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.”