The Hanged Man

CHAPTER NINE

Alex fought frantically against it, breath trapped, chest aching.

“There now, you’re all right,” said Brook in a steady voice.

Her eyelids shot wide.

Brook held both her wrists; his concern was as solid as a physical embrace. She tried to break free, and he instantly released her. “You fainted is all.”

Not underwater. Not dying.

Deep breath. A gasp, really. A shaky series of gasps. “I nev-I don’t faint.”

“’Fraid you did. Dropped like a stone.”

They were on a level, she lying on a long settee in the front room, and Brook on one knee next to her. Her hat was gone and the top buttons of her collar undone. Good God.

Brook had a damp cloth in hand and put it on her forehead. She forced herself to remember … the kitchen … a door … the back hallway-the rush of utter terror had snaked through Alex and slammed her flat. “Faugh. I walked into that one like a green apprentice.”

“Walked into what?”

“If-if an emotional imprint is strong and you’re not braced, it’s like stepping blind from a cliff. You get a nasty jolt. That one was … exceptional.”

“What caused it?”

“Someone took Mrs. Veltre against her will. She was frightened to death, tried to fight but-did you smell ether?”

“I was busy getting you off the floor. Anything injured? You made quite a thump.”

She took stock. “I’m fine. I haven’t as far to fall as some people.” Barriers restored, if brittle, she sensed his amusement. “What, no alarm? You’re getting used to the job?”

“Plenty of alarm, I thought you’d been shot by one of those damned air rifles.”

“Oh.”

“It was a considerable relief to find you breathing and unpunctured.”

He would have left that emotion behind, contaminating the area. She’d allow for it on a second Reading. “Have you much experience dealing with fainting females?”

“Not directly. I read a lot. Ladies seem to faint in books and in plays far more often than in real life. In your case I went with my instincts. Couldn’t find any smelling salts, though.”

“For which I am grateful.”

With some caution, she sat up, found that standing was possible, and did so. She had collected a few more bruises but nothing worse.

“You’re not dizzy?”

“It was a psychical shock, a bit different from a theatrical swoon.”

He offered his flask.

She shook her head, lips going tight.

Gently eschewing his offered arm, she made her own way toward the kitchen. Doing up her collar, she was careful to block any emotions he might have left when he’d touched the buttons. She did not want to know what he’d felt. That would complicate things and … distract her.

This time Alex entered the back hall with more caution, slowly easing open her internal barriers. She separated Brook’s fresh traces and sought the older imprint of sheer panic. The intensity of emotion was like an explosion, brief and devastating. Veltre had been surprised, fought desperately, and then abruptly faded. Though no scent remained, Alex was sure the smothering feeling was due to ether having been used. Her inner mind had linked the sensation to her next closest memory, taking her back to that ghastly immersion.

She proceeded down to a courtyard that served two more buildings. The court opened to Farm Street. Veltre could have been carried out and loaded into a conveyance after dark with no one noticing. On Christmas Eve most people would be indoors at dinner.

Futile as it was, she was thorough, but the psychic scent of Mrs. Veltre was long dispersed.

By his very absence, Alex knew who was responsible for the abduction. There was no trace of him, not in the hall, the stairway, or the door leading to the yard.

“It’s the ghost,” she told Brook, coming back inside. From his puzzled look she realized he’d not heard of it yet. She explained.

“Someone with no emotions at all?” he asked.

“None that I can track.”

“But everyone has emotions. We can’t help ourselves.”

“Inspector Lennon suggested an automaton without its box, but only as a joke.”

“I’d prefer to believe that than a man without emotions. Perhaps he puts himself in a mesmeric trance or something so it’s impossible for a Reader to find him.”

“If so, then it works too well. I’ve found all there is to find here.” But on the way to the front room Alex paused at the bedroom door, staring in. “That’s … that’s not right.”

She hurried back to the desk and looked at the receipts again, noting the number of items and whether they’d been delivered.

“I’m a fool,” she muttered. “Tea gowns, hats, evening gowns-look at the number of them, the prices.”

Brook did so. “I didn’t know fashionable ladies paid so much for their things.”

“They generally do not; these are outrageous and she’s got two wardrobes for storage. Unless she’s let another floor in this building, there’s no room to hold all this.”

“Perhaps she bought them for a girls’ school or something.”

“I doubt any academy has need of three dozen identical ball gowns. See the handwriting? These invoices are from different shops, but the writing is the same. The venues must be false, I don’t recognize any of the names. No addresses, either.”

He went through a stack. “She’s done a good deal of shopping in the last six months. Where’s her bankbook?”

“Not here. The money amounts are probably correct, but the items themselves are not what was purchased. This sort of substitution code is not a new invention, but I’ve not seen it for sums like this. Thousands and thousands of pounds, but for what? And why was she recording them in this manner?”

Alex remembered the heavy envelope she’d brought up. The elegant handwriting did not match the invoices. No matter. She put the letter opener to use. The single card within had that day’s date and 8:30-“Masters Impart” perfectly centered on its cream-colored surface.

“An invitation with no address,” he observed.

“I think she gave that to Father.” Alex located her reticule next to the settee and pulled out the worse-for-wear calling card.

“Is that what you found in the-”

“Yes, Father’s walking stick.”

He glanced at the card. “Twenty-five Grosvenor Square. We could walk over. A meeting, you think? The Ætheric Society?”

“It could be an ordinary gathering. Christmas dinner.”

“And I’m the king of Siam. You’re going to go, aren’t you?”

“How can I not?”

“I’m sure there are a dozen good reasons you will ignore. You will still be lumbered with me as a bodyguard, though.”

“Not lumbered, you’re needed. It would be foolish to go alone.”

“Again, I am relieved. But why not telegraph the Service with this information and let them send in people? They could have half of Scotland Yard in tow.”

“Because at this point we have no empirical evidence that my father’s death is connected to the Ætherics. We have no evidence his death and the attack on Lord Richard are connected. One followed close upon the other, but the methods differed. For my father, someone went to much trouble to make it appear not to be murder. For Lord Richard it was a determined and prolonged attack until the objective was achieved, and they were untroubled by the presence of witnesses. The man had enemies, so the timing of the two events could be coincidental. I do not like coincidences, but this could be one. Invading a meeting of the Ætheric Society might resolve only one issue.”

“And possibly get you killed if that murderous ghost-man is there and recognizes you. There’s no doubt this Veltre woman was involved with the Ætherics and knew your father. For all you know, she betrayed him in some way. You said someone kidnapped her?”

“I know they did. It’s mad. On one hand, a sly, stealthy murder, on the other, two violent, public attacks against the Service by hooded men with unusual weapons.”

She focused on the invitation card, intent to get some sense of the person who wrote it, but only a general feeling of ennui came to her. That might mean the writer had the thankless task of filling out a large number of similar invitations. All to the good; she and Brook would be less noticeable in a crowd. She abruptly realized the light was going. The short winter day was slipping by. “Time to get moving.”

She donned her cloak, hat, and gloves, shoving the invitation into her reticule. Brook collected all the receipts and put them in the carpetbag.

“Shouldn’t we question the other residents in this building?” he asked, handing her the air rifle after she locked up.

“We can come back. I want to get this weapon to Lord Hollifield’s house before tea time.”

“He’s your air gun expert?”

“The closest I have to one. What little I know I learned from him.”

“Lord Hollifield? You’re serious?”

“Well, somebody has to be the queen’s brother-in-law.”

* * *

Less than a two-minute walk away, but a vast social distance from Veltre’s modest rooms, the frontage of Hollifield House took up a large portion of the northwest corner of Berkeley Square. Its red brick was complemented by fresh white trim, the proportions of the windows and balconies were pleasant to the eye, and Alex noted with relief that there was no decorative death mask-like head above the door. Now that she’d become aware of the damned things, she cast about at other houses, looking for more. None were to be seen, at least on this part of the square.

A liveried footman on post outside opened the door with the correct angle to his bow, neither too low to overstate, nor too shallow to insult. His smile was warm and welcoming. The Hollifield household was a cheerful one, and Alex fought an impulse to relax her defenses. However pleasant, she had to avoid distraction. This visit must be short and to the point, with them leaving before his lordship got too curious about her deadly artifact.

Rather a lot to expect, she thought.

A maid and another footman were on duty to take charge of coats and wraps, but Alex put them off and asked where his lordship might be found. She was about to give a calling card to the maid when Lady Lindsey Hollifield came to greet her newly arrived guests. She smiled hesitantly at Mr. Brook, not knowing him, and looked expectantly at Alex, who raised the veil on her hat.

“Why, Alex! What a lovely surprise!” her ladyship said with much affection. She did not extend her hand, being one of those who knew that Readers were shy about physical contact.

“I’m sorry to intrude, Lady Lindsey, but I need to see Lord Daniel on Service business.”

“Oh, how boring for you. You’re not intruding at all, child. We’ve had the house open all day for friends to call in, it’s very informal. If you’re not too pressed, I insist you have tea and a nice mince pie.”

“Very kind of you.”

“You’ll do me a kindness. The cook went quite mad and made enough to serve everyone at Buck House twice over. This place will smell of cloves for a week. Now, please introduce me to this handsome and patient fellow.”

Alex did the honors, giving Brook’s rank in lieu of a first name.

“Oh, my dear girl, is this your young man?” Lady Lindsey looked enormously pleased at the idea.

Alex hadn’t expected that question, though she should have; her ladyship always inquired whether Alex had set her cap for anyone yet. Where she’d gotten that phrase was a mystery, but she was far too fond of it. By heroic effort, Alex held a fierce blush in check and managed not to choke. “Mr. Brook is assisting me, filling in for Sergeant Greene today.”

Brook, managing to grip his hat and the carpetbag in his left hand, touched a gloved forefinger to his forehead. A proper salute would have been inappropriate since he was not in uniform and her ladyship held no military rank.

Lady Lindsey was disappointed as she eyed the bag. “That is really too bad. I’d hoped that you’d come by to show him off and let me know you were eloping.”

Dear God.

Brook kept his face neutral, but despite her defenses, Alex picked up that he was inordinately amused.

“Oh, well, there’s time for that another day. Let’s see where Daniel’s gotten himself. The billiard room or the gun room; he does like his toys.”

She led away, Alex and Brook keeping up with her brisk but graceful pace. Alex had been to the house many times after a shooting club event, but its size still astonished her. They passed room after room, each with a specific purpose, each decorated in the most perfect taste, some boasting paintings that would have been gratefully accepted by the National Gallery.

The place was full of brilliantly turned-out people. Lady Lindsey was no exception. Her dark auburn hair was beautifully dressed with diamond-trimmed combs. Her gown at first look appeared understated compared to others, but at second look a richness of detail emerged to delight the eye and stagger the household purse. She wore it and her diamonds with an easy buoyancy that few women of her caste could carry off. She would have the same self-possession had they been glass and herself draped in rags.

Alex was rarely ill at ease about her own mode of attire, but in this instance and in such a glittering crowd she felt shabby even in her best cloak. She would have been invisible on her own, but simply walking in her ladyship’s wake drew attention. At least the cloak covered the battle scars adorning her blue ensemble, as well as the air rifle, which would have certainly caused alarm. She recognized several guests as longtime friends of the Pendleburys and was glad she’d pulled the veil on her hat down again. This was no time for social exchanges.

The Hollifields moved in somewhat more exalted circles of the nobility than the Pendleburys, but had always made her feel welcome. Being much closer to the queen by means of family connection (Hollifield having wooed and wed the sister of Lord Consort Arthur), they saw the inside of Buckingham Palace far more often than even Cousin Andrina.

Hollifield House itself was something of a miniature palace, boasting a dining room that could seat forty, though Lady Lindsey preferred smaller groups of twenty, as there were fewer names to remember, but today was an exception. In the ballroom an orchestra played a sprightly waltz for a score of dancers, and Alex felt a pang of envy for their carefree turns across the floor.

But more imperative matters were afoot. She could not allow herself distractions.

One importuned itself, nonetheless.

James Fonteyn was in profile just within the ballroom, speaking to-Oh, corks-Teddy Pendlebury.

She nearly blundered into Brook in an attempt to turn away and duck. Even under a veil and cloak her cousins would certainly recognize her and if not herself, then they’d know Brook for sure.

He glanced down at her, and then above and past. His mouth popped open, but she seized his arm and conveyed the urgency to keep moving.

Her gentlemen relatives appeared to have become the fastest of friends, which was no surprise since they shared hedonistic tendencies. Teddy was the stuffier of the two, being constrained by the demands of a stuffy job, but was an expert at keeping his pleasures apart from his duties.

James had no such constraints. Alex could easily imagine him leading a willing Teddy into gradually lower levels of depravity. Compared to some things she’d seen on her travels, the debauches would be mild, but enough to damage, if not destroy, Teddy’s professional reputation. What was acceptable in China was a scandal in Belgravia.

Doubtless Andrina would find some way to blame Alex.

Oh, bother the lot of them.

Why her cousins were here was no mystery. Her ladyship was famous for her hospitality. Anyone with a title, honor, family connection, or some other distinction would be made welcome with or without an invitation, particularly on Christmas Day.

Alex and Brook were soon out of view of the ballroom, but she could not relax, expecting any instant to be hailed and then delayed by tedious explanations for her presence.

Lord Daniel was in the billiard room the next floor up, along with a number of other men. The gas sconces and fireplace blazed, and the balcony doors were wide open to the cold, which was the only way one might be able to breathe. The air within was exceedingly thick. The large chamber doubled as a smoking room and those present were taking full advantage, including his lordship, who had a massive meerschaum ensconced under his fierce-looking white moustache. His attention was on the green baize table as one of his cronies considered a difficult shot.

Lady Lindsey waited until ivory clacked against ivory, a ball rolled and vanished into a pocket, and a rumble of approval for the player’s skill circulated through the audience. She then murmured in her husband’s ear. Lord Daniel cast an interested eye upon first Brook and then Alex, gave a brisk nod, and excused himself to those close by.

“Hallo, Alex,” he said as they emerged from the smoky reek. “Wouldn’t have known you standing there covered like a rani in purdah. Why aren’t you having a holiday? I’ll have a word with Desmond about it. He runs his patch as though we’re at war.”

He didn’t seem to expect a reply, so Alex made none. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Lord Daniel, but I’ll keep things brief. May we speak in private?”

He put some thought into that and glanced at Lady Lindsey.

“The gun room,” she said.

How convenient.

“Had to lock it for the duration,” she explained, again leading the way. “There are children about and they do get curious.”

“If they’re properly trained, there’s naught to worry about,” said Daniel. “Most of ’em are and are welcome to look, but they have sticky hands. Drives poor Sebbings to the edge wiping jam smears from the glass cases, y’know. The place smells of vinegar afterward, makes my eyes water. Now where’s the key?” He paused, slapping his pockets.

Lindsey rescued him, producing a key ring from a discreet pocket and unlocking the door. “Will you need me for this? I must be in ten other places for another three hours.”

“Thank you, Lady Lindsey,” said Alex. “And if I might make one small request? Please don’t let anyone know I’m here. I saw many acquaintances and at least two cousins, and I’ve no time to spare for them.”

“Certainly. It was lovely to meet you, Lieutenant Brook. I’m so sorry you’re not eloping with our Alex.” She winked at her husband and glided from the hall.

Lord Daniel made a noise to indicate amusement, then went into the gun room. He did not bother to ring for a servant, but found matches in his waistcoat pocket and lighted the gas himself, then looked at Alex with some expectancy. She brushed away her veil and again introduced Brook.

“What regiment?” asked his lordship.

Brook had a ready answer. “None, sir. I’m now attached to the Psychic Service by special order.”

“Huh. That means you did something ingenious and helpful that offended someone. Not to worry, lad, I won’t pry. If Dickie Desmond approved you, then you’re all right. He’s an arrogant bludger, but knows people. Alex is one of his better decisions, aren’t you, girl? Now, what brings you to my roof on Christmas if you’re not eloping?”

The gun room was not large, but packed with an astonishing array of weaponry, each wall having glass cases holding numbers of firearms within. The collection was a mix of antiques in prime condition and modern pieces. In the middle of the floor was a tall table covered with a thick felt pad to protect anything that might be brought out for inspection.

“This,” said Alex. Indulging in a theatrical flourish, she swept her cloak aside and set the air rifle on the table in one smooth movement.

It brought about the reaction she’d hoped for: Hollifield’s instant attention. He fairly rocked back on his heels and dropped his pipe. Fortunately, it bounced on the rug and did not break. His lordship stared at the rifle, then snapped his gaze up at Alex, his eyes wide.

“I apologize in advance, Lord Daniel, but I cannot tell you how I acquired it. This is part of an ongoing investigation. I’m hoping you will shed light on its origins.”

He threw a look at Lieutenant Brook, then back to the table, then to Alex.

“Have you seen anything like it before?” she pressed.

His lordship got past his surprise and shook his head. He cleared his throat. “What the devil have you got here?”

“You tell me,” she said. “It’s capable of shooting multiple rounds with deadly force. I’ve not the same experience as you do with air-powered weapons. It seemed best to have you see it and perhaps-”

Lord Daniel was now wholly immersed in examining the thing. His first act was to shift it around so the muzzle pointed toward an outside wall. Should there be an accidental discharge, the bullet would smash into plaster and brick, not his guests or the display cases. He went over its mechanisms, muttering a bit, grunting with satisfaction as he worked out where the ammunition went in and the means by which pressurized air was introduced to the chamber.

“Where’s the crank?” he asked. “There should be a crank or handle or some whatsit to fit into this bit here.” He’d unscrewed a plug set in the right side, revealing a hexagonal socket.

“Sorry, don’t have one. What sort of crank?”

“Hard to say, but a good size, one third to one half the length of the piece. You lock it in place, turn it enough times and that’s what pumps the air in. The longer the crank the more leverage you have, the more pressure you can store in the reservoir. Sturdy goods, this is. I’ve nothing but admiration for whoever designed and made it. This is miles ahead of anything I’ve ever seen.” He replaced the plug and tried opening another. When it refused to yield, he held off from forcing the issue. “I think the rounds go in here, but they’re part of the pressure lock. There should be some means of reloading.… Ah, here we go.” He pressed an indented circle that Alex had missed before, and they all jumped when the thing made a long loud hiss as though protesting its treatment.

“What’s happened?” asked Brook.

Hollifield seemed embarrassed. “Hmm. I’ve vented the pressure in the reservoir, I think. Probably just as well. Wouldn’t want the thing to blow up, now, would we? Let’s see if this will open.…” He tried the second plug and a great number of round metal balls scattered across the felt padding. “Right, pressure gone and unloaded. I hope you weren’t planning to put this to use later.”

“Not at all, Lord Daniel,” Alex said, peering close. “They’re lead slugs, no points to them.”

“I expect they have to be round to feed into the firing chamber, but that’s going to play hell with accuracy. If you want to shoot at a decent distance you need rifling; this thing seems to kick ’em out with brute force.”

“They are highly damaging at close range.”

“Useless for hunting, but perfect for killing people before they know what’s hit them.”

Alex bit back the temptation to inform him of the attack on Service offices. “I’ve also seen a smaller version of this, a pistol.”

“Have you now? Well, that would cause a lot of damage if it’s got even half the power as this one must. This … this is a terrible weapon, Alex. I do not say that lightly. Who gave it to you?”

“I’m not at liberty to say, sir. As it is, I’m likely in a good deal of trouble for showing it to you at all. If there is anything you can tell me about who might have made it, I assure you that it will be of great help to the Service and to England.”

“Just how desperate is this? Should I speak to Desmond? Not that I’ve much influence on the young sharp, but he might bring me in unofficially if I insist.”

Hearing Lord Richard Desmond spoken of as a young sharp and arrogant bludger would have been amusing a day earlier. Alex shook her head. “That won’t be necessary, sir. Please, if you know anything at all…”

He grunted, frowning through his white beard, eyes narrow with thought. “Well, let’s do the obvious and look for a maker’s stamp.” He took a magnifying glass from a drawer and went over the rifle as carefully as a diamond cutter searching for flaws. During that time, Brook picked up the fallen pipe, gently placed it on the table, and made a quiet tour of the displays. Alex, already familiar with the room, sank wearily onto a settee.

There came a discreet double knock upon the door, then it was opened quietly, and one of the footmen entered, pushing a tea trolley in ahead of Lady Lindsey who said she required a short respite from her hostess duties. She dismissed him and sat next to Alex.

“Close your mouth, girl, or you’ll catch flies. I know there’s something up and it’s got to be grim.” She poured tea into a deep and delicate cup with gold edging. “Get this into you, dear; you seem to need it.”

Alex accepted with gratitude and reflected that her ladyship must possess an intuitive side.

“Lieutenant Brook? Will you join us? I’ve something stronger than tea if you want it.”

“Tea is fine, Lady Hollifield. Thank you.” He took a chair opposite the ladies, along with cup and saucer and a little plate with one of the pies. He made an admirable job of juggling things, indicating he’d had practice at it.

This could almost have been a normal social visit, but for the murders and deadly attacks.

“What’s that toy Daniel’s playing with?”

“A new type of air rifle, m’dear,” answered his lordship, still poring over the thing.

“That should keep you happy. Are you going to acquire it?”

“I should hope so, if only to see how the deuced thing works.”

“Goodness knows where he’ll store it,” she observed to her guests. “I expect we’ll have to convert another room to look like this one if he keeps on collecting. Eat, Alex, you’re looking rough about the edges, if you don’t mind my saying. Having a bad patch with your family?”

Alex relaxed somewhat. She had a great fondness for the Hollifields. Not only were they friends from the shooting club, but they were genuinely kind people. They’d also done considerable traveling, giving her much more in common with them than with her own relatives. “I was at Pendlebury House this morning. Cousin Andrina was her usual charming self.”

Lady Lindsey was aware of the ancient feud. “Families can be difficult. It’s a pity you girls got off on the wrong foot, but such things happen. She does quite well as a lady-in-waiting to Princess Alice and her daughters. They think she’s charming.”

Alex could not imagine Andrina, with her sour and condemning temperament, being pleasant to anyone, therefore she must be better at dissembling than Ellen Terry.

“Mr. Brook?”

“Yes, your ladyship?”

“Are you by chance connected to the Brookes of Park Crescent?”

“The name is spelled differently, but I expect I am, distantly. We probably shared a grandfather or great-uncle a hundred years ago.”

Although he gave no outer sign of it, Alex sensed his evasiveness and reluctance. “Lady Lindsey, your cook has done an admirable job on the pies. I’m so glad to have a chance to sample them.” She spoke the truth; the crust melted like butter on the tongue, surpassed only by the excellent filling, the sweet perfectly balancing the spice. “I hope we are not imposing too much on your time.”

“Not at all. Things can run themselves for a few minutes. It takes a good three weeks to arrange a reception like this and I’ve been on my feet since dawn. I’m glad to see so many here to make it a success, but next year I may forego the excitement and have a quiet time in the country. But of course one can’t, not really, given our place in the world. Daniel and I will have to polish up and get over to Buck House. Formal family dinner, you know. I hope I can stay awake through all the courses.”

This seemed to require a show of amusement. Alex provided, but was distracted by a satisfied exclamation from his lordship.

“Cracked it,” he announced.

“You found who made it?” Alex put her saucer and cup on the tray and went to the table.

“No, there’s nothing I can find on that, which is damned peculiar. Work like this usually means someone wants the credit, but it’s clean as a boiled egg. I had to think who might have made it against who could afford to make it. Those capable aren’t in this country, but I’ll wager my fortune that this is British made. This is Sheffield steel or I’m a codfish.”

“Really, dear,” said his wife. “There are some perfectly good foundries in Germany.”

“Bah! They can’t cook a proper sausage, never mind work steel.”

“Well, please don’t say anything at the palace. Your sister-in-law has relatives on that side over as guests. Someone told me her cousins Albert and Ernest from Saxony-Coburg will be there-with their wives. We’ll be swimming in German speeches and tiaras for hours.”

“Not if my brother has anything to do with it. Arthur’s sensible about such time-wasting rot, but I’ll behave. I’ll talk shooting with them if I must. Where was I?”

“British made.”

“Hah. Yes. So here’s the problem: there’s one fellow in England who is capable of designing and making a piece like this, but he’s not got the money to do so. There’s not many interested in air guns, so even when he has a likely project, no one’s keen to back it. He came to me, oh, about two years ago with some plans, but his timing was wretched. We were just taking ourselves off to Egypt or Rome or someplace for the winter.”

“Rome,” said Lady Lindsey.

“Right, nasty hole, rats, ruins, forged art, and the worst food.”

She shook her head, observing to her guests, “The man is a darling, but I am certain he only ever consents to leave the country so he may prove to himself the superiority of all things English.”

“Which they are. But never mind that. The visitor-I had no proper time for him. The plans he showed were a bit like this, but not quite as ambitious. The stock reservoir was smaller. Didn’t hold so many rounds. I remember it had a crank attached, and I didn’t care much for that. He’s changed things-if it’s the same fellow.”

“A name, Lord Daniel, please,” said Alex.

“Don’t remember. Left a card, though. Polish mechanic, mad, of course, they’re all mad. Heavy accent, couldn’t take in half what he said, the drawings did all his speaking. Give me a moment.…” He poked and rummaged in a writing desk. “I know it’s here, I keep running across it, meaning to write him to come again, but then one gets busy with other things. Surprised he’s not returned on his own. Must have turned up a patron somewhere. Can’t say I like the design-not being able to reload without depressurizing the reservoir? That’s a flaw, but if it carries a hundred or more rounds-but why the devil would you want that many?”

“To kill people, I expect.”

He paused. “Oh, well, yes, I suppose so. You know me, I’m more for target competition than anything else. But a hundred rounds for hunting-that’s hardly fair. Doesn’t give the game a sporting chance, takes the suspense out of it, reduces it to mere butchery, though there’s some chaps who love their blood. Few of them under the roof today-ah, here it is.” He produced a tattered card. “W. Nabadenski, if that’s how y’say it. Didn’t catch his first name.”

“A London address,” said Alex. It was on the other side of the city. She and Brook might be able to go for a quick look and still get to the Ætheric meeting, but it seemed unlikely, especially after dark.

“If he’s even there. That was two years ago. If it’s his home he might be in, but if it’s a workshop or factory he’ll be closed for the day.”

A good point. Tomorrow, in full daylight, would serve. Or I telegraph Woodwake with this news and let her handle it. That would be better. Let the woman know progress was taking place. Alex told him, “This is perfect, better than I’d hoped for; I can’t thank you enough. You’ve been of enormous help.”

“As much as all that?” Lord Daniel’s eyes twinkled. “Am I to get the full story about this?”

“As soon as I know it myself-if I’m allowed.”

“Don’t worry about it. I can always pry it out of Desmond.”

She looked away, not wanting to reveal any hint of Lord Richard’s violent demise, and began collecting the scattered rounds, putting them back into the rifle. The bulky middle seemed to have the capacity to hold at least a hundred. “Is it gravity fed?”

“It would seem so. That puts a limit on your angle of aim. If you wanted to take out a bird or shoot down from a hill, you’d have to shift it level between rounds. That’s another flaw. Be the devil to pay if it jammed.”

Alex had noticed no tendency for jamming under repeated fire.

“Leaving without finishing your tea?” asked Lady Lindsey.

“I fear so, but it was lovely. Thank you so much, both of you.”

* * *

Additional assertions that they had to leave were needed, but after stowing a large bundle of the tasty pies in the carpetbag, Alex and Brook were eventually allowed to depart. By request, to avoid any chance of encountering James or Teddy, one of the footmen bowed them out via a side door. They were on Mount Street with Hyde Park behind them and Berkeley Square ahead. Just two streets north was Grosvenor Square. She was tempted to take a quick walk over to have a look at number twenty-five. It would have to wait, though; better to launch that campaign after making proper preparations.

“That was interesting,” said Brook. “Not what one might expect.”

“In what way?”

“A lack of pretension.”

“They are lovely people. I like them better than my own fam-” Alex cut herself off. What business was it of Mr. Brook’s to know anything like that? It did show her to what degree she’d let down her guard in the presence of friends. She cleared her throat and began walking east, crossing the street into the concealing shadows of Berkeley Square. The winter darkness was fully settled, and the cold eagerly rushed in to steal away the moments of warmth they’d gained.

“We need to break into another telegraph office,” she said brusquely. “I’ll get this information to Mrs. Woodwake. I think there’s a place just along-”

She halted as a man unexpectedly emerged from behind one of the vast trees of the square’s park, putting himself in their path. She had not sensed or seen him. Instantly thinking of the ghost Alex backed away in alarm. Brook was better prepared and had his empty Bulldog up and aimed, getting between her and the threat.

The lean, tall figure did not react, but held in place. “Put that away, Lieutenant,” he growled.

“Identify yourself,” said Brook, unfazed.

“Pendlebury will tell you.”

She recognized the voice and her heart sank. They needed more time, the freedom to move and act. If she grabbed Brook’s arm they could make a dash for it … and likely get only yards away before being brought back in disgrace. A number of mounted people were about, more than might be expected considering the day and the hour. They were there for her, of course. Had she not been distracted by the wealth of good feeling at Hollifield House, she might have given greater notice to the street.

The man struck a match, lighting a small black cigar. The flame gave her a glimpse of a craggy lined face with a stubborn jaw and a long, cruel mouth. His eyes were as green and as hard as polished jade, a cutthroat’s eyes, but by reports and action, he was unflinching in service to queen and country.

And he had saved their lives not two hours ago.

“Stand easy, Mr. Brook,” she said. “This is Colonel Sebastian Mourne. He’s on our side, God help us.”