“I knew it!” Davey exclaimed, apparently taking my non-answer as an answer to his question. “You are her!”
As my friend Templeton would have said, it was time to make my exit.
I had learned a great deal in my conversation with Davey Morris. He was quite knowledgeable, one for detail to be certain. And he had confirmed that the photos of both Amelia Mainwaring and Catherine Thorpe had been taken with a glass plate camera.
That certainly explained the detail and clarity of both young woman’s features in those death photos.
I wondered what that aspect might tell us. Was the photographer trying to say something beyond some sort of gruesome penchant for death?
I pondered that as I waved down a coach and gave him the location of my aunt’s residence at Sussex Square.
I had not intended to abandon my responsibilities toward Lily after bringing her to London.
At her age, my great aunt was hardly in the position of taking on the raising of a young girl, most particularly one that had spent most of her life on the streets, and the past two years in a brothel.
I was concerned that in spite of my aunt’s well-placed intentions and previous experience with myself and my sister, that it was simply too much for her to take on.
It was late of the afternoon when I arrived at Sussex Square, most eager to share what I’d learned with Brodie. I paid the driver and climbed the steps to the entrance of the manor.
Mr. Symons met me at the door, quite disheveled and with a stricken expression.
“Oh, thank heavens you’re here, Miss Mikaela.”
I was immediately alarmed not only by his appearance but by that greeting as well. I discarded my coat and thrust it at him as shouts and other dreadful sounds came from the ballroom.
With my adventures, travels to foreign places, and more recently with the inquiry cases I had undertaken with Brodie, there was little that frightened or surprised me.
However, it sounded as if someone was being attacked.
Where was Munro? Where were the rest of the staff?
With my umbrella clutched in both hands I ran toward those sounds…
Ten
The Aubusson carpethad been rolled back on the floor, the air thick with shouts, taunts, and more than one Scottish curse as my aunt and Lily squared off at each other, rapiers held before them in a stance I was familiar with. They were on the attack.
The two duelists with appropriate attire— a tunic and trousers that looked vaguely familiar, with gloves and face masks, sweat gleaming on their brows and fierce expressions.
There was a slash, then a thrust followed by a chop then deflection, quickly followed by another thrust, the blunted tip of the sword finding its mark.
“Do you yield?” Lily demanded with something very near a giggle.
“Never!” my aunt replied as I stood at the entrance to the ballroom, umbrella in hand, staring at the scene before me.
Silence hung in the air along with what remained of what had been an enormous boxed fern, now a shredded fern, that had survived the parlor and the resident monkey in preparation for my aunt’s safari. It was now unrecognizable.
“Marvelous!” my aunt exclaimed now, propping her rapier before her quite expertly. It did seem as if her ankle had fully recovered as she removed her face mask and tucked it under her arm.
“In time, with more lessons you may rival Mikaela, although she is considered quite expert with the blade,” she informed her opponent who had removed her face mask as well.
“It was months before all the marks and gouges were repaired in the wood paneling when she took lessons, but very much worth it. I’ve never worried about her since when off on her adventures…”
It was then my aunt caught sight of me.
“Here you are, dear,” she announced. “We’ve been having such fun.”
Hair undone that reminded me of myself, face glistening with unladylike sweat, eyes gleaming, Lily bubbled with excitement.
