Uncle Harris strained to see for himself. “Can we speak with him?”
“Yes. We must talk to the fellow.” Lady Arundell searched the surface of the crystal. “Let us question him.”
“He’s fading,” Zadkiel said. “Please, my lady, I must have quiet.”
Lady Arundell sat back in her chair with a look of chagrin.
Evelyn exchanged a glance with Anne.
Anne’s mouth quirked.
“Quiet,” Zadkiel said again. “All of you. He’s attempting to reach out to us—to grant us a vision. We must make the conditions hospitable for him.”
Lady Arundell and Uncle Harris obeyed. Along with Anne and Evelyn, they passed the next half hour in taut silence, gazing fixedly into the crystal ball, waiting for something—anything—to happen.
Evelyn’s eyes grew weary. She almost began to imagine she saw movement in the surface of the crystal. A shadow of a figure. It was, indeed, a man. A handsome, dark-haired gentleman. The longer she looked the clearer he became.
She wasn’t the only one who was imagining things.
“I see the remnants of a castle,” Lady Arundell said. “A crumbling structure of red brick.”
Uncle Harris nodded fervently. “I see it, too.”
Anne stared into the crystal ball, frowning. She glanced at Evelyn, brows lifted in question.
Evelyn gave a subtle shake of her head. She didn’t see any redbrick castle, crumbling or otherwise.
“There’s a gatehouse,” Uncle Harris exclaimed.
“And an ivy-covered tower,” Lady Arundell said.
Uncle Harris’s expression was rapt. “Can that be a moat?”
“It is, it is.” A look of elation came over Lady Arundell’s face. “Upon my word . . . it’s Kirby Castle!”
Uncle Harris nearly leapt from his chair. “By Jove, you’re right!”
“Is this castle significant to you, madam?” Zadkiel asked. “Sir?”
“Not of itself,” Lady Arundell replied. “But given recent events in the spiritual realm, it’s location must be critical.”
“Kirby Castle is in Leicestershire,” Uncle Harris said. “The boy medium was born in Leicestershire. It’s a sign, surely.”
Lady Arundell’s formidable bosom expanded with satisfaction. “The boy’s messages from the Prince Consort are legitimate. They must be.” Her gaze came to rest on Evelyn. “And it was your energy that enabled us to see it.”
“Mine?” Evelyn drew back. “I really don’t think—”
“Her ladyship is right,” Zadkiel said. “I feel it quite strongly. You have a gift.”
Uncle Harris fixed Evelyn with an appraising stare. It was as if he was seeing her for the first time. “Well,” he murmured. “This changes everything.”
Twenty
Zadkiel’s pronouncement about Evelyn had a profound and immediate effect. It not only elevated her in her uncle’s estimation, but in the rest of occult society as well. By Monday afternoon, she’d received nearly a dozen invitations to various functions, all of them related in some way to astrology, crystallomancy, and the spirit realm.
“There are worse things to be known for than having positive psychic energy,” Anne said when she called at Russell Square later that day in company with Julia and Stella.
Seated in the drawing room, Evelyn poured them each a cup of tea. “It’s certainly provoked my uncle to take an interest in me.”
“But that’s good, isn’t it?” Stella asked.
Evelyn wasn’t so sure. “I wouldn’t mind the extra attention so much if what Zadkiel said was true. Instead, I feel like the veriest fraud.”
“Why?” Anne wondered. “You aren’t the one who claimed to have a gift.”
“No, indeed.” Evelyn passed her friends their tea.
“Perhaps it is true,” Julia said from her seat on the scroll-armed sofa. “The human mind is full of mysteries.”
Stella nodded her agreement, adding, “You might have powers you haven’t accessed yet.”
“I don’t,” Evelyn assured them.
Anne sipped her tea. “It hardly matters. Merely by suggesting it, Zadkiel has all but guaranteed you’ll receive invitations to the best entertainments.”
“And callers,” Stella predicted. “Lots of callers.”
She was right on that score.
Not long after Evelyn’s friends took their leave, Lady Blackstone arrived. It was she who was hosting the ball at Cremorne Gardens next month. After her came Mrs. Holt-Simmons and her sister—two black-clad young widows with a strong belief in crystallomancy.
They’d no sooner gone than Mrs. Quick brought in the visiting card of Evelyn’s next caller. A name was engraved upon it in elegant script.
Mildred Lacey, Viscountess Heatherton
Evelyn suppressed a flare of unease. Unlike her previous callers, whom she’d met at the Arundell ball, she had no prior acquaintance with Lady Heatherton. She knew nothing of her save what her friends had told her.
“Show her in, Mrs. Quick,” she said at length. And then she waited, expecting the very worst.
But if her ladyship had claws, they were—for the moment—well sheathed.
She swept into the drawing room, a smile fixed on her perfect porcelain face. She was an extraordinarily beautiful woman—slim and delicate, her corseted waist cinched to mere inches. “Miss Maltravers,” she said, inclining her head in a regal bow.
Evelyn rose to return the greeting. “Lady Heatherton.”
“You’ll think me impertinent calling on you in this fashion. We haven’t been properly introduced. I am, however, acquainted with your uncle.”
Evelyn offered her a seat. “He’s not here, I’m afraid.”
“No matter. It’s you I wanted to see.” Sitting down on the sofa, Lady Heatherton occupied herself with arranging her skirts. It was no small task. Her silk afternoon dress was a marvel of tassels, fringe, flounces, and ribbon bows. A testament to her wealth. Only someone of means could afford so many elaborate trimmings. “I’ve come to assuage my curiosity.”
Evelyn resumed her seat. “Oh?”
Lady Heatherton’s mouth curved in a smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes. “After the report in this morning’s paper, I simply had to look at you for myself.”