Quicksilver - Amanda Quick [55]
Helen went out into the hall. Mrs. Crofton opened the door for her with a respectful air. Helen went down the steps and got into the waiting carriage.
Virginia went into her study to write the note to Welch. After she gave it to Mrs. Crofton to send around to the Institute, she opened the bottom drawer of her desk and removed the photograph inside.
For a long time she sat, looking at the picture of her handsome, dashing father, her attractive mother and herself. She had just turned thirteen when the photograph was taken. She looked innocent and happy and loved. For all her budding psychical talent, that day she’d had no premonition that in a few short months her world would come crashing down around her.
TWENTY
The note from Mrs. Fordham, Welch’s assistant, came within the hour.
A young lady is here requesting a consultation with you. Won’t give her name. I assume she is the one you asked Mr. Welch to watch out for. I informed her you would see her shortly.
Virginia dashed off a note to Helen and went upstairs to change into a walking dress. By the time she returned to the front hall to collect her cloak and gloves, Mrs. Crofton was waiting at the door. She had been uncharacteristically quiet since Helen had left. Evidently she had not yet recovered from the shock of discovering that her employer was the by-blow of a shady psychical practitioner and a gentleman descended from one of the most distinguished families in society.
“Please have one of the street boys take that note around to Lady Mansfield in Hamilton Square immediately, Mrs. Crofton,” Virginia said. “She is very worried about her daughter.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mrs. Crofton said. The words were stilted and tight. She opened the door.
Virginia went out onto the front step.
“Miss Dean?” Mrs. Crofton said quietly behind her.
Virginia paused. “Yes?”
“Under the circumstances, I think you were very generous to Lady Mansfield.”
“It was not her fault that her husband chose to keep a second family on the side.”
“He wasn’t the first to do so, and he won’t be the last. But it does not follow that you owe Lady Mansfield anything.”
“My concern is for Elizabeth. She is the innocent one.”
Mrs. Crofton looked knowingly. “She is growing up in luxury and will inherit a fortune. She will take her place in society and make a grand marriage. You will spend most of your life working for your living. You’ll be fortunate, indeed, if you are able to put enough aside for your later years.”
“You’re right, Mrs. Crofton. Given the rosy future that you portray, I really do need to see about attracting higher-quality clients.”
“Time you raised your fees, as well. People don’t value services unless they pay dearly for them.”
Virginia smiled. “Thank you for the advice, Mrs. Crofton. I shall consider it closely.”
She pulled up the hood of her cloak and set off briskly into the fogbound afternoon. It was a fifteen-minute walk to the Leybrook Institute. There were usually a number of carriages and cabs parked in the street in front of the large building that housed the Institute’s offices and meeting rooms. This afternoon was no exception. Lectures on the paranormal and demonstrations of psychical powers were given frequently during the week. They attracted enthusiastic audiences, which, in turn, generated clients for practitioners affiliated with the Institute.
Those who chose to associate with the Institute paid a portion of their fees to Gilmore Leybrook for the privilege, but Virginia considered the cost to be more than worthwhile. Her business had increased dramatically in recent months. She was now making twice what she had earned as a practitioner on her own.
She went up the broad front steps and into the marble-tiled hall. Fulton, the porter who sold tickets to the lectures and demonstrations, signaled to her.
“Miss Dean,” he said. “Mr. Welch said you were expected shortly. Asked me to send you straight to his assistant’s office. There is a young lady waiting to see you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Fulton.”