Photographs & Phantoms (3 page)

The teletext bell dinged and another strip of tickertape began to emerge. Kendall lifted the end and began to read. “‘Ldy N & Nell at RR stn tmrw noon.’”

“Oh, Christ.” He typed back acknowledgement and an agreement to pick them up at the station.

“What’s the matter? Is no one available?” She tilted her head and gazed at him in concern.

“Oh, they’re sending someone.” He shook his head and held out his hand. “We’re to pick them up tomorrow at the railroad station.” Lady Northwood preferred not to fly, so of course they’d take the train.

“Them?” She took his arm and fell into step beside him. “Do they work as a team?”

“No. The medium in question simply isn’t old enough to travel without her mother.”

It took Amy a moment to register that remark. She stared at Lord Lake—Kendall—with her jaw hanging. “They’re sending a
child
to investigate a potentially lethal spirit?” Of course she whispered, since tourists bustled all around them as they stood in front of the hotel.

“Miss Eleanor Hadrian is the adopted daughter of a Knight. She’s fifteen or sixteen, I believe. Quite proficient, I’m told.” He looked none too happy about the idea either. He guided Amy toward the steps down from the street to the waterfront promenade. “Since we’re here, perhaps you can show me where the tourist photographs were taken.”

“Right down near the Chain Pier,” she told him. They wove among the tourists and barrows and tents. “Sergeant Peterson built me a steam barrow to carry my equipment and a small canopy. It even has feet rather than wheels to accommodate the steps.”

“Very thoughtful of him.” Kendall’s tone was utterly neutral. “Are you and the sergeant…an item, perhaps?”

“What? No, of course not.” While Michael Peterson was a nice enough young man, and relatively attractive despite his missing arm, he was far too…traditional for Amy’s taste. He’d hinted in that direction a time or two, but she knew he’d never tolerate a wife or even a lady friend with a profession of her own. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Just something in his demeanor. Whether you believe so or not, the man has a definite interest in you, Amy.”

“I’ve never given him any reason to. I’m not looking for a husband—or a lover, for that matter. Certainly not unless I find one who understands my need to work.”

“Your photography is a part of you—not just the way you make your living—is that what you mean?” He spoke as if he actually understood. “I’ve a cousin who’s a concert pianist. She feels much the same way. Her husband has learned to cope, so I imagine there are other males out there who can adapt.”

“If you happen across one, send him to Brighton,” she replied. “But I’m not going to hold my breath. I’m happy with my life the way it is.” Except—in the last few hours, she’d realized there were parts of the male-female relationship she wouldn’t mind exploring further. Kendall Lake did something funny to her insides in a way no other man ever had. He made her think of things, wish for things, that could certainly never be. He was a marquess, for heaven’s sake, and the heir to a dukedom. No good could come of imagining herself in his arms, his lips upon hers.

Another few dozen yards down the promenade, she stepped out of the main walkway. “This is where I typically set up my equipment when I work down here.” She sketched out with her toes in the sand where she placed her tent, her barrow and her camera. After placing Kendall in her usual spot, just behind where the camera should be, she took up the position where she posed her subjects, with the famous pier in the background. She always made sure the massive structure was off to the side, so it didn’t overpower the photograph and detract from the tourists who’d paid for their portraits at the beach.

“And if I have a queue of customers waiting, it forms from here, along the walkway.” She tapped her imaginary barrow. “I keep the forms here, a few samples and a small basket of toys to entertain the children while they wait. My cashbox, plates and spare camera are kept inside the barrow.”

“So two of the six portraits in question were taken here, correct?” He studied the area carefully, stepping off the promenade to sift some of the sand through his fingers and seeming to sniff the salt air.

Amy nodded. “One last week, one about a month ago. The first time, I’m ashamed to say, I didn’t think it was anything but a tragic accident. A small boy fell from the rocks and drowned, the same day as the portrait was taken.”

“On an average, how many photos do you take here each week?” He looked past her toward the pier.

“Ten or twelve, perhaps, during the height of the tourist season.” She hadn’t stopped to analyze numbers in a while. “Up until a few weeks ago, when the weather warmed, maybe five to eight. In the off season, I only set up for a few hours, and fill in the extra time with my landscapes and more studio portraits.”

He paced the small area restlessly. “So the shadow is only touching a very small percentage of your subjects. Is there anything you can think of that links those customers?”

“Nothing—and believe me, I’ve tried.” She’d lost sleep every night since she’d realized there was a pattern between the spoiled photographs and the unexpected deaths.

“Hmm. I’d like to take a closer look at your studio.” He held out his arm and she took it again. “One more question, though. You said you have to take the outdoor photographs back to your studio to develop. How do you get them to the clients?”

“Usually, they come pick them up at the studio the next day. In some cases, I drop them off at their hotels, though I charge a little extra for that service.”

“So how did you discover that two of your subjects had died?”

“You saw the picture of the large family with the boy.” It had been one of the earliest photos where the shadow had shown up, and as usual, it had only appeared in one negative. She always took a sheet of four and chose the best to print. “There was an uncle in the group. He stopped by to pick up the finished photograph, and he thanked me, as it was the only one his brother would have of his youngest son. With the couple, I stopped by the hotel and was informed of his death by the clerk. Most of the staff of the local hostelries know me, so he told me more than he possibly should have.”

“And the other four were all local individuals?” he murmured in her ear as they walked back toward Lilac Lane.

The intimacy made her nervous, but she was determined to remain professional. “Yes. Some old, some young, some in solo portraits, some part of groups.” Did he think she hadn’t looked for patterns? “One week there were two, other weeks there have been none. Little Daisy’s was the most recent.”

He dropped his arm so her hand slid from his elbow down to be caught in his. He entwined her fingers with his and squeezed gently. “Which is when you contacted your uncle?”

“That’s right. She was only six weeks old.” Mrs. Bennett and another neighbor had taken up a collection for Daisy’s funeral—a ceremony that would be etched in Amy’s heart for the rest of her life. “I have to know I didn’t somehow cause her death.”

“We’ll get to the bottom of this. I promise.” His lovely blue-green eyes gazed into hers with such determination and sincerity that she couldn’t help but believe him. “One thing I know already, Amy. You can’t blame yourself, or believe me, you’ll drive yourself mad. Bad things, terrible things, do happen in this world. Perhaps something evil has attached itself to you, but that doesn’t mean you’re at fault.”

He was so close so he could whisper the words without being overheard. She could smell the peppermint stick they’d shared down at the beach, and a trace of good tobacco that clung to his coat, along with the citrusy scent of his shaving lotion. She bit her lip, uncertain of how to deal with the tumbling sensation in her belly or the way the rest of her body was responding to the nearness of this man. Parts of her actually ached and her corset seemed too tight across her breasts. When had she turned in to such a wanton? Was it because he was titled and handsome, or merely because he was saying what she wanted to hear?

Back in Amy’s studio, Kendall opened all of his supernatural senses, looking for something, anything, able to house the kind of evil entity that could be working through a camera lens. The effort was somewhat psychically draining, but he could usually pick up a whiff of spells, or a feel for any supernatural presence. This one, however, was being unusually elusive. He examined each of her cameras in minute detail while Amy watched—her eyes wide, her lower lip caught between her teeth and her knees drawn up beneath her on the velveteen settee she used for sittings.

“I sense
something
in this place,” he said finally, running his hand through his hair. “But damned if I can tell what it is.”

Her eyes twinkled briefly and he caught himself. “Beg your pardon for the language, Amy. It’s just…”

“Frustrating?” Her wry little smile told him she knew just how he felt. “And you needn’t worry about the swearing. Not only did I grow up with four older brothers, but I live in a house with both an ex-soldier and a retired sailor. I doubt you could come up with anything I haven’t heard.”

“Four older brothers? No wonder you moved to another continent to pursue your work.” He took a seat beside her on the settee and scrubbed his face with his hands. “I’m sorry. I can’t identify a thing. We’ll see if Nell can find any ghosts in the place—though they’d have to be attached to you personally, or to one of your cameras, in order to follow you to the shore. You don’t have any enemies who died recently, do you?”

“I don’t know that I have any enemies at all.” She rested her chin on her up-drawn knees. Her arms wrapped around them to hold her hoops in place, so all he could see were the tips of her high-button shoes. Why did he find that so endearing? “Rivals perhaps, other photographers, other girls at school. I’m a bit too blunt and sarcastic to have ever been among the most popular crowd. But actual enemies—I can’t think of anyone I’ve angered to that extent.”

“I’d have said straightforward and witty.” He couldn’t resist teasing her, even though her situation was a difficult one. It simply pleased him to make her grin. Up close he could see she had just a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and he had the most ridiculous urge to kiss each and every one of them.

“Ah, but I’ll bet your mother raised you to be polite. Mine calls me stubborn and snide right to my face.”

“Governesses, actually. My mother follows the tradition of being more involved with her social obligations and her charities than with rearing her offspring.”

“I’m sorry. I know I choose to live away from my family now, but I can’t imagine not being close to them while I was growing up.” Her smile grew fond and contemplative. “Even when my brothers drove me crazy, I knew they’d protect me with their lives. That’s one of the reasons I moved away. They were
too
protective, almost smothering. And though we had nannies too, of course, my parents spent time with us every single day. Even now they visit me at least once a year, and I’ve gone back to Canada for all of my brothers’ weddings and for a handful of christenings since then.”

Kendall sighed. “Whereas, my only sister and I are fond of each other but see each other only when the parents summon us both. She’s married to a fine, staid Member of Parliament and is ferociously involved in being a political wife.” He hadn’t talked about himself this much in years, but something about Amy made her easy to talk to. Unconsciously, he’d moved closer to her on the cushions, so now his thigh brushed her hoops. “Since I work for my father, I’d say he and I are close now, more so than we ever were when I was young. He was gone a lot, of course, on missions.”

“It must be difficult.” She laid one hand on his. “Your mother must have constantly worried.”

“She did, at least to some degree. They’re fond of each other in a rather conventional British sort of way.” He sighed. His parents led such totally separate lives, but they did care for one another and their children, he supposed. “Theirs was never an extravagant love match, though. I’m not sure I believe in those—at least I think they must be the exception rather than the rule.”

“That’s such a gloomy outlook on life. My parents are still besotted with one another after more than thirty years of marriage, through raising five children and losing two as infants, and through business ups and downs. Even my grandparents on both sides remained devoted until separated by death. I can’t imagine marrying anyone I wasn’t head over heels in love with. It’s sad when people settle for less.”

He wanted to pass off her belief as naïveté, but perhaps she was right. He hadn’t always believed in lasting love, but in recent years he’d met a few couples who seemed to have found it, forcing him to rethink his position. “Which explains why you’re a solitary businesswoman at the ripe old age of what—twenty-four?”

“Twenty-six, thank you very much.” She wrinkled her pert little nose. “And you? I’d guess eighty based on your careworn expression, but when you perk up you seem much younger. Thirty-five, perhaps?”

“Thirty.” He couldn’t resist tapping that nose with a fingertip. “Not so ancient.”

Her breath caught at that incidental touch, and so did his. He became excruciatingly aware of the fact that they were alone together in her locked studio. He shifted, crossing one leg over the other to conceal his body’s rather obvious response.

“Do you… That is have you…?” He swallowed hard, trying to get his voice, at least, back under control. “Do you have any further appointments scheduled for the next few days?”

Amy shook her head with a sigh. “No, Mrs. Nutt was the last one I couldn’t convince to cancel. If you hadn’t arrived today, I’d have left town on a sudden family emergency or something. I’ve really no idea what else to do.”

Kendall patted her arm. “I’m sorry I don’t have the answer, but we’ll keep searching until we do. If Nell doesn’t find anything tomorrow, we’ll run up to Cornwall and visit your great-uncle, cameras and all. Perhaps he’ll have a better idea. He’s certainly the greatest sorcerer living today.”

“And I suppose now that I’ve made contact, I should make an effort to meet him. I feel like a very delinquent relation for not having already done so.” She bit her lip again and he tapped that with his finger, too, stopping her from abusing the tender flesh.

“Yes, he’d like to meet you. He’s a little intimidating, but I think you’ll get along just fine.” Kendall knew he shouldn’t but he let his hand linger on her face, tracing her cheek and the line of her chin. “He’s actually quite a pleasant man, once you get past the fact that he could turn you into a newt.”

“He can do what?” she started to shriek, then burst into laughter when his shoulders began to shake. “Oh, you’re teasing me, aren’t you?” She smacked him lightly on the shoulder with one hand, which gave him the perfect opportunity to slip his arm around her waist and tug her closer, until she tumbled into his lap.