Second Sight

  “In any event,” Gabriel concluded, “the one intruder who got away that night reported back to Stilwell that a photographer had been on the premises.”

  Hippolyte shook his head in disgust. “John Stilwell considered himself a modern man of science. He was fascinated with Mr. Darwin’s theories because he thought that they confirmed his belief that he was naturally superior. He was sadly mistaken.”

  “He certainly was,” Edward said, ghoulishly gleeful. “Just look at what his destiny proved to be. In the end, the mighty Mr. Stilwell was finished off by a lowly viper.”

  They all looked at him.

  Gabriel started to laugh. “Well put, Edward. Well put, indeed.”

  “It was, all in all, an interesting example of the delicate balance of nature,” Beatrice mused. “It would seem that this evolution business may be rather more complicated than John Stilwell believed.”

  Edward’s expression crunched up in an attitude of serious concern. “What will happen to the insects and the fish that Mr. Stilwell kept in his laboratory?”

  Gabriel made a face. “I can tell you from personal experience that there were very few, if any, fish left in the aquarium.”

  Venetia shuddered. “Fortunately for you, sir. There is no telling what dangerous creatures Mr. Stilwell put in that tank.”

  “As for the insects and snakes,” Hippolyte said, “I contacted an associate of mine who is a naturalist. He took charge of the creatures. I expect most will end up in his collection.”

  “Well then, this affair is very nearly concluded, is it not?” Marjorie announced with satisfaction. “The villain is dead. The formula has been recovered. The only outstanding problem appears to be Rosalind Fleming.”

  “When you consider the matter closely,” Venetia said, “she was merely another one of John Stilwell’s victims. But I still wonder why she took such a great dislike of me.”

  “I can tell you the answer to that,” Gabriel said. He folded his arms on the desk. “It is in Stilwell’s journal.”

  “Well?” Venetia prompted.

  “I believe I mentioned that Stilwell had begun to doubt Mrs. Fleming’s psychical talents. But the more he learned about a certain Mrs. Jones, the more he became convinced that she might very well possess strong, genuine paranormal abilities.”

  Venetia started violently. “He wrote about me?”

  Edward frowned. “You mean Mr. Stilwell decided that he wanted to marry Venetia instead of Mrs. Fleming?”

  “He was just beginning to formulate such a plan when I recovered from my dreadful fall into the canyon, regained my memory and returned home to the arms of my lovely bride,” Gabriel said.

  “I see,” Venetia said quietly. “Rosalind Fleming hated me because she feared that she was losing John Stilwell’s affections. She knew he was considering replacing her with me. She was jealous.”

  Beatrice nodded once. “I did tell you that a woman in her position is always aware that her future hangs by a thread.”

  “But whatever gave John Stilwell the notion that I might have some psychical talents?” Venetia asked.

  Gabriel looked very steadily at his father. “I believe I will allow you to answer that one, sir.”

  “Certainly,” Hippolyte said. Enthusiasm lit his eyes. “Stilwell reasoned that if you were, indeed, married to Gabe, it was highly likely that you possessed true psychical gifts.”

  Venetia was clearly baffled. “I fail to see why he would automatically leap to that conclusion.”

  “Why, because everyone on the Council, including Ogden Stilwell, is aware that there is a strong tradition in the society,” Hippolyte said. “The heir to the Master’s Chair always searches for a bride who possesses psychical talents of her own.” He smiled fondly at Marjorie. “Take my own dear wife, for example. You do not ever want to play cards with her. She can read what you hold in your hand as clearly as though it were written on the reverse side.”

  Marjorie smiled benignly. “It was a useful talent in my younger days, I must admit. It certainly served to attract your interest, Hippolyte.”

  He grinned affectionately. “Lost a fortune to you before I knew what had hit me.”

  “What?” Venetia was aghast. “Mr. Jones, are you telling me that you chose me as a bride for your son merely because I can see auras?”

  “I wasn’t sure of the nature of your talents,” he said. “But I knew that there was some psychical element in your nature that would complement Gabe’s.”

  “I see,” Venetia said grimly.

  Belatedly Hippolyte appeared to realize that he might have blundered. He looked helplessly at Marjorie, seeking direction.

  Marjorie looked very steadily at Venetia. “You misjudge my husband’s goal in this matter,” she said quietly. “Hippolyte was interested only in Gabe’s happiness. Gabe’s talents have caused him a great deal of private anguish over the years. He was becoming increasingly remote and isolated. He was spending more and more time with his books. My husband and I both feared that if he did not find a woman who could understand and accept the psychical aspects of his nature, he might never know true love.”

  “It was obvious that Gabe wasn’t having any luck finding the right woman,” Hippolyte said earnestly. “So I took it upon myself to do so.”

  No one spoke.

  “I think,” Marjorie said, rising to her feet, “that we had best let Gabe and Venetia discuss this in private.”

  She led the way out of the library, the skirts of her gown sweeping the carpet with regal grace. Without a word, everyone except Venetia got up to follow.

  The retreat was a hasty one, Gabriel noted. Indeed, it was a wonder they did not all trample one another on the way to the door.

  42

  GABRIEL LOOKED AT HER across the desk.

  “Will you marry me?” he asked.

  Venetia was stunned speechless. She had been prepared to launch into a forceful lecture listing all of his transgressions. But the simple question turned her world upside down.

  “Before you give me your answer,” he said, “hear me out. I am aware that our meeting at Arcane House was arranged by my father. But in my own defense, I can only say that I did not realize it back at the beginning. I did not deduce what had happened until I began to suspect that you possessed some psychical ability. My father, of course, sensed it immediately when he met you and purchased some of your photographs.”

  “Why do you say he knew it immediately?” she asked, momentarily distracted.

  Gabriel smiled. “That is his particular talent. He can sense psychical gifts in others.”

  “I see.”

  “It is true that he is a great supporter of Mr. Darwin’s theories, and it is also true that there is a long-standing tradition in the Arcane Society that holds that the person who assumes the Master’s Chair will search for a bride who also possesses paranormal talents. I, however, had made it clear that I would not be bound by that tradition.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes. What is more, my parents supported me in that decision. But then my father found you for me. And you seduced me into a night of passion that I will remember for the rest of my life.”

  She looked down at her clasped hands. “I had no right to do that. But I was so sure that you were the right man and that Arcane House was the right place.”

  “Yes, I know. You have already explained the tropical island theme.”

  She knew she was turning pink. “This is very embarrassing, sir.”

  “The thing is, Venetia, although I was taken by surprise by my father’s scheme, I have come to the conclusion that he was right.”

  “What?” She shot to her feet. “You want to marry me because of my psychical abilities? Are you implying that we are a pair of sheep that should be bred because we each possess an unusual type of wool that may be passed on to our offspring?”

  “No.” He was on his feet, too, facing her across the desk. “That came out badly. Allow me to explain.”

&nbsp
; “What is there to explain?”

  “I don’t want to marry you because you happen to be able to see auras. Devil take it, what sort of basis would that be for a marriage?”

  “A very poor one, I should think,” she said.

  “Your ability to see auras is akin to the color of your hair, as far as I am concerned. Interesting, to be sure, but not a reason to marry you.”

  “Well then? Why do you want to marry me?”

  His jaw tightened. “There are a great number of reasons.”

  “Name one.”

  “There is the obvious fact that in the eyes of the world we are already married.”

  She was crushed. “In other words, it would be convenient for both of us to turn fiction into fact?”

  “I said there were a lot of reasons. We share a mutual respect and admiration. In addition, we find each other stimulating.”

  “Stimulating?”

  “Your word, Mrs. Jones. I would remind you that you set out to seduce me when we first met because you found me stimulating. Has that aspect of my nature changed?”

  “No,” she admitted.

  He came around the desk and caught her shoulders with both hands. “I find you equally stimulating. I think you know that.”

  “Gabriel—”

  “Intellectually and physically as well as metaphysically,” he assured her.

  “Gabriel, hush.” She put her fingers across his lips to silence him. “I believe you when you say that you are not asking me to marry you to please your father or because you want to honor an Arcane Society tradition.”

  He smiled slowly. “Then we are making progress.”

  She shook her head. “I suspect that you are asking me to marry you because you feel responsible for all that has happened.”

  He stopped smiling. “What are you talking about?”

  “The fact that, even though I seduced you first, I was, after all, a virgin. In addition, you feel responsible for the danger that developed around me and my family because I photographed the collection at Arcane House. You are an honorable man, Gabriel. A man of integrity. It is perfectly natural that you would assume a sense of duty and obligation toward me because you blame yourself for the events that transpired.”

  To her shock, he started to smile his secret, seductive smile.

  “You’ve got it backwards, my sweet,” he said.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I allowed myself to be seduced back at the start of this affair because I had already concluded that you were the only woman for me. I fell in love with you the night you walked into Arcane House with your precious camera in your arms.”

  She was shocked almost breathless. “Truly?”

  “When you set out to seduce me, I realized that you were attracted to me but that you had no long-term arrangements in mind. I told myself that if I was very clever and bided my time, if I let you do the seducing, I might be able to make you fall in love with me, too.”

  “Oh, Gabriel.”

  “I had a strategy. A hunting strategy, if you will. Then those two intruders showed up and everything spun into chaos. At least for a time. But now matters appear to have come right again. So, I ask you again, will you marry me?”

  “You do understand that Amelia, Edward and Beatrice are part of the package, don’t you?” she said, anxious to be clear.

  “Of course. They are family. I think they like me well enough, don’t you?”

  She smiled. “They are all quite fond of you.”

  He captured her hand and kissed the palm. “What about you, my love? Are you fond of me, too?”

  She felt a great lightness rise within her. It was a wonder her feet did not leave the ground, she thought.

  “I love you with all my heart,” she whispered.

  She heard the library door open just as Gabriel pulled her into his arms. She turned her head and saw Beatrice, Amelia, Edward, Marjorie, Hippolyte and Mr. Montrose crowded in the doorway.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Hippolyte said. “Thought we’d better see how things were progressing in here.”

  Gabriel looked at the group of expectant faces. “I am happy to report that I will soon be moving out of that attic.”

  43

  THE NEXT DAY Venetia was in the sunny studio at the back of the gallery, arranging props for a portrait sitting, when Gabriel appeared.

  “It appears that Rosalind Fleming, using a different name, purchased a ticket on a steamship that sailed for America this morning,” he said.

  “Good heavens.” Venetia straightened, dusting off her hands. “Are you quite certain?”

  “I spoke with the clerk who sold her the ticket. He confirmed the description of Mrs.Fleming. I also interviewed two dockside workers who assisted a lady matching Fleming’s description with what was evidently a vast amount of luggage. My father went to her house today. It has been vacated. The servants said that their mistress had departed on an extended stay in America. They did not know when she would return.”

  Venetia thought about that. “Fleeing to America is the logical thing for her to do, when you think about it. With Stilwell dead, she has lost a great deal. She will no longer be receiving expensive gifts and money from him and she can no longer move in Society. Her only choice would have been to change her name again and return to her career as a blackmailing medium.”

  “Whereas in America she will be able to get a fresh start as a blackmailing medium,” Gabriel said dryly.

  “No doubt. Something tells me that Rosalind Fleming can take excellent care of herself.”

  44

  THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON Venetia took her customary route past the cemetery to the gallery. She had a parasol hoisted high in one hand and her appointment book tucked under her other arm. The message from Maud had arrived shortly before noon.

  Mrs. Jones:

  A very important person has requested to meet with you at four o’clock this afternoon at the gallery. He has booked a series of portraits of his daughters and wishes to discuss the theme of the photographs. He fancies the Inspiring Ladies of History program.

  Please send word if the time is not convenient.

  Venetia had found the time quite convenient. Maud’s instinct for identifying Very Important Persons was unerring.

  She stopped in surprise when she saw that the shades were pulled down over the windows of the Jones Photographic Gallery. A small CLOSED sign dangled on the other side of the glass door.

  It was not yet four. Maud had no doubt slipped out for a few minutes to treat herself to a cup of tea and a bite to eat before the new client arrived.

  Venetia selected a key from the chatelaine attached to the waist of her gown.

  Her uneasiness grew when she opened the door of the shop and walked inside. The silence should have felt normal but for some obscure reason it seemed wrong.

  “Maud? Are you here?”

  There was a faint stirring in the backroom. Relieved, Venetia hurried around the counter.

  “Maud? Is that you?”

  She grasped the edge of the curtain that separated the front room of the shop from the back and pulled it aside.

  Maud was on the floor in the corner. She was bound and gagged. She stared at Venetia with wide, frantic eyes.

  “Dear heaven,” Venetia whispered.

  She started forward.

  Maud shook her head violently and mumbled something unintelligible. Too late Venetia realized she was attempting to signal a warning.

  There was movement to the right. Rosalind Fleming stepped out from behind a stack of cartons containing framed prints of the Men of Shakespeare series.

  She was dressed from head to toe in deep mourning, which, Venetia realized, made a very effective disguise. Rosalind had crumpled the heavy black veil up onto the brim of her black hat.

  She had a small pistol in her black-gloved hand.

  “We make an interesting pair of widows,” Venetia said.

  “I have been waiting for you, Mrs. Jones,
” Rosalind said. “I didn’t want to leave town without my portrait. I do hope it turned out well.”

  An invisible psychical wind stirred the hair on the nape of Venetia’s neck. It was not just the sight of the gun that was disturbing her senses. There was something strange about Rosalind’s eyes. They appeared unnaturally brilliant, strangely compelling.

  “You were reported to be on a ship that sailed for New York yesterday,” Venetia said, stalling for time.

  Rosalind smiled coldly. “I did, indeed, purchase a ticket. But it is for passage on another ship, one that sails tomorrow. It was very simple to convince the clerk at the other shipping company that he had sold me a ticket for yesterday’s sailing, however.”

  “Two dockhands helped you with your luggage.”

  “No, they merely believe that they assisted me.”

  “You mesmerized all three of them and planted memories in their heads. My goodness, Rosalind, you’ve certainly come a long way from your days as a small-time medium.”

  Rosalind stopped smiling. “I am no carnival-act mesmerist. I never was that. I possess a psychical talent for mesmerism.”

  “A very rudimentary talent, according to Stilwell’s notes.”

  “That is not true.” The gun in Rosalind’s hand trembled with the force of her sudden rage. “He was going to marry me until you came along.”

  “Was he?”

  “Yes. I was his true mate. He never doubted that until you showed up as Mrs. Jones. He only wanted you because he became convinced that Gabriel Jones had selected you as a wife. He believed that Jones would only marry a woman possessed of strong psychical abilities, you see.”

  “I thought you preferred your status as a widow. You once pointed out all the benefits to me in great detail, as I recall.”

  “It would have been different with John Stilwell.”

  “Because in the guise of Lord Ackland, he could give you two things you could not obtain without marriage: a secure place in Society and access to a fortune.”

  “I deserved a position in Society,” Rosalind said fiercely. “My father was Lord Bencher. I should have been an heiress. I should have been raised with his daughters. I should have been educated at the best schools. I should have married into the highest circles.”