A Dreadful Splendor (16)

Mr. Lockhart’s lies were so blatant I could barely look at him.

Mr. Pemberton stayed quiet as he listened to my false list of accomplishments, all the while twirling the ring on his smallest finger. It was such a slight movement I wondered if he was aware. How many miles on the train could it buy? How many months’ rent would it fetch? I imagined riding away in the middle of the night with my bag full of candlesticks, wearing that very ring. I most likely would only have an hour, at the most, before he noticed it missing.

He put up a hand, interrupting Mr. Lockhart. “Yes, you’ve already relayed to me her long list of satisfied customers.” He said the last word with obvious distaste.

“Customers?” My voice went high. “My lord, Mr. Lockhart can list off all my prior successes; however, it does not take a seer to know that you have reservations about my abilities. I’m at a loss how to convince you. However, one thing is certain. If your bride’s spirit wishes to contact you, she can only do so through me.”

At this outburst, I was sure Mr. Lockhart would choke for good. Yet, both men remained silent for a moment. A minor victory for me.

There was a knock at the door.

“Come,” Mr. Pemberton replied.

Bramwell, the head butler, appeared, polished and prim as ever. I wondered if the man slept standing up. “Pardon me, my lord, but Dr. Barnaby has arrived.”

“Honestly?” Mr. Lockhart exhaled. He gave Mr. Pemberton a look of betrayal.

Mr. Pemberton stood. “I insist,” he said. “You travelled by coach in the rain all day on my behalf, so the least I can do is repay you with much-needed medical assessment and care.” He held out a hand for Mr. Lockhart to stand, but the elderly lawyer waved him off.

“Completely unnecessary,” he said. His face remained in a pout.

“You know very well Dr. Barnaby has been a good friend of mine for many years. He can treat that nagging cough you’ve developed these last few months. There’s no need for you to be stubborn. Besides, this gives Miss Timmons and me the opportunity to become better acquainted.”

Mr. Lockhart sent me a regretful expression, as if to say he was sorry for leaving me alone with Mr. Pemberton. I replied with a small smile. There was a rare twist of guilt in my stomach as I feigned bravery.

Putting almost all his weight on the cane, he hobbled to the doorway, where Bramwell was still standing. “It’s not obstinacy that makes me reluctant,” he said defensively. “It’s the uselessness of the exercise. I don’t need a doctor to tell me what’s wrong.”

Mr. Pemberton said to Bramwell, “Ask Dr. Barnaby to dine with us this evening, please. I’m sure we can accommodate him easily.”

“Certainly, my lord.” He bowed, then closed the door, leaving us alone.

Was there no one Mr. Pemberton didn’t give orders to? I wondered. What would he do if one of them said no? I could appreciate William’s point of view of the man in front of me.

He returned to his desk, then dipped the quill in the inkwell and began to write. “I want to have the séance next week,” he said, not looking up. “Tell me what you need,” he commanded.

“A cooperative ghost.”

He put down the quill and studied me. “We only have one chance,” he said. “Every detail is important, from the size of the room to the wax in the candles. I want nothing to go amiss.”

I crossed my arms in front of my chest. He continued to stare, and I wondered if he noticed I was wearing the same dress as last night. “I’ll tell you everything I require,” I promised. “But there is one question I need answered before we start this process—why do you think Lady Audra was murdered?”

He leaned back and rested his elbows on the arms of the chair. “She was in her bedroom. The door was locked from the outside.”

“Locked from the outside?” I repeated, thinking I had heard incorrectly. “On the eve of your wedding? Why, so she wouldn’t run away?” I couldn’t help but laugh at my own joke.

“Tell me, Miss Timmons, is it your comfort with death or your lack of compassion that makes this humorous to you?”

I stared at his gold ring until my ears stopped burning.

He continued, “Mrs. Donovan had a strong inclination to believe history was to repeat itself. She stayed outside Audra’s room all night long. When she entered the next morning, the room was empty. The windows locked.”

I raised my eyebrows at this.

“Her family has a history of unfortunate deaths.” He cleared his throat. “Mrs. Donovan told me afterward that locking the door was for her own protection. I was irate. It was cruel, barbaric even. Although she was right, wasn’t she?” The only answer was the wind rattling the pane. “Her body washed up on shore two weeks later.”

“I’m sorry.”

His blue eyes had a steely determination. “How did Audra get out of her room in the middle of the night?” he asked. “Only two people know the answer; one of them is dead and the other will be confessing at our séance.”

I frowned. “And what if no one confesses?” I asked. “I can make it appear that Audra’s ghost is singling out a certain person, but that doesn’t guarantee they will admit their guilt.”

He paused before answering, as if this hadn’t even occurred to him. “Then together we must determine the most likely culprit. Otherwise, expect to be in the custody of the parish constable, charged with stealing my candelabras.”