The Spiritglass Charade Read online

  The carriage stopped in front of Miss Ashton’s home. As Evaline and I walked to the front door, it opened. This action was not due to our arrival, but the departure of a familiar gentleman—Dr. Norton.

  “Sad business, Miss Geraldine, Herrell.” The physician donned his hat. “Sorry to do it, but she needs protection.”

  Mr. Ashton appeared weary and resigned, and the spinster aunt leaned heavily against him as they bid Dr. Norton farewell. “I know. That’s why I asked you to come. I knew I could trust you. Why, Miss Stoker! And Miss—er—Holmes.”

  Evaline exchanged glances with me. “Good morning, Mr. Ashton. We’ve come to visit Willa. Is everything all right?”

  I had felt a prickle of unease when I saw Dr. Norton, and now it metamorphosed into apprehension. “Is she all right?”

  Aunt Geraldine glanced from us to the physician, who tipped his hat and took his leave. “I’m afraid we’ve had another incident. Dr. Norton is quite concerned about my niece.”

  “Do lie down, Geraldine,” Mr. Ashton said kindly. “This has been nearly as upsetting for you as it has been for Willa. I’ll . . . see to our visitors.”

  “Thank you, Herrell, darling. I do think I shall go put a cold cloth on my forehead.”

  Aunt Geraldine went off and Mr. Ashton turned to us. “Willa is . . . a bit weary. I’m not certain she’s in a condition to receive visitors.”

  I opened my mouth to argue, for I wasn’t going to be dissuaded from seeing Miss Ashton. And apparently, Evaline was of the same mind. The change that came over her was amazing in its speed and effectiveness. Her face altered into one almost unrecognizable in its vacuousness: Her eyes widened and her lips parted slightly, and she gazed up at him as if he were the most fascinating individual on the earth.

  “Oh, dear, Mr. Ashton.” She placed herself directly in front of him, slipping a hand around his arm. Somehow she managed to manipulate him so we were facing the open door. “That’s simply terrible news. I can’t imagine how you all are holding up. But I’m certain you’re being a solid rock for them both, aren’t you?” She was very nearly batting her eyes at him, gazing up with large, thick-lashed hazel eyes. “Willa and Miss Kluger must truly rely on you and your strength to get them through this difficult time. But it all rests on your strong, broad shoulders.”

  I must admit, Evaline Stoker was quite brilliant in those moments.

  I followed the two of them into the house as my partner murmured, “I’m certain you could use a moment of ease as well, Mr. Ashton. Perhaps a cup of tea, and you’ll feel right as rain.”

  To my surprise, he agreed to this nonsensical suggestion and rang for a pot and some biscuits. Moments later, we were settled in the parlor and Evaline had made herself comfortable on the settee nearest Mr. Ashton’s chair. He didn’t seem to be at all put off by this development, for his knee was very close to my companion’s skirt and he’d hardly looked in my direction. So much for concern about his cousin.

  I could have asked about the incident, but I decided to leave that to Evaline. She seemed quite adept at extracting information from the man. I, on the other hand, wanted to speak to Willa uninterrupted.

  Mr. Ashton didn’t seem to notice when I excused myself, ostensibly to wash my hands. But Evaline gave me a wink as I stood, and I took it to mean she’d keep him occupied as long as possible.

  Well taught by my uncle, I had committed the structure’s floor plan to memory during my previous visits. I climbed the stairs, and once I arrived at the second floor, it wasn’t difficult to determine which was Willa’s chamber.

  I ducked inside and closed the door, turning to face its occupant. “Don’t make a sound. Your cousin and aunt don’t know I’m here.”

  Willa’s blue eyes were round with shock, but to my relief, they were clear and lucid. As I’d expected, she was propped in bed, golden hair falling about her shoulders and onto the pillow like a Rapunzel. The cat was settled on her lap, watching me with large, green eyes. Except for the dark gray circles under her own eyes, Willa Ashton appeared fragile and lovely. If Mr. Treadwell were the one to encounter her in this state, surely he would be even more charmed than he already was.

  “Miss Holmes, thank goodness you’re here.” She was intelligent enough to keep her voice to a whisper, but I could hear the terror there. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

  “Please be calm. Evaline and I are on the case, and we aren’t about to let anyone harm you.”

  “But what about me harming myself?” Her voice went a little high with hysteria, but she lowered it and swallowed. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “Take a deep breath and tell me what’s happened.”

  Her agitation eased. “There’s a chair for you. Please sit.” She gathered her cat closer, and I heard the rumble of its purr.

  I observed the chamber. I wasn’t surprised to see the ornate spiritglass sitting on a table in the corner. It was open, and its coppery-brass sides were folded back like a cogworked lotus blossom. The blue and green sphere sat in the middle, its colorful ribbonlike swirls moving as if alive inside.

  Overall, the room was neat and clean, decorated with fine and expensive furnishings. Papered with pink and white flowers on green stripes, with frilly white curtains and a surprisingly soft cream-colored rug, her chamber was comfortable and inviting.

  The dressing table was cluttered with earbobs, feathered hair combs, brooches, and small perfume vials. Lacy handkerchiefs, gloves, and silk stockings spilled from a drawer. Her large wardrobe was closed, but I suspected it held at least two dozen dresses.

  Before I sat, I examined the papers next to the spiritglass. I recognized one of them as the message Louisa Fenley had scrawled during the séance, purportedly from Willa’s mother. The second paper had a similar message, presumably from a more recent séance. It read: I cannot rest. Help me, Willa. I need you.

  The handwriting was identical to that from Miss Louisa’s first séance, and was surely markedly different from the medium’s normal penmanship. Nevertheless, I was certain she’d faked the “spirit writing.” But again . . . what was the purpose? The only one I could deduce was to confuse, distract, and disorient Willa in an effort to have her eventually committed to a madhouse.

  Someone who climbed onto a roof trying to catch her dead brother’s soul with a fishing rod would appear well on her way to madness.

  “Why did you go on the roof, Willa? Do you remember doing that?”

  Her face turned pale as the sheets. “No. I didn’t realize what was happening until I woke up . . . there. With the fishing pole. Way up there. I’m not even certain how I could have climbed up there.” Her fingers trembled against the blanket and I felt a wave of sympathy for her. “And last night . . .”

  “What happened last night?”

  “I went to bed as usual . . . and the next thing I knew, I was. . . .” Her voice wobbled. “I was outside, standing in the street. In my shift. And . . . bare feet. I had a butterfly net with me . . . apparently, I was trying to catch my mother’s spirit.” Her voice broke. “This was just after dawn. A cog-cart nearly ran me over. People were shouting and looking at me.”

  I schooled my expression, barely managing to keep from displaying my shock. No wonder the doctor had been called. “I see. And you don’t know why or how you were prompted to do such a thing?”

  “No. I don’t remember anything. And Dr. Norton was here today for luncheon. He said he was stopping by to return the gloves I loaned Amanda, but I know why he was really here. Herrell and Aunt Geraldine . . . they’re afraid I’m going mad.” Her breathing was rapid and shallow and her words tumbled out. I feared she might hyperventilate or raise her voice enough that we’d be heard. “And I begin to wonder if it’s true after all.”

  I understood her fears, and I certainly realized Willa’s precarious position. Thanks to the so-called Lunacy Law, it was frighteningly simple to have an individual committed to a lunatic asylum. The opinions of a mere three persons were requi
red to send one to a madhouse: two physicians and one clergyman or a magistrate. Any of whom could be bought or otherwise manipulated as long as they signed the certificate—just as a greedy, spirit-talking medium could be paid off to create an environment where someone appeared to be going mad.

  I’d never visited a sanatorium before, but I had heard stories and read articles about the most famous one of course: Bethlem Royal Hospital, better known as Bedlam.

  It was not a place anyone wanted to be . . . especially the fragile, kind, sane young woman with whom I sat. I would not allow it to happen.

  “I shan’t lie to you, Miss Ashton. This is a grave situation. But Holmes and Stoker are on the job, and we have already made progress. I cannot imagine how frightening this must be for you. But I am quite certain you aren’t going mad. In fact, I have the suspicion that you might have been mesmerized, and that is what is causing you to do these strange things like climbing on the roof.”

  “Mesmerized?”

  “The more common term is hypnotized. Somehow, someone has learned to control your mind to have you do certain things—such as climb onto the roof with a fishing pole.”

  “Or wander into the street in the night in my shift?”

  “Precisely. Usually, there is a signal that causes the mesmerized individual to go into a trance and conduct him or herself in the manner the hypnotist wishes. I must find out how and what that signal is. Once I determine how this hypnosis was done, I shall be that much closer to finding out who has done so.” I peered at her closely. “Now, I must ask you another question. Should something happen to you, it’s your understanding that your aunt receives your money. But what happens if she dies as well? Who would inherit her money?”

  I could read the horror and disbelief in Willa’s face as the implication of my questions sunk in. “First of all, Mina, Aunt Geraldine—she doesn’t need my money. She has her own income, and it’s quite comfortable. She doesn’t need it, and she’d never do anything to hurt me. Never. And neither would Cousin Herrell.”

  “Who inherits if something happens to both you and your aunt?” I was already certain I knew the answer. “Is it your cousin?”

  Willa nodded sadly. “Yes. Herrell would inherit. But neither of them—”

  “The cold, unpleasant fact is, someone is trying to get rid of you. And they’ve either gotten rid of Robby as well, or they are taking advantage of his disappearance. He cannot be pronounced dead for at least two years after his disappearance, but I suspect the perpetrator isn’t going to wait that long to get you out of the way. If you cannot think of anyone else who might want you . . . distracted, I must go with the facts.”

  I chose specifically not to mention Miss Norton. Not because I no longer suspected her—in fact, my suspicions were even more highly aroused now that I knew her brother was involved in Willa’s potential incarceration—but because I thought it best to keep the idea of her marrying Mr. Treadwell out of the equation for the time being.

  I had no patience for soothing lovelorn young women.

  “Now, tell me more about these nighttime visitations from your mother. I’ve determined how the daytime séances have been faked, but I must turn my attention to the ones at night. When did they start? Before or after you began attending séances?”

  “It was only a few days after Robby disappeared. I woke in the middle of the night and there was this greenish cloud in the corner of my chamber—there,” she said, pointing toward the window. “I felt my mother’s presence . . . I knew it was her. I wasn’t nervous or frightened . . . and I heard her in my head. She told me ‘Help Robby.’ Over and over. It was after that happened, and after the strange dream I had about Robby, that I decided to conduct a séance.”

  “What strange dream about Robby? I don’t believe you’ve mentioned it to me. Was this before or after he disappeared?” I tried to hide my frustration. How could I conduct an efficient investigation when I didn’t have all the facts?

  “After he disappeared. I dreamt I was walking through the streets at night, and I found him in a dark room with some of his friends. It was red and warm, and tiny fires, like fireflies, flitted around, burning everywhere. I felt . . . smothered. Everything was heavy and . . . I was sleepy . . . but it was so vivid. I can even remember the street . . . the buildings. It was nighttime. And there was a key hanging over me. Sort of floating. A big brass key, as big as my arm. Robby was so happy to see me. He wanted me to stay. But someone took me away. And then I woke up, in my bed. And . . . the strange thing is . . . my feet. They were dirty.”

  This had me straightening up sharply. “Your feet were dirty. Are you a somnambulist, Willa?”

  “A what?”

  “A somnambulist. A sleepwalker.”

  “No. At least, not until recently, when I climbed on a roof and walked out into the street.”

  This was not good news. Perhaps she had been mesmerized much earlier than I believed. The more information I obtained, the further I seemed to be from a solution.

  “Very well, then,” I said. “With your permission, I shall spend the night in your bedchamber to see if your mother will pay us a visit . . . or to keep you from leaving your bed in some new and dangerous fashion. Only then will I be able to determine how the trick is happening.”

  Willa’s eyes glistened and she reached for my hand, grasping it tightly. The cat, disrupted by this activity, glared at me and then leapt off the bed. “Thank you, Mina. I know I shall feel safe with you here.”

  “You cannot tell a soul that I intend to be here. Not one person.” I aimed a forefinger at her. “For if there is a mortal presence behind these Para-Natural happenings, we cannot take the risk they might be forewarned. Promise me you’ll tell absolutely no one. Including your maid.”

  “You have my word. On my mother’s soul, I swear it.” That presence of mind was back in her expression, and I was satisfied. “But how will you get in here with no one the wiser?”

  “I have a plan.” I rose from my chair and patted her cold hand. “Miss Ashton, you may expect me tonight at approximately half-past eight. Here, in this very chamber.”

  Miss Holmes

  A Sandwich Purloined

  Upon returning to my home after the morning’s interview with Miss Ashton, I settled into my chair in the library to think . . . and to knit. The rhythmic clicking and rote, familiar movements of wrapping yarn and sliding needles was my favorite way to relax and allow my thoughts to wander.

  Uncle Sherlock played the violin when he was contemplating the intricacies of a case. My father whittled chess pieces. Thanks to my mother’s influence, I knitted.

  However, I’d hardly managed an arm’s length of hand-knitting when Mrs. Raskill interrupted me. She was holding a dark wool coat with a badge on it. “Land o’ stars, where’d you come upon this, Miss Mina? It looks like a real police badge.”

  Drat. I’d forgotten about Grayling’s coat. “I have to return that today.” I wasn’t looking forward to seeing the blasted Scot again, but at least it would give me the opportunity to find out if he’d made any progress on the Yingling case—which could help in my contemplation.

  Still, I couldn’t dismiss the memories of him tearing my corset away and calling me a bat-headed woman—which infuriated and mortified me in turn.

  “Well, I’ve brushed it all out and shined up the badge anyway.” Mrs. Raskill ducked back out. “There was a loose button I sewed, and fixed the bit of a droop to the hem too. Coat’s several years old, but it’s some wear left in it.”

  “That was very kind,” I called toward the closing door. “Thank you.”

  The clock on the mantel cranked to life, its cogs and gears spinning with alacrity as it announced the noon hour. If I was going to finish the preparations for tonight’s excursion to Miss Ashton’s bedchamber as well as make a visit to the Met, I must be on my way.

  A short time later, I walked into the station of the Metropolitan Police, also known as Scotland Yard. A new building was currently bei
ng constructed, but as I well knew, the Criminal Investigation Department was still housed here. It was a matter of moments before I found myself approaching the office assigned to Inspector Grayling and his partner, Inspector Luckworth.

  I’m certain one could understand my slight hesitation before announcing myself at the open door. I might even have changed my mind and left the coat with one of the clerks at the front of the office if not for the sudden familiar yip.

  Drat. Angus.

  The canine creature burst out of the office, leash trailing, ears flopping, mechanized leg clattering. He barked up at me, dancing around excitedly, trouncing my hems and shoes and pawing at my skirt. As it was one of my favorites (a cobalt-blue overskirt with a complementary black, blue, and maroon bodice, trimmed with jet beads and tiny pearls), I pushed him away in dismay. Yet I found it difficult to resist the big brown eyes and sloppy, happy tongue of the energetic pup. Despite my misgivings, I bent to pet him.

  “Nice boy.” I neatly avoided his enthusiastic licking and frantic paws. “Good boy.” Now that I was looking at him in the full light, I could see his leg had been amputated at the middle joint. The mechanized limb replaced the lower part of his leg, but a cogged contraption enclosed and protected the upper part where it fit onto his haunch. I could hardly believe the pup had healed so quickly in a week’s time.

  “Miss Holmes.”

  Angus’s master stood in the doorway. The expression on his face was a cross between chagrin and surprise.

  “Good afternoon, Inspector Grayling,” I said crisply, straightening up. “I’ve come to return your coat.” I thrust the article of clothing at him, feeling awkward and uncertain.

  He cleared his throat and accepted the garment. “Thank you.” His cheeks appeared slightly ruddy as his attention swept over me.

  I did the same to him, noting that he’d recently changed shaving lotion scents, ridden his steamcycle this morning in lieu of the Underground, and had purchased new shoes within the last day or two. He’d also had his thick auburn hair trimmed.