Quicksilver

THIRTY-SEVEN

The Institute was humming with activity when Virginia and Matt arrived. Practitioners, researchers and clients mingled in the halls and lounged in the tearoom.

Matt looked around with interest while Virginia handed her umbrella and rain-spattered cloak to the porter.

“So this is the Leybrook Institute,” Matt said. “It’s not quite what I expected.”

“What, exactly, were you expecting?” Virginia asked coolly.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “Everyone in my family assumes that most people who call themselves practitioners are charlatans and frauds. I didn’t think this establishment would have such an academic atmosphere.”

“Leybrook and everyone else connected to the Institute work very hard to create that atmosphere,” she said stiffly.

Matt flushed a dull red. “My apologies, ma’am. I didn’t mean to imply that you are a charlatan. Of course I understand that some practitioners are genuine talents. And it certainly seems reasonable that they would congregate in professional surroundings like this.”

Virginia waved his protests aside with an impatient gesture. “My office is upstairs.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Matt said. He followed her meekly across the grand front hall.

Welch’s voice stopped her just as she was about to lead the way up the staircase.

“Good morning, Miss Dean,” he called. He hurried toward her. “I’ve been waiting for you. I was about to ask Mrs. Fordham to send a note around to your address.”

“Good morning, Mr. Welch,” she said. “I’d like you to meet my new assistant, Mr. Kern.”

“New assistant, eh?” Welch gave Matt a swift, critical appraisal and then nodded approvingly. “You look quite presentable, young man. That’s important here at the Institute. We have an image to maintain, you know. Mr. Leybrook is very insistent on that point.”

“Yes, sir,” Matt said politely. “I look forward to assisting Miss Dean.”

Welch turned eagerly to Virginia. “I have excellent news, Miss Dean. I am delighted to inform you that I have just received a request for a private consultation with you from a new client. A most exclusive new client, I might add. Mr. Leybrook will be very pleased.”

“Who is the new client?”

“Lady Mansfield.”

Virginia’s stomach fluttered. She knew that the attack of nerves was fueled by the rush of mixed emotions. Uncertainty, curiosity and a deep longing to see her half-sister again swept through her. But common sense told her that any attempt to forge a bond with Elizabeth would be a mistake. It was not in the girl’s best interests to maintain a personal relationship with an illegitimate half-sister, a sister who occupied a very different rung on the social ladder. Such an association could damage Elizabeth’s reputation and even affect her marriage prospects when she got older.

Those who moved in elevated circles were far from naive. They were aware of the facts of life. It was not uncommon for gentlemen to produce bastard offspring. But society and the members of the gentleman’s legitimate family never acknowledged such offspring socially.

“I’m a little busy at the moment,” Virginia said weakly.

“Yes, yes, I know, but this is Lady Mansfield,” Welch said. “Mr. Leybrook likes to encourage that sort of high-flyer.”

“There are other glass-readers here at the Institute.”

“Lady Mansfield was quite insistent. In her note she said that she wanted an appointment with you.”

“I generally meet new clients here at the Institute for the initial meeting.”

Welch gave her a reproving look. “You cannot expect a person of Lady Mansfield’s consequence to come to you for a meeting. You must go to her. Naturally I told Mrs. Fordham to schedule the consultation.”

Virginia sighed. “Naturally.”

“It is for this Thursday afternoon at three.” Welch smiled benignly. “In her note Lady Mansfield very graciously said that she would send her carriage to your address to convey you to the appointment. Just think, Miss Dean, you will not be obliged to hire a public cab. Isn’t that splendidly generous of the client?”

“Splendidly generous, Mr. Welch. Thank you.”

“Indeed, you’re quite welcome. I can’t wait to inform Mr. Leybrook.”

Welch scurried away.

Virginia continued up the stairs, Matt at her heels.

What was Helen thinking? Virginia wondered. She was surely aware of the risks involved in promoting a connection between her daughter and her dead husband’s illegitimate offspring. On the other hand, it was obvious that Helen genuinely cared for Elizabeth. Perhaps she had concluded that it would be best if Elizabeth were given some practical advice in regard to managing her talent.

At the top of the stairs Virginia led Matt along the hall to the door of her small office. She opened the small chatelaine purse that dangled from her belt and took out her key. Her fingers brushed against the lock pick. She smiled. Most gentlemen gave their lovers jewelry. The Sweetwater men were more original when it came to tokens of affection. After two hours of intense instruction and practice on every lock in the house, Matt had pronounced her quite adept at lock-picking. You would have made a very good burglar, Miss Dean, he’d said.

She opened the door of the office. Matt followed her into the small space.

“Leave the door open,” she said in a low voice. “Our goal is to try to gain some information from my colleagues. The easiest way to do that is with casual conversation, and the quickest route to that end is an open door.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

“There is no reason for you to stand around. Take one of the client chairs. I have a copy of the most recent edition of the Institute’s Journal that you might like to examine.”

“Thanks.”

She sat behind the tidy little desk and plucked the copy of the Leybrook Journal off a nearby bookshelf. Matt took it from her and studied the cover with great interest.

“It looks very much like a copy of Arcane’s Journal of Paranormal and Psychical Research,” he said.

Virginia smiled wryly. “I believe Mr. Leybrook deliberately patterned it after the Society’s publication. I told you, he is intent on establishing the credibility of the Institute.”

Matt opened the journal and glanced at the table of contents. He grinned and read aloud, “An Investigation of Automatic Writing as a Method for Relaying Messages from the Other Side.” He looked up. “The Leybrook Journal may look like an Arcane publication, but I can assure you that no self-respecting member of the Society believes that spirits communicate through mediums who transmit their messages with automatic writing.”

“I’m aware of that,” she said. “Leybrook doesn’t believe in visitations from the Other Side, either, but he says that is the sort of paranormal investigation that intrigues the public.”

“And sells a great many copies of his Journal.”

“Yes.” She reached for her appointment book.

She heard Gilmore Leybrook’s confident footsteps in the hall outside her door just as she opened the book. He paused in the doorway. Matt got to his feet.

“Good morning, Virginia,” Gilmore said. “Welch told me that you had arrived.” He gave Matt a speculative survey. “He also mentioned that you have acquired a new assistant.”

“I decided to follow your example, Mr. Leybrook,” she said smoothly. “You have told me on more than one occasion that clients are always impressed by a practitioner who employs an assistant. Mr. Kern has accepted a position with me.”

“I see.” Gilmore did not look pleased. He ignored Matt and glanced at the open appointment book. “Busy day?” he said to Virginia.

“Not especially,” she said. She was careful, as she always was with Leybrook, to use her most exquisitely professional tones. “I have an appointment for a consultation later this afternoon but no readings tonight.”

“Welch tells me that you have attracted a very important new client, Lady Mansfield.” Gilmore sauntered, uninvited, into the office. “Congratulations.”

The small room was suddenly quite crowded, Virginia thought. The two men seemed to take up a great deal of the available space.

“Lady Mansfield has requested only a consultation,” she said. “I doubt that she will become a regular client.”

Gilmore lowered himself into one of the two wooden chairs arranged in front of the desk and hitched up his expensive trousers. “Let us hope that you can convince her otherwise.”

Virginia smiled and prepared to lie through her teeth. “I will certainly do my best. Was there anything else, Mr. Leybrook? If not, I would like to prepare for my appointment.”

“Yes, Virginia, there is something else.” Leybrook cocked a dark brow at Matt. “Be so good as to step out into the hall, Mr. Kern. I wish to speak to Miss Dean privately.”

Matt made no move to leave. He looked at Virginia for direction. She had known this confrontation was coming, she reminded herself. Best to get it over with as quickly and as privately as possible.

“It’s all right, Matt,” she said quietly. “Please wait in the hall. Mr. Leybrook won’t be long. Take the Journal with you to read.”

Matt did not look happy, but he did not argue. “I’ll be just outside if you need me, ma’am.”

“Thank you,” Virginia said.

Matt walked out of the office. He did not close the door behind him. Leybrook got up and closed it quite firmly.

“Your new employee appears to be quite devoted to you,” he remarked, returning to the chair.

Virginia readied herself for the skirmish. If she did not handle things very carefully, today could prove to be her last at the Institute.

“I believe Mr. Kern has a flair for the business,” she said. “What was it you wanted to speak to me about?”

“Unfortunately it has become clear that Miss Walters is not suited to the position for which I employed her.”

“I’m surprised to hear that. She appears to meet all your requirements in an assistant.”

“I have changed some of my requirements.”

“I see.”

“As it happens, Miss Dean, I have concluded that you will suit the position very nicely. I have decided to offer you the post.”

Virginia smiled with what she hoped was just the right degree of regret.

“I am certainly flattered, Mr. Leybrook, but I am afraid that I will not be able to take the position,” she said. “As you can see, I have, in fact, just hired my own assistant.”

Displeasure flashed across Leybrook’s handsome face. It vanished in the next instant.

“It is hardly the same sort of position that I am offering to you,” he said. “May I ask why you are not interested?”

“Do not mistake me, I am very aware of the singular honor you are offering. But I am determined to pursue my career as a glass-reader.”

“I never meant to imply that I would expect you to give up your readings if you became my assistant,” Gilmore said quickly. “The opposite, in fact. I have given the matter a great deal of thought, and I am convinced that working together as a team we could establish ourselves as the most fashionable glass-reading consultants in London.”

She picked up her pen. “But you do not read mirrors.”

“No,” he agreed. He smiled. “My talents lie in other directions. But that does not mean we cannot conduct consultations as a team. You would perform the actual reading of the mirrors, of course.”

“I see.”

“But we would inform clients that while you can summon the spirits in the glass, I am the one who can actually communicate with them.”

She tightened her grip on the pen. “You know that I don’t summon spirits.”

“Yes, but the majority of the clients believe that is exactly what you do. They think that you are a kind of medium, that you contact the Other Side through mirrors. It’s a very good act, Virginia, but it lacks a crucial element.”

“What is that?”

“The problem is that you do not give voice to the ghosts in the mirror. People want to communicate with the departed. In short, your act lacks the element of high drama. That is what clients seek when they pay a fee to a medium or a glass-reader.”

She put the pen aside very deliberately and clasped her hands on top of the appointment book. “I told you when I applied to become affiliated with the Institute that what I do is not an act. The reason that the afterimages don’t speak through me is because they are not spirits. I have explained that what I perceive are psychical photographs, not ghosts.”

“I understand. But that is precisely why you have not become the most successful psychical consultant at the Institute. It is why Pamela Egan channeling her ancient Egyptian princess and that old biddy Mrs. Harkins still pull in more clients than you do. People expect action at a séance or a reading. They want theatrics. They want to feel that there is active communication with the departed. I can provide that missing element in your readings.”

“Indeed?” she said evenly. “How would you do that?”

He sat forward. “By working with you at each consultation. You would do what you always do, summon the spirits in their final moments.”

“You mean summon the afterimages, which, I might remind you, only someone with my kind of talent can perceive.”

“Ah, but that is where I come in.” Leybrook smiled. “I can provide a visual element to the readings.”

“I knew it,” Virginia said. “You are an illusion-talent, aren’t you?”

He hesitated, frowning, and then shrugged. “Yes.”

“I suspected as much.”

“For obvious reasons I prefer to keep the exact nature of my ability a secret. People want to believe that they are seeing real ghosts, not stage magic. In our performances I will create the illusion of visual disturbances on the surfaces of the mirrors while you read the afterimages. The clients will be enthralled.”

“You intend to deceive them.”

“Not at all. I will merely enhance the experience for them by providing some drama. You will relay to me what you see in the mirrors. At the same time I will provide the audience with the illusion of fog and images swirling in the glass. But we will add the finishing touch. After you tell me what you have seen, I will channel the voices of the departed for our clients.”

“You will pretend to speak for spirits? But what will you say?”

“Come, now, Virginia, how hard can it be to speak for the dead and the dying? Mediums and séance-givers do it all the time. I will convey last messages to loved ones, perhaps a plea for justice in the event we stumble across a genuine murder victim, that sort of thing.”

“Has it occurred to you that if you claim to speak for someone who is in the process of being murdered the client and very likely the police will expect the victim to name the murderer?”

“There are ways to finesse that angle,” Leybrook said.

“How can you do that?”

“Mysterious clues from the dead will work nicely,” Gilmore said.

“What sort of clues?”

“Search for the blue door,” Gilmore intoned in a deep, melodramatic voice. “Listen for the hound at midnight. Read what is written on the stone at the bottom of the pond.” He waved one hand in a dismissing gesture, and his voice returned to normal. “There are endless possibilities when it comes to clues from beyond the grave.”

“I see.”

“We will split the consulting fees sixty-forty,” Gilmore added smoothly.

“I assume I’m the one who will receive the forty percent?”

“Correct.”

“Under the terms of our current agreement I retain seventy-five percent of the fees that I charge,” Virginia said.

“Any loss in profit to you under the new arrangement will be more than compensated for by an increase in business and in our fees.”

“How very generous of you.”

“Together we will not only make a great deal of money, we will take the reputation and the influence of this Institute to new heights.” Gilmore’s eyes hardened. He was suddenly very intense. “We will attract a greater number of true talents to work here, and not just those who would never be welcome in Arcane. I believe we have the potential to draw members from the Society itself.”

“Do you really believe that?” Virginia asked.

“Yes. There are rumblings within Arcane. Not all of the members are happy with the new direction the organization is taking. Some are chafing under the limits that the Joneses have begun to set on the kind of research that will be condoned by the Society in the future. Furthermore, the establishment of Jones & Jones has created a great deal of resentment both within and outside of Arcane. Many feel that the Society has no right to police the rest of us.”

She had always understood that Gilmore viewed Arcane as competition, but now she realized that his hostility toward the Society involved something more than business, something very personal.

“Mr. Leybrook, rest assured that I wish you well in your efforts to create an alternative to Arcane, but I cannot accept your offer to enhance my readings. I am not interested in going into a consulting partnership of the sort that you are describing.”

“You wish to bargain for a higher percentage of the fees?”

“I am not trying to negotiate with you, sir. I am telling you that I intend to build my business my way. I do not want to deceive my clients, even if it means larger fees.”

“It’s Sweetwater, isn’t it?” Gilmore surged up out of the chair and stalked to the window. He looked down at the street. “He is the reason you are turning down my offer. He has seduced you.”

“The nature of my association with Mr. Sweetwater is none of your business.”

“Do not bother to deny it.” Gilmore shot her a scathing look. “I sensed the energy around the two of you last night. I suspect everyone at the reception did.” His mouth twisted. “Hell, even nontalents can pick up on those sorts of currents.”

Virginia could feel the heat rising in her face. She was very glad that Gilmore was watching the scene outside the window.

“What an extraordinarily ill-mannered and inappropriate thing to say,” she said in her coldest accents. She was careful to keep her voice low, because she knew that Matt, with his hunter-talent hearing, was probably listening. “I have no intention of discussing my personal affairs with you, Mr. Leybrook. I will thank you to leave my office immediately.”

Gilmore turned away from the window to face her. “You surprise me, Virginia. I never thought that you would become a gentleman’s mistress. I was convinced that you had more pride than that.”

“That’s enough.” She leaped to her feet. “Leave this office at once.”

“You seem to forget, this office is the property of the Institute, and I own the Institute. As long as you accept the benefits of affiliation with my organization, you will do as I say.”

The door opened. Matt looked straight at Virginia.

“Is there a problem, Miss Dean?” he said.

“Get out of here,” Gilmore ordered.

Matt ignored him. He waited for Virginia to respond.

She moved around the corner of the desk. “There is no problem, Mr. Kern. We are leaving now.”

“Where do you think you’re going?” Gilmore demanded.

“I am hereby severing my affiliation with the Institute. Good-bye, Mr. Leybrook. It will be interesting to see if you can create an organization that rivals Arcane. You have your work cut out for you.”

“You can’t just walk out of here.”

She paused in the doorway.

“Watch me,” she said.

Matt smiled at Gilmore. Virginia had seen Owen smile a very similar smile. The Sweetwater smile, she thought. It promised that bad things would happen.

“That’s enough, Matt,” she said quietly. “We’re leaving now.”

Matt looked disappointed, but he followed her obediently down the hall to the staircase.

Virginia looked down and saw Adriana Walters coming up the stairs.

“Walk out of this Institute and you can say farewell to your career, Virginia Dean,” Gilmore roared from the doorway of the office. “I’ll destroy your reputation in London. You’ll be lucky to get clients from the gutters before I’ve finished with you.”

She glanced back at him over her shoulder. “Why don’t you go search for the blue door, Mr. Gilmore? Or perhaps listen for the hound at midnight? Better yet, try reading what is written on the stone at the bottom of the pond.”

Gilmore’s face suffused with rage.

Virginia continued down the stairs.

“You know, it would be very easy for Gilmore to break his neck on these stairs,” Matt offered with a hopeful air. “Accidents do happen.”

“That won’t be necessary, thank you,” Virginia said.

“Just a leg, perhaps?” Matt wheedled.

“No, Matt. I do not need the aggravation.”

Adriana swept past, glaring.

“He’s all yours,” Virginia said.

“Bitch,” Adriana hissed.

At the foot of the stairs the porter lurched out of his office to open the door. He handed Virginia her still-dripping umbrella and cloak, and shot a grim look at the top of the staircase.

“Is there a problem, Miss Dean?” he asked.

“No, Mr. Fulton, there is no problem. Not anymore.”

“It’s still raining outside, ma’am,” he said anxiously. “I’ll summon a cab for you.”

“Thank you,” Virginia said.

Outside on the front steps, Matt held the large umbrella for her while Fulton took out a whistle. In response to the piercing sound, a cab materialized out of the driving rain.

“Number Seven Garnet Lane,” Matt said to the driver. He handed Virginia up into the cab and got in behind her. The vehicle rolled forward.

Virginia contemplated the rain through the window and pondered the disastrous turn of events. Her career and the secure, prosperous future that she had been attempting to create for herself now lay in smoking ruins. She was surprised to realize that she felt strangely numb. It would no doubt take a while for the shock to set in, she concluded.

Matt watched her from the opposite seat.

“Uncle Owen won’t like it when he finds out that Leybrook threatened your career, Miss Dean.”

Virginia frowned. “Let me make something very clear. I appreciate your sentiments on my behalf, but what just happened between Mr. Leybrook and me is my problem. I will deal with it. Is that understood?”

“Yes, ma’am, I understand. But I’m not sure Uncle Owen will see things that way.”

“To clarify further, if I hear that Gilmore Leybrook has suffered an unfortunate or fatal accident of any kind in the near future, I will be very annoyed.”

“Yes, ma’am. I was merely pointing out that Uncle Owen won’t be happy.”

“I am not particularly thrilled, myself. But I will not allow your uncle to use me as an excuse to do something dreadful to Leybrook. I was told that Sweetwaters only hunt the monsters.”

“That’s true.”

“Heaven knows Gilmore has his faults, but he is not one of the monsters.”

Matt regarded her with a considering expression. “Are you certain of that, Miss Dean? The monsters are usually well disguised. That is what makes them difficult to hunt. It is why J & J asked for our assistance in this matter of the glass-reader murders.”

She could not think of a response to that. He was right. The monsters of antiquity were easy to identify. They had three heads or snakelike tails and a terrifying, demonic aspect. But human monsters all too often were chameleons who blended into society.

Fifteen minutes later the cab halted at her address on Garnet Lane. Matt took the umbrella and escorted Virginia up the front steps. The Sweetwater men might be assassins for hire, she thought, but they were very well mannered. Gentlemen to their lethal fingertips.

“Something amusing, Miss Dean?” Matt asked.

Virginia realized she was smiling. “No, not really.”

She took out her key and gave it to him. He opened the door and ushered her inside. The house felt dark and empty. There were no footsteps coming down the hall from the kitchen.

“It looks like Mrs. Crofton is not yet home,” Matt said. He planted the umbrella into the wrought-iron stand. “Perhaps she has had some luck locating the Hollister housekeeper.”

“That would certainly be helpful.” Virginia undid her cloak. “The hem of my skirts and my walking boots are soaked from the wet streets. I’m going to dash upstairs and change into some dry clothes. Why don’t you go into the kitchen and put the kettle on the stove? There are some biscuits in the pantry. I’ll join you shortly.”

“An excellent plan,” Matt said.

He assisted her with her cloak and then ambled happily down the hall, a young man in search of food.

Well, it was not his future that had just burned to the ground, Virginia told herself. The Sweetwaters enjoyed a very secure profession. There would always be monsters around to hunt, as well as people and organizations such as J & J who would no doubt be willing to pay well for the service.

She went up the stairs, the weight of her rain-soaked petticoats and skirts as heavy as the anchor of a ship. Or perhaps it was her mood that was weighing her down, she thought. She wanted very badly to talk to Charlotte, who was no doubt happily engaged in the exciting task of locating the mysterious paid companion.

At the top of the stairs, she went down the hall to her bedroom. Inside, she closed the door, unlaced her wet boots and stepped out of her damp clothing. She changed into a fresh petticoat and a simple day gown and secured the little chatelaine purse at her waist.

She crossed the room, went out into the hall and down the stairs. There were no sounds coming from the kitchen. That was curious. By now Matt should have gotten the kettle going and started rummaging around in the pantry for the biscuits.

“Matt? Did you find the tea things?”

She went through the doorway into the kitchen. There was no sign of Matt. The swinging door of the pantry was closed. She pushed it open.

She stopped at the sight of Matt sprawled unconscious on the floor.

“Matt.”

He did not move. But something else did. She heard the ominous clank and thump before the clockwork doll toddled out of the shadows. The automaton was nearly three feet tall, a chillingly lifelike replica of Queen Victoria. Every detail was exquisitely rendered, from the miniature crown set with crystals to the high-button boots and the dark mourning attire that Her Majesty had worn since the death of her beloved Albert.

The Queen’s icy glass eyes rolled in their sockets and fixed on Virginia. Cold energy shivered in the small space. Virginia experienced the now-familiar chill with all of her senses. She fought back, heightening her talent.

The Queen clanked forward in her miniature boots. Desperate, Virginia pushed her talent higher. The clockwork doll stopped as though confused.

Virginia grabbed the nearest heavy object, a large iron skillet, and hurled it at the doll. The pan struck the curiosity full on, knocking the device off its feet. It toppled onto its back. The booted heels drummed relentlessly on the floor. The eyes rattled in the porcelain skull, seeking a target.

Virginia seized Matt’s ankles and tried to haul him across the floor out of range of the doll. The Sweetwater men were not small, and they were evidently constructed of pure muscle and bone. The smooth wooden floor was in her favor, though. She managed to slide Matt’s heavy frame halfway out the pantry door before she had to stop and gather her strength for another tug.

The clanking, thumping and rattling of the clockwork mechanism muffled the sound of the footsteps behind her until it was too late. She caught a whiff of a sweet, flowery scent just before the chloroformsoaked cloth covered her nose and mouth.

A man’s arm wrapped around her throat and wrenched her back against a hard chest. She reached upward, trying to claw at her captor’s eyes. Her fingers closed around a pair of spectacles. She ripped them off and dropped them to the floor. There was a sharp crack when the lenses shattered.

“You stupid woman,” Jasper Welch snarled. “Why do you have to make things so bloody difficult? You have come close to ruining my great work.”

She held her breath, but she had already inhaled some of the vapor. Her head was spinning, and the world was disappearing into a fathomless fog. She tried to struggle—at least, she thought she struggled—but she could not be certain.

She fell into an endless night.