A Dreadful Splendor (92)

Finally, the musicians announced they would play the last song. I took my time descending the grand staircase. Mr. Pemberton began a speech, thanking everyone for coming to pay tribute to Audra. I admit, I had visions of our eyes meeting across the room, hoping he would notice the brooch.

Instead, it was Mr. Lockhart who made his way to me. The guests quietly melted away for him as he limped forward. “My dear.” He smiled. “You look lovely. I know your talents will shine tonight.” There was a faint bruise on his left cheek. I imagined him bending over to tie his shoes only to bang his head on the bedside table.

Mr. Lockhart touched my hand and leaned forward. “Afterward,” he whispered, “we can discuss your trial. I’m encouraged by a discrepancy I found in your file. I plan on putting a team into investigating the coroner who signed the death certificate. The first cause of death had been scratched out and written over. Most unusual.”

“Cause of death?” I echoed. I flexed my hands, remembering how the shawl felt in my grip. The partygoers jostled us about, taking all the air with them.

I stammered an excuse and left Mr. Lockhart, eager to escape the crowd. It wasn’t until I’d rushed into the library, closing the door behind me, that I could breathe again. I put my back against it, resisting the urge to sink to my knees. Mr. Lockhart had to have been misinformed. I had the cause of death—myself.

I went to the table, my silk dress rustling in the quiet. There was a dampness to the air, like old mold. The fire had not been lit yet. I opened the ghost book to the secret page and completely wiped away Flora’s name. I also removed her chair, leaving the other five in place.

Above the enormous mantel, Lord Chadwick’s portrait had been replaced with Audra’s. She smiled demurely down at me. She was still just as beautiful, but there seemed to be an added notion of revenge in her countenance. I hoped she approved of this plan. I hoped this was what she meant by all the messages, begging for help.

I had initially presumed her to be a wealthy heiress, a woman who never wanted for anything in her life. Now, though, I sensed our connection. I was the one she had reached out to, leading me to clues, and begging for my assistance. Both of us had lost our parents, and in a way both of us were fighting a prophecy of doom. Hers was the family sickness. Mine was the fortune-teller’s promise of a watery death.

And both of us had secrets.

This was mine: if Audra could reach out to me beyond the grave, then surely, my mother could. Maman’s spiritual absence was a punishment for what I had done, a cold reminder I did not deserve happiness.

Cause of death.

No matter what was written or not written on the coroner’s report, I knew I was responsible. Needing to focus, I double-checked the props, then made sure all the windows were locked.

“Miss Timmons.” Bramwell had appeared at the door, holding a candelabra. “The others are waiting for you.” There was no welcoming expression on his face. I wondered what the staff must be saying about me.

Locking the library door behind me, I followed him, nervously adjusting my dress. As we neared the drawing room, I heard a voice that made my blood run cold. I halted on the spot, fighting the urge to flee in the opposite direction.

Bramwell stood at the open door and announced my name.

A hush fell over the men. I searched the faces, and when our eyes met, his crooked grin was identical to the one he had given me as I was leaving the police station.

“Constable Rigby,” I said.

He bowed. “Evening, Miss Timmons.” He didn’t bother to conceal the anticipation in his voice. His uniform buttons were polished and glinted in the candlelight, as did the pistol holstered to his side. “I’m looking forward to the séance. Can’t wait to see how this one turns out.”

My throat grew tight. I stood there, unable to move.

Mr. Pemberton left his drink on the mantel and came to my side. His eyes paused on the cameo brooch. He looked toward the constable. “Your attendance is contingent on your honor, sir,” he said. “I hope you will acknowledge truthfully what happens this evening.”

“With all due respect, m’lord, the law doesn’t need an invitation to arrest a known felon. I’ve orders to take Miss Timmons back to London as soon as the séance is over.” Constable Rigby smirked, which was his best effort at being professional. He could hardly keep from gloating.

Mr. Pemberton offered me his arm. I couldn’t feel my legs, but somehow I managed to walk with him. “Did you know?” I whispered as quietly as I could.

“No. He only arrived shortly before you.”

The first time I had entered this drawing room, the golden wallpaper caused everything to shimmer. Tonight, though, I could see the small cracks in the seams where the paper had peeled back, and where mold had set in the corners of the windowpanes. The house itself had begun to rapidly decay, an omen to my own miserable misfortune. Ghosts blew whispers of death in my ear while spiders spun crowns of webbing atop the chandeliers.

Mr. Lockhart hobbled over.

“You used me,” I said. I tried to keep the anger from my voice. “From the very beginning.”

“It was the only way they would allow you to come with me. I will still give you my services,” he offered. Then he coughed into his handkerchief. I saw spots of blood before he hastily put it away.

His offer was pointless. He may not live that long.