Anne Perry - Southampton Row

“Was Miss Lamont expecting her clients separately or together?” he asked.

“They came one at a time,” she replied. “And left that way, for all I know. But they would all be together for the seance.” Her voice was expressionless, as if she were trying to mask her feelings. Was that to protect herself, or her mistress, perhaps from ridicule?

“Did you see them?”

“No.”

“So they could have come together?”

“Miss Lamont had me lift the crossbar on the side door to Cosmo Place, which she did for some people,” she replied. “So I took it that one of the discreet ones came last night.”

“People who don’t want anyone else to recognize them, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Are there many like that?”

“Four or five.”

“So you made arrangements for them to come in from Cosmo Place, instead of the front door on Southampton Row? Tell me exactly how that worked.”

She looked up at him, meeting his eyes. “There’s a door in the wall that leads into the Place. It has a lock on it, a big iron one, and they lock it behind them when they leave.”

“What is the bar you spoke of?”

“That falls across on the inside. It means even with a key you can’t get in. We keep it barred except when there is a special client coming.”

“And she sees such clients alone?”

“No, usually with one or two others.”

“Are there many like that?”

“I don’t think so. Mostly she went to clients’ houses, or parties. She only had special ones here once a week or so.”

Pitt tried to picture it in his mind: a handful of nervous, excited people sitting in the half-light around a table, all filled with their own terrors and dreams, hoping to hear the voice of someone they had loved, transfigured by death, telling them. . what? That they still existed? That they were happy? Some secrets of passion or money taken with them to the grave? Or perhaps some forgiveness needed for a wrong now beyond recall?

“So these people were special last night?” he said aloud.

“They must have been,” she replied with a very slight movement of her shoulders.

“But you saw none of them?”

“No. As I said, they keep it very private. Anyway, yesterday was my evening off. I left the house just after they came.”

“Where did you go?” he asked.

“To see a friend, a Mrs. Lightfoot, down in Newington, over the river.”

“Her address?”

“Number 4 Lion Street, off the New Kent Road,” she replied without hesitation.

“Thank you.” He returned to the issue of the visitors. Someone would check her story, just as a matter of routine. “But Miss Lamont’s visitors must have seen each other, so they were acquainted at least.”

“I don’t know,” she answered. “The room was always dimly lit; I know how that works from setting up before they come. And putting the chairs right. They sat around the table. It’s perfectly easy to stay in the shadows if you want to. I always set the candles at one end only, red candles, and leave the gas off. Unless you knew someone already, you wouldn’t see who they were.”

“And there was one of these discreet people last night?”

“I think so, otherwise she wouldn’t have asked me to lift the bar on the gate.”

“Was it back on this morning?”

Her eyes widened a little, grasping his meaning immediately. “I don’t know. I never looked.”

“I’ll do it. But first tell me more about yesterday evening. Anything you can remember. For example, was Miss Lamont nervous, anxious about anything? Do you know if she has ever received threats or had to deal with a client who was angry or unhappy about the seances?”

“If she did, she didn’t tell me,” Lena replied. “But then she never talked about these things. She must’ve known hundreds of secrets about people.” For a moment her expression changed. A profound emotion filled her and she struggled to hide it. It could have been fear or loss, or the horror of sudden and violent death. Or something else he could not even guess at. Did she believe in spirits, perhaps vengeful or disturbed ones?

“She treated it confidential,” she said aloud, and her face was blank again, merely concerned to answer his questions.

He wondered how much she knew of her mistress’s trade. She was resident in the house. Had she no curiosity at all?

“Do you clean the parlor where the seances are held?” he asked.

Her hand jerked a tiny fraction; it was not much more than the stiffening of muscles. “Yes. The daily woman does the rest, but Miss Lamont always had me do that.”

“The thought of apparitions of the supernatural doesn’t frighten you?”

A flash of contempt burned in her eyes, then vanished. When she answered her voice was soft again. “Leave such things alone, and they’ll leave you.”

“Did you believe in Miss Lamont’s. . gift?”

She hesitated, her face unreadable. Was it a habit of loyalty fighting with the truth?

“What can you tell me about it?” Suddenly that was urgent. The manner of Maude Lamont’s death surely sprang from her art, real or sham. It was no chance killing by a burglar surprised in the act, or even the greed of a relative. It was acutely personal, driven by a passion of rage or envy, a will to destroy not only the woman but something of the skills she professed as well.

“I. . I don’t really know,” Lena said awkwardly. “I’m a servant here. I wasn’t part of her life. I knew there were people who really believed. There were more than the ones she had here. She once said that here was where she did her best work. The things at other people’s houses was more like entertainment.”

“So the people who came here last night were seeking some real contact with the dead, for some urgent, personal reason.” It was more a statement than a question.

“I don’t know, but that’s the way she said it was.” She was tense, her body straight-backed, away from the chair, her hands clenched on the table in front of her.

“Have you ever attended a seance, Miss Forrest?”

“No!” The answer was instant and vehement. There was harsh emotion in her. Then she looked down, away from him. Her voice dropped even lower. “Let the dead rest in peace.”

With sudden, overwhelming pity he saw the tears fill her eyes and slide down her cheeks. She made no apology nor did her face move. It was as if for a few moments she were oblivious of him, locked in her own loss. Surely it was for someone dear to her, not for Maude Lamont, lying stiff and grotesque in the next room? He wanted someone who could comfort her, reach across the grief of unfamiliarity and touch her.

“Have you family, Miss Forrest? Someone we could notify for you?”

She shook her head. “I had only one sister, and Nell’s long dead, God rest her,” she answered, taking a deep breath and straightening up. She made an intense effort to control herself, and succeeded. “You’ll be wanting to know who they were that came last night. I can’t tell you ’cos I don’t know, but she kept a book with all that sort of thing in it. It’s in her desk, and no doubt it’ll be locked, but she wears the key on a chain around her neck. Or if you don’t want to get that, a knife’ll break it, but that’d be a shame; it’s a handsome piece, all inlaid and the like.”

“I’ll get the key.” He stood up. “I’ll need to talk to you again, Miss Forrest, but for the meanwhile, tell me where the desk is, and then perhaps make a cup of tea, for yourself at least. Maybe Inspector Tellman and his men would appreciate it, too.”

“Yes sir.” She hesitated. “Thank you.”

“The desk?” he reminded her.

“Oh! Yes. It’s in the small study, second door on the left.” She gestured with her hand to indicate where it was.