“Dammit, didn’t you understand what you’ve just read? It’s not like she runs up a curtain and looks out the window at tomorrow. Her psychic skills depend on her mental condition, her emotional state.”
“Well,” Tony said with finality, “I’m not risking any money on that kid’s moods or daydreams. So she called the shot on her dog and it washed up right on schedule. Maybe that was a coincidence.”
“But you’re forgetting, she also called the shot on her mother and father.”
“So when she blows one, it could be when we got a bundle on a horse in the National... and everything I’ve invested so far is down the drain. I’m wondering, Eric, maybe you didn’t read this stuff too good yourself.” Picking up the leather file, Saxe flipped through it to a letter from Dr. Homewood. “Here’s one from the shrink to Dalworth. It goes: ‘What we call your daughter’s psychic skills hardly matters, Andrew. It doesn’t add to our understanding to classify them as clairvoyance, precognition or second sight, because, in point of fact, we don’t have the vocabulary to describe what is actually the man-is-fest — manifestation of an advancing evolutionary process.’ ”
Tony dropped the folder and nodded at Eric, a glint of triumph in his eyes. “Slice that any way you want and it’s a lot of two-bit words adding up to the fact that the doctor himself don’t know what’s going on.”
“You’re the one going shut-eye, Tony. You don’t have the guts to see what’s staring you in the face.” Snatching up the folder, Eric opened it and said, “Just listen to this. Yes, here it is. ‘The most precise comparison I can suggest, Andrew, is adrenalin. One function of Jessica’s psychic powers is very similar to that bodily secretion. It creates, and reacts to, an awareness of danger, provides for faster reactions, greatly increased strength and stamina.’ ”
Eric glanced across the folder at Saxe. “Now listen to the rest of it. Homewood goes on to say: ‘In a peaceful, tranquil situation, Jessica’s precognitive skills are likely to lapse into a dormant state. But in a situation or predicament that caused her deep anxiety, sharp emotional pain, or fear, it’s probable that her clairvoyant perceptions would be proportionately more acute and accurate.’ You hear that, Tony? Proportionately more acute and accurate!”
“Sure, but you’re forgetting the biggest thing of all, Eric. What if she finds out we’ve looted her house? And she’ll know when she walks in the door that you kicked all those servants out on their ears. Why should she want to help us?”
“You weren’t listening, Tony. Let me read it again. ‘But in a situation or predicament—’,” Eric spoke in soft but emphatic accents, “ ‘—that caused her deep anxiety, sharp emotional pain, or fear—’ ”
As Eric looked with a thoughtful smile at the growing understanding in Saxe’s expression, the phone in Dalworth’s study began ringing. Eric hurried to answer it. A measure of his tension was in the tremor of his hand when he scooped up the receiver and heard the British-accented voice announcing a long distant call from London.
It was Maud from the Heathrow Airport. “I tried to phone you from the hotel but the circuits were busy.” Her voice was petulant and exasperated. “And the damned kid wouldn’t wait. We’re taking the next flight out to Shannon. Can you send Flynn to meet us?”
“No, I suggest you take a limo.” Eric tightened his grip on the phone, hardly daring to ask the next question. Drawing a deep breath, he said, “What made you cut your trip short?”
“You won’t believe this, Eric, but your niece insisted on it. She’s got a crazy fixation that things are happening to her pets, claims that her dog is...”
From where he stood in the library, Saxe could see Eric at Dalworth’s desk, the phone in his hand and the windows of the antique weapons cabinet coated like mirrors with the last rays of sunshine.
After a few more exchanges, which Saxe couldn’t hear, Eric replaced the receiver and returned to the library, his eyes bright with excitement and secrets.
“That was Maud. They’ll be at Shannon in just a few hours.”
“What the hell is going on, Eric?”
“Just listen. I want you to get down to the Hannibal and intercept Ethelroyd. Tell him we’ve got to put everything back at least twenty-four hours.”
“I don’t budge till you answer some questions. How come they’re on their way home? Maud was supposed to keep Jessica in London until she got the okay from us.”
Eric made himself a second drink, judiciously adding a touch of soda to a generous splash of whiskey. Watching the amber mixture glinting in the crystal tumbler, he smiled at the play of shifting lights and shadows.
“Tony, you accused me of wanting to take reckless chances, to risk our investment on tea leaves and tarot cards. You should have known I wouldn’t move a step in that direction until I could offer you proof — precise, observable proof — that my niece, Jessica, has precognitive powers.” He pointed to the leather folder of letters and records. “Even the doctors don’t have all the answers. But now I’ve proved she can do what I’ve told you she can.”
Eric put his glass down and gripped Tony Saxe by both shoulders and stared steadily into his eyes. “Jessica knows, Tony, knows certain things are happening here at Easter Hill, even though she’s miles and miles away in London.”
“You’re talking about proof, Eric. I’d like to hear it.”
Eric sighed and said, “Well, the fact is, for the last three days I’ve been poisoning her dog. Frankly, it gave me no pleasure but I needed to make certain.”
“You’ve been what?”
“Yes, I’ve been adding a touch of Mr. Brown’s snail meal to Fluter’s ground beef. And somehow, in some fashion, Jessica knows the animal is ill.”
Tony Saxe shook his head in disbelief and said, “You’re something else, Eric. Really something else.”
“Yes, you’re right,” Eric said and sipped the tangy Irish whiskey. “Now you’d better be off to the Hannibal Arms and take care of your end of things.”
Chapter Twenty
Jessica and Maud arrived at Easter Hill in an airport limousine shortly after midnight, a damp, spring wind buffeting the car and scattering the last of the winter leaves across the gravel driveway and dark lawns.
Jessica went directly down to the stables. As she pulled open the heavy doors, a man she had never seen before came out of the tack room, a cigarette slanting up from his mouth, the moonlight shining on his flattened nose and on the shock of black hair that stood up like a curry brush.
“Hey, what’re you doing here this time of night?”
“I live here,” Jessica said. “I want to make sure that my house is all right. May I ask why you’re in our stables?”
Benny Stiff grinned and said, “Sure, you can. I work here, kid. You’re the little princess. Right?”
“Where is Kevin O’Dell?”
“You mean the young Irisher? He quit. I’m the new groom. Benny Stiff’s the name.”
Another figure emerged from the shadows and Jessica was relieved when she recognized Capability Brown, but her apprehension quickened when she saw that her old friend’s face was set in hard, grim lines.
“Windkin is fine, Miss Jessica,” Mr. Brown said. “I’ve kept an eye on him. But you should know, Miss, there’s been some changes at Easter Hill.”