The Spiritglass Charade (Stoker & Holmes 2)
Page 35“Like saving the Queen’s life,” I said softly. I was beginning to understand.
“Exactly. I can . . . I know things from the future that can help people—people who are injured or hurt. I might be able to save lives here and now. Like, I was telling Mina the other day, for example, we do blood transfusions routinely in my world. And so, I’ve been spending a lot of time with Dr. Watson.”
“But you have to be careful,” I interjected, suddenly nervous. “What if you do something that does change history? You can’t introduce inventions and knowledge now that haven’t been discovered yet. It could create a disaster.”
His expression was sober. “Exactly. But I have to do something. I saw all those people hurt and dying after the accident the other day—Mina, you were there, you saw how awful it was. And I knew I probably had knowledge—lots of bits and pieces—that could save some of their lives. And so I have to do what I can. It’s my calling. My . . . destiny. It’s why I’m here.”
There was a heartbeat of silence after his earnest speech. He and Evaline and I looked at each other. It was an odd moment, one of solidarity.
Each of us in our own fashion felt that way about something—Evaline about keeping the mortal world safe from vampires, me about finding the truth and solving problems my father and uncle would never find important enough, but that were, nevertheless dangerous and life-threatening . . . and Dylan, with this difficult task of helping people without affecting history.
“Brilliant,” applauded Evaline. “That’s brilliant, Dylan.” She was smiling.
I wanted to agree, but I also comprehended the delicacy of his plan. Our eyes met and I knew he did too.
But he was smart and brave and thoughtful. If anyone could walk the tightrope of past and future, I had faith it would be Dylan.
I blinked and realized Miss Stoker was talking to me. I got the sense she’d been waiting for more than a few moments. “About what?”
“Willa Ashton sent word around this morning—she’d like us to attend a séance with her new medium. Shall we go?”
“Most definitely,” was my firm reply. “I look forward to exposing Miss Louisa Fenley as a charlatan as well. I just hope she’s still alive when we get there.”
Once in Miss Stoker’s carriage, I learned the séance was not to be held at the Fruntmire-Ashton household again, but at the medium’s parlor.
“Miss Fenley can afford a private parlor for her séances? The better to arrange for all matter of fakery, then.”
“Apparently, it’s rather good business being a medium,” Evaline replied dryly.
“Only until one is exposed.”
Miss Louisa Fenley turned out to be a much younger and agile prospect than the unfortunate Mrs. Yingling. I estimated her to be twenty-five or thereabouts. Of rather plain appearance with unremarkable brown hair, she seemed calm and pleasant. Yet her eyes were constantly moving about as if to drink in every detail from her guests. As she examined us, I observed a variety of things about her as well as her parlor.
Delicate, clean hands with long slender fingers devoid of ink markings, yet faint scrapings at the wrist—nimble fingers that can make quick work of ties or manacles, and the evidence of such in the marks.
Parlor walls covered with silk wallpaper hangings—the better to obstruct imperfections or hidden openings in them.
The floor: new, smooth and level wooden planks, covered by a rug in the center—likely overbuilt on top of some other space, with the rug to draw attention away.
Windows draped with heavy curtains—allowed exit and entry as needed.
Before introductions were finished, I had already identified several ways in which Miss Fenley was a cheat.
“Is this your spirit-cabinet?” I gestured to the small wooden structure built into one side of the parlor. I had heard about such things, but never seen one used.
“It is. Would you like to examine the interior?” She seemed aware of my skepticism.
I eagerly accepted and spent five minutes doing so. The cabinet was hardly larger than a bed, were it to be positioned vertically. Three sides were wooden and the fourth was curtained, isolating the medium so she wouldn’t be disturbed while the spirits were manifesting. Of course, that was just an excuse to allow the medium privacy to do whatever she needed in order to produce the so-called Para-Natural effects.
I sniffed, but continued my examination. No false rear. No false sides. The chair, which appeared decidedly uncomfortable, had spindly legs and nowhere for tools to be hidden. I had to admit, against my better judgment, I was becoming more curious about how the medium conducted her so-called séances and produced spirit phenomena.
I had seen a magic show once wherein the performer extricated himself from seemingly impossible bonds in mere seconds. I suspected that ability—rather than a connection to the spirit world—was the most important skill a medium such as Miss Fenley could employ.
Her assistant appeared at that moment, emerging from a small door in the side of the parlor. She was older than the medium, a woman with dark, graying hair and a personality to match.
“Espasia is simply here to ensure that nothing unexpected occurs during the séance.”
“It could be very dangerous to Miss Louisa if she is interrupted or otherwise disturbed while communing with the spirits,” Espasia intoned darkly.
More likely, it was very dangerous to their charlatan business if Miss Louisa was exposed while doing whatever it was she did inside the spirit-cabinet. Thus Espasia was there to ensure we didn’t see anything we weren’t supposed to.
“Shall we begin?” Miss Louisa looked at her assistant and then said unexpectedly, “We won’t be using the spirit-cabinet today. I feel that Miss Holmes in particular would prefer to keep me in sight at all times.”
“Of course. But we must dim the lights.” Espasia looked at me in challenge. “The spirits won’t manifest unless it is in near darkness.”