and there appeared to be no other sign of life. The only door was a heavy metal-and-cogged one of sturdy wood.

I maneuvered myself across the seat to follow my captive out of the vehicle once she opened the door. I was prepared for her to slam it closed on me, so I positioned my foot as a blockade . . . but either she didn't think of it, or didn't bother to try.

“Just to be clear . . .” I hauled myself out of the vehicle. This was a difficult prospect when maneuvering heavy skirts while training a gun on one's companion. “I only wish to retrieve Willa, and her brother Robby—who I've deduced is still alive—and then I shall leave you to your revolting, blood-drinking
soci
é
t
é
.”

“Is that so?”

“I have no qualms about using this weapon, and I can assure you, the steam that will shoot from it will sear your skin painfully. It's unlikely you'd expire from the injury, but you'll
be hurting for some time. I want Willa and Robby. Oh, and Olympia Babbage as well. Then I shall be on my way.”

I sincerely hoped I was wrong about my other, deep-rooted fear. That there might be yet another person I would have to rescue.
No
. I shook my head. He wouldn't.

Miss Kluger muttered something I took to be a reluctant assent, and I followed her to the door. My heart thudded and I drew in a deep breath as I pulled a heavy necklace from behind my bodice.

I had been prepared for everything so far. My deductions had been spot-on. I severely hoped that wouldn't change.

She spun three of the cogs in the brass framework that embraced the door. I heard the clicks and automatically counted them, noting the direction she turned each one. It was rather like opening a safe, and focusing on such a mundane thing helped calm my nerves.

The cogs and gears released with a soft groan, then parted in the center of the door. My prisoner pushed it open and I followed her into a dark foyer.

The door closed behind us and I gripped the Steam-Stream gun more tightly. I hoped I hadn't made a grievous error. And I hoped Miss Stoker would act on my message.
Posthaste
. The soiree at the Lyceum would have to wait.

Lives were at stake.

Including mine.