The Spiritglass Charade (19 page)

Suddenly, Espasia's arm tightened, then her whole body jolted. I had to turn from Louisa to Espasia, for she'd begun to shake violently. I knew better than to be distracted, but the poor woman seemed to be having a seizure.

The logical part of my brain knew such a thing could be faked, yet when an individual seems to be losing control beside one, it's difficult to ignore. The older woman stilled as quickly as she'd begun to shake, and I was turning back to watch Louisa again when Espasia spoke, startling me.

“Linny-Lou . . . I have a message for Linny-Lou . . .” The voice was deeper and smoother than her normal one, and an unaccountable shiver streaked over my shoulders. I realized the arm which I'd been holding had become unnaturally chilled.

“What on—” Miss Stoker began, then choked off when Espasia continued.

“Well . . . done . . . Linny. . . . You have proven yourself . . . worthy. You will . . . receive . . . confirmation . . . soon.”

With an awful, gurgling sound, Espasia jolted in her seat and then sagged in place.

Beyond the older woman, I could see the faint outline of Miss Stoker's figure, frozen in shock.

“Espasia?”

Her arm was returning to a normal temperature, and I could feel its pulse beating rapidly. It was an excellent act, I told myself. She must have put something on her arm when she rose to change the lights and it made the skin turn cool for a moment. And anyone with training could fake a seizure.

“Yes. Yes, I am here,” Espasia said in her normal voice. “Please do not speak. You will disrupt Miss Louisa.”

Of course. With a mental sigh, I turned back to Louisa, realizing in disgust that Espasia's performance had been merely another distraction.

“The spirits are speaking to her.” Espasia's voice was steady and calm, as if nothing had happened moments ago.

Sure enough, I could hear the sound of a pencil scratching over paper. Louisa held the writing implement with one hand, and her other fingers settled on the paper to hold it in place.

However, she wasn't looking down at the writing. Instead, she stared into nothingness above all of our heads, her face lax. In the dim light, her eyes seemed darker and deep-set, eerie in their blankness. At last, the pencil fell from Louisa's hand and she bowed her head. Her chin sank into her chest and she breathed steadily.

After a moment, Espasia broke the silence. “Louisa, come back to us.” She pulled her arm from my grip and rose, walking over to turn up the lamps.

Immediately, I snatched up the paper. The writing, as one would expect, was irregular, messy, and heavy. I could barely make out the words, written over and over again:

Willa
 . . . 
Help me. Help me help me help me
.

“W
hat a nonsensical thing for a spirit to say,” Mina remarked dryly as we drove away. “ ‘Help me?' Truly? What precisely is an earthbound mortal supposed to do to assist a spirit? If one believes in Spiritualism, then the spirits are the ones with great capabilities. That's only one of the numerous reasons I'm convinced someone is attempting to turn Willa Ashton lunatic, or worse. Leaving her a vague message such as that is only fodder for greater worry and more strain on her mental being—and a greater addiction to the s
é
ances.”

For once, I found myself in agreement—at least regarding Willa. “So you believe it was all fakery.”

“All of it. The pencil was magnetized, and that's how it moved across the table to her. She likely wore a magnetic bracelet, slipping it off and on when we were distracted. The gust of cold air was emitted through a small hole in the
wallpaper via some sort of bellows mechanism. The floating paper was obviously transported by thin wires or threads, and when we were distracted, the strings were cut. The table . . .” Here her words became less strident. “I haven't figured that one out yet, for I'm certain it was bolted to the floor. We shall have to pay Miss Louisa another visit tomorrow. At that time, you can divert her attention while I investigate further. As well, I will be interrogating her to find out whether one of our suspects has been in contact with her.”

“Right. And what about Espasia's performance?” I'd waited for the opportunity to bring up that portion of the s
é
ance. I didn't think even Mina Holmes could come up with an explanation for it.

“Performance is the correct term. She's a consummate actress—as most of these charlatans are.”

“Her arm turned ice-cold. And there is no way in which she—or anyone—could have known I killed a vampire last week. Let alone my nickname.”

“Pish.” Mina flapped her hand. “Willa Ashton could easily have told her about your nickname, and the previous s
é
ance. Gad, for all we know, Mrs. Yingling might have done so before she died. As for the vampire slaying . . . well, Miss Babbage knows you killed a vampire. As do Miss Adler, Dylan, and myself.”

“Yes, Dylan must've rushed off to tell Louisa Fenley I killed a vampire last week. No, wait, it was probably me, and I simply forgot. Providence knows it couldn't have been
that cloud-headed Babbage girl. I don't think she can hold a single thought for more than thirty seconds.”

“I'm not suggesting any of those things actually happened. I'm merely pointing out that you and I aren't the only people who knew a vampire was killed at the Oligary Building. Any one of the individuals I mentioned could have carried the story, by accident or design, and therefore the information could have been given to Miss Fenley. After all, she did meet with Willa Ashton. She knew we'd be invited—
of course she did
,” she said, drowning out my arguments. “Willa would have told her all about us—and so she did her own research in order to be prepared.”

I folded my arms across my middle and glared at her. Drat and blast! There were times when I would have been happy to be
without
a partner. Mina Holmes could be so exasperating with her know-it-all attitude.

“Fine. Right. It couldn't have been real,” I said loudly and untruthfully. “You are so bleeding stubborn. So what now, pray tell? I'm certain you have a
plan
.”

“As I've already mentioned, we are going to pay another visit to Louisa Fenley tomorrow—er, no. On Wednesday. For tonight, we're going to attend the opening of New Vauxhall Gardens.”

That
was the best idea I'd heard in a long time. It would make up for having to attend a card party with Florence tonight when I'd rather be out searching for more UnDead. I was fairly dancing with impatience to get back on the streets
with a stake in hand. But even though I didn't protest, Mina took it upon herself to inform me why we must go to Vauxhall.

“Surely you heard Miss Ashton comment that she, her aunt, and her cousin had been invited to attend the grand opening with Miss Norton and her brother, along with Mr. Treadwell. It's the perfect opportunity to better observe three of our suspects, particularly in Willa's presence.”

“Three of our suspects? How many do we have?”

“At least four. Perhaps five. But tonight we will be able to observe Miss Norton—whose brother happens to be a doctor, although I suspect the significance of that fact might be lost on you—as well as Cousin Herrell. Mr. Treadwell might as well be counted a suspect as well, since, if he were to marry Willa, he would take control of her money. But there's no point in driving her lunatic to do so. Yet he has been in the house through the front door and thus he cannot be eliminated from consideration. I managed to determine what time the group was meeting, and where. We can accidentally encounter them, and I'm certain we'll be invited to join their group.”

“Mina, I'm surprised at you. I didn't think you enjoyed social gatherings.”

“I don't. But in this case, it will be a necessity.”

A necessity to wander through the brand-new, most modern pleasure garden ever designed? I couldn't think of anything more exciting . . . and I was certain if there were any vampires in the vicinity, they'd agree, too.

The original Vauxhall Gardens had been a popular place for casual afternoon and evening entertainment through the early part of the century. But the park closed in 1854 and pieces of the land had been sold off to different buyers.

Five years ago, Mr. Oligary bought up some of the parcels again. He claimed he wanted to recreate the pleasure gardens in a more modern setting, as a way to thank the City of London for supporting his industry. My brother Bram snidely remarked that it was no more than a way for Oligary to compete with the popular Crystal Palace area in the south of London.

Honestly, I didn't care why or how they were reopening. Despite the fact that I'm more of a handmaker than a cognog like Mina, I can enjoy the pleasures of modern technology when it comes to entertainment.

The original gardens were known for pleasant walkways, dimly lit and convenient for young men and women to dally . . . as well as pickpockets. And surely vampires, too. There had been mimes and street jugglers, organ grinders and acrobats, as well as food vendors and even circus acts. I could only imagine what Mr. Oligary might have designed for what he called the Most Modern Pleasure Park of Our Time.

Mina and Dylan, who'd been happy to act as our escort, met me a street away from the Gardens. Even from a distance, the lights and sounds of celebration filled the air.

When I noticed Mina's dress, I stared in surprised envy. Who helped her put that together? The tall, gawky girl usually wore neat, understated, but otherwise unremarkable clothing. But tonight she had somehow put together an ensemble worthy of a second look.

An external black corset, laced tightly in the front and back, covered a sheer, fitted black bodice that buttoned up the front into a high collar. It resembled a close-fitting man's shirt; I'd never seen anything so striking. Neither lace nor ruffles trimmed the sleeves, collar, or bodice hem of the shirt. Instead, small copper cogs and grommets had been sewn into holes in the sheer fabric along the edges, giving the hems a glinting appearance. Her black skirt fell in a straight, graceful line from her hips to the tops of her shoes. A dark green lace overskirt billowed out over the narrow lines of the underskirt, giving it an ethereal look and changing the entire shape of the gown. The bustle at the base of her spine was an interesting combination of forest-green lace, black satin, and shimmering copper chains.

Mina's hair was pinned up in place, and covered by a small top hat decorated with slender black feathers and a green and white polka-dotted ribbon. A scrap of black netting from the hat brim hung rakishly over one side of her face. She wore short green fingerless gloves with laces threaded through metal grommets and cogs from forefinger to wrist. I craned my head to see if I could tell what sort of shoes she was wearing with such an amazing outfit. Boots—or daisies, as Pix had called them—would be wondrous.

I was definitely going to have to let Florence force me to go shopping. Soon.

“What on earth are you staring at, Evaline?” Mina asked after we'd strolled along a number of steps.

“I was admiring your ensemble.” I smoothed my own frock. Mine happened to be a split skirt, but even so, it was still much fuller than hers. To help me blend with the shadows, it was midnight blue trimmed with unexciting black rickrack. I had feathers, as well as a bit of lace and ruffles, but nothing as unique as my partner's. “I didn't realize you were such an admirer of Street-Fashion.”

“On occasion, I find it worth the time and effort to patronize the shop in a particular alley off Pall Mall.” I heard the satisfaction in her voice.

“What, don't you like my clothes too?” Dylan teased. He was walking between the two of us, one on each arm, and seemed to be enjoying himself. “I picked them out all by myself.”

“They're very nice,” Mina told him. “Now, Willa indicated she and her cousin were to meet Miss Norton and her brother at half-past eight near the entrance. We must hurry if we're to accidentally encounter them. Ah, there she is. Oh! And her aunt is with her—number four in our list of suspects. How fortuitous.”

My companion quickened her pace just enough that we crossed in front of Willa, Aunt Geraldine Kluger, and the young man helping them down from a carriage.

“Why, Miss Ashton! How pleasant to meet up with you.”

“Evaline! And Mina!” Willa seemed just as delighted to see us as my companion was pretending to be. “Herrell, darling, these are my two friends. Aunt Gerry, you've already met them, I believe.” She introduced us and Mina did the same with Dylan.

Mr. Herrell Ashton was about the same height as Mina, and had neat sandy-brown hair. He wore long sideburns and a trim mustache. The man beamed and bowed during the introductions. “How wonderful to meet you. Willa has been chattering on about her new friends quite often over the last days, and her auntie and I are pleased she's at last having some social engagements. It's been a difficult month. And here are the Nortons. And Treadwell is with them!”