Southampton Row - Anne Perry [145]
“I heard you replace the lantern outside the front door when you got ’round to the street!” He made it an accusation.
“A few stones dropped on the ground,” she said with scorn. “I let another lantern down on a string. I went out afterwards . . . to see a friend who has no clock. The police checked. I knew they would.”
“And you killed her . . . after we’d gone? Leaving us to take the blame!” Now he was angry again, and frightened.
She heard it. “No one’s been blamed yet.”
“I will be, when they find those papers!” He sounded shrill, the pity gone.
“Well, I don’t know where they are!” she retorted. “Why . . . why don’t we ask Miss Lamont?”
“What?”
“Ask her!” she repeated. “Don’t you want to know if there’s life after death, or if this is the end? Isn’t that why you came here in the first place? If anyone should be able to come back to tell us, it’s her!”
“Oh yes?” His tone was razor-edged with sarcasm, and yet he could not keep the thin thread of hope out of it. “And how are we going to do that?”
“I told you!” Now she was sharp, too. “I have powers.”
“You mean you learned some of her tricks!” The voice was filled with contempt.
“Yes, of course I did!” she said witheringly. “I already told you that. But I’ve been looking ever since Nell died. I’m not easily taken in. There was some truth as well, before the blackmailing started. Spirits can be called up, if the circumstances are right. Draw the curtains. I’ll show you.”
There was silence.
Narraway turned and looked at Pitt, questioning in his eyes.
Pitt had no idea what Lena was going to do, or if they should allow it to go ahead.
Narraway pursed his lips.
They heard the very slight sound of fabric against fabric, then footsteps. Pitt grasped Narraway by the shoulders and half dragged him backwards, and they were in the drawing room opposite, still with the door open, only just in time to avoid being seen by Lena as she came out of the parlor and disappeared towards the kitchen.
She was gone for several minutes. There was no sound from Cartouche, in the parlor.
Lena returned and went into the room again, closing the door.
Pitt and Narraway resumed their listening position, but could make out only the occasional word.
“Maude!” That was Lena’s voice.
Then nothing.
“Maude! Miss Lamont!” That was Cartouche, unmistakable, even though his voice was higher pitched with urgency.
Narraway swung around to look at Pitt, his eyes wide.
“Miss Lamont!” It was Cartouche again, but this time with excitement, almost awe. “You know me! You wrote my name down! Where are the papers?”
There was a long moan, impossible to tell if it was a man or a woman. In fact, it could even have been an animal, so strange and stifled in the throat was it.
“Where are you? Where are you?” he begged. “What is it like? Can you see? Can you hear? Tell me!”
There was a loud bang, and a shriek, and an even louder crash as if something made of glass had broken.
Narraway put his hand on the door just as an explosion shook the whole house, and there was a roaring like a sheet of flame and the smell of burning was thick in the air.
Pitt threw himself at Narraway and dragged him away from the door handle, Narraway kicking and struggling against him.
“They’re in there!” he shouted furiously. “The stupid woman has set fire to something. They’ll suffocate! Let go of me, damn it! Pitt! Do you want them to burn?”
“Gas!” Pitt yelled back at him, just as the whole side of the house erupted, hurling them backwards to land sprawled on the floor a couple of yards from the front door, which now hung crazily on its hinges, gaping open. Pitt scrambled to his feet.
The parlor door had gone altogether, and the room was full of flame and smoke. A gust from the hall blew across it and it cleared for a moment. Bishop Underhill lay on his back with his head towards the doorway, a look of amazement on his face. Lena Forrest was slumped in the chair at the end of the table, blood on her head and shoulders.
Then the fire took renewed hold as the flames roared upwards, consuming