Evie turned to see a huge bear of a man emerging from an inner door.
“Yes, dearest?” Mrs. Carter said in a tone of exaggerated innocence.
The bear’s lips twitched as he repressed a smile. This had to be William Carter, Harcastle’s brother-in-law. She knew little about him beyond the fact that he was a skilled physician.
Harcastle performed brusque introductions but Mrs. Carter barely waited for him to complete them. “Yes,” she said, “but what’s she doing here?” Her gaze flitted back and forth between them. “Oh!” She covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes lighting with something like excitement. “Is she your mistress?”
Evie’s cheeks warmed. She wasn’t usually the blushing sort, but Mrs. Carter was peculiarly blunt. Her obvious glee at the possibility that she’d been formally introduced to her brother’s inamorata amused Evie and she felt herself actually starting to like this strange, rather tactless woman.
As for Dr. Carter, he offered his wife no reproach this time, perhaps because he was interested to hear the answer to her question.
Harcastle gave his sister a stern look to no visible effect. “No.”
“There’s no shame in it, Alex. I’ve always said an affair would do you good.” She smiled at Evie and added cryptically, “He lives too much inside his own head.”
“Miss Jones is a spiritualist who wishes to leave her profession. I intend to assist her, and I brought her here because she needs somewhere to stay.”
“Did you indeed?” Mrs. Carter tilted her head to one side as she regarded Evie again. “Well, we’re leaving in a day or two anyway. You’re welcome to stay tonight if you like. You can sleep on the sofa if you don’t mind cat hair.”
Harcastle owned a cat? How unlikely. Impossible to imagine him as an animal lover. Perhaps it was a good mouser and he tolerated its company for that reason. Although this theory didn’t explain the profusion of long, tawny hairs she saw on the sofa cushions, which suggested a more pampered pet.
Harcastle started to speak. “I’m not sure that’s—”
Mrs. Carter spoke over him to Evie. “You mustn’t mind my manner. I’m like that with everyone. You’ll soon get used to me.”
“Why must you say aloud every thought that enters your head?” her brother muttered.
“Because I spent a decade repressing them.”
Presumably, the decade Mrs. Carter referred to was the one she’d spent in the asylum. Evie had never met a former lunatic before, though she’d met plenty of people on the London streets whose wits had gone a’begging. So far, she detected no obvious signs of derangement in this woman unless outspokenness counted and, from what little she knew of mad doctors and their draconian methods, it probably did.
Harcastle shook his head but the expression in his eyes was warm. He was a kind brother, and the realization caused a pang in Evie’s heart. To distract herself or perhaps everyone else, she gestured to a side table on which stood a large wooden box from which a brass horn protruded. “What’s that?”
“A phonograph. I use it for dictation.”
“It records your voice? Can it play music?”
“I suppose so.”
“Too frivolous a use for the likes of you, I take it?”
Mrs. Carter, who’d watched this brief exchange with obvious interest, laughed softly. “Did you just insult Alex? How wonderful.” Then, yawning, “Well, I’m done in. We keep country hours, you know. Good night, Miss Jones. Good night, brother.”
Dr. Carter looked a trifle surprised but he followed his wife out of the room.
Alex shook his head. “Subtle.”
Something had changed during the brief interview with his relatives. The tension had lifted and she no longer felt his suspicion like a weight on her heart. For that alone, she was glad of their presence.
“Shall we sit down?” He gestured to the somewhat dilapidated sofa. It wasn’t merely the cat hair. The seat sagged, though the piles of fat cushions probably compensated. She got the feeling the cat sat here more than he ever had.
She did as he suggested and found the seat pleasantly comfortable despite its appearance. “How much time do you spend here?”
“These days, not as much as I’d like.”
“Why don’t you move all this into Harcastle House?”
“Earlier today,” he said, “you called Nightingale ‘Captain.’”
Clearly he didn’t intend to answer her question. “Yes. As far as I know, it’s only a nickname. I don’t know how he came by it. He was Captain when I met him. And Nightingale. Also Mr. Higgins, and sometimes he went by Ebert.”
“What else do you know about him?”
“He used to be an actor. He tells stories about his days on the stage all the time. He’s a photographer and a painter. He grew up here in London but he traveled with a circus for a brief time.” Was that really all she knew? “He talks and talks but hardly says anything. It’s all funny stories about people he used to know.”
“If you think of anything else…”
“Of course.”
He sat on the opposite end of the sofa. But, no, that wasn’t an accurate description of what he did. Rather he sprawled, his head back, eyes closed, and legs stretched out before him. It should have been a relaxed pose but instead he looked exhausted.
“Why did you come to me tonight?” he asked.
I don’t want you hurt. That was the simple truth but she doubted he’d believe it. When she didn’t answer, he opened his eyes, and despite his weariness, they sparked with intelligence. Once she had thought them empty, but now she could actually see him thinking, analyzing. His renewed scrutiny was a tangible thing as she groped for words that were true but not too revealing.
“I didn’t know this was his plan. I was going to be a successful medium, that’s all. The most successful. To me, your investigation was an obstacle and I wanted to stay as far from you and your deductive powers as I could. Captain… I see now that Captain invited you in. I don’t know why except that he wants you to pay. I want no part of that.”
He nodded but she couldn’t tell if he believed her. “Was he your lover?”
“It was never like that,” she snapped. Captain’s words—Why do you think I didn’t bed you?—had played on her mind all day. Thinking of them now made her queasy. “He was my mentor. In a way, he made me.”
His expression darkened and she knew she’d said too much. Far too much.