Page 15

Electra glanced once at Gideon, who watched her with a calm intensity that soothed her somehow.

Then she closed her eyes as she held the paintbox of Iris Delacourt’s.

It took several moments. She heard Violet Delacourt’s anxious breaths and sensed the comfort of Gideon’s presence beside her, and then images flickered in her mind, vivid flashes that seemed to resist crystallizing into a single moment.

Then Roger Delacourt was before her. He looked angry—red face, furrowed brow—and then he pointed to a young man in the room. Tall, broad-shouldered, and handsome with a chiseled jaw and dark-blond hair. The young man looked down as if ashamed. Then Delacourt seemed to shout, and the young man burst forward, positioning himself in front of Iris.

Electra assumed that’s whose memory she was seeing.

Iris reached up, laid a hand gently on the young man’s sleeve, and when he looked back at her, there was such devotion in his eyes that Electra’s own chest ached.

That image grew dim until it washed away entirely, and another image filled her field of vision. A crowded, smoky room. So many people dancing, laughing. Electra could hear no sound but imagined it was loud with its low ceiling and bodies pressed together.

A young red-haired man approached and then turned away. Another, dark-haired and eager-eyed, reached out and the person whose memories she saw—presumably Iris—pulled away.

Then a lovely young woman appeared, blonde hair mussed, cheeks flushed with color. She laughed, then her face creased in concern. She reached out, but Iris flinched away again. Then she was pressing through the bodies, rushing toward a door at the far end of the room, and finally spilling out into the night and onto a gaslit street.

Electra sensed relief. Then Iris turned quickly, as if someone called her name, and a man appeared in the shadows. She willed the man to step into the light, hoped Iris might step closer. Instead, the image faded to blackness.

She blinked her eyes open and found Violet Delacourt staring, her face creased with worry. Only then did Electra realize she still gripped the paintbox so tightly that her knuckles ached.

Laying the box down gently, she said, “Your father was shouting at your sister, and there was a young man in the room. Blond, handsome.”

“That would be Bram Seaton.” Violet grimaced. “And, yes, I can well imagine my father shouting at her. He was quite keen that Iris accept him as a suitor.”

“Mr. Seaton was protective of her,” Electra said.

“Was he?” Violet stared at the tabletop, contemplating that revelation. “Yes, I can imagine if someone were cross with Iris, he would defend her.”

“Why did Iris refuse Mr. Seaton?”

“She didn’t. Not entirely. She merely wanted time, I think, to ‘live a little’ as she once said. Told me that Miss Collier urged her to adopt that philosophy.”

Gideon’s pencil scratched lightly as he made notes. “Did you approve of Miss Collier’s influence on your sister?”

The question was one Electra was curious about too. Roger Delacourt had definitely disapproved, but on this point, Miss Delacourt was harder to read.

“Approve,” she murmured. “I do not think that is the word I would use. Iris seemed to care for her and was quite grief-stricken after news came of Miss Collier’s death. She had every intention of attending the inquest, but then she vanished the day before it was held.” She pressed her lips together, seemingly holding in emotion. “They seemed very different in temperament but got on well enough. However, I could not imagine their friendship persisting if Iris married or left her employment at the museum.”

“You say she was upset,” Gideon continued. “Do you know if she reached out to the Colliers?”

“I do not. But if she had, I doubt she would have spoken of it because she knew our father would not be pleased.”

“Did he ever forbid her to speak to Miss Collier?” Electra asked.

“No. Father said he trusted in Iris’s…” She bit her lip, hesitating. “Her prudence, let us say. He taught us both to make sensible choices and, for the most part, trusted us to do so.”

Electra frowned. “And yet he shouted at your sister.”

Miss Delacourt shook her head lightly. “I cannot say I ever observed that.” The young lady held Electra’s gaze, as if trying to convince her.

Electra had no reason to disbelieve Miss Delacourt, and yet there was something that made her doubt.

“Did you see anything else?” Violet asked. “Any indication of where Iris has gone?”

“I saw what I suspect is the evening you spoke about. The visit to the dance hall. Several gentlemen approached her. One was quite forward and reached for her, and your sister fled the hall.”

Violet nodded. “That accords with what she told me.” She shrugged. “It was a small sort of adventure, but her ambitions are small. She attempted to be as daring as Miss Collier, and it did not suit her.”