Page 57 of The Secret of the Three Fates
When Mr. Owen got this tone, things were starting to get very interesting. I leaned forward in my chair. “Were you a member?”
He looked affronted at the thought. “Heavens, no. While I was more open in sexual matters than other gentleman of my age, I wasn’t content with the tenets upon which the club operated.”
I let out a startled laugh. “Too avant-garde for you? Truly Mr. Owen, what exactly went on at Eurydice’s something-or-other, if it was too wild for you?”
“Fall…” he murmured, studying the negatives. “And it wasn’t wild, in many ways it was terribly restrained. You see, the club was founded upon a philosophy that sexuality was something one should be able to explore, regardless of marriage—regardless of status. Intellectually, I understood the underpinnings—agreed with them, even. After all, the sexual act itself is natural and wheneveryone understands and agrees to the rules I see no issue with the whos or wheres or whats of things. However, some of the most influential and staid men in Parliament were members of the club. They toiled tirelessly, passing laws to prohibit the very same behaviors they committed in private. Punishing those who did not have the means or will to live such a duplicitous life. I could not stomach hypocrisy. I didn’t need their permission to live as I pleased, and they well knew it.”
I could see why Captain Lennox admired him so. Mr. Owen lived bravely and honestly, in a time and world when that was not allowed. But not even he, with his title and privilege, could manage it unscathed. The rumors surrounding Mariah’s disappearance were a testament to that. But there was something else—something in Mr. Owen’s voice that gave me pause.
He tapped one of the masked figures. “I’ve been many things in my years, Ruby—a liar, a rake, and a roué—but I have never been a hypocrite.” He paused, his expression shifting as he held a negative up, catching the morning light. He slid his glasses higher up his nose and tilted his head back, inspecting it in detail. “This though… I know who took these photographs.” Mr. Owen squinted, his thoughts tens of years in the past, lost in a sea of his own memories. “Mariah always had a way with her art. She was captivated by doorways.” A sad little laugh escaped his lips as he pointed to the staging of the image in his hand. This was the same one I’d been stunned by in Lucy’s room—the participants posed with their backs to the camera. The image drew the viewer’s eye past the figures in motion, to the darkened doorway beyond, pulling one’s attention to the unseen and ephemeral. This was… art. Categorically so.
His expression grew wistful as he laid it down on the tabletop and wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Would you mind if I kept this one?”
“May as well, it’s likely safer here than at Manhurst.”
“This is Mariah’s work. I’d stake my life on it.”
“Was she a member of the club?” I asked hesitantly, not wanting to reopen old wounds.
“Goodness, no. She found social organizations as tedious as I did—but she was curious about the club. It was the secretive nature of it that intrigued her. She always liked a puzzle. You are like her, Ruby.” He touched my cheek softly with the back of his hand.
“What else do you know about this Eurydice enthusiast club?” I asked, desperate to change the subject back to firmer ground.
“Nothing useful. I haven’t been openly in polite society since Mariah died. All the members I’d once known are likely long dead.” He sighed heavily. “I’m afraid I’m next to useless, my love.” He paused before turning quickly to me. “Wait… Lady Morton… she was at Manhurst, was she not?”
I gathered up the negatives, scooping them into a pile, and wrapped them back into a cloth. “Yes. She and her daughter, Lady Amelia. Why?”
“Her husband. He was one of them. An Eurydicean. Dead some ten years now, but he was a member of the club. Horrible man. Particularly fond of younger women. There were many a housemaid forced to leave their house quietly. He knew my opinions about his private dealings. Bloody git. I was glad when I heard he choked to death at supper.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I can’t say I disagree, but that must have been a terrible sight for poor Lady Amelia.”
Mr. Owen made a sound of displeasure. “What is his wife doing at Manhurst? That is peculiar, indeed.”
I nodded, thinking back to my conversation with Lady Amelia. “I think she was brought to Manhurst as we were. The daughter, Lady Amelia, was intent on talking to me earlier.”
Mr. Owen leaned forward in his chair. I hadn’t seen him this animated in weeks. “How very curious.”
“It really is. She said her mother had been all set to go to a hunting party, but she received a letter and did a complete about-face. They arrived at Manhurst practically the next day. Sound familiar?”
His warm brown eyes lit up. “That it does. I take it you inquired about the whereabouts of the letter already?”
“Burnt. But I can see what else I can find out. Do you think Lady Morton might have something to do with what happened to Lucy?”
Mr. Owen furrowed his brow and exhaled loudly. “It does seem that way if the Eurydiceans are involved.”
I bit the corner of my lip in thought. “If we assume Mariah left the ring for you when she disappeared.” I held up one finger. “And that the photographs are hers.” Another finger. “Andwe assume that the spirit truly was Mariah.”
He raised his brows as I raised the third. “You believe in ghosts now, child?”
“Ghosts are irrelevant. We arehypothesizing.”
His mouth curved up into an indulgent smile. “That’s my lass. Hypothesize away.”
“Ifwe assume all that to be true. And we allow for the fact that Mariah was at Manhurst the night she died… that tells me that whatever Mariah wanted you to know—and whatever the mediums were after—must still be at Manhurst. Does it not?”
Mr. Owen paused, his fingers drumming on the table. “If that’s the case, then you’d best return and find what secrets that ring holds before anyone else gets hurt.”
My sentiments exactly.
