Ghosts by Gaslight - Jack Dann [170]
“Do you remember me entering the room?” I asked her. “Or anything that was said?”
“I . . .” She put a hand to her temple. “No, but . . .”
“What is the last thing you recall?”
“I was . . .” A look of consternation cut a line across her brow. “I was in my room. Reading, I think.”
“You never wear this dress in the house. Not to my knowledge. Were you wearing it while reading?”
She examined a fold of fabric that she pinched between her thumb and forefinger. “I had not finished dressing. I thought of a quotation—from Jane Austen—and I recall opening my book to search for it.”
“Can we assume your lapse of memory encompassed a span of, say, ten minutes or thereabouts?”
“I’m not sure. Everything’s cloudy.”
She started up from the bed, but I held her down.
“We must tell Jeffrey,” she said.
“Do you feel up to it?”
“I’m fine.”
“All right. But you must promise that no matter how he reacts, you’ll leave with me at once.”
“He may need our assistance.”
“If you remain in the house, you will be at risk. This may not be the first time that Christine has possessed you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think you may owe Dorothea an apology.”
After a moment she said, “Oh, God! Is that possible?”
We went downstairs, collected Dorothea, and bearded Richmond in his study, where I explained things to the best of my ability.
“Well now. That should remove the sting from Samuel’s infidelity,” he said to Jane, bemused. “It would appear that he was unfaithful to you with you.”
“I see no humor in this,” I said.
“No?” His smile broadened. “Let it be noted that you are a particularly humorless young man.”
“I can’t speak for Dorothea,” I said. “But Jane and I intend to leave before a tragedy occurs.”
“Oh, you have my permission to speak for me,” Dorothea said. “I’m half out the door.”
I leaned down to Richmond, resting my fists on his desk. “If you insist upon staying, a tragedy is inevitable. You are in grave danger.”
“Nonsense! Christine is indifferent to me.”
“Yet less than an hour ago, in a tone of voice I would describe as playfully seductive, she referred to you as ‘Naughty Jeffkins.’ Does that strike a chord?”
“Did she say that? But this is wonderful, don’t you see?”
“Damn it, Richmond! She’s confused me with you. Can you have forgotten what you told me? That she is a mad fraction of her former self with whom true communication was impossible?”
“I may have been in error,” he said.
“Jeffrey, please!” Jane laid a hand on his shoulder. “You must leave.”
“All you have done is to strengthen that fraction,” I said. “And what of that shadowy creature? It seems you have strengthened it as well. Do you have any understanding of its potential?”
“No, I do not,” Richmond said. “Nor do you. And because you do not understand, you are afraid.”
“It’s conceivable that the entity is harmless . . . or inimical in a trifling way, like the ghost of a demonic house pet. But when dealing with something of so menacing an aspect, yes, I deem it wise to practice caution. As would any responsible person.”
“Go then!” Enraged, Richmond jumped to his feet and pointed to the door. “Go and practice caution! Be responsible! Leave me to my researches.”
“You’ve done no research! You built your machines and left the research to me. Research, I might add, that would be much further along had you been open with me from the outset.”
I held out my hand to Jane, but she looked to Richmond instead. “Do you want us to stay, Jeffrey?”
“I cannot ask it of you,” he said. “But yes, of course. A resolution is at hand and I would hope that you see me through it.”
“Jane,” I said.
“How long will this resolution take?” she asked.
“Perhaps a few hours. A single night. Now that she is stronger, I doubt things will go unresolved