Page 6 of Unforeseen Affairs
And then there was the way he’d been charmingly humiliated upon catching her eye after making such a vulgar toast. It stood to reason that a man who so fretted about the fragile temperaments of females more than likely doted upon his mother.
Charlotte didn’t mind the vulgar, for her part. To act thusly was human nature, after all; who was she to pretend otherwise?
But she had enjoyed his flustered discomfort, especially when she’d prodded him about the young lady, this Miss Pearce, whom he so clearly harbored an affection for.
Still, despite the pleasure she had taken in throwing him off-balance, she appreciated Sir Colin’s protective attitude toward his mother, as Mrs. Gearing had clearly been devastated by the death of her eldest son, Bernard. For who but a desperate person would seek to reach beyond the veil and commune with the departed?
Charlotte knew something of that kind of desperation.
She felt a dull ache in her heart. She looked down at the remains in her cup, but there were no answers to be found in the tea leaves. Mrs. Gearing was far too competent a hostess to allow the dregs required for that.
Charlotte raised her eyes and studied Mrs. Gearing surreptitiously. With a kind, round face and a wide smile, it was clear that Sir Colin favored her in everything but hair color, for his mother’s was a fading brown, lightened with streaks of gray.
Charlotte thought of her own mother.
It had been years since her passing, yet sometimes when Charlotte closed her eyes she could still see her, could almosthear her voice. At other times the memory felt unformed and fleeting, like a wisp of smoke she couldn’t quite grasp. When she was younger, and the grief was still dark and all-encompassing, she would make silent bargains in that last hour between night and early morning, when the spirits were restless.If only she could come back, I would do everything she asked, and happily, too. I’d even wash her gloves and stockings without asking.
Of course, it was not to be. Charlotte had known that then as well as she knew it now.
But now, working with Mrs. Stone, she sought a new bargain: if only her mother would send her a message, or just a simple sign. She would do anything to receive such a thing. To know that her mother’s spirit was out there somewhere, waiting to reunite with her one day.
No, she’d no doubt Sir Colin would attend the séance. Everything about him indicated his care and consideration for his mother, and for the memory of his elder brother. Another Gearing who’d spent his life at sea, and in Bernard’s case, had met his end there as well.
The entire house was littered with portraits of them, all pinch-faced, red-haired men donning blue full-dress uniforms. Some wore one epaulette, while others wore two.
Today Sir Colin wore nothing of the sort—only the clothing of any young, sporting man, to go with his kind countenance. Idly Charlotte wondered how he carried himself in the presence of Miss Pearce. She wondered what sort of young lady Miss Pearce was, and whether they suited.
Her musings were soon cut short by the natural end of tea. She and Mrs. Stone made their goodbyes, and were escorted from the respectable townhome down into their waiting carriage—a hulking, gaudy thing that Charlotte’s father had forced upon her. She would have preferred to hail a hansom, or even ride an omnibus along with the rest of humanity, but Ajax Sedley hadinsisted. If she were to cavort about London, she’d better damn well do it in a solid conveyance with a groom and coachman. So he’d said, anyway.
Charlotte waited until they were in motion before speaking.
“Well?”
“All as to be expected,” Mrs. Stone said, her small voice barely loud enough to be heard over the rattle of the carriage.
Her eyes were shut, as they always were while riding, or whenever she felt overcome. Another one of her peculiar habits. None of which truly bothered Charlotte, aside from the woman’s insistence that one must beg the forgiveness of every article of clothing one discarded. That one was far too tiresome to be borne, in Charlotte’s estimation.
But she kept that opinion to herself, for Charlotte knew that Mrs. Stone did not particularly rate her connection to the spirit world, and that the opportunity to travel in this very carriage was the only reason she had taken her on as an assistant.
“I am glad,” Mrs. Stone continued. “The lady is troubled. Plagued by darkness; she exudes it in waves. I’m nearly exhausted just from being in her presence.”
“What sort of darkness?” Charlotte leaned forward, eager to learn. “Like that girl who’d brought a hail of stones upon her own house?”
“No,” Mrs. Stone spoke slowly, scrunching her face as she thought. “’Tis something from within, not a troublesome wandering spirit. Something deeper, something both delicate and intricate…”
The medium’s high, raspy voice pitched higher still as she trailed off, almost a mockery of a child’s voice.
“It’s good, then,” Charlotte suggested, “that they’ve engaged you rather than someone else.”
“Perhaps,” sighed Mrs. Stone. “I only pray that the sitting will bring Mrs. Gearing what she needs.”
Charlotte looked out the carriage window at the dense traffic surrounding them. The sun was setting, casting long shadows through a deep orange light. The city felt stiflingly warm for the season. She looked back to Mrs. Stone, who somehow remained perfectly still even as the carriage rocked and jumped.
“And perhaps,” she said cautiously, “it might bring you the testimony you’d need to rejoin—”
“Stockings… we ought to launder stockings,” Mrs. Stone interrupted, eyes still closed.
“Stockings?”
