A Dreadful Splendor (34)

“And Mr. Sutterly?” I asked.

Mr. Pemberton’s eyes darkened. “I have no reason not to trust him either. However, more important, I have no reason to trust him.”

“It sounds like you already know who I should target.”

“I understand you have gimmicks and methods for reading people, or rather by listening to what they don’t say—but don’t let my bias cloud your instinct.”

I was momentarily surprised that he remembered what I’d said earlier.

“Still,” he continued. “It would be best to update me if you discover any news you think might be helpful in laying our trap. You have the skills and unclouded judgment, and I have the knowledge of the household.”

“Agreed,” I said. “Success is more likely if we collaborate.”

Together we’d make quick work of this. But the more I thought about William as the target, the more concerned I became. I was relying on fear as much as guilt to motivate someone into confessing. And William did not strike me as the kind of person who scared easily.

As Mr. Pemberton continued with his meal, I took in the rest of the suite. A canopy bed sat on the other side of the room, flanked by two walnut armoires. Several tall shelves were filled with books. Above the fireplace hung a gilded mirror. A clock was placed exactly in the middle of the mantel, its soft ticking soothing the silence. The time was two thirty. I wondered how long I had been wandering.

The room was refined, but with a definite masculine quality. Every painting on the walls was of either pastures or horses. One smaller frame caught my attention. It was a portrait of a beautiful young woman on horseback. A beautiful woman who was not Audra.

My attention slid back to Mr. Pemberton. “Thank you for allowing me to have a key to my room,” I said. “I don’t have anything of value, but I want to ensure no one but myself has access to my props.”

“It was a reasonable request,” he said, not looking up from his plate.

“Do you think it might be possible for me to see Lady Audra’s room? It would contribute to the atmosphere if I had something personal of hers to place on the table, something small.”

He chewed slowly, like he was considering how to answer. “Yes,” he finally said. “I’ll ask Mrs. Donovan for the key. It might be beneficial for us to go through her room together.”

I examined the design on the rug, worried the excitement would show on my face. I wasn’t bothered about having Mr. Pemberton with me when I unlocked her door; I’d deal with that when the time came.

After taking the last bite, Mr. Pemberton placed the empty plate on the floor. “Sleepwalking,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Is this affliction a regular occurrence?”

I took a generous swallow of wine, purposely delaying my answer. The tartness on my tongue was followed by a smooth warmth in my stomach. “It hasn’t happened for a number of months,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady.

“What brings it on?”

Guilt. “Stress,” I said. “And perhaps sleeping in a new place.”

He tilted his head. “Do you think the séance will be too stressful for you?”

“No more than being sent to jail.”

He made a sound at the back of his throat, then retrieved the pitcher and refilled my glass. I realized I was drinking the wine that was intended for his supper. It seemed an unlikely gesture of kindness. He settled back into the chair and stared at the last few coals in the fireplace. “How long will it take you to prepare the library?” he asked. There was a curious tenor to his voice.

“A day,” I answered, relieved for the change of topic. “I’d like to replace the painting of the grandfather with Lady Audra’s portrait from the Gallery Hall. That way, her image can watch over us during the séance.” I sipped my wine. “No? You look like you don’t approve.”

“It’s a fair idea,” he said, continuing to stare into the fire.

I sneaked another glance at the picture of the unknown woman on the horse. Perhaps someone he had to leave behind? “Lady Audra’s portrait is very beautiful,” I prodded. “Mr. Lockhart said she was even more so in life.”

Mr. Pemberton turned and studied me with his unwavering blue eyes. There was a weight to his stare, a warning. I waited to see if he’d agree with me. I remembered what Dr. Barnaby had said about the pair making such a handsome couple.

“Yes, she was,” he answered.

It was the first notion of regret I’d sensed from him. “I’m sorry,” I said. I finished the last of my wine. “I’m quite recovered now. Thank you for the assistance.” Still wearing the green blanket like a shawl, I began to take my leave.

He stood and followed me to the door. The lamp he held accented the tired darkness under his eyes. I wondered again about the paperwork on the desk and what could have demanded so much of his attention this evening. “I’ll escort you back to your room,” he said. “After midnight, Somerset takes on a life of its own.”

“I assure you, I’ll be safe.” I rolled my eyes to the corniced ceiling. “As a seasoned spiritualist, I’m familiar with the unseen pulse of a household, especially one that has seen such tragedy over the years.”

He paused at the doorway, partially blocking my way. I noticed a key poking out from the inside of the lock. “Perhaps I want to make sure you don’t return to the kitchen to steal more silver.”