A Dreadful Splendor (10)

He lowered the lamp somewhat, and a smoothness rested in his expression. “Mr. Lockhart told me you speak to the dead.”

Despite the knot that was growing inside my stomach, I found my voice. “He wants me to help you to find peace,” I said, hating how small I sounded.

“Mr. Lockhart means well, but he has underestimated my passion.” There was a calm bitterness in his tone. “I don’t believe in spiritualists, Miss Timmons. You have no more ability to conjure a specter than I do.”

I imagined the stable boy, getting on his horse to summon the police. I couldn’t produce a ghost for him at this moment, but I could give him enough to delay his decision. I said, “This house embodies many souls. They whisper to me even now.”

He gave me a patronizing tilt of his head.

I considered why the lord of such a magnificent estate would be sitting alone in the kitchen, dishevelled from the outdoors and brooding in front of the fire. He was conflicted. “Somerset is full of secrets,” I said.

He was unimpressed. “Every house has its secrets.”

“Many serve you, but there are few whom you truly trust.” Something in his expression shifted. My heart rate picked up, knowing I’d hit a nerve.

“You act out of duty,” I continued, “but secretly despise the opulence that surrounds you.”

The muscle in his jaw tightened, but he kept my gaze, daring me to continue.

Now for the final reveal, the unpleasant truth. There was an obvious connection to the stables. “If given the choice, you’d ride all night on horseback to escape yourself.”

He stayed quiet, then lowered his chin in surrender.

It appeared I had earned my escape. “Please give my regards to Mr. Lockhart.” I motioned to the door behind him, but he didn’t step aside.

“You won’t be leaving. At least not tonight.” He stood taller, all his confidence reaffirmed. “The notion of this scheme upset me earlier, but after this clever parlour trick you just demonstrated, I believe you can be of use. Audra is dead, but not by her own hand. She was murdered.”

Audra. This was the first time anyone had spoken her name.

The knot in my stomach moved up to my throat. “The police don’t seem to agree,” I said.

“There is no evidence to prove otherwise, so I must rely on the one thing that will hold up in court—a confession.” He stepped closer, and it took all my nerve to keep my boots firmly planted on the spot. “A confession brought on by proof that Audra’s spirit is in the room and pointing to her murderer. You see, what I need is your skill for illusion and persuasion.”

I frowned as I considered his meaning. He was staring at me intently, as if trying to read my mind. I believed he was willing me to say the words that he would not. “You wish for me to perform a séance so convincing it will persuade a murderer to confess?” I guessed.

“Precisely.”





Chapter Four




Lady Audra Linwood

Diary Entry

Somerset Park, February 15, 1845

My Dearest,

It is with a heavy heart I take ink to these pages. This journal is Mother’s last gift to me, and I shall fill every page with all my heart’s desires, for she wanted me to live the full life that she could not. She was so sickly and miserable for so long, she cried with relief when the diagnosis was confirmed.

Now Father and I are the ones who weep. But I must go on and be the epitome of a lady. Everyone at Somerset Park expects it of me.

I woke in the middle of the night, and for a moment I had completely forgotten Mother had died. Then it washed over me like a wave on the beach, drowning me in my sobs. All I wanted was to see her face one more time. I ran to the Gallery Hall with my blanket and pillow. Mrs. Donovan found me the next morning, asleep at the foot of Mother’s portrait, the one that was commissioned as a wedding present for Father.

Mrs. Donovan rebuked me for being out of bed. How is it possible to feel so alone in a house full of servants?

However, later that day when I returned from the stables, my wardrobe had been moved to the other side of my room and Mother’s portrait had taken its place, close to my bed. There was a note from Father, telling me that whenever I wake needing to see her face, she’ll be there for me. Furthermore, he hinted at a secret that only a Linwood is allowed to know, and that my time had come.

It is the perfect distraction, Dearest. You watch me with your sad eyes, always seeing, never judging. When I write these words, I am writing to you. You are the guardian of all my thoughts and dreams. And now we share the Linwood secret! I know you will keep it well hidden.

It has been a month since Mother passed into heaven, but her spirit is close to me. I truly believe she is looking out for me. I never tell Father, though, as I know it will give him great heartache. His health wanes and waxes with the moon, and I would hate to cause him more pain.

Sometimes I lie awake at night and wonder what will become of me when Father dies. Surely, thirteen is too young to send me out on my own?

Orphaned. Homeless. That is exactly what I will be, Dearest. For when Father dies, Somerset Park and all its contents will go not to me. How cruel and unjust the world is for a young woman.





Chapter Five




Ghosts did not exist, and yet I had one.