A Dreadful Splendor (35)

As usual, Mr. Pemberton kept the lamp between us as we journeyed back to my room, which I was soon to discover was in the opposite wing of Somerset. I found it curious. Was there a reason he chose to be so far from Audra’s chambers?

We finally reached a familiar hallway. I peeked over the railing into the blackness below, unable to see the beautiful Persian rugs.

My door was open. Not surprising considering I’d left in a trance. Mr. Pemberton stood at the threshold while I lit one of my candles from his lamp. A quick inspection showed everything was still in its place. I made a mental note to check my props in the morning, especially the ghost book.

“Thank you for seeing me back,” I said, too tired to disguise the sarcasm in my voice. “Your silver candlesticks are safe for another day.”

He frowned. “I’m afraid my wit wasn’t as apparent as I intended. I only wanted to ensure your safe return. Sleepwalking is a dangerous affliction, it seems.”

“No need to explain, my lord. I should be grateful for the escort, and the earlier rescue. If I’d been injured, I’d be useless to you.”

A glimpse of disappointment graced his features. “Do you think I would only be concerned for myself if you were hurt?” He studied my face so intently I was taken aback by his interest.

Why would he even be concerned about my thoughts of him? Finally, I said, “What other opinion should I have?”

His posture caved. “Mr. Lockhart isn’t exactly misguided in his quest to offer me peace through your assistance,” he said tiredly. “I should have shown Audra more attention. If I hadn’t been so preoccupied with the grounds and the title, I would have seen what she was going through.”

I could hear the heavy burden of regret in his words.

“I feel responsible for her death, Miss Timmons, and the only way I can atone for this neglect is to find out what happened that night. I’m not so much looking for someone to arrest, but someone who knows the truth of her last hours on earth. She deserves more than the story we’ve all assumed.”

The heartfelt confession gave him a softer edge, making him seem more honorable.

“I’ll do my best,” I answered. I had no choice, of course; he was blackmailing me, after all.

He tapped the doorknob. “I suggest you use your room key to secure the door from the inside to prevent any more nocturnal adventures. I know I sleep better when I do.” He nodded good night, then turned to leave.

“I thought you didn’t lock your door.”

He looked over his shoulder at me. “Only once I’ve settled for the night. Somerset has a way of putting people at unease—even seasoned spiritualists.”



I woke to sunlight streaming through the window. The blanket from Mr. Pemberton’s room was still tucked around me. I was more than grateful for the change in weather. Dr. Barnaby was right. Grief clung to this house, as penetrating as the cold outside.

There was a knock, followed by Flora’s voice, pleasant but drowsy.

I kept the blanket over my shoulders as I unlocked the door.

Flora came in, laden with a pitcher of steaming water in one hand, and an armload of kindling in the other. “Sorry, Jenny, I meant to leave the extra wood to stoke the fire last night, but I couldn’t unlock the door while you were at dinner.”

She paused, probably hoping for an explanation, but I stayed quiet. I wasn’t ready to tell her my suspicions. I reasoned a little mystery would only add to my persona.

As Flora busied with the fire, I poured some water from the pitcher into the basin and washed my face. “You must know most of the rooms at Somerset well,” I said.

“Aye, most of ’em. Have ya decided where to do the séance?”

“Not quite,” I lied. “But I have been exploring the house. There is a portrait of a beautiful woman with a horse in Mr. Pemberton’s sitting room. Do you know who she is?”

Flora almost tipped the bucket of soot. “No.” She kept her chin dipped down. “I don’t go into his room so much.”

Flora’s discomfort was obvious, but I didn’t press her on the subject. She was a sensitive creature, and I had to ensure she felt comfortable with me. People tell their secrets more easily when they trust you.

I went to the wardrobe full of dresses, once again confronted with the challenge of trying to disguise myself as a lady.

“Breakfast is waiting for you downstairs,” she said, still on her knees. “I believe Mr. Lockhart is already there.”

“Alone?”

“Aye.”

I pulled out a light blue sleeve, mesmerized by the detailed embroidery. It was difficult to reconcile the kind and generous man who bought these dresses to the lying lawyer now tucking into his eggs one floor below.

Flora wiped her hands on her apron, leaving sooty fingerprints. She groaned tiredly. “Mrs. Donovan will have a fit if she sees me like this in the halls, but I’ll just have to tell her I couldn’t have Miss Timmons gettin’ dressed in a cold room.” She brightened when she saw the blue dress in my hands.

“That was one of my favourites,” she said adoringly.

“Your favourites?” I asked. “I thought they only delivered these yesterday. Did you help Mrs. Donovan unpack them?”

An expression of woeful regret pulled down the edges of her mouth. Flora looked like she wanted to swallow her words. “I suppose you’re right, Jenny, it only looks very similar to one that hung in Lady Audra’s closet.”