Dear goddess, she could be on to something.
Viscountess Beachley’s disappearance was certainly suspicious, but it wasn’t evidence of her guilt, even if the woman was prone to slapping her husband. Could both the husband and wife be victims? Clio didn’t sense another spirit in the house, but not all deceased became haunts. Perhaps Lady Beachley was killed andtransitioned on her own as most spirits were wont to do, or perhaps her ghost attached itself to a different location. In Clio’s experience, spirits were not trapped in the place they died. There were a myriad reasons why a ghost might choose to linger in a certain locale. She had heard spirits could even link themselves to a person, following them wherever they might move. Just because Lady Beachley’s ghost wasn’t in the Mayfair mansion didn’t mean she was still alive.
Is Lady Beachley the murderer or another victim?
Before Clio could ask Lady Pestlewit any more questions, Ellie returned from her errand in a flurry of mint-green skirts.
‘Lady Pestlewit! How lovely to see you again.’ Ellie’s soft voice brimmed with honest joy before she quickly grew serious. ‘Oh dear. I see you’ve been suffering the ill effects of Madame Rachel’s enamel?—’
‘Strawberries!’ Clio shouted over her sister, causing Ellie’s ferret to pop out from her coat pocket and chatter a rebuke at Clio. Ophelia did not appreciate anyone yelling at Ellie.
‘Ah. I see you still have that rat.’ Lady Pestlewit’s lip curled as she glared at Ophelia.
‘Ferret, Lady Pestlewit.’ Ellie smiled warmly at the woman as her familiar hissed what Clio could only imagine to be a ferret version of some highly inappropriate language. Thank the goddess ferrets didn’t mimic like ravens, or they would be in very hot water with Lady Pestlewit.
‘It is a rodent, and all rodents are the same. Filthy creatures.’
Where Clio would have been tempted to scorch the woman’s hair with a wild spark from the fire, Ellie just laughed.
‘Oh, Lady Pestlewit. You say the funniest things.’ She was the opposite of Clio in both appearance and temperament. Probably a result of different fathers. Their mother had kept both men for only a night, knowing she wanted children, but had no interest in a husband. If only her disdain for marriage had remained, Aspenmight still be with them instead of choosing love and death in equal measures.
Ellie’s sunny hair and bright complexion – gifts from an English lord – complemented a disposition that saw a new friend in every stranger, a rainbow in every stormy sky, and a promise of goodness to come in every difficult situation. A direct contrast to Clio’s darker colouring and far more pragmatic nature. No one would guess they were sisters except for the shape and clarity of their eyes – though Ellie’s were a bright blue to Clio’s glowing amber. They also shared an unusual birthmark high on the inner thigh of their opposite limbs. Of course, few people ever saw the star-shaped stain. Their cousin had a similar marking over her breastbone. The ancients would consider it a blessed symbol of the divine feminine. More current opinion would label the wine-red marking a cursed witch mark. Maybe it was just a birthmark shared by many of the women in their family. Whatever caused the shape to form, Clio was grateful they no longer lived in a time where women were stripped naked to search for such sinister evidence of their evildoing.
Ignorant fools. Most witches want only healing for others, and yet we are painted as the Devil’s handmaidens by men threatened because of our knowledge. Why any woman would want to tie herself to such a pompous creature I shall never understand.
Inexplicably, Lieutenant General Grey popped into her mind as clear as if he were right in front of her.
Without warning, she was sucked into a vivid vision.
Thomas stood outside a stately country home. His. She knew it, just as she knew this was a memory from his past. But unlike her vision with Viscount Beachley – and every other ghost encounter she’d experienced – she was not inside Thomas’ mind. She was watching him from a distance.
Her skin tightened in the frigid air. Grief and guilt filled her like ocean water rushing into the hull of a sinking ship. She felt Thomas’ black despair as if it were her own. He reached out for the handle of thelarge oak door, but his fingers were shaking too much to grip the brass. Whatever or whoever was inside that home created an ache in Thomas that fractured his heart into jagged pieces. Every cell in his body wanted to open the door, but fear kept him frozen. After a moment of hesitation, he turned and walked down the impressive stone stairs, his silver cane tapping a hollow rhythm as he reached a horse being held by a footman.
‘Shall I tell her you came?’ the footman asked, his eyes never quite reaching Thomas’ gaze. It could have been an act of deference, but it felt more like embarrassment. Clio felt Thomas’ reaction: shame followed swiftly by anger.
‘No. It would only make her hate me more.’ In a graceful move that made Clio’s belly clench, he mounted the horse, still holding his cane like a sword, then squeezed his impressive thighs, and flew away from the home.
Gravel flew from beneath the animal’s hooves as Thomas’ black cloak flapped around him like wings in flight. He was running. From someone. Fear blended with impotent rage like ink swirling into water. Clio’s hair caught in the rush of air, and an ebony strand broke free, brushing her cheek with the soft caress of someone’s fingers. Goosebumps erupted on the back of her neck and over her arms as a charge of energy stroked down her spine.
Sir Robin’s call pulled her back to the present. The vision dissipated and the chill with it as the shop’s warmth enveloped her.
Ellie’s light brows drew down, creating a crease above her nose. She knew something was wrong. ‘Lady Pestlewit, is there anything else we can get for you today?’ She linked an arm in the woman’s, much to Lady Pestlewit’s alarm, and deftly walked her to the door.
‘No, thank you.’ Though her words held no gratitude. ‘I’ve gotten what I came for.’
‘Wonderful. I’m sure Clio told you to use that cream twice a day, and you can keep using your Wrinkle’s Away cream. They will workbeautifully together to heal your skin. Just try to avoid any more… er… strawberries.’
Lady Pestlewit pulled free of Ellie and lifted her chin. ‘Indeed.’ She swept out of the door in a rustle of yellow lace and crinoline.
Ellie quickly turned, walked through the brightly lit store, and ducked behind the counter. She put a soothing hand on Clio’s arm, her energy buzzing along Clio’s nerves and steadying her. ‘What happened? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost. Have you?’
Clio shook her head. ‘No. I mean, not for a couple of days. I’ve just…’ She stopped herself. Though she was tied to the past, Clio never had visions about the living. Her gift of seeing memories was bound to the lingering dead, except for the two glimpses she’d had of Lieutenant General Grey’s past. What if the first was a premonition, and this second vision a confirmation the lieutenant general had met an untimely demise since they parted?
Screaming Saints! What if he has been killed?
For inexplicable reasons, the idea of Lieutenant General Grey dying sat rather ill with Clio. Of course, she wouldn’t wish death upon any soul – with a few minor exceptions – yet imagining Lieutenant General Grey lying cold and lifeless somewhere sent a strange, desperate fluttering at her pulse points and a chill down her spine. She needed to find him. Immediately. Uncle Lachlan would want to know if something had happened to his friend.
Yes. That is why I’m so unsettled. Uncle Lachlan will be upset if his friend has met any harm.
