A Dreadful Splendor (89)

His stare held me in place. Any thoughts I’d had were stolen from my mind. I couldn’t come up with a reply. What did I know of real love? I knew what the men who came to Miss Crane’s desired, but that thirst was easily quenched. Any girl would do.

But this look from Mr. Pemberton was different. It held a promise. A promise that thrilled and saddened me, for it was one I knew I didn’t deserve. But I couldn’t tell him this. I replied, “My mother always told me love brought heartache.”

He seemed to consider that. Then he asked, “Are you looking forward to beginning a new life?”

A hollowness sat in my chest that I couldn’t explain. I wanted to turn back time, to ask him more about what he thought of love. The conflict must have shown on my face.

“I thought that would make you happy. You could be in Paris in a few days,” he continued. “In time for your birthday.” He looked rather sheepish. “It was in your police file.”

The ocean’s icy breath crept across the back of my neck. My nineteenth birthday—the one I was fated not to celebrate.

“Yes,” I replied, but Paris was the last thing on my mind. There was a growing sense that I would never leave Somerset Park.

Mr. Pemberton angled his head, maybe sensing I was losing confidence. “Have you changed your mind?”

“No.” I shook my head. “I’ll target William and Flora for Audra’s death. We both saw how close she was to breaking under pressure.” For the first time, I would be conducting a séance with a real ghost. Be that as it may, it wasn’t something I could count on. “All the usual tricks and gimmicks will be in place,” I said.

As if answering, the back door suddenly swung open, bringing in a gust of salty air, blown wide by an unseen force.





Chapter Fifty-Two




“Once everyone has sat down, I’ll add the candles, putting the special ones in front of Flora and William. They will be the first to extinguish.” I was in the library, crouched under the round table, making sure the slim piece of wood was jimmied in place under the pedestal.

“How will that work?” Mr. Pemberton asked. I watched his shoes walk around the table. Then he crouched down, his blue eyes coming into view. “You promised me a few more trade secrets.” He held out his hand, helping me to my feet. My finger brushed against the gold pinkie ring. This time I didn’t bother to keep my smile hidden. I had resolved to enjoy what little time we had left. I knew his straightforward nature well enough by now that if he intended to progress our relationship any further, he would have said so, rather than mentioning my eventual departure so often.

“I cut the wicks.” I brushed my hands down the front of the dress, smoothing out the wrinkles. I had chosen a simple one, knowing I wouldn’t have any assistance from Flora. “They vary in length, so I manipulate which candle goes out first.”

He picked one up and held it up to the light. “Impressive,” he said.

With his head tilted back, I could see the scar under his jaw. I would miss that scar. The door was closed, but the sounds of the staff preparing for tonight’s party echoed throughout. Everyone was under strict orders not to disturb the library.

I yawned into my hand. All night I kept imagining Flora coming into my room with a knife behind her back.

“Likewise, Miss Timmons,” Mr. Pemberton replied, fighting off his own yawn. His red-rimmed eyes were evidence of lack of sleep. He’d stayed outside my room again last night.

I opened the ghost book to the message page and wrote in my practised cursive William and then Flora. I hesitated, bothered by a small needling of guilt. William could go to jail—I had no problem with that—but Flora seemed more of an unwilling accomplice. Maman would call me foolish.

“Here’s the key to lock up when you’re finished.” He placed it on the table, but then stood in place, making no motion to leave. “One more thing.” He reached into his vest pocket again and pulled out a small velvet box. He held it out to me. “An early birthday present, Miss Timmons.”

“Oh.” I worked to keep my hands from shaking as I opened the lid. It was a cameo brooch, set in silver. My fingertips felt along the silhouette carved from ivory.

“It was my mother’s. I’m not sure if women in Paris wear such ornamentation, but I wanted you to have something to remember me—or rather, Somerset Park—by. Perhaps you’ll only wear it for special occasions, or maybe you’ll leave it in the box. It’s up to you.”

“I won’t leave it in the box,” I said, still staring down at the delicate profile.

The two of us bowed over the brooch, not daring to look up at each other.

He said, “You admitted you tried on the tiara because you wanted to see what it would be like to be beautiful. I can assure you the tiara is unwarranted. You only need to see yourself as others do.”

I lifted my gaze. His eyes were a warm, cloudless summer sky. How could Audra not have fallen in love with him? “Thank you, Mr. Pemberton,” I said. “I will always treasure it.” And although I didn’t say it out loud, I knew I needed no token to remember him forever.

His lips curled up, mischievous. “I wonder if you might at last consider calling me Gareth, at least once before you leave. I would like to think we are parting ways as more than a formal acquaintance.” Then he added with a whisper, “Miss Timmons.”