“Oh, dear,” Virginia murmured. “I’m afraid Arcane is not the most helpful recommendation, sir.”
Nick switched his attention to her. “What do you mean?”
Charlotte cleared her throat. “For your information, Mr. Sweetwater, the Arcane Society carries very little weight in this shop.”
“How can you say that?” Nick swept out a hand to indicate one of the shelves. “It looks like you’ve got several years’ worth of the Society’s Journalover there. Which means you’ve got some of my research papers sitting right here on the premises.”
“I do subscribe to the Journal,” Charlotte agreed. “But that does not mean that I tolerate its members, which I have always found to be an arrogant and irritating lot.”
“So do I,” Nick shot back. “Which is why I am not a member of the Society.”
Owen cleared his throat. “Well, that and the fact that Sweetwaters are not in the habit of joining organizations of any kind.”
“That’s not the point,” Nick grumbled.
“No, it’s not,” Charlotte agreed.
Evidently concluding that the argument had gone on long enough, Owen took charge.
“Now that we have all survived the social pleasantries,” he said, “I suggest we move on to the particulars of the situation that brings us together today.”
“An excellent notion,” Virginia said quickly.
“My cousin is assisting me in the investigation,” Owen said. “This morning he tracked down the clock maker who made the clockwork weapons.”
“That’s wonderful news,” Virginia said.
Nick grimaced. “No, it’s not, I’m afraid. Owen and I paid a visit to the shop. It was empty. Mrs. Bridewell, the clock maker, has disappeared. There was no trace of any of her curiosities or her financial records left on the premises.”
“Oh,” Virginia said, deflated. “Now what do we do?”
“We will leave Mrs. Bridewell to J & J,” Owen said. “I want Nick to help us with another aspect of the investigation. He has agreed to attend the reception at the Institute tonight. I want him to assess possible suspects in the crowd.”
Charlotte narrowed her eyes at Nick. “Are you any good at that sort of thing, Mr. Sweetwater?”
“Yes,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I am.”
“How do you plan to get inside the Institute without a ticket?” Charlotte asked. “One must be invited to the reception or accompany an invited guest.”
“I have already dealt with the problem,” Owen said. “Nick will escort you, Miss Tate.”
Charlotte’s eyes widened. “What?”
“Nick has a talent for noticing small details. I want his observations of the guests at the Institute to compare with my own.”
“Excuse me—” Charlotte began in ominous tones.
“Everyone at the Leybrook knows who I am by now,” Owen said, “or at least they think they know who I am. But no one will recognize Nick.”
“I don’t get out much,” Nick explained.
“You will introduce Nick as a new practitioner who is eager to establish himself in your community,” Owen explained.
Charlotte gave a small, ladylike sniff. “I cannot imagine that scheme working for even an instant.” She glared at Nick. “What sort of talent will you claim to possess, sir?”
Nick flushed. “I will pretend to be one of those charlatans who summon spirits. It is the easiest talent to fake.”
“Because there are no ghosts,” Charlotte shot back. “By definition, everyone who claims to see spirits is either a fraud or delusional. But there are literally hundreds of mediums in London, sir, perhaps thousands. Your talent will not appear exceptional.”
“Which is precisely the effect that we hope to achieve,” Owen said smoothly. “No one will pay much attention to one more practitioner who claims to summon spirits. Nick will not be perceived as a serious competitor or threat to business by anyone present at the reception. That will allow him to make his observations without drawing scrutiny.”
“I see,” Virginia said quickly, before Charlotte could produce another argument. “A very ingenious plan. I am also happy to say that Charlotte has offered to make inquiries at the agencies who provide paid companions. We suspect that Lady Hollister’s companion will now be searching for a new position. Charlotte may be able to find her.”
“Excellent,” Owen said. He looked impressed and very pleased. “Thank you very much, Miss Tate. That will be extremely helpful.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Charlotte said, mollified by Owen’s obvious gratitude.
“You will have to excuse us now.” Owen strode toward the door. “Nick and I have a number of details to see to before tonight’s affair.”
Nick inclined his head toward Virginia. “A pleasure, Miss Dean.” He looked at Charlotte. “It has been interesting, Miss Tate.”
Both men were out the door and lost in the fog before either Virginia or Charlotte could even say good-bye.
“Well,” Charlotte said, when she could speak. “Both Sweetwater gentlemen are quite expert when it comes to departing in a speedy fashion.”
“Indeed,” Virginia said. “One would almost think they had a psychical talent for disappearing.”
TWENTY-FIVE
At eight forty-five that evening Virginia stood with Pamela Egan in a relatively quiet section of the Institute’s reception hall. Together they surveyed the crowded room. Fifteen minutes earlier Virginia had seen Charlotte and Nick arrive. No one had appeared to take any notice of the couple.
When Virginia had walked into the room on Owen’s arm, however, the reaction had been decidedly different. The short silence that had fallen on the crowd followed by the sudden burst of loud conversation had told the story. Everyone had noticed.
Pamela surveyed the scene. “There is no getting around the fact that Gilmore Leybrook is a pompous ass.” She paused to down a healthy swallow of champagne. “Pity he controls the Institute.”
“The good news is that I understand he is planning to tour the Continent soon,” Virginia said.
“Bah. One can only hope that afterward he will feel compelled to tour America. When he is in London he lords it over the rest of us as if this were the Arcane Society and he was a genuine Jones.”
“I suppose he is the nearest thing we have to a Jones here at the Institute. Let’s be honest, Pamela, we are both making a good deal more money now that we can call ourselves Leybrook practitioners.”
“Trust me, Leybrook is well aware of the fact that we are in his debt.”
“It is the price of doing business, Pamela.”
“ Hmmph.A damn high price, if you ask me.”
Pamela was a stately, full-figured woman in her early forties who conducted a successful business channeling the spirit of an ancient Egyptian princess. In tribute to the spirit that had done so much for her finances, she wore her artificially darkened hair in a style that her hairdresser had dubbed “the Cleopatra.” An imitation-gold diadem set with glittering crystals circled her brow, enhancing the dramatic effect. Her eyes were heavily outlined in kohl, and her elegantly tiered gown was in a color known as Egyptian green.
Pamela had waited until Owen had left Virginia’s side to collect two glasses of champagne before gliding through the crowd with the speed of a shark knifing through the sea.
She was a friend and former mentor who had offered kindness, support and excellent business advice when Virginia had embarked upon her own career as a practitioner. Virginia was very fond of her, but Pamela was a notorious gossip who prided herself on knowing the latest rumors and scandals.