“And convincing, I trust?”
“Oh yes, Miss Cavendish.” He nodded slowly. “I can only applaud your tactics, for I cannot imagine any man living who would not be persuaded by such a demonstration.”
“You will help me, then?”
“I will take all steps that are within the power of my office, I promise you that.” A thought seemed to strike him. He unbuckled the small lamp from his belt and passed it to her. “I should like you to have this. If it will assist you in some way…”
“Thank you!” she said, taking it from him.
“When you have more information, any news in fact, regarding this matter, I should be grateful if you would bring it to me at once.”
“You can rely upon it, Inspector,” she beamed. “For we are a team now, are we not?”
He seemed to consider this for a moment, looking at her as if coming to terms with this curious situation. “Indeed it seems that we are, Miss Cavendish. Just so.”
Without any further word, he tipped his bowler hat to her and took his leave, pausing to glance once more at the candlestick upon the altar before continuing on his way, whistling softly as he climbed the stairs from the crypt.
17
On the night of the ball, Hecate’s thoughts were not in the least taken up with the idea of dancing. Dressed in her ball gown, she knelt on the floor of her bedroom, surrounded by more books she had plundered from her father’s collection. His career as an archeologist had furnished him with a splendid library of his own, which had been a source of joy for Hecate all her life. As a child, good behavior and successful endeavors were rewarded with access to the shelves and the invitation to choose a book. When she had turned eighteen her father’s gift to her had been to have free access to the collection. Over the past three years, particularly since starting work at the cathedral, she had often had recourse to it. Edward Cavendish had a discerning and singular taste when it came to adding to his library. Given that most of his interest lay in the long ago and often the far away, the titles he selected were written either by or about arcane, obscure, and little known people. As Hecate leafed through the pages of one volume after another, she scoured the indices for mention of the Essedenes and their Resurgent Spirits. When the clock in the hallway downstairs struck the hour of nine, she had still not found a single entry. With a sigh she sat back on her heels. She had hoped for at least something, some scrap of information that would add to what little she already knew and help her to better explain it to anyone else. She needed Inspector Winter to listen to her. She also knew she wanted to share what she was convinced was happening with John. She was utterly certain he was not behind the summoning of the spirits. She was accustomed to sharing her work with the lost souls with him. Keeping such a secret did not sit well with her.
There came a knock upon her door and her father called out her name.
“Come in,” she replied.
Her father was still a handsome man. Not as strong as in his youth but retaining a trim figure and a zest for life that went a long way to counteracting the effects of middle age and his somewhat threadbare evening suit.
“The carriage has arrived and your mother is eager for us to depart. I have been sent to fetch you. Ah,” he said, taking in the scattered books.
“I’m afraid I’m not quite ready, Father.”
“I see your mind has been elsewhere.” He stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. “Have you found whatever it was you were searching for?”
Hecate got to her feet, picking up books and stacking them neatly as she did so. “Not yet. But I haven’t given up.”
“Of course not. Although, now might not be the time…”
“Is Mother fretting?”
“Your mother does not fret, she merely seeks to … enliven us, so that we are not lacking in our preparedness for these social events.” He joined in the picking up of the books, helping her find places to put them. He noted the title of one of the older volumes. “My, my. I doubt this has left its place on the shelf for a number of years. We have searched the collection. I do not think you will find anything further regarding the Essedenes.”
“No, I believe you are right,” she said, taking the book gently from him and placing it on her dressing table.
Her father took a pipe from his pocket and put it between his teeth, narrowing his eyes at her. “I see a fatigue in my girl, and I prescribe a night off. No more dark thoughts. This evening is about simple enjoyment, the company of friends, music and dancing. It will do you good,” he insisted.
She smoothed down her dress, which had become a little crumpled from her sitting on the floor. She doubted the creases would show among so many frills and layers. As with every ball she had ever attended, her mother had chosen a gown for her. It was of good quality, but would have been inexpensive, due to its being so out of fashion. The frothy pink flounces with ruches and swags of paler pink lace trim, contrasted with black velvet ribbons at her waist and neck, coupled with short white gloves and more lace in her hair looked, even to Hecate’s undiscerning eye, horribly dated. The color—her mother’s idea of youthful prettiness—worked to make her pale skin tone appear washed out, her freckles more pronounced, and her red hair quite shocking. She felt neither sophisticated nor attractive.
“Very well,” she said. “For you.”
“You look … charming!” he said, with convincing warmth.
Hecate caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length looking glass.
“I am to present myself to the world as a sugared almond. What manner of husband does Mother hope me to attract? No man whose opinion would be worth the hearing could have his head turned by such nonsense.”
Edward took her hands in his and squeezed them.
“A good man will see beyond the disguise,” he said.
“Are there such men?”
“Indeed. I believe you know one or two.”
“If you mean John, he will not be at the ball. Clementine’s mother does not consider anything less than a bishop worthy of including on her guest list. If you mean Phileas”—she smiled as she felt his grip on her hands tighten fractionally—“well, I doubt he would care what I wore, so long as I promised to love his blessed cows.”
They were laughing at this when Beatrice entered the room.
“Must I employ a herding dog every time I wish to gather this family into a carriage?” she wanted to know.
This made her husband laugh all the louder. “Make it a cattle herder of some sort, my dear. That way you might usher Hecate straight into the arms of one of her suitors.”
Hecate prodded his stomach playfully.
“You are simply eager to secure a lifetime’s supply of roast beef!”
Her mother gave a tut of exasperation. “Hecate, where is your stole? Your fan? Your purse? You could at least try…”
“I am sorry, Mother,” she said, snatching up the various items she was required to take with her. “There, I’m ready now.”
