Wait Until Midnight

“Good heavens, I am home and we have not even discussed the next step in our investigation,” she said.

  He cracked open the door of the carriage and turned to step down onto the pavement. “Obviously we were occupied with other, more pressing matters.”

  Her laughter was as light and refreshing as a spring shower.

  “Oh, yes, I see what you mean.” She followed him out of the carriage and grew more serious. “I do hope you will not attempt to search Mrs. Toller’s house tonight.”

  “No.” He took her arm and started toward the steps. “I plan to wait until she and her assistant take themselves off to Wintersett House tomorrow afternoon for another demonstration of spirit writing.”

  “You know her schedule?” she asked, sounding surprised.

  “I made inquiries this afternoon.”

  “Ah, yes, your infamous inquiries. Well, I am relieved to hear that you do not intend to go sneaking about her house tonight.”

  He came to a halt at the top of the steps. “I would like to talk to you about the events that occurred at the séance this evening. There was one thing in particular that made an impression, aside from the mention of Mr. Fordyce. May I call upon you tomorrow?”

  “Yes, of course.” She reached into the pocket of her gown for her key. “What was it that caught your attention?”

  “The investment opportunity that one of the spirits mentioned to the two ladies.”

  “I remember. But I do not think it means much. I told you, it is quite common for mediums to predict that some of their sitters will come into a surprise inheritance.”

  “But this struck me as an unusually precise prediction.” He took the key from her hand and fitted it into the lock. “There were certain specific details, such as the fact that the man who approached them would identify himself as a friend of their deceased acquaintance.”

  “Yes, that’s true.”

  “The first time we spoke you mentioned that one of the sitters at Elizabeth Delmont’s last sitting received investment advice.”

  “Yes, you’re right,” she said. “And it was of a similar nature, now that you mention it. One of the spirits that Delmont summoned told Mr. McDaniel that he would soon be contacted by a gentleman who would mention the phantom’s name and provide him with information concerning a lucrative investment. But what does that have to do with murder and the missing diary?”

  “Perhaps nothing at all.” He opened the door. “But I admit that I find it very interesting that Toller and Delmont made such similar predictions to their sitters.”

  She stepped into the shadowed front hall and turned to look at him. “Do you think it suggests a link between the two mediums?”

  “It’s possible, yes.”

  “But Irene Toller and Elizabeth Delmont were rivals.”

  “Money makes for strange bedfellows. Just ask any of the husbands and wives in Society.”

  “That is a very cynical remark, Adam.”

  “I discovered long ago that one can answer a great many questions about anyone, high or low, if one first examines the source of his or her income.”

  “An intriguing observation. That reminds me, you said you had plans for that building in Stone Street. What are you going to do with it?”

  He hesitated and then decided that there was no reason not to tell her of his intentions. “I am making arrangements to turn it into a charity house for street children. It will be a place where they will be safe and well fed. They will be taught to read and write so that they can make their way in the world.”

  She gave him a soft, mysteriously knowing smile. “Of course. I should have guessed.”

  Surprised at the comment, he frowned. “How the devil could you have possibly—”

  “Never mind. It’s not important. Good night, Adam.”

  “Good night, Caroline.”

  “I cannot wait to get back to my new chapter in the morning,” she said. “I am suddenly brimming over with fresh ideas for my story.”

  The door closed very gently in his face.

  He stood there for a moment, bemused. At a time like this, some women would be worrying about their reputations or the possibility of pregnancy. Caroline appeared to be concerned only with the plot of her novel.

  He wondered if that should give him cause for alarm.

  TWENTY

  Shortly after nine-thirty the following morning, Caroline put down her pen and looked at the paragraph that she had just finished writing.

  Lydia began to suspect that Edmund Drake was not as he appeared on the surface. The hard, unyielding exterior he presented to the world concealed not just his secrets but perhaps a certain innate nobility of soul as well. He was not the sort to reveal his true nature easily, but she had learned enough about his character in the wake of the recent, disturbing events to cause her to question her original assumptions.

  Drake was most certainly a man of strong passions, she concluded, but those passions were held in check by a powerful will and a sense of honor that would put to shame the shallow code embraced by so many wealthy, well-born gentlemen.

  Drake made his own rules, and he lived by them.

  Satisfied, Caroline reached for another sheet of paper. The story was coming along nicely. The surprising twist in the character of Edmund Drake would certainly astonish her readers. Now all she needed was another startling incident with which to end the chapter and she would be finished with this week’s episode.

  She picked up her pen and tapped it lightly on the desktop. A runaway carriage, perhaps? No, that would be much too similar to an earlier incident. That sort of thing had to be spaced out carefully in order to create the desired effect.

  What was needed now was a scene of thrilling passion, she decided. Something along the lines of what she had experienced in Adam’s arms last night would be perfect.

  The exciting memories flooded back. She indulged herself in them once again, aware of tingling warmth in her lower body.

  Yes, a passionate embrace would be just the thing to end this chapter. Inspired, she started to write.

  In the shadowy light cast by the carriage lamps Lydia could see Edmund Drake’s eyes glowing like emerald coals taken from some supernatural fire. He took her into his arms, crushing her against his powerful chest.

  “My sweet, beautiful Lydia,” he whispered. “When I am with you I cannot seem to control

  “Mrs. Fordyce?”

  Caroline started in surprise. Her pen slipped, marring control. She looked up quickly and saw Mrs. Plummer standing in the opening.

  “Yes, what is it?” she said, trying not to let her impatience show.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you while you’re writing but this just came for you.” Mrs. Plummer walked into the room. She held an envelope in one hand. “A lad brought it around to the kitchen door a moment ago.”

  “A note?” Caroline was instantly wary. “It’s not from Spraggett, is it? He knows very well that the new chapter is not due until the end of the week. I vow, if he does not stop pestering me I am going to lose all patience and look for another publisher.”

  “No, I don’t think it’s from Mr. Spraggett. He always sends that young red-haired lad, Tom, when he wants to deliver a message to you. The boy who gave me this was a stranger.”

  Adam, Caroline thought. It had to be him. No one else had any reason to send her a message. Her pulse sparked and a pleasant sense of euphoria bubbled through her. Then it occurred to her that Adam might have dispatched the note to let her know that he had changed his mind about calling on her today.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Plummer.”

  Snatching the envelope from the housekeeper’s fingers, Caroline ripped it open.

  Dear Mrs. Fordyce:

  I must see you immediately. It concerns a message from the Other Side that was communicated to me last night after you left my house.

  Yrs.,

  I. Toller

  “How curious,” Caroline said, rereading the note. “It is from the medium.” br />
  “Which medium would that be, ma’am?”

  “Irene Toller. The one who gave the séance that I attended with my, uh, friend Mr. Hardesty last night.” She put the note down, rose quickly and started around the desk. “I wonder what on earth this is all about.”

  “Will you be going out, then, ma’am?”

  “Yes. This is a very interesting turn of events. I do not want to miss the opportunity. I am going straight upstairs to change into a walking dress.” She whisked through the door and then paused in the hall. “When my aunts return from their morning constitutional, please tell them that I had to pay a hasty visit to Mrs. Toller and that I shall be back in time for lunch.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Caroline hurried toward the stairs and then paused again when another thought struck her. “One more thing, Mrs. Plummer. Mr. Hardesty mentioned that he would pay a call sometime today. If he arrives before I return, will you please tell him that I will be back shortly and ask him to wait?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She was forced to let two dashing hansom cabs go past before a lumbering hackney presented itself. It was really most annoying not to be able to use a hansom, she thought, climbing up into the aging carriage. Not only did the design, with its open front and the driver up behind, appear as though it would provide the passenger with a marvelous view, the hansoms were considerably faster and more agile in the London traffic than other vehicles.

  Unfortunately, any lady, even a widow, who was seen riding in a hansom was considered to be fast in more ways than one.

  Sometime later the hackney stopped in the street in front of Irene Toller’s address. The house appeared just as bleak and gloomy this morning as it had the night before when it had been shrouded in fog and darkness, Caroline thought, alighting.

  She was concentrating so intently on wondering why Irene Toller had sent the message that she did not immediately take note of the small cluster of people standing about in the street in front of the house. When she realized that a crowd had gathered, a trickle of alarm coursed through her. Something was very wrong here.

  She caught snippets of conversation when she went up the steps.

  “The villain broke into her house while she was asleep is the way I heard it,” announced a woman who wore a housekeeper’s apron.

  “Can’t believe it happened right here in our street,” a maid whispered.

  “Never had any trouble like this in all the years I’ve lived here,” a matronly-looking female declared. “This is a respectable neighborhood.”

  Caroline’s alarm intensified. All she could think about in that dreadful moment of realization was Adam and his plan to search the premises. Had he changed his mind after he had taken her home? Had he come directly here instead of waiting until later today as he had planned?

  “Who’s that woman on the front step?” someone hissed behind Caroline. “Never saw her around here before.”

  Caroline ignored the curiosity and banged the knocker. Please don’t let this have anything to do with Adam.

  Heavy footsteps sounded in the narrow hall. The door opened. She found herself gazing at a large burly man in a constable’s uniform.

  “What would you be wanting at this address, madam?” he demanded.

  Panic shot through her. Had Adam been caught in the act of searching Toller’s house? Visions of him being clapped in irons and hauled off to a damp, dark prison seared her brain.

  She forced herself to speak calmly. “I received a message from Mrs. Toller a short while ago. Is something wrong?”

  “A message, you say?” The constable squinted a bit. “From the medium?”

  “Yes. I came immediately.”

  A short, spindly, thin man in an ill-fitting suit appeared behind the first man. There was a shrewd, no-nonsense air about him.

  “What’s going on out there, Constable?”

  “There’s a lady here, Inspector.” The policeman glanced back over his shoulder. “Says she got a message from the medium a short time ago.”

  “Well, now, isn’t that interesting?” The inspector came forward. “Very interesting, indeed. And who might you be, madam?”

  “My name is Mrs. Fordyce,” Caroline said. She managed to keep her voice firm but she could scarcely breathe. “I do not believe we have met.”

  “Inspector J. J. Jackson, at your service. What is your business here, Mrs. Fordyce?”

  The situation was growing worse by the second, Caroline thought. “As I just told the constable, I received a message. It sounded quite urgent.”

  A third figure emerged from the dark hallway behind the inspector.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Fordyce,” Adam said. He spoke in an extremely polite, very cool manner, as though they were on only the most formal of terms. “It is certainly a surprise to see you here.”

  Her stomach clenched. Her worst fears were confirmed. Adam had been caught inside Irene Toller’s house. There was no mistaking the message that he was sending her now with his chilly, impersonal air. He wanted her to pretend that they barely knew each other.

  She managed what she hoped was a bright, polite smile. “How nice to see you again, sir,” she said smoothly. She did not dare to address him by name because she had no way of knowing if he was using Hardesty or Grove. “I gather that you also received a message from the medium asking you to call this morning?”

  “Yes,” Adam said without any inflection whatsoever. “When I arrived I found Inspector Jackson and the constable here.”

  “I see,” Caroline said. She felt as though she were making her way through a field of nettles. “Was anyone hurt?”

  “You could say that Mrs. Toller was badly hurt,” Inspector J. J. Jackson announced solemnly. “She’s dead.”

  “Dead.” Unnerved, Caroline sat down hard on a small chair set against the wall directly beneath a row of iron coat hooks. “Dear heaven.”

  “Murdered in her séance room. The place was ripped apart. Furniture upended. Lamp broken. That sort of thing.”

  “Same as the other one,” the constable said with a knowledgeable nod.

  “Mrs. Toller appears to have been struck several times on the back of her head,” Inspector Jackson continued, remarkably matter-of-fact.

  “Just like the other medium,” the constable offered ominously.

  Caroline forced herself to think. “She cannot have been dead for very long.”

  J. J. Jackson rocked on his heels. “Murdered at midnight.”

  “Just like the other one,” the constable mumbled again.

  “Midnight? But that’s impossible. I just had a note from Mrs. Toller.” Caroline checked her watch. “It was delivered less than forty minutes ago.”

  Jackson raised one narrow shoulder in a shrug. “She must have written it last night and given it to her housekeeper to dispatch this morning.”

  Caroline looked around. “And just where is the housekeeper?”

  “She hasn’t turned up yet,” the constable said.

  “How did you learn of the murder?” she demanded.

  “Got an anonymous message,” Jackson said. “A tip, you might say. We depend on that sort of thing.”

  “What makes you so certain that Mrs. Toller was killed at midnight?” Caroline asked.

  Jackson cleared his throat and looked at Adam. “As it happens, we found a gentleman’s pocket watch on the floor beside the body. Mr. Hardesty and I were just discussing it when you arrived.”

  Mr. Hardesty. So Adam had given the inspector his real name. She did not know if that boded ill or not.

  “A watch?” she asked carefully.

  “Same as happened with the last one,” the constable said with another wise nod.

  Caroline recalled Adam telling her that he had seen a broken pocket watch next to Elizabeth Delmont’s body.

  “I don’t understand,” she said evenly. “What does the watch tell you about the time of the medium’s death?”

  “It appears to have been
smashed in the course of the struggle.” J. J. Jackson moved one hand in a dramatic fashion, a magician unveiling a new trick. “The hands are stopped at twelve o’clock precisely.”

  “Do you believe that the watch belonged to the killer?” she asked, her curiosity resurfacing.

  The inspector and the constable looked at her as if they found the question exceedingly strange. Another chill went through her.

  Adam folded his arms and leaned one shoulder against the wall. “The pocket watch in question is engraved with my name, Mrs. Fordyce.”

  “What?” She leaped to her feet, horrified. “But that’s not possible.”

  This was far worse than she had believed. This was a case of murder. Adam might hang. The image that came to mind made her feel quite faint.

  Struggling to conceal her panic, she gave Adam a quick, searching glance, silently asking for guidance. But his face remained grimly unreadable.

  “Those are the facts, ma’am,” Jackson announced. “No mistaking the name on the watch. Spelled out clear as a bell.”

  Caroline swung around to confront him. “I can assure you that Mr. Hardesty had nothing to do with the death of Irene Toller.”

  Inspector Jackson arched thick brows.

  “Mrs. Fordyce,” Adam said flatly, “I think it would be best if you refrained from commenting further on this affair.”

  It was an order but she had no intention whatsoever of obeying it.

  “Inspector Jackson,” she said in her most forceful tones. “I cannot explain how Mr. Hardesty’s pocket watch came to be at the scene of the crime, but I can assure you that Mr. Hardesty himself was nowhere near this house at midnight last night.”

  Adam’s jaw jerked in annoyance. “Mrs. Fordyce, you’ve said quite enough.”

  “And how does it happen that you are so certain of Mr. Hardesty’s whereabouts last night?” Jackson asked, politely curious.

  “Because Mr. Hardesty was with me at midnight, Inspector.” She raised her chin. “We attended a séance here at Mrs. Toller’s house earlier in the evening and then we left together in Mr. Hardesty’s carriage. The other sitters will confirm that.”