Yes, Evelyn wanted to say. Tell me more about him. Tell me everything.
But when Becky turned around again, her expression was shuttered.
Evelyn didn’t have to be a mind reader to know that their conversation had come to an end.
* * *
Uncle Harris’s carriage traveled at a sedate pace toward Lady Arundell’s town house in Grosvenor Square. The wheels clattered over an uneven patch of road, jostling Evelyn in her seat. The hour was approaching nine o’clock. It was cold and damp; the starless sky black as pitch. One might expect people to be nestled warm in their houses.
But not in London.
And not during the season.
Here, gleaming coaches crowded the gaslit streets, the clip-clop of hooves echoing in company with the shouts of hansom cab drivers and the laughter of merrymakers strolling through the fog.
“You’ll have a fine time tonight,” Uncle Harris pronounced from his place beside Evelyn in the carriage. He was dressed in evening black, with an ebony cane in his hand and a jaunty satin-lined cape thrown over his shoulders. “Her ladyship has a seer in for the evening. A celebrated fellow, calls himself Zadkiel. Uses a crystal ball rumored to have been passed down from an Egyptian magician.”
Evelyn recalled the fortune-teller that Anne had mentioned. “This isn’t the gentleman who writes the astrological almanac?”
“The very same.”
“Is he going to perform parlor tricks for us?”
Uncle Harris shot her a narrow look. “Crystallomancy is no trick, my girl. Not when practiced by someone proficient in the arts.”
“And this Zadkiel gentleman is a proficient?”
Her uncle’s expression turned somber. “The best there is. He’s the chap who predicted the death of the Prince Consort.”
She hadn’t realized Prince Albert’s death had been predicted by anyone, let alone a famous crystal gazer. “When did this happen?”
“Last year. Had people taken the man seriously, the Consort’s death may have been prevented. Alas, these mysteries are greatly misunderstood.”
She could imagine. It sounded like so much silliness to her. The same sort of aristocratic absurdity as Lady Arundell’s familiar spirit. It was on the tip of her tongue to say as much, but Evelyn had no desire to be offensive. Settling back in her seat, she refrained from further comment.
Her uncle had hardly spoken to her at all since her arrival, and never on the topic of spiritualism. She didn’t wish to quarrel with him. Goodness knew they’d have reason enough to argue once she informed him that Fenny might be in London.
She hadn’t done so yet, nor had she written to Aunt Nora. After her discussion with Ahmad, Evelyn had thought it best to wait.
It felt natural to put her trust in him.
And a little strange, too.
She’d never had someone she could rely on absolutely. Someone to shoulder a burden for her. To solve a problem that needed solving. In the past, it had always come down to her own ingenuity.
But not this time.
Ahmad had said to leave it with him. And that’s precisely what she was going to do.
He’d promised to get back to her soon. Until then, there was no point in upsetting her entire family. Not when there was a chance that she could solve the problem without their intervention.
The carriage came to a rolling halt. Drawing back the velvet curtain, Evelyn peered out the window. The magnificent stone facade of the Arundell’s town house lay ahead. A long line of carriages was backed up from the door.
Uncle Harris craned his neck. “What’s the delay?”
“The other guests, I assume. We might have to wait awhile.”
“Nonsense.” He tapped the head of his cane against the ceiling, summoning the footman. “We’ll get out here.”
It was a wise decision. The pair of them arrived at the front door of the town house before most of the other guests had disembarked from their carriages.
Lady Arundell was waiting to receive them in the marble-tiled entry hall. She was garbed in a black velvet gown, trimmed with heavy black lace at the bosom and sleeves. A large jet brooch encircled by a frame of plaited hair was pinned at her breast.
Anne stood behind her mother, partially obscured. Her glistening golden locks were caught up in a net of heavy black silk. It harmonized with her black silk ball gown, the only adornment of which was a subdued trim of thick black cord. It framed the modest décolletage, short sleeves, and hem. A dour dress, really. One more suited to a middle-aged lady in mourning.
“Fielding,” Lady Arundell said. “Miss Maltravers.” She pointed her black lace fan at Evelyn, motioning for her to turn around. “Come, girl. Let me have a look at you.”
Evelyn slipped out of her cloak and passed it to a waiting footman. She executed a quick pirouette for Lady Arundell. The glow from the gasolier hanging above caught the glass beading on her upper skirt, making the intricate embroidery sparkle and flash.
Anne’s eyes widened. “My word, you don’t exaggerate, do you.”
“What’s that?” Lady Arundell demanded of her daughter.
“Miss Maltravers said that her dressmaker was better than Mr. Worth. It seems she was telling the truth.”
Lady Arundell withdrew her lorgnette from her sleeve. She subjected Evelyn to a thorough inspection. “Extraordinary.”
“It’s by a new designer in Conduit Street,” Evelyn said. “Mr. Ahmad Malik.”
“An Indian? Hmm. I can’t vouch for the color. Rather gay, don’t you think, given the circumstances? But your dressmaker seems to have talent.” She snapped her lorgnette closed. “God’s truth, Fielding, I scarcely recognized the girl. There may be hope for her yet.”
It was as close to an outright compliment as Evelyn expected she’d ever receive from her ladyship.
“Quite, quite,” Uncle Harris acknowledged absently. “Has Zadkiel arrived?”
“A full hour ago,” Lady Arundell said. “He’s set up a table in the library. He requires complete silence to make contact.”
As Uncle Harris and Lady Arundell fell into conversation, Anne slid her arm through Evelyn’s and quietly guided her away from the busy entry hall.
“Aren’t you needed to greet the rest of the guests?” Evelyn asked.
“Not any longer. Not now your uncle is here. He and Mama will see to it.” Anne paused. “She’s right, you know. You look exceedingly grand. You’ll be the belle of the ball, I wager.”
Evelyn felt a flush of self-consciousness. “Do you truly like it?”