A Dreadful Splendor (13)

He nodded at this and leaned back in his chair. “After they had escorted you back to the cells, the officers were discussing your tricks, but they could not understand how you accomplished all of them in such a convincing fashion. For example, the ectoplasm young Mr. Hartford swears he saw you expel.”

I must have thoroughly traumatized that shy young man. “The ectoplasm is proof that spirits have passed over into my dimension,” I said.

He stared at me in disbelief.

I shrugged my shoulders. “A trip to the butcher afforded me a small piece of sausage casing. When mixed with water, the effect can be quite convincing.” I did not tell him that I had to practise with cotton for months, just as Maman had shown me, keeping it hidden in my cheek while I spoke.

Mr. Lockhart’s face twisted with displeasure. “Well, you won’t need to showcase any ghoulish display for his lordship. I cannot stress enough how devoted he was to Lady Audra. Their bond was so strong, we worried for weeks afterward that he would follow her.”

I had seen grief in different circles, from the rich to the poor, and there was one universal truth to death: it forever changed the people left behind. A heavy knowledge of pain filled their eyes. And just like the rose on the bottom of my teacup, you couldn’t always see the pain, but it was there, underneath.

The man who caught me in the kitchen last night did not have eyes heavy with grief. They were bright and blue, like a summer sky with no clouds. Maybe it was the stable groom having a bit of fun at my expense?

“. . . walk through the Gallery Hall,” Mr. Lockhart said, catching me in the middle of my reverie. Using his cane, he pushed himself away from the table. I was tempted to sneak another sausage when I heard a substantial thump on the rug.

Mr. Lockhart winced with pain as he put one hand on the table to hold himself upright.

“Let me,” I said, going to his side to pick up the cane, eager to guess its true value.

It was heavy, and if I wasn’t mistaken, the snake’s head was solid gold. I wondered how easy it might be to pluck out those ruby eyes. Mr. Lockhart cleared his throat. I must have been staring too long. “It’s lovely,” I said, handing it back.

“It’s rather ostentatious as walking canes go,” he said. “It was a gift from Lord Chadwick, Lady Audra’s father.” Then his eyes took on a mischievous glint. “Here, let me show you its secret.” With a twist, he pulled the serpent head out of the cane, revealing a dagger. “I may be old and rather feeble, but I’m well-armed.” He winked as part of the jest, and I was grateful he didn’t laugh, as it would have likely only brought on another fit of coughing.

“And one should be well armed at Somerset?” I teased back, half-serious.

“Merely a prop, Miss Timmons. If I ever have occasion to require a dagger, I’d surely faint before I could use it.”



The Gallery Hall was exactly that—a long hallway lined with many large portraits of dead people. It was Somerset’s own personal museum. To be honest, I much preferred Madame Tussauds Chamber of Horrors.

Mr. Lockhart took it upon himself to educate me on the many ancestors who had resided in Somerset Park.

We made our way past dukes and great-uncles and such and such, until we stopped in front of a couple’s portrait. The woman was fair and adorned with pearls, but the man had a harsh look about him.

“Lord and Lady Chadwick, Audra’s parents,” Mr. Lockhart said. There was an audible sense of pride to his voice. “She had a sickly life, poor woman. Spent most of her time in bed. Still, she lasted longer than any of us expected.” He turned to me and lowered his voice. “She died seven years ago.”

I studied their faces. The man had a cruel heat in his eyes that I’d seen before on the faces of the customers who frequented Miss Crane’s. “And Audra’s father?” I prompted.

Mr. Lockhart let out a sigh. “Alexander Linwood. He died a few months before Audra.”

The air stilled around us. “Wait a moment,” I said. “This is Audra’s ancestral home? Not Mr. Pemberton’s?”

“Indeed,” he replied. “Somerset Park has been in Audra’s family for generations. However, my lordship inherited the title of Earl of Chadwick, as he is the only male relation of legitimate birth in the Linwood family tree.” He read my confused expression. “His father was a distant cousin to Alexander Linwood, Lady Audra’s father.”

A peculiar pressure pushed between my shoulder blades. We continued, then stopped at the base of the most impressive painting in the entire hall. I knew who I was staring at even before Mr. Lockhart introduced me.

He sighed. “And here she is.”

Her flaxen hair seemed spun from gold, and her gown was adorned with enough pleats and embroidery that it must have taken the seamstress months to complete. However, that was not what struck me first about Audra. It wasn’t so much that she was beautiful, or that her dress was exquisite, or that the tiara with the large blue stone made her look like a queen, but it was her expression of pure satisfaction. There was a luminosity about her. She knew she was lovely, and she knew she was loved. That kind of spark could not be imitated—no matter how many parlour tricks you knew.

“She sat for this on her nineteenth birthday,” Mr. Lockhart said. “Look how the artist captured her eyes.” He sighed again.