A Dreadful Splendor (28)

Mr. Pemberton paused, but he was looking at me instead of his bride. Oddly, he said nothing, content to let this moment pass without critiquing me.

We continued walking, and the silence grew more pronounced. The lamp between us created a shared circle of light, making the hallway seem like it was growing longer with each step. Would we ever get there?

“You’ve had the day to explore,” he started. I jumped at the sound of his voice. “Have you found a suitable room for the séance?”

The image of Mr. Lockhart and William were fresh in my mind, but again I hesitated to share that information. I had no reason to trust him. And would he even believe me? Until I had a more definite idea of who were my allies, I decided to keep the secret a little longer—just like Audra in her portrait.

“The library seems suitable,” I answered.

Relief took over his expression, improving his demeanour. “Tomorrow, we can discuss plans to prepare the room,” he said. “It’s important for us to be seen cooperating.”

“It’s also important for me to be able to approach anyone I feel has information about Lady Audra’s last night,” I said. “Even if some consider it a breach of etiquette.”

He sighed. “Your point is taken, Miss Timmons. You may speak to whomever you wish.”

Surprised, I turned to study his expression, but he was looking straight ahead, hardly giving me more than a profile to consider.

There was a glow from the room up ahead. He slowed our pace and said, “However, in order for our scheme to be successful, no one should be aware of the true intention of your enquiries.”

“Conversation isn’t the only way to learn about someone,” I said, recalling how I’d read him correctly last night. “My mother taught me that people reveal more about themselves by what they don’t say. The trick is knowing how to listen.”

He held my gaze. “I’m counting on all of your tricks and persuasive talents.”

I wished I felt as confident as he seemed. “And so is Mr. Lockhart,” I reminded him. “When he realizes I’m not doing the séance I promised him, he’ll be quite upset with me.” I wanted to gauge his reaction, to see if he understood I had more to lose. He needed my skills to pull this off. Perhaps he’d be willing to offer me something, or at least remove the threat of sending me back to jail.

“I suspect your reputation will be glorified in his eyes if Audra’s killer is found, Miss Timmons. But by all means, continue to make this about yourself.”

I frowned at his useless answer and said, “It’s a habit one develops when you’re the only one you can count on, my lord.”





Chapter Seventeen




Lady Audra Linwood

Diary Entry

Somerset Park, December 12, 1851

Dearest,

My tears have soaked this page so thoroughly I fear the ink will never dry. I woke from a horrible dream, unable to recall the robust image of Father’s face before it was thinned and paled by illness. Distraught, I went to the Gallery Hall in search of his portrait.

William was there when I arrived, staring up at my own painting, the one I sat for recently. He has grown into a broad young man, and I know half the maids are smitten with him, but he is as unfortunate as myself in this world. How cruel it is to be born into a station in life that determines your worth, no matter all your good intentions.

But at least he was born a man. William can work to earn a living; he will always have the autonomy to go where he pleases and start again. When I told him as much, he gave me the strangest look. He said he will never leave Somerset Park, and that he will never leave me.

He took my hand and kissed it, holding it against his lips a moment longer than necessary. I felt a force wrapping its arms around us, urging us closer. I was unsure of my own body. Part of me wanted to give in to that heat, to let myself be embraced. But somewhere in my mind a distant alarm was ringing out, rooting me to the spot. Only when he took a step toward me did I move. I quickly curtsied and ran straight to my room.

But as I write this, I think I must have imagined those feelings. William is as dear to me as a brother. It was sincere gratitude I was feeling, nothing more. I would not allow myself such a disastrous attachment.

There, I have settled the matter in my head. No more of it; I am completely content to fall asleep now.





Chapter Eighteen




Mr. Pemberton and I entered the drawing room, pausing under an enormous chandelier. Walls covered in golden damask reflected the candlelight, giving everything an opulent sparkle, except for myself. The scuffs on my boots seemed to burn through the hem of my skirt.

Heavy brocade drapes dressed each window, their pleats perfectly spaced. I imagined Flora on a stepladder with her duster, trying to reach the very top. On the other side of the room a bar cart was laden with various crystal bottles and glasses.

In front of the fireplace, a red chaise lounge and accompanying chairs created an elegant seating arrangement. A gentleman rose from his chair. He was slight in build, with a gentle expression. His light brown hair was trimmed, and his dinner jacket was clean but plain. He seemed out of place among all the shiny objects, just like me. However, whereas I stuck out like a piece of coal among diamonds, he faded unremarkably into the backdrop.

“May I present Miss Timmons,” Mr. Pemberton said. Then he turned to me. “This is Dr. Barnaby, a good friend of mine whose skills medical and otherwise I am indebted to more than once.”