Quicksilver - Amanda Quick [8]
He had been certain that she was aware of his intense interest that day, and he’d known something else as well. She had been quietly seething. Lady Pomeroy, the woman who had commissioned the reading, had not informed her ahead of time that there would be an audience of paranormal investigators. He could see that Virginia had not appreciated having the surprise sprung on her.
He did not know what Virginia had seen in the mirror that evening, but when she was finished she had turned away to speak very quietly to Lady Pomeroy. The others in the crowd had clamored loudly, demanding to ask questions and conduct experiments on her talent.
She had faced them with an air of icy disdain that would have suited a very displeased Queen Victoria.
“I do not read mirrors for the purpose of entertaining others or satisfying their curiosity. When I accepted this commission, I believed it to be a serious request. I did not realize that I was to be tested and examined. I’m afraid I don’t have time for that sort of nonsense.”
At that point she had given them her back and walked out the door without another word. The shock that had momentarily electrified the small group that was left behind in the drawing room had amused Owen to no end. Lady Pomeroy and the researchers from the Arcane Society all moved in eminently respectable—and in some cases exclusive—circles. They were not accustomed to enduring the cold scorn of a lowly psychical practitioner, a woman who actually went into the world to earn her living with her talents.
When they had recovered, they awaited the verdict from a flushed and very annoyed Lady Pomeroy.
“What did she tell you, madam?” Hedgeworth asked.
“Miss Dean informed me that my husband was not murdered, nor was his death a suicide, as some suspected,” Lady Pomeroy said brusquely. “According to her, Carlton was alone here in the drawing room when he died of natural causes, as I have always believed. There was no indication of violence.”
“Well, that was a perfectly safe thing for her to say, wasn’t it?” one of the other observers pointed out. “There is no proving otherwise after all these months.”
“She no doubt researched the matter of your husband’s death before she came here today, Lady Pomeroy,” Hobson said. “The particulars were in the papers, after all. The press called it a stroke.”
“Quite right,” one of the others said. “The Dean woman could well be a fraud. The charlatans in that field are very clever. And since none of us is a glasslight-talent, we cannot be certain that we, ourselves, were not deceived.”
But Owen had known with every fiber of his being that Virginia Dean possessed a true talent. The shadows in her eyes told him that she had witnessed death many times over. He knew those shadows well. He saw similar ghosts in his own eyes every time he looked into a mirror.
He turned down another hallway, Virginia and Becky at his heels.
“I admire your fortitude, Miss Dean,” he said. “And that of Miss Becky, as well. You have both been through a great deal tonight. Many people, male or female, would have been thoroughly rattled by now.”
“Never fear, Mr. Sweetwater,” Virginia said. “Becky and I will indulge ourselves in a bracing case of shattered nerves at a more convenient time, won’t we, Becky?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Becky said. “Right now I just want to get out of this place.”
“My sentiments precisely,” Virginia said. “Becky, are you certain you can’t recall anything after getting into the man’s carriage earlier today?”
“No, ma’am.” Becky hesitated. “Just that the gentleman seemed so handsome and so charming. And the flowers. I remember those as well.”
“What flowers?”
“I’m not sure, but I think I smelled something sickeningly sweet, like dying roses.”
“Chloroform,” Virginia said grimly. “You were drugged, Becky. That is why you don’t remember what happened to you.”
Owen opened the door at the top of the stairs and ushered them into the old drying shed.
“Please do not mistake me, sir, ma’am,” Becky said. “I am