“So you brought it to him last evening.”
“Yes. He didn’t say he’d be able to fix it so quickly.” Miss Stoker’s face settled into a thoughtful expression. “Curious. Last night he tells me there are rumors the UnDead have returned. And today Mr. O’Gallegh speaks to me in a séance.”
“Supposedly speaks to you,” I reminded her. “I’m not yet convinced.”
“Of course you aren’t. Either way, it all seems very . . . coincidental. So perhaps it is true. The UnDead are back. As you’ve pointed out too many times to count, there are no coincidences.”
“Indeed. Which is why I shall be visiting Mrs. Yingling first thing on the morrow.”
“Why? And how do you know where she lives?”
“I obtained her calling card and address before we left. Miss Ashton might have sent everyone into a bit of a spin but I, at least, had my wits about me. I made certain to inquire about possible future séances from our esteemed medium, including information about her rates. As I suspected, her fees can be quite high. As for your second question—why: I intend to determine where and how she got the information about your Mr. O’Gallegh. She’s either a fake, and someone provided her with that information, and she wants you to be her next victim, or . . .”
“Or, it really was the spirit of Mr. O’Gallegh speaking through her.”
I rolled my eyes. The medium had played us false, just as she’d been doing to Miss Ashton. I was certain of it.
I had no doubt I would solve this case tomorrow.
Drat.
The next morning, I set out for the British Museum on my way to confront Mrs. Yingling. I had some books to return to Miss Adler’s office and was hoping to speak to her . . . and perhaps see Dylan. I kept having this odd fluttery feeling whenever I remembered how he’d leapt into action and saved the Queen two days ago.
I relived the scene in my mind over and over again: his strong arms, propping up our esteemed monarch as if she were hardly more than a rag doll. He’d had a calm, yet intense and determined expression as he went about saving her life. And afterward, he’d been nothing but circumspect and modest.
A true gentleman.
I had just replaced the borrowed items on the bookshelf when the office door opened and he walked in.
“Good morning, Dylan.” I resisted the urge to smooth the front of my skirt and adjust my lace-cuffed sleeves. I had chosen one of my favorite walking ensembles of apple-green and emerald trimmed with snowy white when I dressed this morning, and it looked well even on someone as tall and gangly as myself.
If only I could do something about my Holmesian nose!
“Hey, Mina. That’s a really pretty dress.” He wore a crisp white shirt with a dark brown waistcoat and trousers. Prince Albert’s gear-ridden cufflink glinted from the knot of Dylan’s necktie, and I approved of that embellishment.
His coat and hat were missing, which told me he’d not left the Museum this morning, and his clean shoes bore out that fact. The only element of his appearance that indicated he was a foreigner from the future was his dark blond hair. It was so long it hung to his brows and over his ears, flipping up gently near his square jaw. He’d gotten better at shaving (he claimed the devices used in his time were much different than the mechanized ones employed by gentlemen today). I saw only five tiny nicks in his skin and the small patch he’d missed at the corner of his jaw.
I should explain that Miss Adler had taken Dylan under her wing, so to speak. Because he was reluctant to leave the Museum lest he miss an opportunity to return to his time, she’d arranged a position for him as her assistant. He’d been living on the premises for the last month, and she provided him food and clothing as well.
He pulled out his telephone-device and waggled it at me. “I’m so happy Evaline got this recharged for me. She didn’t tell me how she did it, but I’m not complaining. When she dropped it off yesterday, she mentioned you’d gone to Miss Ashton’s already.”
“Yes, we attended a séance at her house. And today I intend to visit the medium who conducted it in order to prove her a fraud.”
“A séance? We tried to do one once, using a Ouija board, but nothing happened.”
I had heard of the “spirit-talking” boards, for they were all the rage in America and to a lesser degree, here in London, but I’d never had the desire to examine one. “Our medium resorted to speaking in the spirit’s voice, and using some rapping sounds to communicate instead of a planchette and a list of the alphabet. Would you like to come with me to interrogate her?”
As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I felt my face heat. How forward and improper I was!
But it was easy to be that way with Dylan. He didn’t treat me or Evaline the way most men treated young women: as if we hadn’t a valid thought in our heads, as if we were meant to be little more than pretty or wealthy dolls trussed up in fancy clothing and admired from our perch on a settee.
“Totally. I’m dying to get out of this building and into the sunshine.”
We both glanced toward the window. Gloomy and drizzly—as usual. “At least it’s fresh air,” he said with a grin.
A clean, modern horseless taxi took us from the Museum to Glasner-Mews, where Mrs. Yingling kept rooms in a Mrs. Ellner’s boardinghouse. Particularly self-conscious about being alone in the vehicle with a young man, I occupied myself by pointing out sights and landmarks. But I noticed that, unlike during our trip to Marlborough House, Dylan didn’t seem as interested in the sights. In fact, he seemed introspective as he held the silver device in his hands, turning it over and over in a random fashion.
“Is something bothering you, Dylan?”
He looked up from the seat opposite me. Even though the light was sketchy in the taxi, I was easily able to read his expression. Uncertainty and sadness. My insides shriveled a little. What a silly question. Of course something was bothering him. His home, his place, his world, was a hundred and twenty years in the future. He didn’t belong here.
Before I could say anything else, he spoke in a low, musing tone. “I can’t stop thinking about it. . . . I saved Queen Victoria’s life.”
“It was brilliant, Dylan. You were brilliant. How did you know what to do?”
“It’s basic first aid training where I come from, especially if you’re an Eagle Scout like I am. Plus my father’s a doctor. He works in the emergency room—the part of the hospital where they bring people who need to be treated urgently. I’ve heard all sorts of stories from him over the years. Guess I’ve even learned a few things too.”