“Sure,” I said. “Thanks.”
I sat.
This room, which was a bedroom in the suite I shared, and in the suite shared by Mrs. Allardyce and Miss Turner, was a kind of parlor here. Off to the left was the door that led to her bedroom.
The furniture here was just as old as the furniture in mine, but it was light and feminine, with a lot of fluffs and flounces and floral patterns. There were old paintings on the walls misty landscapes and pictures of vases filled with flowers. There were more flowers, maybe just as old, embroidered into the carpets on the floor. And more of them, older still, embroidered into the scent of her perfume.
She poured brandy from a pale green bottle into two snifters that sat on a dark wood sideboard. She set down the bottle, lifted the snifters, and carried them over. She stepped lightly around the coffee table and she handed me a snifter and sat down on my left. She moved like someone who had practiced moving, years ago, until she got it exactly right and then never needed to think about it ever again.
She sat with her body leaning slightly toward the room and her knees together beneath the robe. To the late Earl, she said, and raised her glass.
I raised mine. “To the Earl.” I sipped at the brandy. “You knew he was dead,” I said. “Before the seance.”
“Alice told me.” She lowered the snifter to her lap and held it with both hands. “Are you really planning to fight with David tomorrow morning?”
“Looks like it.”
“You feel that this is absolutely necessary?”
“It is now.”
“I’ve heard that David’s a very good boxer.”
“He probably is.”
“And what does Mr. Houdini think about this?”
“He thinks it’ll be a swell performance.”
She raised an eyebrow. “He isn’t concerned for you?”
“Everything Harry does, he does better than anyone in the world. He probably thinks that I wouldn’t have gotten into this unless I could pull it off.”
“And can you?”
“I guess we’ll find out.”
“You aren’t concerned for yourself?”
“Wouldn’t help any.”
She sipped at her brandy, eyed me over the snifter. “Is that bravery speaking, or stupidity?”
“Stupidity, probably.”
She smiled. “But just now, shouldn’t you be getting some rest?
I know I asked you here, but that was before this bout of yours was arranged. I shouldn’t be offended if you wish to leave.”
“Thanks,” I said, “but I’m not tired. What did you think about the seance?”
“We’re changing the subject, are we?”
“Yeah.”
“Well,” she said. She looked down, smoothed the robe along her thigh, looked up again. “I thought it was a charming piece of theater. I understand how they did most of it, I think. They re working together, of course. Madame Sosostris and her husband.”
I nodded, sipped at my brandy.
“The roses,” she said. “They were in her wheelchair, beneath that gown of hers. Mr. Dempsey released her hand and she simply reached down and retrieved them. And then tossed them onto the table.”
I nodded again.
“And the bell and the trumpet,” she said. “She keeps them beneath her gown as well.”
“The chains, too.” I had figured most of this out, too, even before the Great Man explained it all.
Her red lips tightened thoughtfully. ‘ That thing that touched me on the shoulder. Could that’ve been one of those extending tools that shopkeepers use? Do you know what I mean? To reach something on an upper shelf?”
“Probably.”
“When Running Bear-” She smiled suddenly, amused at herself. “When Madame Sosostris was talking about the Earl, she said that he’d imposed his sick desires upon an innocent young woman. Presumably she meant the kitchen maid, the woman that Briggs mentioned to you in the library.”
“Darleen.”
“Yes.” She frowned. “Briggs is a bit of a cad. Telling tales on his employer. And on a former sweetheart.”
“Not a very nice guy,” I agreed.
“He must’ve given the same information to Madame Sosostris. And told her of the Earl’s death.”
“If it was Briggs, he didn’t give it to her.”
She smiled. “He sold it, you mean. I’m sure you’re right.” Her face went serious again. “But what did she mean, do you think- Madame Sosostris-when she said that the Earl hadn't ended his life? She said that his life had been taken.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “That was when Lord Purleigh showed up.”
“Yes.” She sighed, softly shook her head. Lamplight shimmered along the black sheen of her hair. “Poor Robert. For years he’s been telling people he wanted his father dead. Now that it’s actually happened, I think he’s rather at a loss. I feel terribly for him. He’s such a sweet man.”
“What does Lady Purleigh think?”
“Regarding the Earl’s death?”
“Yeah. Was she surprised?”
“Surprised? Yes, of course. Wouldn’t anyone be?”
“Sometimes people see it coming.”
“But Alice didn’t. She was shocked. She told me she couldn’t imagine why he’d do such a thing.”
Just then, I think, she realized she was talking about friends of hers, and to a stranger. Smiling, she changed the subject. “But the two of them are quite good, aren’t they? Madame Sosostris and her husband. It was quite an accomplishment, I thought, producing all those apparitions without giving themselves away. And with people sitting on either side of them, holding their hands.”
“Practice,” I said.
She cocked her head. “But in a way, you know, I was… rather disappointed.” She moved her shoulders in a small, dismissive shrug. “I’d been hoping for something more, I suppose.”
“Real ghosts?”
“Something with a less obvious explanation. A more persuasive apparition, perhaps. Something surprising.”
“You seemed a bit surprised there, for a second or two.”
Her face was calm but those black, almond-shaped eyes were watchful. “Oh?”
“When your daughter was mentioned.”
“Yes,” she said.
“It caught you off guard,” I said.
“Yes.” She looked down, lightly ran the tip of her finger along the rim of the snifter. “Not everyone knows about my daughter.” She looked up at me. “But Alice does, which no doubt means that her servants know as well. Including Briggs, I imagine.”
I nodded.
“But why should they bother learning about my daughter?” she asked me. “Why choose me?”
“You have money.”
She blinked her long black lashes. Money was something that wasn’t discussed in polite conversation. Then she understood what I meant and her eyebrows lowered. “You’re saying that they found out about Esme, and they deliberately used the information to impress me, to bring me into… To…” She frowned impatiently. “What is the word I’m looking for?”
“Enlist?”
“To enlist me as one of their followers?”
“Probably.”
She stared at me for a moment, her wide red mouth open, her black eyes narrowed. Finally she said, “But that’s filthy.” She looked off, her mouth grim now. “That’s vile. ”
“Yeah.”
She drank some more brandy.
“How old was your daughter?” I asked her.
Still looking off, she said, “Five.”
“When did she die?”
“Six years ago.” She turned to me. “I’d prefer not to talk about her, if you don’t mind.”
“Fine.”
“Tell me something,” she said. I think she heard her own voice, heard how curt it sounded. She added, “Would you?”
“Sure.”
“Why were you asking Briggs all those questions?”
“That’s what I do for a living.”
“Yes, but why those questions, and why Briggs? The Earl committed suicide. It’s a tragedy, of course, a terrible tragedy, but it has nothing to do with this magician you're after, this Chin Soo.”
“Probably not. I’m just basically nosy.”
“Tell me about this Chin Soo.”
I told her. It took a while but she listened well. When she asked a question, which wasn’t often, it was a good question. From time to time her glance dipped down toward my mouth and then slipped back up. It made me very conscious of my mouth. And very conscious of hers-I realized that my own glance was doing pretty much the same thing, sliding down along her cheekbones to flick against her wide red lips, then darting back up to her almondshaped eyes.