Page 28

D ue to the extreme congestion of traffic at the Pertwee Ball, Adam was able to don his disguise and join Lady Enderby well before her carriage finally appeared.

Although they arrived at Pelton House at the appointed hour, several heavy applications of the knocker were required before the door finally creaked open.

“I am sorry, ladies. . . sir.” The out of breath butler apologized

“Lady Pelton tells me that most of the staff gave notice some time ago.” Lady Enderby conveyed the gossip with a disdainful sniff and a tone that did not even pretend to be a discreet whisper. “Precious little loyalty in the serving class these days.”

“Wouldn’t say that. Servants need to live, same as the rest of us, Lady Enderby.

Can’t keep staff if ye don’t pay ‘em,” The old man beside her commented in a creaking voice, thumping with the tip of his cane for emphasis.

He handed the butler an old-fashioned tricorne, but kept on his gloves.

“At my age, hands are forever cold,” he explained.

Miranda watched Adam’s performance with admiration.

His hobble, unfortunately, was better than half-real and the broken blood vessels on his nose added measurably to the illusion of age.

With the addition of a wig, waxy wrinkles and a mildly puffing eye, his own uncle would be hard put to recognize him.

However, his illusion had as much to do with his demeanor as his costume.

His voice, walk, carriage and deportment were entirely in keeping with the character that he had adopted.

“You would do credit to Drury Lane, milord,” Miranda said quietly, as the butler went up to announce their arrival. “A pity you feel need to use your skills to cozen an old woman.”

“Quite right, my dear,” Lady Enderby said.

“‘Tis not I who does the cozening,” Adam said with quiet vehemence. “Take a look about you, Miranda. Not too long ago, this was considered one of the finest homes in London.

Miranda obeyed, scanning the dimly lit marbled hall. Signs of genteel decay were obvious. Careful scrubbing had not fully eliminated the outlines of missing picture frames and the few bits of bric-a-brac were painstakingly set about to cover the gaps where larger items had once been displayed.

“She does not gamble?” Miranda questioned.

Adam shook his hoary head. “Only on her delusions, Miranda. Her possessions, her jointure, all gone to invoke the spirits.”

There were footsteps on the stair as Lady Pelton descended to greet them. “Oh dear!” the sparrow-like woman twittered as she halted on the landing. “Hester, this will not do at all! Monsieur Barone was quite specific that this was to be a select affair with none but a few close friends.”

“And I have followed his instructions.” Lady Enderby huffed. “This is Miranda Wilton; she is a Wodesby , an unquestionable asset to any traffic with the spirits.”

“A Wodesby!” Lady Pelton exclaimed.

Miranda braced herself for the usual gamut of reactions, horror, repugnance, curiosity. She nearly jumped in surprise as the petite lady embraced her heartily.

“How delightful!” Lady Pelton said, standing up on tiptoe to kiss Miranda’s cheek. “You must be Vera’s granddaughter. We were friends from the schoolroom, your Grandmere and I. The Gwynn lands marched with ours.”

“Grandmama Wodesby died when I was very young,” Miranda said, recognizing Lady Pelton’s cadence as the remnants of a Welsh lilt.

“Yes, I remember,” Lady Pelton said. “Even magic cannot cure a broken heart and when your Grandpapa passed so suddenly, it was as if she could not bear to go on. I know just how she felt.”

Harsh lines of anguish became more pronounced and Miranda could see the sorrow in the old woman’s eyes. She did not know what to say and so, remained silent.

“I remember when dear Pelton and I became betrothed. T’was the most fearsome experience of my life, I must own.

Barely seventeen, I was, a country miss who had never stepped foot outside the county.

There I was, courted by a foreign London man, whose language sounded harsh and strange.

When I came crying to Vera, she calmed me, made me tea and read me the cards.

Pelton would be the great love of my life, she told me and she was right!

” She smiled in remembrance, then looked uncertainly at the man who stood in the entry.

“Name is Sedgewick, milady,” Adam said, lacing his voice liberally with gravel and the creak of age.

“Mr. Robert Sedgewick. Hope that you don’t mind the intrusion, but when I heard that Monsieur Barone was planning to call upon the spirits, I begged Lady Enderby for the opportunity.

Lost a dear one myself and I’d pay well just to hear Edgar’s voice again.

” There was a movement upon the upstairs landing, making it apparent that the conversation was being monitored.

“Many’s the brandy we’d share at White’s and talk over our days on the sea.

Edgar missed his wife, Marguerite something fierce, milady, and though he’s with her at last, sure he’d want to know how I’m spending all the blunt he left me. No children y’know.”

Lady Pelton sighed. “Pelton and I were never blessed either, and I must say that his heir has been most unkind. Won’t even make me a loan or an advance on my funds, even though Monsieur Barone’s powers are world renowned.

That is why I have allowed a few friends to share this experience with me, even though I would wish the Monsieur to focus entirely on my dear Pelton, especially tonight.

We would have been wed fifty years today.

But when needs must . . .” She tucked Miranda’s hand into hers and started up the stairs, drawing the young woman along with her.

“The other guests have already arrived.”

Adam recognized most of the other participants.

Lady Westwood was one of the more notorious dabblers in the occult.

A particular favorite of the card-readers and spirit summoners, she was extremely easy to please.

Every charlatan in London knew the peculiar characteristics of her late, lamented pug, Manfred, his favored canine pursuit of leading the footmen on frenzied phaeton chases and his disdain of anything other than the choicest sirloin.

A ghostly bark or two from the beyond was usually worth at least half a guinea.

Lord Ropwell’s case was entirely different.

From the rumors that were circulating, his lordship was motivated by more than mere sentiment.

Even while his lady had lived, whispers of scandal had floated on the seas of gossip.

Ropwell’s jealousy had been notorious both within the bounds of matrimony and without.

It was said that he had more than once resorted to pistols before breakfast over imagined trespasses upon his wife’s honor.

A former mistress of Ropwell’s had been mysteriously disfigured soon after she had informed him that she had taken new protector.

Ropwell was obviously desperate if he was hoping that his late lady would deign to answer him from the hereafter.

While the exact circumstances of Lady Ropwell’s death were still disputed by the scandalmongers, it was well known that she had hidden the family jewels just before her untimely death.

If those fields that Miranda described existed, Adam had little doubt that Lady Ropwell was gamboling about and thoroughly enjoying her husband’s discomfiture.

Payment in advance would be prudent, if Barone was expecting to collect anything from his lordship, who was reputedly well into dun’s territory.

As for Mrs. Bittward, she was a well-meaning woman with too much money and much the same matter in her skull as in Sadler’s balloon.

An infamous neophyte of current spiritual modes, she would be the most devoted of Hannah More’s disciples on Sunday, handing out tracts to all and sundry.

By Wednesday, she was praising Gutmacher to the skies, extolling the virtues of his healing powers.

Now, on Friday, it was obviously Barone’s turn to be the most sought after soothsayer and by Monday next, she would doubtless be someone else’s devoted follower.

Lady Pelton’s library had been chosen for the séance.

A windowless chamber, darkly paneled, it was the perfect site for disembodied chicanery.

Adam stroked his false beard, his bushy wig obscuring his eyes as he inspected the room for the typical accoutrements of the charlatan.

Barone had done his work well, not an obvious device in sight.

Adam was just about to go to the shelves on the pretext of examining the books, but the conjuror chose that moment to make his entrance.

Dressed entirely in unrelieved black, Barone made an impressive sight. His wife, also darkly garbed, arrived just behind him. Adam concealed a smile. The magician’s chosen method of deceit was now apparent.

“Lady Pelton.” Barone raised the old woman’s hand to his lips. “I have consulted with the spirits and they are much agitated. I fear we may not be able to continue tonight.”

Miranda cast a stealthy glance at Adam wondering how Barone could possibly have discovered his disguise.

Lady Pelton was aghast. “But surely Beelzebub. . .”

“‘Tis not Beelzebub this time,” Barone said smoothly. “I am assured Beelzebub is in Brighton this evening. However, my guides demand some personal token from you, to assure them of your sincerity. They have chosen your necklace.”

“But that is all that I have left,” Lady Pelton said, stricken, putting a protective hand over the diamond piece. “Pelton gave this to me on the first anniversary of our marriage. I wore it tonight so that he might see it and know that I think of him.”

“So I have told them, milady,” Barone said solemnly. “I tell them it is precious to you, but they demand no less for their service. So, I fear we cannot speak to your cher spouse.”