“Get them, Tibor.” The spiritualist shook her fists in rage, causing her shawls to flap around her like vulture’s wings. “Get them both.”
“I knew you’d been sneaking out at night.” He picked up a small stool as Tibor ominously cricked his neck from side to side and smacked his meaty fists together. “Gareth has been helping you, hasn’t he?”
A guilty blush heated her cheeks. “Only to procure a horse for the night. He did not—mind, he’s coming!”
Tibor thundered towards them. Her warning was superfluous as Julian had already taken the measure of their opponent. He unceremoniously pushed Nellie to one side before brandishing the stool as though he were a lion-tamer. The wooden floorboards shuddered as Tibor stampeded forward, a snorting, bellowing buffalo. Julian held his ground, and at the last second he darted sideways and swung the stool at Tibor’s head.
Bits of wood flew in the air as the stool shattered against the giant’s gleaming skull. He roared and shook his head. Madame Olga screeched like a banshee.
“I think we should leave,” Julian said.
Nellie hung back. “But I still need to ask her about—about…”
Julian sighed. “You mean Pip? You’ve been following him for several nights, have you not?”
The weary accusation in his tone made her bite her lip. She was about to speak when Tibor let out a high-pitched squeal and pawed at his screwed-up eyes. The ogre became a babe, blubbering unintelligibly while tears streamed down the boulders of his cheeks.
“You’ve blinded my poor Tibor.” Balling up her fists, Madame Olga rained blows on Julian’s shoulder. “Monster! Barbarian!”
Shrugging her off, Julian moved towards the weeping man. “I’m a doctor. Sit down and let me have a look.”
At his authoritative tone, the man sank down into a chair, submissive as a lamb. His massive shoulders shook like jelly, and he moaned as Julian persuaded him to lift his head.
“A large jug of clean water, if you please,” he ordered Madame Olga. She obeyed him without a word and returned with an earthenware pot. He proceeded to flush out Tibor’s eyes with water, while Madame Olga hovered close by, anxiously kneading the man’s shoulder. Finally, when the giant sat up blinking, his vision restored, she muttered something to him, he nodded, heaved himself out of the chair and disappeared behind the curtain.
“You can apply a chamomile compress to his eyes,” Julian instructed Madame Olga. “That should help ease any lingering discomfort.”
The woman nodded, her manner far more subdued. “Thank you. The poor sod has a lot of trouble with his eyes sometimes.” By now the medium had dropped all pretence at being foreign. Flouncing back her scarves, she slid her gaze towards Nellie. “So you know this veiled one and her prying questions?”
“She didn’t mean to upset you. She was merely seeking some information regarding the gentleman who visited you earlier.” He paused, then dug into the pocket of his coat and drew out a handful of coins. “Perhaps this will help with your memory.”
In a flash the coins disappeared into the folds of the woman’s shawls. She gestured towards the fallen table. “Why don’t we sit?”
Julian righted the table and chairs, and they all sat. Madame Olga repositioned the scarf on her hair, pushed up her jingling bracelets, and crossed her arms over her plump bosom.
“The gentleman calls himself Pip Barchester, but I’d bet a tenner that’s a false name. My clients often want to remain anonymous. He comes here several times a week, usually during the day, but at night too. He doesn’t stay long. He gets nervous, can’t keep still.”
“And what does he ask you to do?”
“First couple of visits ’twas his late mama he wished to talk with. I didn’t see him for a bit, but he started visiting again with a vengeance, and ever since then it’s just been the one thing. Always wants to get in contact with his dead wife. Nellie Barchester, she was.”
Nellie gulped audibly, but Julian did not look at her. “Go on,” he said to the medium.
“He tells her how sorry he is that she’s dead, how sorry she met with such a terrible end, how awful he feels about everything. He gets quite upset.”
The heavy veil pressed down on Nellie like a shroud. She felt a scream building up inside her. Next to her, Julian’s hand was a granite fist on his knee.
“And what do you tell him?” Nellie blurted out.
“I tell him his wife is at peace, that she loves him dearly and harbours no ill feelings towards him.”
“And he believes you?” Her voice pitched high in disbelief.
Madame Olga shrugged. “My clients come to me for absolution, forgiveness, for peace of mind. I give them what they seek. I need to put food on the table,” she added defensively as she registered their disapproval. “And besides, I’m being paid to soothe Mr. Barchester’s fears.”
“What do you mean?” Julian retorted.
“Last week a man came here. Said he was Mr. Barchester’s father, and he was very worried about his son on account of him being on the verge of a breakdown. He wanted to know why his son was coming here—much like yourselves, except he paid better—and when I told him everything, he said he’d pay me if I kept on telling Mr. Barchester the same things about his wife, except for one extra addition. I also had to tell him that his dead wife wanted him to remarry, insisted he promise to remarry, in fact.” She paused for a moment to contemplate their incredulous expressions. “Well, who’m I to argue with a bit of extra cash, especially as I was already doing as he wanted? Good little earner, this Mr. Barchester has turned out to be, but what a mess he is, poor wretch. I’m glad I never married him.”
Nellie leaped to her feet. Her head was pounding, and she thought she was going to be sick. She had to get out of this stifling room, away from Madame Olga’s clinking bangles and mercenary eyes. Half-blind, she pushed her way out of the room, stumbled down the stairs and rushed out into the street.
“Nellie, wait for me,” Julian called from behind.
She sucked in the night air, grateful for its coolness despite the whiff of urine rising from the gutters. Mercifully, the threat of throwing up passed. “I’m sorry I behaved so queerly, but I had to get out of there.”
“Why didn’t you tell me what you were up to?” he asked, his tone stiff. “If I’d accompanied you, you wouldn’t have run the risk of that lummox Tibor.”
She busied herself with her veil, pushing it this way and that. “I wanted to avoid an argument,” she finally muttered. “I guessed you might disapprove.”
“Disapprove of you roaming the streets of London at night by yourself? Disapprove of you shadowing your husband? The husband who seems weighed down with guilt over your death? You guessed correctly.”
She winced even as she tipped up her chin. “You’ve been urging me to venture abroad, and yet you’re displeased now that I have. How contrary of you.”
“Do not twist my words, Nellie.”
“Heavens above, I am married to a man whose father tried to do away with me. Is it any wonder that I’m chary of trusting people again?”
“I saved your life. Doesn’t that put me in a category beyond mere ‘people’?”
She swallowed. If only he knew how important he was becoming to her. Every discovery she made of her weakling husband only exacerbated her growing tenderness for this dark-eyed, golden-skinned man scowling before her.
“Julian,” she slowly replied, “you are in a category all of your own.”
“And what category is that?”
The keenness of his gaze became rapier-sharp, peeling back her layers. Her veil and the darkness were no defence against him. Did Julian want more from her? How shocking and exciting and terrifying all at the same time. Her blood fizzed at the idea of him wanting her, of she giving him everything, but fear and melancholy tamped her desire. A man so handsome as he surely couldn’t desire a woman so disfigured as she. No, it was madness. Besides, how could she bring herself to put her heart and trust into another person’s safekeeping again?