Amanda Quick - Quicksilver

This was her world, she thought. This was where she belonged. She had a career that was important to her, and she had friends. She did not need her father’s other family.

But it would have been nice to have had a family of her own.

This was the first time you met your sister?” Owen asked.

“Yes,” Virginia said. “I knew of her, of course. My father told me about Elizabeth when she was born. But I had never even seen her. To be honest, I was shocked today when Lady Mansfield showed up on my doorstep, asking if Elizabeth was with me.”

They were in a carriage headed toward the scene of the second glass-reader murder. It was late enough to allow Virginia to read glasslight accurately.

Owen was not certain what to make of Virginia’s mood. She was composed, but he had the impression that her thoughts were focused on something other than the case.

“Lady Mansfield obviously realized that it was only logical that her daughter would turn to you for answers about her talent,” he said.

“Helen will have to confront the fact that Elizabeth cannot simply pretend she does not see auras. Elizabeth may be able to conceal her talent from her friends and acquaintances, but she can’t deny her ability to herself.”

“No, it is as much a part of her as her other senses. She needs guidance.”

“I suggested to Elizabeth that she consider joining the Arcane Society.”

“Good advice,” he said.

“She wanted to start attending lectures at the Institute. I explained that Arcane did not approve of the organization, due to the high percentage of charlatans associated with it.”

He watched her face in the shadows. “What was it like for you when you came into your talents?”

“I was thirteen. My parents had been killed a few months earlier. I was living at Mrs. Peabody’s School for Young Ladies. I had been seeing shadows off and on in mirrors for some time, but nothing distinct. I will never forget the first time I saw a true afterimage burned into a mirror. My mother had explained to me how her talent worked so I understood what I was perceiving, but it was still a great shock. The images really do look like ghosts and spirits.”

“Where was the mirror?”

“In the school library. The school was housed in a mansion that had been the property of a wealthy family for several generations. Some of the mirrors were very old.”

“You saw something terrible in one of them?”

“Yes. The mirror was at the far end of the library. I had not been comfortable in that room, but until that day I hadn’t understood why. That afternoon I walked past the mirror and felt that sensation of awareness that one sometimes gets in the vicinity of strong, violent energy.”

“I know what you mean,” Owen said.

“Instinctively I heightened my talent and looked deep into the mirror. That was when I saw my first murder victim, a woman of perhaps nineteen or twenty.”

“Surely the murder had occurred long before you went to live at the boarding school?”

“Yes, but I hadn’t yet learned to sort out the sense of time that comes with the images. And murder always rattles the nerves, even if it is an old crime. I had to know what had happened, so I talked to some of the people who had worked in the school for a long time.”

“Did you learn anything?” Owen asked.

“The old gardener had been employed by the former owners of the house. He told me the story. The young woman was a governess who was seduced by the eldest son, who was, in turn, engaged to an heiress. The governess got pregnant. The lady of the house let her go without a penny. The desperate governess tried to extort money from the lady by threatening to tell the son’s fiancée about the pregnancy.”

“So the lady of the house murdered the governess to make certain she did not jeopardize the marriage plans.”

“There was a fortune at stake,” Virginia said without inflection. “The family could not afford to have the fine marriage put at risk. So the lady of the house struck the governess on the head with a poker. The servants, including the gardener, were told that the governess had fallen and hit her head on a table, but they all knew the truth. One of the maids found the bloodstained poker.”

Virginia fell silent. She went back to watching the scene outside the carriage window.

“How did you end up at the boarding school?” Owen asked after a moment.

“Hmm?” Virginia did not take her attention off the street.

“I have heard of Miss Peabody’s school. It is not a charity orphanage. The fees are quite high. It takes in the illegitimate offspring of wealthy families who feel an obligation to care for the results of their indiscretions. The girls are educated for careers as governesses, ladies’ companions and teachers. They are taught manners and etiquette. They do not go out into the world to work as maids or shopgirls.”

Virginia turned back to him, eyes widening a little, as she refocused on the question. “My father provided for me in his will. The school fees were paid until I left at seventeen, and I even received a small bequest when I was ready to go out on my own. It was enough money to allow me to start my career as a glass-reader.”

“That explains it,” Owen said.

The carriage clattered to a halt. He opened the door, got out and turned to assist Virginia down to the pavement. They walked through the park and along a quiet street of modest houses.

“Mrs. Hackett lived in Number Twelve,” Owen said.

Virginia studied the dark windows. “I wonder if there will be another clockwork device on guard.”

“At least this time we will be prepared.”

He used the lock pick to open the kitchen door of Number Twelve.

“I really must look into purchasing one of those tools,” Virginia said.

He looked at her as he rose and twisted the knob. “Why?”

“I fancy the idea of being able to go through locked doors, I suppose. I’m not certain why. Perhaps I have a criminal mind.”

“I don’t think so. I believe you are attracted to mysteries because you have encountered so many that you have not been able to solve.”

“I had not thought of it in quite that way. You may be right.”

He opened the door into a darkened rear hall. Whispers of energy wafted through the atmosphere like an ominous scent.

“I think it is safe to say that Hackett did not die of natural causes any more than Ratford did,” Virginia said.

“No. It was murder. But then, I have known that from the beginning.”

They made short work of the ground floor and then climbed the stairs, listening for the thump and clank of a clockwork guard. This time there were no deadly surprises.

Virginia looked through the open doorway of one of the bedrooms. “I wonder why he did not leave a device behind at this house.”

“He has concluded the experiment,” Owen said.

“What an unpleasant thought.”

He pushed open another door and heightened his talent. The mercury light indicating death by paranormal means shimmered in the atmosphere.

“This is where he killed her,” he said.

Virginia walked into the bedroom. He felt energy suffuse the atmosphere and knew that she had raised her senses.

“Mrs. Hackett was at her dressing table, just like Mrs. Ratford,” Virginia said. “She is looking toward the bed, aware that whatever she sees is killing her and there is nothing she can do about it.”

“In these two murders, at least, Hollister appears to have established a pattern.”

“He requires a mirror, and he kills at night, because that is when glasslight is strongest.”

“Do you perceive flames in that mirror?”