The Dark Between Part 21

She studied her face in the mirror. Her skin was smoother now, not having felt the bite of the luminescent paint for nearly two weeks, but it was still pale. Her face was thin. Despite having enjoyed decent meals for several days, she still looked underfed and sorrowful. It would serve nicely.

That morning she had reported to work in the library as usual.

At two o'clock she'd complained of stomach pains. Miss Freeman glanced at her in annoyance, saying nothing. After her third complaint, Freeman murmured about the evils of indulgent kitchen staff. Miss Barrett, by contrast, offered to make her a cup of tea, which Kate refused as politely as possible. At a quarter of three, Kate rushed to the water closet, slammed the door shut, and made a noisy pretense of heaving her lunch into the modern, shiny toilet. It seemed necessary to make corresponding splashes with her hand. After a moment she pulled the chain to flush the toilet, washed her hands, and ran cold water over her face to extend the dramatic effect. Clapping a still-wet hand over her mouth, she opened the door.

The two ladies stood a few paces away. Freeman took one look at her and pointed toward the main entrance. "Return to the Gatehouse at once or you'll make us all ill."

"Yes, miss," Kate mumbled from behind her hand, clutching her hat with the other.

She'd returned to the Gatehouse as directed, but slipped silently up the stairs to make certain her appearance was perfect for that afternoon's task. Once safely outside again she veered onto a side path and made her way to the unlocked side gate, continuing to Regent Street from there.

The Prince Albert was a stately, sprawling building situated by the lush green gra.s.s of Parker's Piece. Kate studied it in silence, walking from one end to the other and peering through the windows in the most casual manner she could manage. She noted several windows in a row that seemed to look out from the same elegant room-a ballroom of sorts. This was what she needed.

When she entered the hotel she couldn't help gawking at the ma.s.sive electric chandelier. A young man in blue-and-gold livery immediately came to her side, his angular face sharpened further by indignation.

"If you're here for work, you should use the side entrance."

Kate drew herself up. "I have a message for one of your guests. She may be in the ballroom at the moment."

"Do you mean the Oak Room?"

"Yes," she said quickly. "I think she's there, preparing for an event later today."

He crossed his arms. "I don't think-"

"I'll find it myself," she said, brushing past him.

He followed, shadowing her just as she'd expected.

The ballroom was at the opposite end of the lobby. In the middle of the grand oak-paneled room, a lady in an elaborate hat pointed at tables and gave orders to two young maids. Kate nodded toward her. "Is that Elizabeth Gardner?"

"That is indeed Mrs. Gardner," the young man said.

"I have a note of introduction."

He looked at her for a moment, rolled his eyes, and took the note from her hand. When Kate gestured once again at Mrs. Gardner, he squared his shoulders and walked toward the lady.

Kate knew this was the moment when matters could go pear-shaped, for her note of introduction was intended to throw the lady off her guard.

I am Frederic Stanton's natural child. If you wish to avoid a scene-and I am very skilled at making them-you should find time this instant to speak privately with me. I only ask for ten minutes.

Mrs. Gardner opened the note impatiently. She did not frown, but Kate noticed a pucker forming between her eyes. Closing the note, Mrs. Gardner turned to the liveried attendant. "We'd appreciate a little time alone, if you don't mind," she said to him, her voice light and sweet.

He blushed and backed away.

Once he was out of hearing, Mrs. Gardner looked directly at her. Then she gestured for Kate to step closer.

She was the most elegant creature Kate had ever seen. Her suit of soft rose silk, adorned with rows of intricate braid on the bodice and hem, fit as though molded to her broad bosom and tiny waist. Her hat-a towering combination of bows, flowers, and feathers-rested on softly poufed light-brown hair. Her brown eyes were almost inhumanly large in her fashionably pale face. As Kate came to stand before her, she felt dwarfed by the woman's presence.

Mrs. Gardner tilted her head, considering her with a steely expression. "You have the look of my former husband."

Kate couldn't help herself. "Your late husband, you mean."

That aristocratic eyebrow quirked. "Shall we sit down?" She gestured toward a table, her eyes fixed on Kate as she sank into her chair. The corners of her mouth lifted, but otherwise her expression was cold. "What is it you want from me, exactly?"

"I am an orphan in need of shelter," Kate replied, not bothering to steady the tremor in her voice. "I've looked for honest work, but there are no suitable positions to be found in Cambridge."

"There are inst.i.tutions for children like you."

Kate frowned. "I prefer to have my independence."

"Are you asking me for money?"

"I only ask for what is due to me."

Mrs. Gardner's eyes narrowed. "Your father made no provision for you."

"Perhaps he meant to but hadn't the chance. He died rather suddenly."

The woman shook her head. "I can offer you nothing. My husband wouldn't allow it."

Kate clenched and unclenched her hands under the table. She took a breath. "Then you give me no choice."

Mrs. Gardner leaned forward, all trace of politeness gone. "And just how do you plan to blackmail me, you conniving little s.l.u.t?"

Kate's head snapped back as though she'd been slapped. She'd been called many horrible names, but never that. She clenched her fists again, nails biting into her palms. "I will make it public that you've failed in your duty to help your husband's orphaned child. I'm certain many will find my plight newsworthy."

"And I will respond that you are an imposter, for I'm certain you have no proof of your paternity."

"But ... the scandal?"

"I have weathered many scandals. My former husband attracted them like a magnet."

Kate blinked.

"Oh yes, little girl. No doubt you worshipped him as a handsome, heroic sort of intellectual man. But his obsessions were bizarre. That book of his-Thompson's idiotic Ghost Society adored him for it, but the scientific community howled in derision. Maybe that's what turned him to narcotics in his quest to lift the veil of the spirit world."

Kate's shoulders sank. "Narcotics?"

Mrs. Gardner waved her hand dismissively. "His young friend Dr. Marshall said he had neuralgic pain, that his death was an accident, but I knew what was going on."

"What?" Kate knew she was losing her grip on this conversation, but she had to know. "What was going on?"

"He and his mad friends were accessing those 'hidden powers of the mind,' as they liked to say. That's what killed him. I know it. His friends and enemies know it. It would have been easier to bear if he'd offed himself out of melancholy, but to deliberately overdose in order to reach a higher plane of consciousness? It was downright idiocy. There was a great deal of tongue wagging at the time...." She paused, her gaze distant. "But that sort of thing always runs its course and people forget." She focused again upon Kate. "Try all you like to stir up a little dust, but nothing will come of it. And rest a.s.sured that my current husband knows people who can silence naughty blackmailers."

Kate gasped.

"I endured your father's failings for several years. But I have a different life now, and I'm proud to be William Gardner's wife." She grabbed Kate's hand, clutching it so tightly that Kate winced. "There's nothing you can do to hurt me. I'm not some gently born lady who faints and weeps at the first sign of trouble. I was an actress before I married your father-I've dealt with much worse than you could ever offer. Do you understand?"

The woman's face was inches from hers, so close Kate could see the flecks of powder on her cheeks. She nodded slowly.

"Now, leave this place quietly." Elizabeth Gardner's sugary voice returned as she released Kate's hand and settled back in her chair. "Or I will have my a.s.sistant escort you out the back way." She gestured toward a shadowy man standing in the corner. Kate leapt to her feet, sending the chair screeching backward, and stumbled toward the door. She made it only as far as the lobby before the tears spilled down her cheeks.

It seemed fitting that she would encounter Mr. Thompson as she approached the Summerfield gate-everything else had gone wrong, why not this? Her face must have been a horror, for he stopped in his tracks.

"Child, whatever is the matter?"

She wiped her face with her sleeve, plundering her mind for a reasonable reply and coming up short.

Mr. Thompson took a step toward her, his eyes searching. "Ah, Kate. You went to see her, didn't you? I could have told you it was a terrible idea."

Kate moaned. "I couldn't help myself."

"I should have taken your query more seriously. Of course you'd wish to see her. She knew your father better than anyone, I suppose. How did she upset you?"

She couldn't tell him the whole truth, for she couldn't bear him knowing the nature of her scheme. "The lady was cold and cruel. She frightened me."

He stepped closer and laid a hand on her shoulder. "There's not a gentle bone in that woman's body." He patted her lightly, an awkward gesture but also sincere. "You should go to your room and rest. I'll have Millie bring up a tray for your supper."

"Please don't tell Mrs. Thompson what I've done! She'll think me so foolish."

"Don't worry a bit about it. I'll explain to Helena and Elsie that you're ill."

Chapter 27.

Elsie had lain in the meadow with her art tutor, but never had she been so brazen as to travel across town in the dark of night to knock on a gentleman's door and invite herself in.

But that was only due to lack of imagination.

"Elsie, the school is fenced, but it's not a prison," Kate had told her the day before. "One can walk out the door and away from Summerfield without scaling walls or breaking locks."

"How do you manage it without getting caught?"

"You wait until night and you stay in the dark as much as possible."

Elsie had done as Kate described, walking quietly down the two flights of stairs and out the door, taking the garden path through the darkness to the unlocked side gate. She hadn't expected to encounter the bicycle.

So that was how Kate had traveled to Castle End so easily. And on this night Kate was ill-Elsie hadn't seen her all day-so she shouldn't mind if Elsie took the contraption out for a spin. It would be a much quicker trip on a bicycle, even one this rickety.

She'd dressed simply in a white muslin blouse and dark skirt, the plainest petticoat she owned, and a light cloak. She was forced to pull the gown up to her knees to straddle the bicycle, but the cloak hid her display of underclothes. If she kept to the dark she wouldn't call too much attention to herself.

A mixture of excitement and terror at seeing Simon so late at night had numbed her to the dangers of cycling alone in the near darkness. She knew exactly where Stonehill lay, and in her mind she could see that familiar door open and Simon glancing out. Would he smile? Surely he'd be shocked. She'd rehea.r.s.ed gentle, rea.s.suring words-words that would convince him to let her inside.

As it happened, her head emptied of all these words when she found herself leaning the bicycle against a tree and standing before the front door at her aunt and uncle's former home-a place she'd visited before, but never like this. Through the drawing room window she could see the flickering light of a lamp. He was there.

And yet she was frozen.

She stepped closer. Taking a deep breath, she lifted the knocker and tapped three times.

After an agonizing pause, she heard footsteps. The door opened a few inches, revealing a sliver of Simon's face. He stared through the opening for a moment, frowning in confusion. When she pushed back the hood of her cloak, his eyes widened and he swung the door open.

His face was pale, his usually sleek hair awry. She smiled at the thought of him tearing at it as he'd worked upon some difficult task. He'd not shaved that day. His shirt was rumpled, and he'd shrugged out of his braces, which now hung at his sides. He looked boyish and vulnerable-more frightened to see her on his doorstep than she was to be there.

"h.e.l.lo," she said softly.

"Elsie?" He smoothed his wild hair. "I mean, Miss Atherton?"

"May I ... Simon, may I please come in?"

He hesitated, seeming to regain some of his composure. "Your aunt would have my head on a platter if she knew you were here so late. Alone."

"She's asleep. Neither of them knows I'm here, and they never shall. Please don't shut the door on me. I only wish to talk with you."

He stared at her. After a long pause, he finally waved her through the door.

"I've always loved it here," she said softly as he guided her toward the drawing room. She glanced at the desk and the flickering lamp that cast shadows on the books and papers strewn over its surface. This house had not yet been fitted with electricity. The thought of long nights spent working by lamplight made her heart warm even more to him. She loved his grand theories, his determination to know more than it was thought possible to understand.

He gestured at a faded settee, and she let the cloak slide from her shoulders. "If you don't mind, I'd rather not sit. I wish you would instead take me out to the back garden."

"Elsie, this is very strange."

"I'm a strange young lady, remember? But I don't bite. I just want to see the place where I was so happy as a child."

The faintest smile played upon his lips. "Let me get the lamp."

She followed him to the back door. When he opened it for her, she stepped out into the night air. "It's too cloudy to see the stars tonight," she murmured.

"I still can't believe you came so far, and in such darkness, on your own."

"It seems much as I remembered out here. The trees don't tower quite so much as they did then, but they still make me feel safe." She turned to him. "And I feel safe with you, of course."

"Your reputation won't be safe if anyone learns you've been here."

She waved a hand. "No one will know. Please don't say any more about it."

"But I still want to know why."

She stepped closer to him. "I had to see you alone before you left Cambridge. I feared that if I didn't, we'd never have the opportunity to speak about that day by the river."

He looked away. "I owe you an apology. I took liberties."