Page 8 of When a Lady Dares
Sophie’s fingers clutched the cloth, the urge to wrap it around his head nearly overwhelming. She pulled in a breath and released it slowly, for effect. “Esme speaks of a great love…of a man named William. I see a poet, a playwright…sonnets composed in her honor.”
“William?” Stanwyck shook his head. “That can’t be right.”
“Esme is holding a brooch. I see initials…aW…and anS. In the background, I see a globe.”
“Oh, my. The Globe Theater,” Mrs. Linden whispered. “Our guide was in love with William Shakespeare.”
“Perhaps.” Turning from the widow, Sophie forced her mouth into a somber line. “Esme’s smile has faded. She bears a message…for another man at this table. There is an image…a portrait. A tall man. Quite rugged. Sadly taken in his prime.”
“Harry,” Adam McNaughton said, his voice solemn and low. “Harry was a good man. That, he was.”
The single flame of the pillar candle cast threads of gold over McNaughton’s chiseled features. Beneath the veil of her lashes, Sophie studied him. Perspiration beaded his brow. His throat contorted as he lowered his head, his eyes shuttered, as though stricken with unforgiving pain.
“Esme bears a message, though, I cannot hope to interpret its meaning.For you alone.” Sophie dipped her head. “Esme is fading.”
“Tell her to come back,” McNaughton demanded, his voice harsh, desperate. “I have questions. I need to know—”
“In due time,” Sophie said, her voice gentle. “There’s more. Very faint.For your ears only.”
McNaughton’s hands trembled. “Tomorrow. Tell her I’ll be back then. Alone.”
“Esme is smiling. She has agreed.”
Stanwyck squeezed her left hand, exerting just enough pressure to pull her attention back to him. What in blazes was the man up to now?
“Be sure to schedule her for a time that does not conflict with our reservation.” Stanwyck said, his mouth quirking ever so slightly at the corners.
She shot him a scathing glance, but with his lids shuttering his eyes, he remained oblivious. Or did he? The hitch of his mouth intensified, as if he sensed the reproach in her eyes.
McNaughton did not share Stanwyck’s amusement. His mouth thinned to a broad slash as his fists, still gripping Mrs. Linden’s and Trask’s fingers, pressed hard against the table. A small gasp of protest squeaked past the matron’s pursed lips.
My, this gathering is getting out of hand.Sophie’s mind raced. If McNaughton became violent, there was no telling the extent of brutality he would inflict. Not that Stanwyck appeared concerned. Despite his admission that he’d prefer to keep his teeth in his head, the man looked as if he’d welcome the chance to stir McNaughton into a confrontation. What in thunder was the man thinking, agitating a criminal who’d left many a man bloodied to a near pulp?
She needed a distraction that would draw McNaughton’s interest before he erupted. Of course, Trask had provided ample means to divert attention. Leaning closer to the table, she gently stretched her leg under her chair. With a subtle motion, she located the lever directly beneath her seat.
“You may now open your eyes,” she commanded softly as she nudged the lever with her toe.
Melodious tones spread throughout the room, the tinkle of chimes in a gentle breeze. The soft, high-pitched sounds proved as jarring as a gunshot.
Eyes opened wide, McNaughton jolted to attention. The widow fanned herself, while the Adam’s apple in Josiah Cromwell’s long throat bobbed wildly. For his part, Stanwyck met Sophie’s gaze and offered a thin smile, as if they’d shared some witty tidbit. Was he on to the trick? Had he deduced the clever placement of the tiny bells behind a thin, sliding panel hidden in the wall? Had he mentally worked out the path of the rigging that secured the chimes until the right moment arrived? The design was indeed clever. A small lever on the underside of the table controlled a length of cord, strung through the pedestal, beneath the floorboards, and up the length of the wall. One yank on the cord and the restraint released, setting the metal chimes into motion. Could he have puzzled that out so quickly? Or had he come to this place knowing full well the tricks Neil Trask employed to dupe his patrons?
“Bloody hell,” McNaughton muttered. He’d come to Trask seeking absolution from his deceased twin, yet every sign that he might actually make the contact he craved set the man further on edge.
Josiah Cromwell displayed a largely toothless grin. “Esme sends her regards. She’s a cheeky thing, she is.”
“Indeed,” Stanwyck said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I imagine she was quite a woman in her day. The Bard must have savored the challenge.”
Sophie smiled despite herself. “You may rest assured he did.”
Mrs. Linden leaned forward, tracing the pattern of the lace that draped the table with one wrinkled fingertip. “Just think, dear…our Esme may have inspired his greatest works.” Her voice had taken on a dreamy tone.Such a romantic.Sophie’s nerves twisted into a great knot. Was it so wrong to lead her on, to feed the messages from beyond that offered solace for her grief?
Sophie drew in a breath.No harm in providing comfort to a tender heart.“Before she departed, Esme brought word to you this evening, Mrs. Linden. A message from your son.”
Stanwyck raised a brow as though he intended to speak, perhaps to remind her of the pressing matter of his lost family treasure. He slanted Mrs. Linden a glance. She’d edged forward on her seat, palms pressed to the table, anticipation shining on her features.Not now, Stanwyck. Let her have this moment.
With a small nod, Stanwyck acknowledged her silent plea. The tightness in her belly eased as he lowered his gaze. With a silent prayer that the professor would keep his peace, Sophie gathered her thoughts and set about the task at hand.
Chapter Three
