Page 14 of Unforeseen Affairs (The Sedleys #6)

“I’m not sure what I expected to achieve, coming here,” Sir Colin finally confessed.

“I promised Beaky I’d find a way to help him, to discredit Mr. Bass and his assertion.

But what is there to gather from this”—he gestured toward the stage—“this show? It’s clever, I admit; heaven knows I couldn’t manage anything like it.

Although, having seen it, I feel far more certain that Mr. Bass must be nothing more than a trickster.

It’s all quite beyond belief, isn’t it? A man elongating his body like that?

Or floating so high in the air?” He shook his head.

“Which would make his story from the supposed spirit just that—a story, an invention. And Beaky therefore innocent.”

Charlotte allowed her gaze to fall to his hands, large and veined, held in loose fists upon his knees.

“But you wanted to believe,” she said softly. “Before.”

She still recalled his open mouth, the insistence of his grip on her hand as Mr. Bass had employed his variety of tricks.

His fists tightened. Charlotte looked up. His jaw was set.

“Yes.”

He seemed so taut, so twisted about. Both inside and out.

“There’s nothing—” she began, but he spoke at the same moment.

“I wanted to, for my mother’s sake.”

She’d assumed as much.

“My brother died at sea, years ago. Cholera.”

“I see,” she said.

Knowing something of this pain, she could not speak of it any further lest her throat thicken. Consumption , she added silently to herself. Her heart ached with the torment of an old injury that had never completely healed.

Worried he might pry were she to leave it at that, she forced herself to make conversation, to move the topic away from such profound loss and back to where she felt more comfortable.

“You’re correct—he is a trickster.”

“Mr. Bass?”

“Yes.” Charlotte turned the program over in her hands, wishing again that it contained any useful information about the fraudulent medium. “I confess, I came here seeking much the same thing as you.”

“Oh?” Sir Colin said the word a bit too eagerly, sounding far younger than an accomplished military man ought to. “To prove him a humbug?”

“Yes,” Charlotte said, narrowing her eyes at the engraving of Mr. Bass on the cover. “I aim to bring about the complete and utter ruination of Mr. Bass.”

“Beg pardon?”

She turned to him, her face solemn and unblinking.

Sir Colin stared at her, and for a moment she feared he would laugh and prove her estimation of him incorrect. But eventually he nodded, ever so slightly.

“I agree.”

“Good,” she said, her voice soft but stern.

Charlotte thought of Mrs. Stone’s pale face, and the way she’d begun shaking with fury the moment she spotted Mr. Bass across the drawing room.

She thought of the supercilious look Mr. Bass had given her, and how Mrs. Stone had been so withdrawn in the weeks since, refusing to offer Charlotte any instruction, as well as any attempts at divination or communique.

It was nearly two years since Charlotte had begun learning at Mrs. Stone’s right hand. If she could not bring her mentor around, how would she ever learn to see beyond the veil? How would she ever manage to turn over that last and heaviest stone of human knowledge?

How would she ever hear from her mother again?

If Mr. Bass had the power to render the only true medium in London completely impotent, the choice was clear. Charlotte must destroy him. By any means necessary.

“Might I suggest,” Sir Colin paused to draw in a breath, “a partnership?”

“A partnership?” Charlotte raised a brow; now the young man truly surprised her. “What, you and me?”

“Yes.” His eyes widened, and he leaned toward her so slightly it was almost imperceptible. “One ought to have the best guns on deck, as many as possible. You… you’re quite adept at seeing through all these parlor tricks, Miss Sedley.”

He spoke plainly, matter-of-factly; he obviously had not meant it as flattery. All the same, a curious feeling took hold in her chest. Sir Colin’s green eyes sparkled now, and he leaned further forward with a grin, elbows resting upon his knees.

“It’s a cracking good idea, is it not?”

“I prefer working alone, Sir Colin.”

“In such an endeavor as this? Even Mr. Bass has his toady, that Mr. Trenwith or what have you. I saw him here on stage, moving tables about.”

“I refuse to be your toady, or anyone’s,” she said, scoffing despite herself.

He laid one arm across the vacant seatbacks, scooting closer to her in his eagerness.

“Pray, then, allow me to be yours.” He smiled. “Why, it would be like a game, in a way. All the best games involve partners. Like whist. Do you care for cards, Miss Sedley?”

Charlotte eyed him suspiciously.

“I see. Perhaps I ought to state it more plainly: I’m in dire straits. I’ve taken on something that’s beyond my expertise. And I’ve…” His hopeful expression suddenly transformed into one of worry. He raised a hand and rubbed at his temple.

After a moment he stopped and looked up, his disposition sunny once more.

“Well. I’ve no placement looming before me, no ship to board. I would be completely at your disposal. Please, Miss Sedley.”

He was so innocent, so noble. And, Charlotte was certain, being horribly used by this fair-weather friend of his. So helpless, a sailor without a sea. And why was that, exactly? Just what had come to pass that a seaman as esteemed as him would be left adrift and ashore?

“Hm.”

It was not a straight-out denial; something inside her wanted him to ask one more time. More emphatically. If he had to strive for her input, it stood to reason he would value it all the more.

“There are so many ways in which two people might achieve what one could not. Come now, you must see that.” He studied her, his eyes brighter than before.

“As a gentleman of some notoriety, there are doors I might be able to open for you. And there’s always the matter of protection, and of pro…

” He stumbled on the last word, as if he were wavering on its potential to persuade her. “Propriety.”

Upon saying the last word, he seemed to suddenly realize how far he’d leaned in, and he quickly straightened up, restoring the space between them.

Behind them a door opened. Sir Colin glanced over his shoulder to confirm what Charlotte supposed without looking.

The sounds of whistling and the sweeping of a broom signaled the hall steward’s arrival. Charlotte glanced down at the bits of refuse upon the floor. With the toe of her boot, she brushed a balled-up program to the side, far from her skirts.

“Very well,” she said drily. “Who am I to refuse such a generous offer?”

Sir Colin beamed, as wide and honest a grin as Charlotte had seen in quite some time.