Lara Temple - The Earl's Irresistible Challenge

‘You went to Bishopsgate to visit a fortune-teller.’

‘Yes. And after we had a little conversation and understood one another tolerably well, I paid Gypsy Sue, as she is called, to tell Marcia she must consult an occultist.’

‘A what?’ he asked. The sardonic edge had left his voice completely. All she could detect there was a kind of fascinated shock.

‘Have you never heard of them? Apparently they are quite popular of late. There is very much a demand for communication with dead loved ones on The Other Side. In any case, the gypsy, or rather Sue Davies, told me how Marcia was obsessed with someone named George whom she loved and mourned and that she asked Sue...’

‘Wait one moment... Hell, never mind. I will reserve my questions for the end.’

‘Thank you. So I had my man of business lease a house in an unassuming part of town where such an occultist might credibly have her lodgings and Sue Davies helped me set the stage, so to speak. Like Marcia Pendle she was once an actress and was very useful in procuring the correct clothes and artefacts. Then she sent Marcia Pendle to me and under the guise of my occultist’s persona I questioned her about her relations with Henry.’

‘Good lord. A vivid imagination doesn’t even begin to cover it. So we are now at a consultation between a masquerading occultist from Yorkshire, a French madame from Norfolk and a fraudulent gypsy from Wales. Charming. Proceed.’

‘How did you know I was from Yorkshire?’

‘I have an ear for accents. Proceed.’

‘Very well. During this session, Marcia Pendle revealed she never even met my uncle, let alone became his mistress.’

He held up his hand again.

‘Revealed. A doxy and practised blackmailer just handed you this information. Just for the asking...’

‘Not quite. I told you she is very superstitious. I told her the fellow she wanted to reach could not meet her in the afterworld unless she revealed all and cleansed her soul.’

‘You exposed yourself to a woman who you believe might be involved in murder and she believed a young girl is her gate to the afterlife. I don’t know which of you is more unbalanced...’

‘Of course I didn’t allow her to see me. I was heavily veiled and I wore a rather vulgar dress Sue gave me and she even showed me how to paint my face so that should my veil slip I would not be recognisable. Sue did offer to act the occultist instead of me but I had to be the one asking the questions. I could hardly prompt Sue all through the session, could I?’

‘I see,’ he said carefully. ‘I was apparently right about your imagination. I’m impressed the powers that be have no issue with Marcia Pendle being a doxy, only with her lying to the authorities.’

‘There are apparently different degrees of depravity.’

‘That is very true, there are. So back to your discoveries—I presume you asked her who paid her to engage in this deceit?’

‘Of course. That was where I ran aground. She did divulge that his name was Eldritch, but she was so overset by her communications with George she became quite hysterical with weeping and I felt horrid and halted the session and told her George was being summoned back, but we could try again in a few days once her soul was calm.’

‘And she accepted that?’

‘Apparently George was never fond of crying females so in fact it strengthened her belief in my powers. So you see, I need to find out who this Mr Eldritch is, but Mr Mercer had no luck and I do not know how to proceed.’

‘You surprise me. But before we proceed to Mr Eldritch, I’m curious why you are so certain she was not your godfather’s mistress in the first place?’

‘I just knew. And I was right.’

‘An intuition, in fact.’

The sardonic inflection was back and she shrugged. She had told him enough. It was time to see if he would be of any use at all or whether he was merely enjoying treating her like some freakish fair exhibit.

‘Will you help or not?’

‘Help with what?’

‘Help find out who this Eldritch is and why he paid to defame my godfather and whether it is in any way connected with Henry’s suspicions about your father’s death.’

‘Why?’

‘Why?’ She threw up her hands in disbelief. ‘Because I, for one, will not sit by while someone out there is ruining people’s lives. My godmother, Mrs Payton, is in shock and in pain not only at the loss of one of the most wonderful men I have ever known, but at the discovery that he had betrayed her and his family. I must find out who is behind this and make them pay for what they have done to the Paytons. And I don’t know how to do that on my own! That is why!’

Lucas stifled a sigh at her outburst. He wished he had tossed her note into the fire rather than succumbing to the siren’s pull of curiosity. If he had an ounce of sense he would send her on her way—she was probably either mad or a very creative liar and he didn’t have time to indulge in such nonsense, he was already running late for his meeting with his uncle at the War Office. But as his brother Chase always told him, curiosity was likely to be his downfall, which was rather ironic because Chase was just as bad.

For a moment he contemplated taking her to his uncle. Oswald would see through all the girlish dramatics and probably reveal her as the clever trickster she was, because although Oswald was as cursed with curiosity as any of their fated Sinclair tribe, he was never swayed by sentiment. Lucas usually wasn’t either, but as much as it galled him to admit, even to himself, mentions of his father’s demise still had the power to sink their talons into his flesh. He could stride over most matters without much compunction but the moment she spoke those words he stumbled. Just a little, but enough. He couldn’t walk away without at least trying to understand what was afoot. Which meant he had to find out the nature of the peculiar beast sitting opposite him.

Not today, though. However offended she appeared to be by his accusation of entrapment, her voice and demeanour were clearly those of a well-born young woman and every moment spent in her company as night descended was a moment of precisely the kind of danger he did not enjoy.

‘Where do you live?’

‘Why?’

‘Because as tempting as the thought is, I can hardly leave you in the middle of London in the dark. I presume you do live somewhere. This might be a fantastical story, but you appear discouragingly corporeal.’

For the first time her eyes shifted away from his. She was about to lie, which was interesting in itself.

‘Spinner Street.’

‘Spinner Street? Isn’t it around the corner from the church where you summoned me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Stranger and stranger. Is that sad neighbourhood populated by occultists now? At what number are you perpetrating your masquerade?’

‘Fifteen. But... Does this mean you won’t help?’ she demanded as he tapped the wall of the carriage and it slowed to a halt on the empty street and a postilion jumped down to take his directions.

‘It means it is nearing your bedtime, Miss Silverdale. I will consider what you told me. That is all I can offer for now.’

Again her expression changed, or rather it leached away, leaving her face blank just as they slowed and the gaslight filled the carriage. Now at least he could see what she looked like in repose. She reminded him of a painting he had once seen in Venice. It was a depiction of the biblical tale of Ruth, with Naomi seated on a stone cradling a very unattractive babe and Ruth standing, her hand on the older woman’s shoulder and, unusually for such a painting, looking straight at the viewer. She, too, had worn no expression, but the message was clear. Beware. I guard my own.