A Dreadful Splendor (33)

A seed of doubt was planted in me that day. It would continue to grow and spread its roots through my heart and consciousness for years. One day it would burst with an anger so vile and unforgiving another accident would prove how definitive death was, giving Maman the last and fatal word.

And making me a murderer.





Chapter Twenty-Two




“Miss Timmons!” Mr. Pemberton gave my shoulders a quick squeeze. “Can you hear me?” His tone was urgent.

“Yes,” I said weakly. I blinked a few times, trying to focus. I was sitting at the top of a small flight of stairs that led down to an archway. It was a part of Somerset I hadn’t explored yet. A chamber candle placed nearby, flickered its light on the scene.

He released his grip but stayed crouched beside me. He was still dressed in his dinner shirt from earlier, but a few of the top buttons were open and the jacket was gone.

“I was on my way to my room when I saw you standing at the top of the stairs,” he said. “You didn’t respond when I called your name. You stepped out and would have fallen down the entire flight, I’m sure.”

“What stopped me?” I asked, putting a hand to my head, feeling the remnants of a headache. I most definitely had been sleepwalking.

“I did.”

There were papers strewn across the floor behind us, as if dropped in haste.

“Can you stand?” he asked.

I nodded. His hand cupped my elbow and we rose together. “I should fetch Barnaby,” he said.

“No, I’m fine. I sometimes sleepwalk.” I realized I was only in my nightdress, but my head was spinning too much to muster a blush. “I’ll make my way back to my room. Kindly point me in the right direction.”

Mr. Pemberton shook his head and said, “You should sit and have something to drink. My room is closer. Here, hold on to the railing.” He left me and then gathered the papers into a bundle and tucked them under his arm. Returning to my side, he held out his elbow.

“This isn’t necessary,” I said, sounding rather feeble as I reached for his arm.

“I beg to differ, Miss Timmons. I’d hate to cancel the séance because you tumbled to your doom.”

I let out a dry chuckle, even though I could tell he was completely serious. We made our way through the archway and down a dark hall. He opened the door at the end and led me into a room that looked more like an elegant apartment.

The walls were covered in blue silk with a silver design. We padded across thick carpet to a substantially cushioned chair in front of the fireplace. A pile of glowing embers in the grate still emitted a bit of heat. I stretched my bare frozen feet closer. How long had I been wandering Somerset? Through a gap in the tasseled curtains, I saw the sky was still dark.

Mr. Pemberton went to a desk in front of the largest window. He pushed aside a stack of books and placed the bundle of papers there. “Is that the package from London?” I asked. “Have you been studying it all night?” What would have occupied him all this time? Information about Audra?

Wordlessly, he moved across the room to a small table and chairs. He lit more candles, and I saw a covered tray and small pitcher sitting there. I wondered how often he dined here by himself. “Yes,” he said. “But I wouldn’t call it studying. The contents require deciphering rather than memorization.”

He filled a crystal glass and brought it to me. A green blanket was draped over the footstool, and I took it to pull around my shoulders, now more conscious of the fact that I was without my dressing gown. I took the wine and mumbled a thank-you, suspecting that he was being vague intentionally. I took a small sip, noting the bitterness.

He returned with a plate of what I recognized as the supper I’d enjoyed with Dr. Barnaby and set it on his lap. As he cut into his meat, the clinking of cutlery was the only sound that filled the room. I squirmed in the chair, feeling self-conscious to be in such an intimate setting with him. I tipped back the glass for a second sampling.

“The servants have access to your room?” I asked, nodding to the tray. I thought of Mrs. Donovan’s large key ring. “You don’t lock your door?”

He pressed his lips together. “The appearance of trust is just as important as trust itself. That’s why the staff must see us together each day leading up to the séance. I’ll pretend to be reluctant, of course, but you’ll eventually earn my confidence. Therefore, when Audra’s spirit points to the target, no one will ever imagine we orchestrated it from the beginning.”

“Least of all Mr. Lockhart,” I prompted. “How much do you trust him?”

The fork and knife paused. Mr. Pemberton’s expression grew thoughtful. “I have no reason not to trust him. For his part, he has every confidence that your séance will be a success. He’s also expressed a protectiveness for you. He’s been staying at Somerset regularly for the last six months, but he made it clear he’d be avail able to you this week and will be staying here until the séance is completed. It’s rather endearing, I think.”

“Quite,” I replied, thinking Mr. Lockhart probably wanted to keep a close watch on me considering he’d freed me on bail. Still, the information was useful. Mr. Pemberton considered the elderly solicitor an honest and compassionate man. I waited, but he didn’t mention the state of his health, which reaffirmed my suspicions that he was unaware of Mr. Lockhart’s fatal diagnosis. Could there have been a reasonable explanation for what Mr. Lockhart had said in the greenhouse earlier?