Текст книги "Quicksilver"

Автор книги: Amanda Quick

Соавторы: Amanda Quick
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TWENTY-TWO

“ What do you know of Gilmore Leybrook?” Owen asked.

“Very little, to be honest,” Virginia said. “No one does. He is a talent of some kind, but I’ve never been certain of the exact nature of his ability. He arrived on the London scene about a year ago and established the Institute. He was successful right from the start.”

“He must have money, in that case. The Institute is an expensive operation.”

“One of Leybrook’s many talents is his ability to attract funding for the Institute,” Virginia said dryly. “He is charming and persuasive. There is something about him that draws people to him.”

“A side effect of his talent, perhaps, whatever it is.”

They were back on the street, walking toward the park, where Owen hoped that they would find a cab. That prospect was dimming rapidly. The streets around the Institute were empty. It was nearly midnight, and the fog had thickened to the point where the gas lamps appeared only as glary orbs in the mist, the light they cast all but useless.

Part of him was attuned to the currents of the night, listening for the sound of footsteps that might signal the approach of a footpad. But they had the street to themselves. Normal people, not even normal street thieves, went abroad at night in such an impenetrable atmosphere, he thought. But he and Virginia were not what most people would call normal.

It felt good to share the night and the hunt with this woman at his side. It felt right.

“If we are correct in our initial conclusions, you were the killer’s intended victim the night you read the looking glass for Lady Hollister,” Owen said. “But things went wrong. Hollister ended up dead, and you and one of Hollister’s other intended victims, Becky, escaped. I am quite certain the second killer did not plan that ending to the affair.”

“What was Becky doing there that night?” Virginia asked. “Why would she have been needed if I was the intended subject of the experiment?”

“Good question. I asked one of my aunts to stop by the Elm Street charity house today to inquire about Becky.”

“You did?” Virginia turned her head quickly to look at him. “Was there any news of her?”

“My Aunt Ethel reports that Mrs. Mallory was able to persuade Becky to attend the charity school.”

“I’m so glad,” Virginia said. “If she learns typing or telegraphy she will have a chance to forge a respectable career for herself. She will be able to escape the streets. I still find it hard to believe that Arcane has taken over responsibility for the school.”

“A sign of a change in the organization, perhaps,” Owen said.

“I’m far from convinced that Arcane is truly changing, but I suppose I must allow for that possibility.”

They walked in silence for a time, their footsteps echoing eerily in the fog.

“There is something else besides my talent and my association with the Institute that I have in common with Ratford and Hackett, now that I think about it,” Virginia said after a while.

He glanced at her, but in the darkness she was all but invisible to the eye. But not to his other senses, he thought. He would always know when she was anywhere in the vicinity. Her energy would always thrill him.

“What is that?” he asked.

“Ratford and Hackett were both spinsters with no immediate family. So am I. The deaths of women like us, those who are alone in the world, are almost certain to go unnoticed by the authorities.”

“The killer did not take Arcane and its new investigative agency into account,” Owen said. A cold satisfaction flashed through him. “That will prove to be his great mistake.”

“No,” Virginia said quietly. “His mistake was that he did not take you into account, Owen Sweetwater.”

At the end of the street, carriage lights glowed weakly in the fog.

“We’re in luck,” Owen said.

They quickened their pace. The driver was glad of the fare on what had evidently been a very slow night. Owen bundled Virginia into the cab and sat down across from her. The vehicle rumbled forward.

“I may have an idea,” Virginia said with a meditative air. “I do not know if it will be of any use, but you might find it of interest.”

“Tell me,” he said.

“There is a social event planned at the Institute tomorrow night. Everyone connected to the organization will be there. Leybrook is giving a reception in honor of D. D. Pinkerton, the mentalist from America. Pinkerton arrived recently in London and is very popular. Leybrook hopes to persuade him to become affiliated with the Institute.”

“You are thinking that perhaps the killer may be in the crowd?”

“If he is involved with the Institute, as you believe, then yes, it is very likely that he will attend,” Virginia said. “Of course, there will probably be over a hundred people there. That makes for a very large pool of suspects.”

“Yes, but we know a little more about him now. And I think there is every possibility that the killer will be drawn to you in the crowd.”

“What makes you believe that?”

“You were the intended subject of his grand experiment, whatever it is, and you got away. You ruined his plans. He wanted you before, but now he will be obsessed with you.”

“You sound very sure of your analysis of his thinking.”

Owen looked out the window into the night. “It is what I do, Virginia. It is the way I hunt. I saw the killer’s obsessive nature in the energy he left at the scenes of the murders. He is driven by a force that is as strong as physical passion. In fact, the compulsion is a form of sexual desire.”

She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

Owen turned back to her. “When he returns to the scenes of the murders, he no doubt tells himself that he is merely studying the evidence of his successful experiments. But the truth is that the scenes of death arouse him in a sexual manner. He is thrilled by what he has accomplished.”

“Thrilled by the act of murder?”

“The death scenes fill him with a ravishing sense of his own power. I suspect that in the past he has felt quite the opposite. Weak and powerless. Unimportant. But now he has found a way to make himself feel strong and powerful. He has become addicted to the sensation. He will continue to kill until he is stopped.”

She shuddered. “And all the while he will tell himself that he is actually conducting some sort of scientific experiment.”

“Yes. You say you plan to attend the reception at the Institute?”

“Certainly. The receptions are good for business. Leybrook gives them regularly. My colleagues and competitors will all be present.”

“I will escort you.”

She blinked. “Are you serious?”

“When it comes to the hunt, I am always serious.”

She pursed her lips. “I really don’t think that is a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“I am planning to attend with a friend.”

He felt his insides tighten. “A male friend?”

“No, a female friend. She owns a bookshop.”

“She is single also?”

“Yes.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Owen, please, think about this for a moment. It is one thing to tell people that I am allowing you to conduct some tests and experiments on me. But if you appear with me at the reception, people may begin to suspect that our relationship is of an entirely different nature.”

“An intimate nature, do you mean?” he asked without inflection.

Her mouth opened and closed, and then opened again. She waved her hands in a warding-off gesture.

“There was only the one incident,” she said quickly. “I am fully aware that our interlude the other night was the result of the effects of the intense energy that we encountered at the scene of the murder. It affected our nerves.”

He should have seen this coming, he thought, but once again he was blindsided by her failure to acknowledge the bond between them. Blindsided and more than a little annoyed.

“Is that all it was to you?” he asked. “Therapy for a mutual case of shattered nerves?”

“I realize that you never intended the evening to end the way it did,” she said. She was very earnest. “It was my fault. I’m the one who invited you in for a glass of brandy.”

Anger crackled through him.

“And now you do not want your friends and associates to see me with you in a social setting?”

“Damnation, sir, do not put words in my mouth. I am attempting to make it plain that I do not hold you responsible for what occurred between us. As a matter of fact, it is your reputation that concerns me.”

He stared at her, nonplused. “What the devil are you talking about?”

“It is common knowledge that you will soon be in the market for a wife.”

He was stunned, shocked nearly witless. No one outside the family knew that he was hunting for a wife. No one outside the family understood why finding a mate was so important to a Sweetwater male. No one.It was the darkest of the Sweetwater family’s many dark secrets.

“Where did you hear that?” he demanded, when he could collect his thoughts.

“I asked my friend Charlotte to look into your family background,” Virginia admitted.

“She discovered that I am hunting for a wife?” He still could not comprehend how the wall of secrecy that surrounded the family had been so easily breached.

“She discovered that you are descended from an old, established family in which the men tend to marry, at the latest, in their early thirties.” She cleared her throat. “It was obvious to both of us that you would soon be looking for a wife if, indeed, you hadn’t started the process already. You obviously have a responsibility to your family.”

Relief slammed through him. He settled back into the corner of the carriage. The Sweetwater secret was still safe.

“You’re right,” he said. “The men in my family are generally married by their late twenties or early thirties. You could say it’s a tradition.”

“Yes, of course,” she said tightly. “In a proud family such as yours you naturally want heirs to carry on the name.”

“More like heirs to carry on the family talent,” he said. “But when a Sweetwater sets out to find a bride, he does not concern himself with society’s dictates and customs. He hunts for a wife the same way he hunts his prey. He follows his own rules.”

“Owen—”

“I do not want to talk about marriage tonight.” He drew her into his arms. “That is for the future. At the moment I would much rather kiss you.”

Her lips parted on what he feared would be another question. He covered her mouth with his own before she could say anything else.

TWENTY-THREE

“ Congratulations, you found our missing clock maker,” Owen said. “But it appears that in addition to being a brilliant glasslight-talent, she is also highly intuitive.”

“She must have sensed that someone was closing in on her and her business,” Nick said.

They were standing in the shadows of the empty shop. Millicent Bridewell had disappeared, along with every trace of her clockwork curiosities.

Owen walked into the back room and studied the empty shelves and workbench. “Given her rather dangerous sideline, she no doubt made plans for just such an emergency departure.”

“Want me to keep looking for her?”

“No, we cannot afford the time. She is Arcane’s problem now. We must concentrate on our killer scientist. Are you free tonight?”

“I’m always free at night, you know that,” Nick said.

“Good. I want you to accompany me to a reception.”

“I detest social affairs,” Nick said. “You know that, as well. It is the primary reason why I spend most of my evenings with my books.”

Owen walked out of the back room and headed toward the front door of the shop. “I don’t enjoy such affairs any more than you do. But I need your help tonight.”

Nick followed him. “Receptions are boring.”

“I don’t think this one will be.”

“Why? Because it is being held at the Leybrook Institute? I don’t see how that makes it any more appealing.”

“We are not going to attend for the purpose of amusing ourselves. We will be hunting.”

“Huh. I suppose that might make it a bit more interesting. How do you expect to find your killer in a crowd?”

Owen opened the door and went out onto the fogbound street. “By now he will be obsessed with Miss Dean. I do not think that he can spend an entire evening in the same room with her without getting close to her at some point.”

“Obsession is a strange and powerful force,” Nick agreed. He closed the shop door. “It makes people do things that go against logic and reason.”

“Exactly.”

“Do you know, I have not seen you this intrigued by a case in a very long time.”

“It is the most interesting hunt that has come along in a while.”

“It came along thanks to J & J,” Nick pointed out.

“Yes,” Owen said. “I think the agency will become a regular, established client for us in the future.”

“Because J & J and Arcane hunt the same monsters?”

Owen smiled. “I predict a long and profitable partnership.”

TWENTY-FOUR

“ Mr. Sweetwater is going to escort both of us to the reception tonight?” Charlotte emerged from an aisle of bookshelves, a stack of leather-bound volumes cradled in her arms. “Good heavens, Virginia, what do you think you are doing?”

“Trying to find a killer,” Virginia said.

Charlotte set the stack of books on the table. “Does that sort frequent social affairs?”

“Mr. Sweetwater seems to think this one will definitely be at the reception.”

“Why?”

“Because the monster is associated with the Institute.”

Charlotte pondered that briefly. “Well, it is certainly true that everyone with any connection whatsoever to the Institute will attend the affair tonight. Those who don’t show up will be notable by their very absence. But how will you explain him to people at the reception?”

“I had not planned to explain the killer’s presence to anyone.”

“That is not amusing. You know very well I meant how will you explain Mr. Sweetwater? It is one thing to allow people to think that you have agreed to let him study you, but the reception is not a venue for demonstrations of paranormal powers. It is a social occasion. You know what people will say.”

“The awkwardness of the situation did occur to me, but oddly enough, after visiting the scenes of several murders in the past few days and concluding that I may be next on the killer’s list, I find that I no longer care what people say about my association with Mr. Sweetwater.”

Charlotte brightened. A knowing look illuminated her eyes.

“Well, that explains it,” she said, satisfied. “And just when did you plan to confide in your closest friend? I refer to myself, of course.”

“What are you talking about?”

“There is something different about you lately. At first I thought it was the excitement of pursuing a murder inquiry. That would certainly be more than enough to thrill the senses. But I had a feeling that there was more to it.”

“Such as?” Virginia picked up the old book on top of the pile and opened it to the title page. A Treatise on the Art of Summoning Spirits in Looking Glasses.“Are these all of the books you have that touch on glasslight?”

“All of those that appeared to contain useful information.”

Virginia considered the stack of books in front of her. “There aren’t very many, are there?”

“Much of what has been written on the subject is superstitious nonsense. I didn’t think you would want to waste time on works of magic and the occult.”

“No, of course not.” Virginia tapped the big book she had opened. “But this appears to be a book on summoning spirits. What is that, if not superstitious nonsense?”

“Like many glass-readers, Llewellyn did not fully understand what he was viewing when he looked into mirrors. That doesn’t mean he did not have some fascinating observations to make. And stop trying to avoid the subject of Mr. Sweetwater. Your relationship with him involves more than the investigation, does it not?”

Virginia sighed. “Is it that obvious?”

“It is to me.” Charlotte smiled. “I have the distinct impression that you are no longer interested in booking an appointment with Dr. Spinner for one of his hysteria treatments.”

Virginia felt herself turning red. “To be honest, the prospect of being treated with an electrical device was always somewhat worrisome.”

“The dangers of electricity are well known.” Charlotte’s smile faded into an expression of concern. “But I think you may be facing another sort of danger.”

“Trust me, I am well aware of the risk involved in hunting a murderer.”

“I am speaking of your liaison with Mr. Sweetwater,” Charlotte said gently. “Do not mistake me. I am thrilled that you are embarking on a glorious affair. Indeed, I envy you. But try to maintain some perspective.”

Virginia raised her brows. “Perspective?”

“You must not lose your heart to Mr. Sweetwater. He will surely break it, even if he does not intend to do so. He comes from a different world.”

“I understand. But really, Charlotte, why should I bother to protect my heart any longer? I will have the rest of my life to recover from a doomed love affair.”

“Hmm.”Charlotte considered the question for perhaps five seconds, and then she nodded once, emphatically. “You’re quite right. After it is over, you will have the stirring memories. I, on the other hand, will have only the stirring recollections of my appointments with Dr. Spinner to warm my lonely old age.”

“Assuming you do not get electrocuted.”

Charlotte shuddered. “It is an alarming thought, isn’t it?”

“So is the prospect of a broken heart. But at least one survives that sort of thing, or so I’m told. Looking on the bright side, I’m sure there will always be doctors offering treatments for female hysteria to whom I can turn after my liaison with Mr. Sweetwater comes to the inevitable conclusion.”

“And given the amazing progress of modern science, we can no doubt look forward to many more advances in electrical devices of a medical nature.”

“No doubt.”

They looked at each other. For a moment neither of them spoke. Then, as happened so often between them, they both burst into laughter.

“Oh, Charlotte, what would I do without you?” Virginia said. She took out a handkerchief and wiped the tears away from her eyes.

“I would miss you even more than you would miss me,” Charlotte said. She sobered. “Are you absolutely certain that your affair with Mr. Sweetwater will end badly?”

“I think it is the most likely outcome.”

“But the two of you have so much in common.”

Virginia frowned. “In what way?”

“It strikes me that your talents are quite similar.”

“He hunts psychical killers. I see the dead in mirrors. How are those two talents alike?”

“Perhaps not alike but complementary, if you see what I mean. When you think about it, the two of you make a very good team.”

“For goodness’ sake, Charlotte, I would not want Mr. Sweetwater to marry me just because we make a good investigation team. Even assuming he was inclined to do so, it is not enough. You and I have both discussed this matter. We made our decision the night of my twenty-sixth birthday. We will marry for love or we will not marry at all.”

Charlotte grimaced. “It certainly seemed like a very modern, very romantic notion at the time. But sometimes I wonder if perhaps we may have been a bit too hasty.”

“Enough of this depressing conversation. Let’s talk about something else.”

“Such as?”

“I think there is someone who may be able to shed some light on this investigation.”

“Who?”

“Lady Hollister’s companion,” Virginia said. “There has been so much going on in the past few days that we have all but forgotten about her.”

“Why is she important?”

“She may well have been the last person to see her employer alive.”

Charlotte glanced at the copy of the Flying Intelligenceron the table. “According to the report in the press, Lady Hollister’s body was found by the housekeeper. The rest of the staff was dismissed the morning after you were kidnapped.”

“In which case the companion is no doubt searching for another post.”

“Yes.” Charlotte’s eyes gleamed with anticipation. “I could make some inquiries among the agencies that provide hired companions, if you like. It might take some time, but it shouldn’t be too difficult to find the woman who attended Lady Hollister.”

“That’s a brilliant idea,” Virginia said. “How soon can you start?”

She was interrupted by the tinkling of the bell above the door of the shop. She turned to watch Owen walk into the room. It seemed to her that he entered on an invisible tide of power. The lower edges of his unbuttoned overcoat swept out around him. She thrilled to his presence as she always did, with a stirring sense of awareness.

He was followed by a tall, lanky gentleman in need of a visit to his barber. The long-haired man wore an expensively tailored but sadly rumpled suit. His tie was a shapeless knot at his throat.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” Owen said. He came to a halt in the center of the room and inclined his head very formally in Charlotte’s direction. “Miss Tate, I presume?”

Virginia remembered her manners. “This is Mr. Sweetwater, Charlotte.”

Charlotte stared, fascinated, at Owen. “Yes, I know. Indeed, all the Leybrook practitioners are aware of your identity, sir.”

Owen looked amused. “Miss Dean warned me that was the case.”

Charlotte blushed. “You have a certain reputation in our world, Mr. Sweetwater.”

“So I’m told.” He moved one gloved hand toward the tall man in the rumpled suit. “Allow me to present my cousin, Nicholas Sweetwater. Nick, Miss Dean and Miss Tate.”

Virginia and Charlotte both looked politely at Nick, but he seemed unaware of them. He had wandered over to the locked bookcase and was perusing the collection of ancient leather-bound volumes with great interest.

“I say, this collection looks a good deal more promising than I had anticipated, Owen,” he announced. “When you informed me that we were going to visit a bookshop that specialized in the paranormal, I assumed the place would be rife with lurid books on magic and the occult. But I see what may actually be a genuine copy of Wakefield’s Notes on Alchemy.”

“It is most certainly a genuine copy of Wakefield’s Notes,sir,” Charlotte snapped. “I would not have taken the trouble to store it in that locked case if it was a copy or a forgery.”

“What?” Startled, Nick turned around. For the first time he appeared to notice Charlotte and Virginia. He turned red. “Sorry. Good afternoon, ladies.”

Virginia murmured a polite greeting. Now that she could see him more plainly, she realized that Nick Sweetwater was younger than Owen, twenty-eight or twenty-nine, perhaps. There was some family resemblance, most noticeably in the broad shoulders and lean physiques of the two men. But Nick’s intelligent eyes lacked the dark knowledge that burned in the depths of Owen’s disturbing gaze.

“That particular volume is extremely rare,” Charlotte informed Nick in frosty tones.

“I am well aware of that,” Nick said eagerly. “I would very much like to examine it to determine its authenticity for myself.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Charlotte said a little too sweetly.

“What do you mean? This is a bookshop. I am interested in examining a book that I might wish to purchase.”

“I’m afraid I only allow legitimatepractitioners of the paranormal and researchers who are known to me or vouchsafed by someone I trust to examine the books in the locked cases,” Charlotte informed him in lofty accents. “Many of those volumes contain dangerous information. I cannot let just anyone read them.”

Nick stared at her, shocked. Then he started to scowl. “I assure you I possess a fair amount of psychical ability. Just ask my cousin, here.”

Owen caught Virginia’s eye. She realized he was suppressing a grin.

“I am happy to verify that my cousin does indeed possess a high level of psychical ability,” Owen said.

“What of it?” Charlotte shot back. “That is not as important as his standing as a researcher. What are his academic credentials?”

Nick’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll have you know, Miss Tate, that I can read a number of ancient languages, including three or four that are dead, and I have deciphered the codes of several old alchemists.”

“Hmm.”Charlotte was not impressed.

“I have been a student of the paranormal since I was old enough to open a book. I have, in fact, written a few papers for the Arcane Society’s Journal of Paranormal and Psychical Research,which is, I might add, a far more legitimate publication than the Leybrook Institute’s ridiculous rag. It’s true that I write under a pseudonym, due to the fact that my family does not like to see the Sweetwater name in print, but that does not alter the validity of my work.”

“Oh, dear,” Virginia murmured. “I’m afraid Arcane is not the most helpful recommendation, sir.”

Nick switched his attention to her. “What do you mean?”

Charlotte cleared her throat. “For your information, Mr. Sweetwater, the Arcane Society carries very little weight in this shop.”

“How can you say that?” Nick swept out a hand to indicate one of the shelves. “It looks like you’ve got several years’ worth of the Society’s Journalover there. Which means you’ve got some of my research papers sitting right here on the premises.”

“I do subscribe to the Journal,” Charlotte agreed. “But that does not mean that I tolerate its members, which I have always found to be an arrogant and irritating lot.”

“So do I,” Nick shot back. “Which is why I am not a member of the Society.”

Owen cleared his throat. “Well, that and the fact that Sweetwaters are not in the habit of joining organizations of any kind.”

“That’s not the point,” Nick grumbled.

“No, it’s not,” Charlotte agreed.

Evidently concluding that the argument had gone on long enough, Owen took charge.

“Now that we have all survived the social pleasantries,” he said, “I suggest we move on to the particulars of the situation that brings us together today.”

“An excellent notion,” Virginia said quickly.

“My cousin is assisting me in the investigation,” Owen said. “This morning he tracked down the clock maker who made the clockwork weapons.”

“That’s wonderful news,” Virginia said.

Nick grimaced. “No, it’s not, I’m afraid. Owen and I paid a visit to the shop. It was empty. Mrs. Bridewell, the clock maker, has disappeared. There was no trace of any of her curiosities or her financial records left on the premises.”

“Oh,” Virginia said, deflated. “Now what do we do?”

“We will leave Mrs. Bridewell to J & J,” Owen said. “I want Nick to help us with another aspect of the investigation. He has agreed to attend the reception at the Institute tonight. I want him to assess possible suspects in the crowd.”

Charlotte narrowed her eyes at Nick. “Are you any good at that sort of thing, Mr. Sweetwater?”

“Yes,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I am.”

“How do you plan to get inside the Institute without a ticket?” Charlotte asked. “One must be invited to the reception or accompany an invited guest.”

“I have already dealt with the problem,” Owen said. “Nick will escort you, Miss Tate.”

Charlotte’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Nick has a talent for noticing small details. I want his observations of the guests at the Institute to compare with my own.”

“Excuse me—” Charlotte began in ominous tones.

“Everyone at the Leybrook knows who I am by now,” Owen said, “or at least they think they know who I am. But no one will recognize Nick.”

“I don’t get out much,” Nick explained.

“You will introduce Nick as a new practitioner who is eager to establish himself in your community,” Owen explained.

Charlotte gave a small, ladylike sniff. “I cannot imagine that scheme working for even an instant.” She glared at Nick. “What sort of talent will you claim to possess, sir?”

Nick flushed. “I will pretend to be one of those charlatans who summon spirits. It is the easiest talent to fake.”

“Because there are no ghosts,” Charlotte shot back. “By definition, everyone who claims to see spirits is either a fraud or delusional. But there are literally hundreds of mediums in London, sir, perhaps thousands. Your talent will not appear exceptional.”

“Which is precisely the effect that we hope to achieve,” Owen said smoothly. “No one will pay much attention to one more practitioner who claims to summon spirits. Nick will not be perceived as a serious competitor or threat to business by anyone present at the reception. That will allow him to make his observations without drawing scrutiny.”

“I see,” Virginia said quickly, before Charlotte could produce another argument. “A very ingenious plan. I am also happy to say that Charlotte has offered to make inquiries at the agencies who provide paid companions. We suspect that Lady Hollister’s companion will now be searching for a new position. Charlotte may be able to find her.”

“Excellent,” Owen said. He looked impressed and very pleased. “Thank you very much, Miss Tate. That will be extremely helpful.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Charlotte said, mollified by Owen’s obvious gratitude.

“You will have to excuse us now.” Owen strode toward the door. “Nick and I have a number of details to see to before tonight’s affair.”

Nick inclined his head toward Virginia. “A pleasure, Miss Dean.” He looked at Charlotte. “It has been interesting, Miss Tate.”

Both men were out the door and lost in the fog before either Virginia or Charlotte could even say good-bye.

“Well,” Charlotte said, when she could speak. “Both Sweetwater gentlemen are quite expert when it comes to departing in a speedy fashion.”

“Indeed,” Virginia said. “One would almost think they had a psychical talent for disappearing.”