Page 73 of The Secret of the Three Fates
I’ve always been good at reading people.That was what she said to me on the bridge.
Perhaps Ruan and Andrew Lennoxhadseen her before. I swallowed down the bile in my throat as images of the dead woman in the ruins came back to mind. Genevieve herself had told me that Abigail—the other medium—had been afraid before she disappeared, that she was running away. I struggled to remember fragments of the conversation but they were ephemeral.
“I will protect you, Gen. Please. Forget this place. I can keep you safe from them. You must listen to reason. People like that… They will not give up. They will not forgive this offense.”
Them?A soft sob. She was crying. Could she be afraid of the Eurydiceans? Or did she mean me? I pressed closer to the wall, trying to make sense of this new thread. Genevieve and Elijah were in league, that was for certain—but was she in danger as the other two mediums had been or wasshethe killer and simply afraid of facing the consequences of her own actions?
Footsteps came up the hall behind me. There went my eavesdropping. Besides, I’d learned far more tonight than I’d bargained for. I was getting close now—I felt it in my bones—if only I knewwhatI was close to. I started down the hall in hopes of making it to my room before whoever it was found me.
“Ruby? What are you doing awake?”
I groaned, coming face-to-face with Andrew Lennox.
“I could ask you the same,” I shot back, far sharper than I’d intended. I wrapped my fist tight, out of fear my trembling would return before I reached the safety of my room.
“Couldn’t sleep. I confess I find it harder and harder these days.”
An unwelcome thought struck me—Andrew had been in the ruins with me too that day. Surely a physician would have noticed the scent of death, far quicker than I. “Why are you still here…”
The shiny white horn of his crook glinted in the electriclights as he shifted his weight. “My father and I do not see eye to eye these days. I find myself needing to apologize for the way he treated you. It was abominable—for that reason I came to the séance. I didn’t expect—” He waved his hand in defeat and sighed. “I do not know what happened earlier this evening, but I certainly did not anticipatethat. You have blood—” He gestured to my neck with his forefinger.
I shrugged him away. “It is nothing.”
His nose twitched in that same way Mr. Owen’s did when he was biting his tongue. “I fear if I stay at Manhurst much longer, I might be returning to medicine as a full-time occupation.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll see you to your room. You should not wander the halls alone. It is ahead, is it not?”
I arched a brow. “Do you think I’m in danger here?”
He let out a strangled laugh as we paused outside the door to my room. “Miss Vaughn, you have been shot and nearly killed, and the person who broke poor Lucy’s neck still walks free. Not to count that other missing medium. If I were you, I’d keep your head down and go home. My uncle has made his bed with his lies and no matter how much I love him, you are far too young to get tied up in his trouble.”
I bristled at his words, but it wasn’t as if I hadn’t thought the same thing. A wiser woman would have gone home and let Mr. Owen handle the chaos he’d created—and yet I remained loyal to a fault.
“Good night, Captain Lennox.” I reached into my pocket and withdrew the key to my room and placed it into the lock, hand trembling.
He looked at my hand, brows drawn up in concern. “Are you certain you are well?”
I twisted the key and pushed the door open. “Perfectly.” I locked the door behind me, hoping it would keep the ghosts of Manhurst at bay for at least one night.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-TWOAn Unwelcome Intrusion
THEpipes groaned as hot water poured from the brassy lion-shaped faucet and filled the bathing tub. I might have relished the luxury of it all, if I didn’t reek of death. I drove my thumbnail beneath the nails on the other hand, trying in vain to remove as much of the dirt as I could before stepping into the tub. A habit I’d picked up during the war—worrying them until they bled. I could not rid myself of the filth quickly enough. I shimmied out of my dress, unsteady fingers struggling with the buttons, and left it in a heap on the floor. I would burn it in the morning and hope Mrs. Penrose forgave the transgression against my wardrobe. I sensed she might in this instance.
The dead medium’s scent permeated my clothes and clung to my skin and hair. I quickly divested myself of my sweat-stained undergarments, pausing briefly before the dressing table mirror to look at my nude body in the reflection. A body not unlike that of the woman in the grave. With lines and curves. Softness and bone. Scars and imperfections from a life well lived. A dozen or more angry scrapes were visible on my neck from the broken glass.
Were the dead woman and I so very different?
Someone had crushed her skull and left her there like rubbish. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to forget the image—to not see my own face staring back sightlessly from that rocky grave. Turning away from the mirror, I unfastened my locket from around my neck and laid it on the dresser, before slipping off the ring and placing them there together.
The tub was nearly full to the white enameled rim. Steam rose up in the cold room as I stepped in. Thousands of needles pricked my skin where the heat chased away the Scottish cold, and the water slowly went from clear to cloudy to yellow. I sank deeper beneath the surface with only my chin above, scrubbing hard enough that my skin stung from the effort.
And yet her scent would not go away.
I let out a muffled scream, throwing the fragrant bar of soap across the room, where it landed with a wet smack on the floor before I finally descended fully beneath the water.
At last in the silence and warmth, I found peace in the one place the dead could not follow. I remained submerged until my lungs burnt and my body threatened to surrender to the water’s call. Just as I came up for air, I heard the door latch click.
I wasn’t alone.
My heart hammered in my chest.
