Quicksilver (25 page)

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Authors: Amanda Quick

BOOK: Quicksilver
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“Gilmore Leybrook,” Charlotte said. “He is the founder of the Institute. The blonde is his latest assistant, Adriana Walters. Leybrook has had a number of assistants.”
Nick appeared deeply intrigued. “Interesting.”
“Why do you say that? Because she is quite pretty?”
“
Hmm?
No.” Nick gripped the edge of the railing with both hands. “I find it all very interesting because Leybrook is showing a rather intense interest in Miss Dean. He is moving toward her now. The fact that Owen is by her side does not seem to have put him off in the least.”
Charlotte peered over the edge of the railing. “Oh, dear. You’re right. Good heavens, surely you don’t think that Leybrook has an unhealthy, obsessive interest in her?”
“Yes, I do,” Nick said. “And so does Miss Walters.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means, Miss Tate, that the danger to your friend is coming from a number of different quarters.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
 
G
ilmore Leybrook smiled at Virginia. “You and Mr. Sweetwater have caused quite a stir among the practitioners here at the Institute. I gather you have consented to allow him to study you while you work. How very daring of you, Miss Dean.”
Owen drank some champagne while he listened to Leybrook talk with Virginia. Idly he toyed with the notion of ripping Leybrook’s head off his shoulders. It would be a very pleasant, extremely satisfying project, but Virginia would probably not approve.
Good lord, I’m jealous,
he thought.
The realization jolted him. It had been so long since he had experienced the primitive emotion that he had almost failed to recognize it. There were, after all, other sensations that raised the hair on the nape of a man’s neck and induced a fierce, battle-ready tension that tightened every muscle in his body. Hunting had a similar effect. But there was nothing else on the face of the earth that twisted the gut and threatened to override common sense the way jealousy did.
Approximately a minute after she had made the introductions, Owen had concluded that the founder and director of the Leybrook Institute was intelligent, cunning and ruthless. No great insight or intuition was required to produce that analysis. Those qualities were only to be expected in the man who had managed to create a successful financial enterprise based, for the most part, on fraud and deception.
The truly intriguing thing about Leybrook was that the atmosphere around him was ever so slightly charged with the telltale energy of some strong talent. Many of his practitioners were frauds, but Leybrook himself possessed a strong psychical nature. That made him far more dangerous than any charlatan.
“Mr. Sweetwater is a professional researcher,” Virginia said. “I saw no reason not to allow him to observe me.”
Adriana Walters smiled at Owen. “How fascinating, Mr. Sweetwater. Do tell us what you have discovered about Miss Dean.”
Objectively speaking, Adriana was a stunningly beautiful woman, Owen thought. It was a pity about the eyes. They reminded him of the eyes of the clockwork dragon.
“I have no doubt at all about Miss Dean’s talent,” he said. “She is a very powerful practitioner.”
Leybrook looked at him, one dark brow elegantly arched. Icy speculation glittered in his eyes. “Unfortunately you did not come to the same conclusion about two other practitioners associated with the Institute.”
“I’m certain they will recover their careers,” Owen said. “It takes more than a few negative comments in the press to destroy a clever practitioner. The public is only too willing to believe. But then, I’m sure you already know that, Leybrook. You have built a very successful business on that concept.”
“Sadly, the two glass-readers who suffered mysterious and untimely ends in the past two months will not be able to recover, will they?” Leybrook asked softly.
Virginia froze. So did a number of other people in the vicinity. Heads turned. An acute and unnatural silence fell on the guests who happened to be standing nearby.
Adriana took a sharp breath. “Gilmore? What are you implying?”
Virginia’s expression tightened. “We all know what Mr. Leybrook is suggesting. He is trying to plant the notion that Mr. Sweetwater had something to do with the deaths of Mrs. Ratford and Mrs. Hackett. That is quite untrue.”
Leybrook turned back to her with an air of grave concern. “Can you be sure of that, Miss Dean? No one seems to know much about Sweetwater, aside from the fact that he evidently feels he has been appointed to pronounce judgment on practitioners such as yourself.”
“I am positive, sir,” Virginia said. She smiled coldly. “As it happens, I viewed the afterimages in the looking glasses at the scenes of the deaths. Both women were, indeed, murdered, but not by Mr. Sweetwater.”
Leybrook and Adriana were transfixed. So was everyone else, Owen thought.
“Are you certain they were murdered?” Leybrook demanded.
“Yes,” Virginia said. “Absolutely certain.”
Owen sensed energy heighten in the atmosphere. Leybrook was unnerved. Adriana had gone pale.
“How, damn it?” Leybrook demanded. “I heard that there were no marks of violence on the bodies. No sign of poison.”
“The spirits,” Adriana whispered. “The rumors are true. The glass-readers summoned deadly entities from the Other Side.”
Leybrook gave her a disgusted look. “Don’t be ridiculous, Adriana.”
“I assure you, no ghosts were involved,” Virginia said. “Just a cold-blooded killer.”
“Did you see his image?” Leybrook pressed. He was very intent, very focused.
“I have explained to you that I cannot see the faces of the killers in the mirrors. But Mr. Sweetwater was with me when I performed the readings. He was able to sense something of the psychical nature of the person who murdered Mrs. Ratford and Mrs. Hackett.”
Leybrook gave Owen a hard look.
“What did you learn about the killer?” Adriana asked uneasily.
“It was clear that the person who murdered Ratford and Hackett took an unnatural and unwholesome thrill of a sexual nature from the acts,” Owen said.
Adriana stared at him, appalled. “
Really,
Mr. Sweetwater.”
“Really, Miss Walters,” Owen said.
Leybrook’s eyes narrowed. “I fail to see how that observation rules you out as the killer, Sweetwater.”
Virginia smiled benignly. “I can assure you that Mr. Sweetwater’s passions, while strong, are not at all unnatural or unwholesome. Quite the contrary.”
Leybrook shot Owen another scathing look and then glowered at Virginia. “I think you’ve had a little too much champagne, Miss Dean.”
Virginia ignored that. “If Mr. Sweetwater were to commit a lethal act, I am certain that he would not derive a thrill from the business.”
“Certainly not a sexual thrill,” Owen said, gravely polite. “I prefer to get that sort of thing in the normal manner.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
 
W
ell, that certainly put the cat amongst the pigeons,” Charlotte observed. “For heaven’s sake, Virginia, why did you not simply wear a large sign on the back of your gown tonight announcing that you were involved in a romantic liaison with Mr. Sweetwater?”
“I didn’t think the sign would complement my dress,” Virginia said.
Charlotte glared at her. “I am serious.”
“Sorry,” Virginia said. “I could not seem to help myself. It is not as though the rumors about my relationship with Mr. Sweetwater were not already circulating.”
“Rumors of an affair are one thing. An outright declaration is quite another. Until tonight we could always hope that there were at least a few doubts about the nature of your relationship with Mr. Sweetwater. Leybrook looked furious. This could well destroy your career, Virginia.”
“I’ll survive. I do have one thing going for me.”
“What?”
“My talent is genuine.”
They were standing on the crowded front steps of the Institute, waiting for Nick and Owen to return with the carriages. It was nearly midnight. In the glary illumination from the gas lamps that bracketed the entrance, the busy scene looked as if it had been rendered in chiaroscuro, all light and shadow. The street was jammed with carriages and hansoms hoping for fares.
“Your talent may be real, but you know as well as I do that the average client cannot tell the difference between a fraud and the real thing,” Charlotte said. “The reason your business is flourishing is because of your connection to the Institute, not because you can actually read mirrors.”
“I did manage to make a living before I joined the Institute,” Virginia said.
“Yes, but you are earning far more now, thanks to Leybrook making this Institute fashionable.”
“Trust me, I am aware of the current state of my finances.”
“In any event, as if the damage to your reputation was not enough, Nick tells me that the entire exercise tonight has been wasted. He claims that any number of people appear to be obsessed with you, including Leybrook and Adriana.” Charlotte paused. “For somewhat different reasons, of course.”
“Nick? You are already so well acquainted with Nicholas Sweetwater that you refer to him by his first name?”
“It seemed the most convenient way to distinguish him from your Mr. Sweetwater,” Charlotte said. “It was getting confusing.”
“He’s not my Mr. Sweetwater.”
“Hah. That is no longer in doubt, thanks to your remarks to Adriana and Leybrook. Honestly, Ginny, what were you thinking?”
“I’m not sure I was thinking. I just did not care for the way Adriana was looking at Owen.”
“Gentlemen do have a difficult time looking her in the eye when they converse with her. Their attention tends to wander south. My point is that she is a nasty piece of work. If she thinks you are a threat to her position with Leybrook, there’s no telling what she might do.”
“I did get the warning about both of them from Pamela’s ancient Egyptian princess,” Virginia said. “But I very much doubt that Leybrook would be happy with me as his assistant, and I do not think that Adriana would murder me just because she lost her position.”
“I wouldn’t place any wagers on the lovely Adriana, if I were you,” Charlotte said. “That woman is a viper. I am convinced she could be dangerous.”
A voice rose out of the crowd on the steps: “Miss Dean, Miss Dean, one moment, if you please.”
Virginia turned to see Jasper Welch bustling toward her through the throng. She smiled. “Good evening, sir. I saw you earlier from across the room, but you appeared to be feverishly busy attending to D. D. Pinkerton.”
“He was being practically ignored. Everyone was trying to chat with Leybrook.” Welch came to a halt in front of her. “It was quite awkward, given that the reception was in Pinkerton’s honor. I felt obliged to do something to smooth over the insult.”
“It was very gracious of you,” Charlotte assured him.
“It has been a difficult evening.” Welch took out a handkerchief and wiped his brow. “I am very glad it is over. There are always so many details to attend to, and something always seems to go wrong. Poor Mrs. Fordham was overwhelmed. The caterer ran out of lobster canapés midway through the evening, and she was forced to send for more champagne.”
“You did a brilliant job, as always, Mr. Welch,” Virginia assured him.
Charlotte smiled. “Yes, it was a beautifully planned affair, sir. I do not know what Mr. Leybrook would do without you. I’m sure the Institute would collapse, were it not for your expert management.”
“I could not handle any of it if it were not for Mrs. Fordham,” Welch said. “She is a wonder.”
“Speaking of Mrs. Fordham, I did not see her tonight,” Virginia said.
“She was very busy behind the scenes,” Welch said. “The crowd was larger than we had anticipated. Miss Dean, the reason I wanted to speak to you was to apologize for the unpleasant gossip that is making the rounds.”
“Idle chatter,” Charlotte said firmly.
“And certainly not your fault, sir,” Virginia added.
Deep furrows of concern lined Welch’s brow. “Nevertheless, I am very sorry for any embarrassment you may have experienced tonight.”
“I shall recover,” Virginia assured him.
“Of course, of course.” Welch inclined his head in a small bow. “Dear me, I see Mrs. Harkins is having some difficulty managing the steps with her cane. If you will excuse me?”
“Of course,” Virginia said.
“Good evening, Mr. Welch,” Charlotte added.
They watched Welch scurry off to assist the aging Mrs. Harkins, a venerable practitioner who conducted séances twice weekly on Wednesday and Friday nights.
“The woman may be suffering from rheumatism,” Charlotte observed softly, “but she is still doing more business than most of her competitors. I hear that she recently raised her séance fees yet again, and now counts Lady Bingham among her regular clients.”

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