For the Earl's Pleasure (16 page)

She lifted the covers and swung her feet from the bed. She was surprised Telly hadn’t been in to wake her already. The light had already started to seep past the drapes—around the edges that hadn’t been tightly fastened.

She paused for a moment to listen to the bustling of the servants going about their tasks, a muted conversation somewhere in the hall, the birds chirping a violent melody outside.

Aunt Effie sat in her corner, an almost pensive cast to her face as she raised her teacup. She usually was chattering incessantly by this time of the morn.

“Is something amiss, Aunt Effie?” she asked absently, not expecting an answer as she pushed from the bed to the floor.

“No.”

Abigail landed heavily on her feet, jerking to stare at the apparition who suddenly smiled bat-tily and waved her teacup. “Just thinking about my lemons. Dreadful winter. Spring is coming though. The blooms are so lovely. The lemons so tantalizing. And soon, soon it will be summer.”

Abigail continued to stare. Aunt Effie had a very rigid routine—she had since the day Abigail had moved into the house years ago and adopted her as an “aunt.” Never had she said the like.

“I’ve always loved summer,” Abigail carefully replied, not knowing what type of response she might receive, if any.

“Oh yes, dear.” The spirit looked directly at her. “I’m sure that you have. Lovely memories, yes?”

Through her shock Abigail acknowledged that most of her summer memories were good ones. Romping with Valerian, and then waiting for him to return from Eton those few precious years between his start there and the end of their friendship.

“I’m sure that you will have many more, dear.” Effie raised her cup to drink, watching her over the edge.

“I…” Abigail wet her lips. “Why are you suddenly chatting with me like this, Aunt Effie?”

The spirit tilted her head and opened her mouth to answer.

Valerian burst through the door. “There is a man downstairs asking for you. I dislike the look of him.”

“Really, Valerian, you promised to help me with my suitors—”

“He’s not a suitor, Abigail.”

Something in his tone made her pause.

“Dreadful winter.” Aunt Effie shook her head and started chatting about tea and Mabel, the same words she’d always used, the same actions she’d always performed. As if nothing had changed.

Abigail frowned, but turned to Valerian. “I don’t understand. You mean a man paying a social visit? Or a constable?”

She thought of the stolen ledger. Did it count if you only had possession of the stolen item for a few short minutes?

“Neither. Hurry and get dressed, then leave down the back stairs.”

She stared at him. “Whatever for?”

“I told you, I don’t like the look of him. Your mother sent Mrs. Browning a note saying you would not be attending your appointments this morning due to sickness. This man appeared soon after.”

Fear trickled through her, but she clamped it down before it could spread to panic. “What does the man look like?”

“Small, brown-haired.” He waved a hand. “Barely descript. I’d never notice him in a crowd. But I don’t like his eyes.”

“Does he carry a cane?” Please, no.

Valerian’s eyes narrowed. “Silver-handled, shape of a snake.”

The room tilted.

“Abigail? Abigail, what the devil?”

Yes, those were the appropriate words. She looked up to see Valerian holding her arms, steadying her.

“You know the man. Who is he?”

She laughed a little hysterically. “Oh, no one important.”

There was a knock on the door. “Miss?”

“Tell your maid to help you escape,” he demanded.

She opened her mouth, but the handle turned, and her mother appeared in the door instead, brows furrowed.

“Abigail, you must dress quickly,” her mother said.

“No.”

“Abigail!”

“Mother,” she whispered. “Why?”

Her mother didn’t ask how she knew. “Because you need help. If you already know who is below, then your problem never disappeared. You lied to me.”

Abigail shook her head. “Please.”

Her mother looked away. “It is for the best, Abigail. Believe me. Everything will be better. You will be happier. Remember when you were happy?”

“I’m happy now, Mother.”

“No, you haven’t been happy for a long time, Abigail. Let him make this right.”

“You can make it right by making him leave.” Her voice rose, a hysterical edge to the words. “You know what he wants to do.”

Something passed over her mother’s face. “I told him he couldn’t. He’s just going to speak with you. Maybe do a few exercises.”

“Abigail, tell me what is going on. Right now,” Valerian’s voice said in her ear.

“No.” She answered to both. “Send him away, Mother.”

“No, Abigail.” Her mother lifted her head. “Mrs. Browning has already begun to suspect something is off. She is asking questions that I cannot answer.”

Coldness washed through her. “This was your idea, Mother. This whole thing was your plan. What are you going to do if I don’t speak with him? Take us back to the country? Leave society? Your obsession, not mine.”

Her mother’s lips tightened and her eyes clouded. “It is for your own good. Can you not see what a better life you will have?”

Abigail wanted to sob. “Yes, I can see what you want, Mother. And it is working well enough as it is. Don’t do this.”

“It will help.” The firm conviction in her mother’s voice stopped her for a moment. “Believe me. All you have to do is rid yourself of the curse, and you will feel—”

“Much, much better.”

Her heart stopped as the brown-haired, brown-eyed, non-descript man moved around her mother and through the open door. There was a sharp, calculating look in his eyes, and in the confident, slick way he moved, tapping his cane to a beat that demanded attention and obedience.

“Who is he?” Valerian demanded.

“It has been a long time, Miss Smart, has it not?” He placed a satchel down near the dressing table and began unbuttoning his left cuff, curling it up.

“Dr. Myers,” her mother said softly. “You should be waiting in the drawing room.”

The doctor shot her mother an oily smile. “But I know Miss Smart quite well already. I didn’t think she would mind.”

“I do mind. Get out.”

“Oh, so feisty still.” He rolled his right cuff. “It has been far too long, Miss Smart.”

“Mother, tell him to get out.”

“Now, Mrs. Smart, you know that this is for her own good. She will be far better served if you left us alone. I will keep to my promise.” He smiled. It was not a nice smile, but her mother nodded and turned to leave, not meeting Abigail’s eyes.

“Mother, I will never forgive you.”

She hesitated in the doorway. “Someday, Abigail, you will thank me.” She closed the door. The lock turned on the other side.

“Smart, answer me, who is he?” Valerian shook her arms, trying to gain an answer.

Effie gave a sympathetic wail in the corner and slipped through the wall.

“Dr. Myers, you should leave. I have not invited you into my bedroom, which is beyond socially egregious.”

“Oh, but we must get reacquainted, Miss Smart. Far better for you to remember what you are missing out on by not giving yourself over to me for a full treatment.” His eyes strayed to the bed, and she gripped Valerian’s arm for a second before tearing herself away.

“I find your treatments foul, just as I find everything else about you.” She strode to her dressing table, seemingly putting things in order on top while trying to find a useful weapon. Never losing sight of the intruder through the looking glass. It was always a very bad idea to take her eyes away from Dr. Myers.

“Shall we start with the most boring part of this intervention?” He walked toward her and she unconsciously backed away. He smiled and pulled her dressing chair away from the table and sat in it, leaning his cane against his leg and his bag on top of the table. “The questions?”

She said nothing, moving away to the other side of the room, looking for anything that might aid her.

“Are you still seeing ghosts, Miss Smart?”

“No, only jackasses.”

Valerian circled the man, examining him. He looked up sharply at the mention of ghosts and wisely, thankfully, remained silent.

“That is not what your mother thinks. Seems she believes that the treatments I used at our last meeting didn’t cure you of the evil.”

“Well, Mother has been quite stressed lately. The season will be coming to a close in a month. She is feeling the pressure.”

“Ah, yes.” He smiled. “Pressure for you to marry well. To secure a place in society.”

She didn’t answer.

“So interesting, your case.” He opened his bag and began rummaging through the contents. “My father knew your mother when she was a child blooming into a woman. Lovely girl, I was told. Much like yourself.”

Abigail spotted her shears on the bed table beneath her book and grabbed them, hiding them in her skirts.

He pulled something from the bag, a strap, long, leather and whipcord thin. “I did promise your mother that I would not perform the final test, but she knows it will eventually be necessary. She just couldn’t bring herself to give me permission. Not that I require permission, necessarily.” He smiled. “But then, if you admit everything to me, perhaps it will not be necessary after all.”

“No. There is nothing to say, and I won’t let you.”

“Ah, innocence still. Lovely.” He smiled, satisfied. “So, Miss Smart, did you ever stop seeing the spirits or did you just convince your mother that you had? You know that I never believed you.”

“I know you didn’t,” she spat. “You didn’t care anyway, just wanted to give the ‘full’ treatment. You are a deranged lunatic, far more crazy than I.”

“Ah, so you admit your madness.”

She laughed harshly. “I admit your madness only.”

“Ah, but that—”

Valerian punched a hand through the man’s head before she could say anything to stop him. “I don’t like him. How do I get rid of him?”

Dr. Myers stopped and tilted his head. “Cool air. He is here now. In the room. Tell me his name.”

Abigail couldn’t stop her spine from going rigid. Those who were sensitive could feel the ephemeral touch of spirits—like a mist wrapping around the skin—rather than just the simple cold they exuded. The man in front of her had made it his trade to be able to feel them.

Dr. Myers smiled, satisfied. “Someone important? Or are you just nervous? Come now, Miss Smart, tell me who he is?”

Abigail said nothing.

“I see I am correct on all accounts without you having to admit a word. How did you pick him up? Is he haunting the house or you?”

“I don’t know of what you speak.”

Myers tilted his head. “Tut. It took
death
to finally snare his interest. You must have been ecstatic.”

A thousand warnings fired. He knew. Somehow he knew. “You are mad.”

“We fit so well then, do we not? I offered to teach you the many ways our madness could fit together, but you so prettily denied the offer.” He withdrew another strap.

He withdrew a bottle of liquid and she went still. Her eyes met Valerian’s and with everything in her she tried to will him to move. His eyes narrowed, and he moved toward the window.

“Do you remember what I did to your last spirit? Or at least the last one you admitted to seeing. Certain tools are so helpful.” He uncapped the bottle and sniffed the contents. “You were such a sad girl, but it was for the best. No one can live a full life talking to the dead.”

“How would you know? You don’t even deserve a half life.”

He smiled. “I think you like this one. But then you like all of them. Such a lonely girl. So sad after the duke’s new heir was through with you. Turning to whoever would give you comfort. But you turned to the spirits, when you should have turned to me.” He swirled the container. “Now point him out, Miss Smart, and we will make some progress. It will be easier for you if you cooperate.”

“No. I told you, I don’t see spirits.”

His smile grew. “Of course you don’t.” He rose and began idly walking around the room. She tried not to react as he neared Valerian.

“What is that liquid, Abigail,” Valerian asked, eyeing the bottle.

She couldn’t afford to answer Valerian directly. “What has ever made you think that spirits disappear to hell when you douse them with that, doctor?”

“Experience, Miss Smart. Oh, and your lovely reaction when I killed your friend. She never returned, did she?”

“You are vile.”

“I am quite brilliant actually.”

Valerian stepped through the bed and behind her. “What does he mean he can kill spirits? He killed your friend?”

“Of course, should you wish to let your new
friend
survive, we could discuss alternatives,” the madman said. “I would be severely punished, of course, but it would be worth it. I offer you a better option, believe me. Finish the treatment, Miss Smart. It will cure you of”—he waved his hands around, a bit of the liquid spilling to the floor, steam rising from the drop—“everything.”

“No.” Her mind whirled at his words. Punished by whom? Why? How many people knew? What was happening?

“Tsk, tsk. Letting him go to hell.”

“Get out.” She kept her gaze on the doctor, but directed the words to Valerian. “Get. Out.”

The doctor smiled in understanding. “Oh, but I have set up wards to disallow that. Fennel and onions, such a dastardly combination.”

Valerian spoke lowly behind her. “I can’t leave. There is a barrier. I feel it.”

But Aunt Effie had managed to escape. There must be a small hole in the corner that the doctor had missed. Perhaps a break in the wall to the connecting room.

She addressed the doctor, trying to give Valerian more time. “So you already believed I had a spirit following me.”

“I did.” He glanced around with his eyes, his head staying perfectly tilted. “The reports confirmed that you have been talking to one for days. Confirmed everything.”

Reports? Ice froze her blood like a lake in winter, starting at the edges and shooting toward the center.

“Reports? Who would report to you?”