But when Lady Seymour next spoke, the subject had nothing to do with royalty. “Is there someplace I might wash my hands?”
“There is, my lady,” Mr. Popplewell said. “It’s at the back of the house. I can show you—”
“Miss Maltravers can accompany me.” She rose from her chair. “If you will?”
“Yes, of course.” Evelyn stood to follow her, aware of the rest of the company staring after them.
“One must never wander about strange places alone,” Lady Seymour said. “And never in company with an unfamiliar gentleman.”
“No, indeed,” Evelyn agreed.
Lady Seymour led the way through a dark sitting room shadowed with heavy furnishings. As they passed through to the hall, a young maid in an ill-fitting stuff dress appeared. She wobbled a curtsy.
“The lavatory?” Lady Seymour inquired.
“This way, madam.” The maid escorted them to a small room off the kitchen. Inside was a basin, tub, and little else. “The necessary is outside.”
“This will suffice.” Dismissing the maid, Lady Seymour went to the basin and turned on the tap. Water came out with a sputter. “Was this your first séance, Miss Maltravers?”
“How could you tell?” Evelyn asked.
Lady Seymour cast her a glance. “You were gripping my hand rather hard.”
Evelyn smiled a little sheepishly. It had been difficult not to be overcome by the atmosphere once the séance got underway. “Mr. Lees’s gyrations did startle me a little.”
“Do you think his gift legitimate?” Lady Seymour asked as she washed her hands.
“I’m not inclined to believe,” Evelyn said. “Then again, he was able to identify you.”
“Anyone might have done. I’m staying at an inn nearby. One can never be entirely incognito when traveling with servants.”
“What about your question? He appeared to answer it.”
“He did, didn’t he? And yet . . . the Prince Consort had no secret name for the Queen.”
Evelyn’s smile broadened. “You tricked him?”
Lady Seymour’s mouth curled into a smug smile of her own. “I tested him.”
“And now? Do you think him a fraud?”
“It’s not for me to decide,” Lady Seymour said. “That must be left to Her Majesty’s judgment.”
“Do you not wonder what he wrote down?”
“Not in the least.”
Evelyn smoothed her skirts as she waited for Lady Seymour to finish freshening up. The action caught Lady Seymour’s gaze. After drying her hands, she came closer to inspect Evelyn’s gown.
“I noticed this garment the moment you arrived with Lady Arundell,” she said. “It’s a stunning creation.”
Evelyn couldn’t disagree.
Made of black French grenadine laid over black silk, the afternoon dress was cut and sewn to perfection. It did more than flatter Evelyn’s curves; it worshipped them, giving her the illusion of a near-perfect hourglass figure.
Full skirts swelled out from a close-fitting bodice, long sleeves skimmed her arms, and a row of delicate, silk-covered buttons traced the length of her spine.
It hadn’t much in the way of trimmings, save a little black lace and near-invisible pleating at the hem, but the gown was by no means plain. On the contrary. It was a masterpiece of artfully placed stitches, darts, and seams.
“You must have recently visited France,” Lady Seymour observed.
“No, indeed. I’ve never been out of England in my life.”
“It was made here?” Lady Seymour’s brows lifted. “You astonish me.”
“It was designed by a gentleman in London,” Evelyn said. “A brilliant dressmaker.”
“He must be. I’ve never seen a gown manage to do so much for one’s figure while still preserving the dignity of mourning. May I?”
“If you like.”
Lady Seymour reached to touch Evelyn’s skirts. “We’re all in mourning these days. The entire court. It can be quite dreary. All one sees is crepe and more crepe.” She examined Evelyn’s sleeve and bodice. “You must give me the name of this dressmaker of yours.”
“Of course.” Evelyn smiled to herself as she reached for her reticule. “I just happen to have his card.”
* * *
They departed Birmingham the following morning. On arriving at the railway station in London, Evelyn was obliged to switch trains in order to continue her journey home to Sussex. Her uncle waited as she hugged Anne goodbye.
“It’s only for a fortnight,” Evelyn said. The sound of a whistle nearly drowned out her voice. It was punctuated by the hiss of steam and the ungodly screech of metal as another train rolled into the station.
“Yes, I know,” Anne replied loudly. “You’ll be back before you know it. In the meanwhile, you must write to me.”
“I will,” Evelyn promised.
Passengers emptied from the compartments of the newly arrived train. They rushed past, some shouting to porters and others calling out to friends awaiting them on the platform. Everyone seemed to be in a spectacular hurry.
“Really, Fielding,” Lady Arundell said. “Have you no maid to send with the girl?”
“I thank you, my lady,” Evelyn said, “but I don’t require a maid. I’m an old hand at rail travel by now.” She’d made the journey up to London from Sussex alone. It would be no more difficult to make the journey back.
Uncle Harris summoned a porter to take Evelyn’s luggage to the baggage car. “A lot of to-do,” he grumbled as he escorted her to the correct platform. “All so you can return in two weeks’ time.”
She took his arm, walking with him through the clouds of smoke and steam. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”
He gave an absent pat to her hand. “I won’t say there haven’t been compensations. Spiritual amplification and so forth. But a man of my age grows accustomed to his peace and quiet.”
“Yes, I know. My presence in the house has been rather disruptive, I fear.”
“Quite so. That business at Cremorne. I blame myself. When the other girls come to stay, I shall insist Nora accompany them.”
Evelyn glanced at him, frowning. She hadn’t been fully listening. Perhaps she’d misheard? “What other girls?”