Page 141 of The Bone Season

‘Yes, you can, Nick. I will have a glass of your famous blood mecks.’ She gave Jaxon a pointed smile. ‘I seesomeEuropeans know how to treat a lady.’

Jaxon looked as if she had slapped him. Nick steered her into the room we used as both an office and a parlour, shutting the door in their wake.

‘I am not,’ Jaxon said, with the delicate menace of a wolf holding a doll between its teeth,‘European.’

Zeke swallowed. I glanced at Eliza, who was clearly trying not to burst out laughing. Nadine had already made at least three missteps.

‘I’ll make sure nobody disturbs you,’ I said to Jaxon.

‘Thank you, Paige.’ He seemed to recover from the insult, taking a puff of his cigar. ‘Do go up to my boudoir, dear Zeke. We should talk.’

Zeke hesitated. ‘Your boudoir?’

‘On the next floor. The door straight ahead of the stairs.’

With a dazed nod, Zeke went up, stairs creaking beneath his boots. The poor man clearly had no idea what he had got himself into. Before I could speak, Jaxon grasped my arm, drawing me close.

‘His dreamscape,’ he said under his breath. ‘What does it feel like, Paige?’

‘I can’t explain it,’ I said, ‘but it’s dark and heavy, like—’

‘Excellent. Say no more.’

He almost ran after Zeke, his cigar lodged in the corner of his mouth. Eliza leaned against the newel.

‘This is going to be interesting,’ she said. ‘I’ve no idea where I’m going to put Nadine. We might have to build a false wall in the garret.’ She reached for a hat. ‘In the meantime, are you interested in helping me create a murder scene?’

‘No, but I’ll wait up for you. You’re sure you can manage?’

‘It’s just setting a stage.’

She went upstairs. I was left on the landing with a dead artist for company, and as much as I liked Pieter, he was not a man of many words.

It was late, but I wouldn’t sleep until Eliza came back. I made some fresh coffee and went to sit in the office, where a painting took pride of place. It portrayed a dark-haired woman in a flowing red dress, gazing into a crystal ball. Jaxon had paid a fortune for it – the last painting by John William Waterhouse, finished in 1902, the year after the fall of the Bloody King.

I cracked open a window and sat down to read the draft of his next pamphlet,On the Machinations of the Itinerant Dead. So far, it had told me about four kinds of spirit: guardian angel, ghost, muse and psychopomp.

I had yet to read about poltergeists. The old scars on my palm remained as cold as ever.

Once Eliza had what she needed, she left in dark clothes. Above, I sensed Nadine going up to the garret. Even if it had annoyed Jaxon, her request was reasonable. My room in the den was my sanctuary.

Since he had work in the morning, Nick departed around one, heading for his apartment in Marylebone. Eliza returned about half an hour later.

‘Done,’ she whispered, removing her gloves. ‘I wasn’t seen.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘As sure as I can be.’ She took off the hat. ‘Anything from upstairs?’

‘Nadine is asleep, but Jax is still talking to Zeke.’

‘Zeke isn’t how I imagined a fury. Much quieter than I expected.’ She sat down on my bed. ‘Jax mentioned they’re not American. Where are they from?’

‘Zeke is from Mexico. Nadine was studying in Boston, but I think she’s Canadian.’

‘So they grew up separately?’

‘I don’t know.’

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