A Dreadful Splendor (46)

Mr. Pemberton glanced at me for the briefest of moments. “The séance will happen directly after the party,” he answered. He began to meticulously butter a biscuit. “With only a few select guests.”

I watched the stress evaporate from Mr. Lockhart’s face, then he gave me a quick nod.

He was so oblivious to the facts. An alarm sounded in my brain. If he was this obtuse about the goings-on at Somerset, was he clever enough to earn my freedom in court? Even if he still agreed to represent me after the séance, that was not a guarantee that he would win. My pulse began to hammer in my throat. I needed another plan. The tiara came to mind. It was already in my possession, and it was valuable enough to pay for travel far away—far enough that Constable Rigby would never find me.

The more I thought about it, the more I reasoned the tiara was my best solution. No matter how the séance went, I’d sneak it away with me. Until then, I’d have to hide it somewhere that wasn’t my room.

“Mrs. Galloway has begun to make preparations,” Mr. Pemberton continued. “And Bramwell has booked the musicians, if anyone wishes to dance.” There was a playfulness to his voice that was unexpected. I swore there was a grin beneath the surface.

“Are you unwell?” Mr. Lockhart asked me. He nodded to my hardly touched meal. “Perhaps Dr. Barnaby should make another visit?” Then he looked at Mr. Pemberton as if waiting for his permission.

Being under the scrutiny of both men made me feel like I was about to ruin my cover and spill all my lies at once. “The meal is lovely,” I said. “But I am eager to start preparing for the séance. I prefer to spend time in solitude, to become more sensitive to the house.”

Mr. Lockhart nodded approvingly, thinking I was adding the right amount of mysticism to our little ruse.

“Have you finally decided on the library?” Mr. Pemberton asked, knowing full well I had. He placed his spoon diagonally in the bowl and leaned back in his chair. Bramwell took the dish away at once. Next, he came around with a carafe of hot tea.

Both men waited for my answer, and I was all too aware we were part of a con in which only I knew the full truth. It was a deception on many levels. “Yes,” I answered.

“Good,” Mr. Pemberton replied. “I’m most interested to assist you. We can discuss it further this afternoon. I’ll make sure no one disturbs us.”

A rare smile of hope enhanced Mr. Lockhart’s expression. “I’m glad to hear you’re open to the talents Miss Timmons possesses.”

“I’m sure Miss Timmons’s talents will rival anything I’ve seen before.” Mr. Pemberton ignored the freshly poured tea. “But since she has come all the way from London, it would be a shame not to allow her to exhibit her skill. As well, I cannot deprive the servants of their share of the fun. I understand there’s a wager among them.”

Bramwell stood by the sideboard, staring straight ahead.

“Not that I blame them,” he continued. “It must be quite intriguing, watching from the sidelines.”

Mr. Lockhart’s lips pressed into a hard line. He put down his spoon and placed both palms into the table. “You have tried every route with the police,” he said. His voice was on the verge of scolding. “Somerset Park needs a master who is present and attentive. You have become obsessed with Lady Audra’s death, and it must be dealt with. She is gone, and you must accept that. The welfare of this manor, even the village of Wrendale, depend on you getting a grip on this morbid devotion. You are not the only living soul on this earth with a broken heart, my lord.”

“This has nothing to do with my heart,” Mr. Pemberton replied calmly, but there was a steely-eyed gaze that added a hardness to his words. “This is about justice. I’d rather see Somerset Park fall into ruin than go on pretending nothing heinous happened within its walls.”

Mr. Lockhart curled his fingers under his hands and gently rested both fists on the table. “Remember,” he said, “that you are speaking in the house where she was born and raised, and to a person who knew her since she was a child. To turn your back on Somerset is to turn your back on Lady Audra herself.”

“And you repay her memory by bringing in this charade and making me the center of everyone’s attention,” Mr. Pemberton said.

The tips of my ears burned, but I pushed aside my discomfort. I thought about Audra’s room and all the things she would never again touch or enjoy. “I may be many things, my lord,” I said, working to keep my voice above the level of a mouse. “But I assure you, the one thing I am not is a charade. No one can ever say they have been unaffected by one of my séances.”

The only sound in the room was the floor creaking under Bramwell’s shoes as he adjusted his weight. Mr. Pemberton stared back at me challengingly. Then he gave the smallest lift of an eyebrow.

I took a breath and said, “I have only been at Somerset a few days, but it is obvious everyone loved and misses Lady Audra very much. If there is the smallest chance I can contact her, isn’t that better than nothing at all?”

Mr. Pemberton didn’t reply, but I got a nod of approval across the table from Mr. Lockhart.



Later that afternoon, I met with Mr. Pemberton in the library. He had his back to me, touching the spines of the books, one by one. The fireplace gave off a pleasant heat and one of the side tables had been set for tea with a plate of scones and sandwiches. I wondered how anyone at Somerset Park wasn’t too wide for the doorways. I already found Audra’s dresses were fitting better after only a few days of Mrs. Galloway’s cooking. Even the times I ate in my room, the helpings were generous and never-ending—almost as if they knew I needed every last bite.