Wait Until Midnight (12 page)

"We have discussed this often enough in the past. I can only repeat what I have said countless times before. There was nothing you could have done to save Beatrice. And you most certainly have not failed Caroline. She is the intelligent, sensible, high-spirited woman she is today because of you. She is your daughter in every way that matters, Emma?'

Emma squeezed Milly's fingers. "I did not raise her alone. You were there at every step along the way. She is as much your daughter as she is mine."

They watched the fire for a while. There was no need to talk. They had been together a long time. They could read each other's thoughts.

FOURTEEN

The response to the request for a séance came in a very speedy fashion the following morning.

Caroline was still at breakfast with Emma and Milly. All three of them were attired in their new dressing gowns. The fashion for wearing the comfortable, loose-fitting garments down to breakfast had arrived recently from
France and was rapidly being adopted by women at every level of society. The ladies at
22 Corley Lane
had been among the first to take up the style.

The gowns were modest enough but they were considered extremely daring because they were
loose fitting.
Critics raged against the trend, seeing it as a harbinger of yet another decline in morals. Some went so far as to warn that husbands would soon lose interest in their wives' charms if those charms were carelessly draped in
loose-fitting
garments every morning at breakfast.

Few women paid much attention to such ominous prognostications. Certainly no one in this household, where there was a noticeable lack of husbands, cared a jot for the critics' opinions, Caroline thought. Given the discomfort of the stiff, tightly laced corsets and bodices of modern dresses, not to mention the sheer weight of the heavy materials used in them, no female in her right mind was eager to don one any earlier in the day than necessary.

Caroline put down her fork and opened the message from Irene Toller.

"Ah-hah." She waved the note aloft in triumph. "I knew it would not take long to receive an appointment for a sitting. Did I not tell you that Mrs. Toller was eager for new business?"

Milly put down her teacup. "What does she say, dear?" Caroline read the note aloud.

Dear Mrs. Fordyce:

Regarding your request to experience a proper séance, I am delighted to inform you that I will be conducting one this very evening at nine o'clock. I have room for two additional sitters. You and your assistant are welcome to attend. I assure you that you will not be disappointed.

Yrs. very truly,
I. Toller

P.S. My sitting fees are itemized below. Payment is due before the séance begins.

Emma put down her spoon very slowly. "Promise us that you will be careful tonight, Caroline. I am still quite apprehensive about this venture that you and Mr. Hardesty have undertaken."

"They will both be fine," Milly assured her cheerfully. "What can go wrong at a séance?" She turned back to Caroline. "Emma and I are engaged to attend the theater with Mrs. Hughes this evening. Afterward we will no doubt play cards until all hours. You will be sound asleep, I'm sure, by the time we get home. But tomorrow we will want to hear every single detail concerning Mrs. Toller's performance"

"Never fear," Caroline said. "I will take notes"

Emma frowned. "What was that business about your assistant? Is that how you identified Mr. Hardesty in your message to Mrs. Toller?"

"Yes." Caroline smiled, pleased with her creative solution to the problem of Adam. "I introduced myself as the author who has been making observations at Wintersett House and told her that I would be accompanied by my assistant. As you can see, she did not hesitate"

Milly raised her brows. "Does Mr. Hardesty know that you have described him as such?"

"Not yet," Caroline said. "I will explain it to him on the way to the séance this evening."

"Now that promises to be a most entertaining conversation," Milly said dryly. "A pity I will not be there to hear it."

Caroline reached for a slice of toast. "Why do you say that?"

"Something tells me that Adam Hardesty is not accustomed to taking orders from anyone." . . .

At eight-thirty that evening Adam followed Caroline into the carriage and took the seat across from her.

"You told Irene Toller that I was your
what?"

"My assistant," she repeated calmly. "What else did you expect me to say? I did not think it wise to claim you as a distant relation for fear that we might stumble over some casual inquiry concerning our pasts and give ourselves away."

"Surely you could have come up with a more elevated position for me."

"I was afraid that any other explanation of your presence might convey the impression that you and I shared an acquaintance of an, uh, intimate nature." She smiled very brightly. "I certainly did not want to embarrass you with that sort of suggestion."

"I see." His initial reaction to the news that he had been assigned the lowly role of assistant to a writer of sensation novels had been mild exasperation tempered by wry amusement. Discovering that Caroline had gone out of her way to ensure that no one mistook him for her lover, however, had a decidedly lowering effect on his spirits.

Evidently she had not responded to that kiss in the carriage yesterday quite the same way he had. The moment of surprising passion had left him with an abiding restlessness and a sense of longing that had only grown more intense with the passing of time.

Tonight Caroline looked enchantingly mysterious in the soft golden glow of the carriage lamps, he thought. Her gown was composed of an amber-colored bodice and reddish-brown skirts. The hem of the dress pooled around her feet. A tiny confection of a hat was tilted at a provocative angle on her gleaming hair.

He suddenly wished that they were not on their way to a séance. He wanted nothing more in that moment than to be en route to some snug, secluded room where they could be alone with a warm fire and a comfortable bed.

"I'm sorry if you are offended by the role I assigned you, sir," she said briskly. "I thought it was a very clever notion" "It was certainly inventive," he allowed.

She frowned. "You did leave the matter of arranging the details of the séance to me, if you will recall."

"It seemed reasonable at the time. In hindsight, how-ever, I cannot help but wonder if it was a rather glaring error in judgment."

Her mouth twitched at the corners. "But surely you see that the position of assistant is the perfect cover for you. It will also ensure that you are not the object of gossip or rumor concerning your connection to me."

So she was amused by her little joke, was she?

"As I said, it was creative." He smiled coolly. "And I do appreciate your concern for my reputation. But as it hap-pens, it was unnecessary for you to worry about embarrassing me."

"I beg your pardon?"

"It would not have caused me any loss of sleep at all if you had chosen to imply that ours was an intimate connection." Her eyes widened. Her lips parted.

"Oh," she said.

Satisfied that he had made her pay with a blush, he folded his arms. "What exactly does an assistant to a writer do?"

"I have no notion whatsoever," she admitted. "I've never had one before."

"Then I shall just have to make it up as I go along, won't I?"

"Well, yes, I suppose so," she said, obviously reluctant to place too much responsibility in his hands. "Now then, regarding the séance, you do realize that the sitters are expected to follow certain rules that are understood by every-one present, do you not?"

"Let me hazard a guess concerning séance etiquette. I'll wager that no one is to question the effects produced by the medium, no matter how bizarre or outrageous they might be. Am I correct?"

"Quite correct."

"Perhaps in my role as your research assistant, I could get away with striking a light or turning over the table to examine the fittings underneath," he mused.

"Do not even consider it, sir." She gave him a quelling look. "May I remind you that we are not attending the séance so that you can have the satisfaction of exposing the medium. We will be there for the sole purpose of providing you with a close look at Mrs. Toller and the interior plan of her house."

He inclined his head. "Thank you for reminding me of my priorities in this affair."

Irene Toller's house was located on a quiet street in a modest neighborhood. Adam noted that the upstairs and most of the ground floor were dark. A pale, eerie glow shone through the decorative glass panes above the door.

"Mrs. Toller
evidently
does not believe in wasting money on lighting," he said to Caroline.

"Hers is a business that thrives in poor light.
^"

The housekeeper, a middle-aged woman of short stature

and compact build, answered the door. She wore a dress of some dull, black fabric that lacked any hint of luster. A white apron and a cap completed her uniform.

"This way, please," the woman said. "You are the last to arrive. The séance will begin shortly. You can pay me Mrs. Toller's fee now."

Adam caught a whiff of lavender scent. There was something vaguely familiar about the woman, he thought as he handed
over the money. He did
not recognize her face but he was certain that he knew her voice and the set of those sturdy shoulders.

It came to him as he followed her into the parlor. He gave Caroline a quick glance. She nodded, letting him know that she, too, recognized the woman.

Toller's housekeeper
had
been the widow in heavy mourning at yesterday's demonstration at Wintersett House; the one who had asked about the location of her late husband's missing shares of stock. Evidently, in addition to her traditional duties, she worked as the medium's assistant.

Adam followed Caroline into a small, over furnished parlor. A fire warmed the hearth. A photograph of the queen dressed in mourning hung above the mantel.

Two of the other sitters were women of a certain age. They introduced themselves as Miss Brick and Mrs. Trent. Both were gray-haired and dressed in sensible woolen gowns.

The third person was a fidgety man of about thirty-five who gave his name as Gilbert Smith.

Smith had pale blue eyes and lank, nondescript reddish-blond hair that was almost the same color as his ruddy complexion. His coat, shirt, waistcoat and trousers were ordinary in terms of quality and cut.

None of the three so much as blinked when Adam gave his name as Mr. Grove. He was satisfied that they did not recognize him. Not that he had expected any difficulty in that regard, he thought. This was not the world he inhabited.

There was, however, a small murmur of excitement from the two ladies when Caroline was introduced.

"I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Fordyce," Miss Brick exclaimed, animated and energetic. "Mrs. Trent and I do so enjoy your stories.
^"

"Yes, indeed." Mrs. Trent put her hands together in de-light. "That Edmund Drake is such a dreadful villain. I cannot wait to see what happens to him. Perhaps you will have him fall off his horse and tumble down a huge cliff into the sea?"

Adam noticed that Gilbert Smith had stopped toying with his walking stick. He was studying Caroline with thinly veiled interest.

"I rather like the notion of having Drake get shot by the hero, Jonathan St. Claire," Miss Brick said eagerly. "That way you could describe Drake's dying groans and the expression of agony and remorse on his face"

"Thank you for the suggestions,
^"
Caroline said in a light, polite way that did not invite further advice. "But I already have an end in mind for my villain. I trust it will prove to be a surprise for everyone" She smiled. "Especially Edmund Drake."

Adam felt his back teeth close tightly together. It occurred to him that every time Edmund Drake was mentioned, he clenched his jaw. It was becoming an exceedingly disturbing habit.

He forced a humorless grin. "Perhaps Mrs. Fordyce in-tends to astonish us all by having Drake avoid the usual unfortunate demise meted out to villains."

Miss Brick and Mrs. Trent stared at him as if he had gone mad.

"Talk about your startling incidents," he continued, warming to his own notion. "Only consider the effect on readers if she transformed Drake into the hero who saves the day and marries the heroine."

"I cannot imagine her doing any such thing," Mrs. Trent said with conviction.

"Of course not," Miss Brick added briskly. "Turn the villain into a hero?
Unthinkable."

Gilbert Smith gave Adam a speculative look. "May I ask what your interest is in tonight's séance, sir?"

"Mr. Grove is my assistant," Caroline said very smoothly before Adam could respond.

Smith frowned. "What does a writer's assistant do?" "You'd be amazed," Adam said.

Smith gave up on him and switched back to Caroline. "I confess that I am curious to know why an author would wish to attend a séance, Mrs. Fordyce."

"One of the characters who will appear in my next novel is a medium," Caroline explained. "I thought it would be a good idea to experience a few séances and observe some examples of psychical phenomena before I write those scenes."

Miss Brick was impressed. "You are here to do research?" "Yes," Caroline said.

"How exciting."

Smith shot another veiled, searching look at Adam. "And you are assisting her in this research?"

"I find my work extremely interesting," Adam said. "Never a dull moment."

The housekeeper loomed like a spirit manifestation in the doorway.

"It is time," she announced with a suitably portentous air. "Mrs. Toller is ready to begin the séance. Please follow me."

They followed her down another shadowy hall. Adam used the opportunity to note the location of the rear stairs and the entrance to the kitchen.

Midway along the corridor, the housekeeper opened a door. One by one the sitters filed into a darkened room and took their places at a cloth-draped table.