I tried to control my voice, but the desperation seeped through. The subtext was clear:How did you know?
Madame Fontaine lifted a shoulder in an elegant shrug. “A reasonable guess, given that crowd. And it’s never a bad idea for a woman to be cautious about the men in her life.”
A fair point. “And the photographs?” The question was out before I could stop myself, along with the distinct note of disappointment.
Her eyes softened. “People believe what they need to,” she said gently.
I blinked as if I had been in a daze. What was the matter with me? Of course, none of this wasreal. Yet I was determined to argue with this woman over the veracity of her own lies. I gave her a stiff nod, but her gaze remained sympathetic.
“I know not everyone approves of what I do,” she went on. “That there are those who claim I am preying on the grieving. But I do try to help my clients find some solace. If they think their loved ones are at peace, then they are better able to let go. To move on in some small way. Often, that’s the best they can hope for.”
I glanced away from her knowing look. Her ability to communicate with the dead may have been a sham, but the woman seemed uncommonly perceptive to me. “I understand.”
“Then perhaps you can tell that to your friend,” she said, with sudden acidity.
I snapped my gaze back to her. “Friend? What friend?”
“That writer. Mr. Dorian.” She practically spat out the name. “He threatened to ruin me.”
I shook my head, confused. “He was here?”
Madame Fontaine’s eyes widened as she appeared to realize something. “Yes. But never mind. I’ve said too much.”
“I think not,” I said archly.
But the woman was already out of her seat and hurrying to the curtain. “I have an appointment. It is time for you to leave.” She extended her arm towards the doorway.
I eyed her for a moment before deciding that attempting to cajole more information out of her was a waste of time and that I would have better luck with myfriend.
“Very well,” I said, as I rose with all the dignity I could muster. “Thank you for your time.”
She gave a little nod of acknowledgment. “Have a good day.” But just as I passed by, she grasped my arm. “Do remember what I said, though. About the man.”
I cannot say for certain whether this man is to be trusted or not.
I raised my eyebrows in question as I recalled her words. “I thought it was only general advice.”
Her dark eyes held mine. “Then call this intuition. Anyone can possess that, Mrs. Harper,” she added, as I began to respond. “It is no trick.”
I gave a little nod and left. My thoughts swirled as I descended the staircase, mulling over all I had learned. Mr. Dorian had been here. But why? Was he investigating the murder as well? That bothered me a great deal, especially after he had made such a show of warning me away. Of not interfering in his brother’s investigation. I let out an irritated huff as I reached the street. I had just successfully hailed a passing hansom cab and was about to climb inside when something else occurred to me:
I had never told Madame Fontaine my name. Yet she knew it all the same. And there was only one person who could have told her. The reason escaped me, but it would not for long. I frowned as I gave the driver my aunt’s address. Then I took my seat and shut the door with more force than necessary.
Mr. Dorian had a great deal of explaining to do.
Chapter 12
Upon returning to my aunt’s flat, I found Mrs. Ford in the kitchen preparing our evening meal and Tommy playing with some toy soldiers in his room. He was so occupied by the scenario he had created that he barely acknowledged my greeting, which was just as well because I had work to do. I disappeared into my room, pulled out a notebook, and began to record my encounter with Madame Fontaine.
I had started this practice during my last investigation, and it proved particularly helpful in keeping track of details. After nearly an hour, I had dutifully recorded our exchange as well as everything I could remember from the night of Charles Pearson’s murder. I had been remiss in not writing down those details earlier and promised myself I would not be so careless in the future. By that point, the sky had darkened considerably, and I could smell something delicious coming from the kitchen.
The rest of the evening passed quickly. Over a delectable supper of roast chicken and vegetables, Tommy told me about how he had spent his day while I was out. And I was grateful that he had not yet reached the age where he wasparticularly curious about how I had spent my time away from him. For instance, if Cleo had been here, she would not have been satisfied by my brief explanation that I had visited my sister. In fact, I was certain she would have already learned about my reunion with Mr. Dorian, if not the murder itself. As much as I was relieved that I had been able to keep that information to myself, my chest still twinged at the thought of my absent daughter and her insatiable, insistent curiosity. Though she was only a carriage ride away in Hampstead, it often felt like a much greater distance. Or perhaps it was the knowledge that she was on the cusp of womanhood now, and soon enough she would have a life of her own entirely independent from mine.
“Mama? May we?” Tommy’s voice cut through my maudlin thoughts, and from his tone, I knew this was not the first time he had asked.
“Sorry, darling,” I said. “May we what?”
“May we go to the Museum of Natural History tomorrow? You promised we would,” he added with a knowing little look that reminded me more of an adult than an eight-year-old boy.
