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I could not see him, but I could feel the heat emanating from his body, and I knew he was shatteringly angry. I rose on tiptoe and put my lips to his ear.
“I had no choice,” I began.
He shied back. “Your moustaches are tickling me,” he said coldly. Without preamble, he reached down and tore them from my lip.
“Ow!” I began to remonstrate with him, but he put his hand to my mouth again.
“Hush!” he rasped into my ear. “This cabinet is a passageway. It leads to Madame’s private quarters.”
I was confused. If Brisbane meant to expose her, why not do so during the séance itself, when she was bringing forth ectoplasm? Why wait until she was alone in the privacy of her own rooms?
I raised my brows at him, and even though we were in darkness, he must have sensed my curiosity. “I do not care about her medium’s tricks,” he explained. “Altogether bigger game is afoot here.”
I felt a dull thud of dismay. He was on the trail of something more important and I had ruined it by blundering in. I touched his hand and he removed it.
“I am sorry,” I whispered. “I thought you were in some sort of trouble. I came to help.”
I felt him cant his head sideways in the darkness. “You thought I was in trouble?”
I nodded. I felt him begin to tremble in my arms, and it was only after a long moment that I realised he was laughing, great silent belly laughs that he was having difficulty suppressing.
“You may amuse yourself at my expense, Brisbane, but I did come to help,” I returned.
He wiped at his eyes, and when his lips grazed my ear, I felt the anger in him had ebbed. “I have no doubt of that. You aren’t wearing any more moustaches, are you? I got them all?”
I felt my upper lip, still tender from where he had wrenched them from me. “I am myself again. Why?”
“Because I cannot kiss you properly with those absurd things glued to your lip.”
“Oh,” I murmured. “Oh.”
He did not release me for some minutes, and when he did, it occurred to me that I ought to make him angry more often if this was the result.
“Ought we not continue your investigation?” I asked as I tucked my shirt back into my trousers. “We cannot stay here all night.”
“We might,” he offered, his voice thick in the darkness. “It occurs to me there are distinct advantages to your not wearing a corset.”
I smoothed my waistcoat. “I was rather proud of this disguise and my arrangements to elude you,” I told him, studiously ignoring his importunate hands.
“It was very well done,” he conceded. “How did you manage to get out of the house party?”
“I bribed Morag with five pounds,” I told him. “How did you discover me?”
“I bribed her with ten.”
I smothered an oath and Brisbane bent once more to my ear. “I must press on. Draw yourself up as tightly against the wall as you can so I can move past you.”
I did as he bade me, making myself as small and flat as possible. It was a very snug fit, and I was not at all certain he would manage it, but he slid at last to the other side of me and turned back.
“I am making my way to the end of the passage and I dare not leave you behind. You will follow hard upon my heels, and you will make no sound. Beekman should be in the cellars drinking off the best of the port, but I do not wish to take any chances. Understood?”
By way of reply, I gripped the back of his coat and he gave a small grunt of approval. I felt his hands pass over the joining between the back and side walls and the back wall sprang open as if obeying a conjurer’s commands. I felt a rush of cooler air as we moved into a slightly larger passageway beyond and the panel slid closed behind us, clicking neatly into place.
Some distance ahead, a faint glow showed the way, and I continued to grip Brisbane’s coat as he moved forward. After a moment, I saw that the light came from the top of a steep flight of stairs that twisted once upon itself. The hidden stair was so narrow Brisbane was forced to climb sideways, leading with one shoulder. At the top, we found another small passageway that seemed to end abruptly at a wall.
Overhead, a single dim electric bulb cast its feeble light, throwing harsh shadows and putting Brisbane’s face into diabolical relief. He pointed to the wall.
“Behind this is a looking-glass in Madame’s boudoir,” he mouthed against my ear. I did not ask him how he knew. He stepped forward and touched another hidden mechanism. The panel yielded but did not swing open, and I saw that this was to our advantage as Brisbane was able to slide one finger into the gap and ease it aside just enough to put an eye to the opening. I slipped below him to see for myself and immediately he clamped a large hand to my neck to hold me still. He could not speak then, but I knew to expect a lecture once we had quit the place.
I could see the merest sliver of the Madame’s room, but what I saw did not surprise me. It was furnished in more of the same heavy theatricality of the chambers on the main floor, with the addition of several bouquets of flowers, doubtless from her admirers and clients. There was a second looking-glass, smaller than the one we crouched behind, and Madame sat before it, combing out her long dark locks. Agathe scurried about the room, sometimes visible to us, sometimes not, attempting to bring order to the room. She began by tidying up lengths of very fine muslin, placing them into a box with a series of curious rods and other accoutrements of the spiritualist’s arts. I noted trumpets and armfuls of scarlet roses fashioned of silk. Most surprising of all was a little bottle that Agathe uncorked. Suddenly, the whole bottle seemed to glow with an unearthly luminosity, pale gold and heavenly. She gave a nod of satisfaction and placed it into the box with the other things. After she finished gathering the medium’s tools, she busied herself collecting discarded clothes and papers, chattering in French all the while.
“It was a very poor show tonight, I think. You did not produce any apports or speak with your spirit guide. You did not even let me blow breath upon their necks or touch them!”
Madame seemed not to listen as Agathe chattered on.
“You should not have spoken in such a fashion to Sir Henry! He is a valuable client and he will not wish to come again when you have scolded him like a little child,” she complained.
Madame waved a languid hand. “It matters not to me. What care I for pences and pounds?” She took up a jar of expensive-looking skin crème and began to apply it to her hands with slow, methodical strokes.
Agathe gave a snort of derision. “You will care very much when we cannot pay the butcher! Always it is the same. Always you with your head in the clouds, and me with my feet upon the ground.”
Madame massaged in the crème, paying close attention to her décolletage, lifting her chin this way and that as she stared at her own reflection. “Is that a wrinkle starting there, do you think? No, just a shadow. God, the trouble one takes to stay young!” She gave a sigh and regarded her sister in the looking-glass. “Oh, stop fretting! Sir Henry deserved it, Agathe. He is no friend to our kind. He has no romance in his soul, no understanding.”
“He has money,” Agathe pointed out sourly. She bundled the clothes into the wardrobe and tamped the papers into a neat stack and handed them to Madame.
The lady drew a slender chain from her bodice. At the end dangled a key, and she used it to unlock a coffer standing upon her dressing table. She placed the papers neatly inside, then relocked the box and replaced the key as Agathe continued to tidy the room. She opened a box and removed a length of cobweb-fine French muslin. It was the whitest muslin I had ever seen, and so light, a spider might have felt at home upon it.
“For the next session,” she said, handing the stuff to Madame. I suppressed a gasp as I realised I had just discovered the source of Madame’s ectoplasm.
“And mind you draw it out more slowly next time,” Agathe scolded. “You rushed the moment during the last session and it was not as dramatic as it ought to have been. Now, you have just enough time to eat something before the next séance. You must keep up your strength.”
There was a wistfulness in her voice then, a note of pleading, and I saw that they were bound by strong emotion. I wondered if the bickering between them was simply the result of being too much in one another’s pockets.
Madame smiled at her. “You take good care of me, Agathe, sometimes against your will, I think.”
Agathe pierced her with a look. “How can you say such a thing to me? Have I not been devoted to you?”
Madame sighed. “Of course you have. But you do not trust me. Always with the lectures and the harsh words, as if I were a child to be scolded when it is I who will be the making of us!”
Agathe tightened her mouth further still, but the disapproval was writ upon her face. Madame gave a harsh little laugh.
“I know you do not approve. But this time it will be different, Agathe.” Her dark eyes fixed again upon her own reflection and she touched her face, as if to trace lines that would soon be visible. “This may be my last chance to secure my future, our future,” she said, her eyes burning brilliantly. She spoke slowly, her voice pitched low, as if more to herself than her sister. “Security, Agathe. At last. For both of us. You must trust me.” Her eyes flew once more to her sister’s, but Agathe would not meet her gaze.
“And still you will not tell me anything? I must learn of your affairs by eavesdropping like a maid?”
Madame laughed again. “I know you too well to think you would approve, Agathe! Oh, do not look so stricken. Once my plans come to fruition, I can tell you everything and you will see that all shall be well. Soon we will live like queens! Now, run down and set us a table in the supper room. I will be down in a moment.”
Agathe did as she was ordered and a moment later, after scenting herself heavily from a flacon on the dressing table, Madame trailed along. I counted to one hundred as Brisbane eased himself out of the hidden passageway. He crossed the room in quick, silent strides, drawing his lockpicks from his pocket as he moved. The casket was open before I reached his side, and he rifled quickly through the papers before swearing almost inaudibly. He put them back as he had found them and then replaced the lid and locked it again, a skill that required extreme dexterity and experience. I kept watch whilst he searched the rest of the room, so neatly that even the eagle-eyed Agathe would not suspect it. He rapped softly for hidden panels, searched under carpets and the undersides of drawers. He felt along the back of the smaller looking-glass and inside the springs of the recamier sofa. He even stuck an arm up the chimney, but he turned up nothing, and since I did not know what we were searching for, I was of little help. The most I could do was keep a sharp ear cocked for a sound upon the stairs, and after perhaps half an hour, I heard it. I waved frantically at Brisbane, but he calmly replaced the carpet over the floorboard he had been testing and grabbed my hand, whirling me into the hidden passageway just as the door opened.
Madame entered, followed hard by a pleading Agathe. “What is it? You must let me call a doctor!”
Madame was doubled over in pain, scarcely able to walk. Her complexion was pale and her brow beaded with sweat. She fell upon the recamier sofa, drawing her knees to her chest and moaning softly. “Oh, what have I eaten? What has done this to me? I am so cold, Agathe!”
Agathe fluttered around her sister, wringing her hands. “I am sending for the doctor,” she repeated. Madame gave no sign that she heard her. She shivered and shuddered with convulsions. Agathe snatched up a robe and covered her sister with it before fleeing from the room, calling out to Beekman the porter as she ran. She was gone a long time, or perhaps it just seemed so as we crouched there in the hidden passageway. Madame was sick, comprehensively so, and there was no basin at hand. She did not seem to know or care, and when she began to moan, great gasping moans, I rose as if to go to her. Brisbane’s hand held me fast, gripping mine so hard I thought surely the bones must crack. I looked up and he gave a sharp shake of the head, his black hair tumbling over his brow. I moved to push past him, for Madame was in deadly distress now, but Brisbane would have none of it.
Without a sound, he reached down, looping one strong arm around my chest to hold me fast against him. When he spoke, his lips against my ear, his voice was a harsh whisper. “We can do nothing but watch.” I made to resist, but he tightened his grasp. I watched then, his hand hard against my mouth, stifling my little cries of horror, as Madame’s life ebbed away. She was dying and there was nothing that could be done for her. It happened slowly, as if in a dream, and I knew that I should remember each of those terrible minutes for as long as I should live. I saw her writhe and cry out, and I watched her fall silent as she slipped into the coma, the sleep of death. And I witnessed Agathe, bursting in with the doctor to find her there, the light of life completely extinguished.
Madame was not beautiful in death. Her eyes were only half-closed and her mouth was slack and stained with sick, and I saw it all through the veil of unshed tears. I saw Agathe fall to the floor, sobbing into her sister’s skirts, and I saw the doctor searching fruitlessly for a pulse. I saw him close Madame’s eyes and drape a shawl over her face, and I saw him draw Agathe from the room, consoling the grief-stricken woman.
When they had gone, Brisbane hauled me roughly to my feet and shoved me along the passageway, back the way we had come. I stumbled down the stairs, and if he had not had hold of my collar, I would have fallen heavily. But he pulled me to my feet and when we reached the spirit cabinet, he paused. With his thumbs, he wiped at my cheeks.
“You must bear up, Julia,” he said. “This next bit is the most dangerous. I will do everything I can to get you out of here safely, but you must follow my orders instantly and without question.”
I nodded and he eased a finger through the velvet drape to peer through. He ducked back immediately, shaking his head to signify that someone was in the room. He motioned for us to go back the way we had come. We slipped into Madame’s room, and I kept my eyes studiously averted from the draped figure on the sofa. Brisbane tried the door, swearing softly.
“Locked. From the outside.”
“Pick it!” I ordered. I had no desire to spend the night trapped in a room with a fresh corpse.
He shook his head. “No time. They might return at any minute. There’s no help for it. We must take the window.”
He moved directly to the window, easing aside the heavy velvet drapes. There was a small bit of coping outside, surely not enough to support him, but he opened the window and flung a leg over the sill, testing the stone with the tip of his boot.
“Brisbane! You’re mad. You will be dashed to the stones below,” I warned him.
He fixed me with a quelling look. “Instantly and without question,” he reminded me. “Now, climb onto my back and hold tight. You might want to close your eyes.”
I did as he suggested, clinging to him with all of my might and never once daring to look down. To my astonishment, he did not descend when we quit Madame’s room. He went up, climbing the wall until he reached the mansard roof above. He ducked his head and gestured for me to climb over him. My limbs trembled, but I did as he commanded, finding myself atop the roof of the Spirit Club. Alone. I threw myself at the edge of the roof to see what Brisbane was about, and to my horror, realised that he was climbing back down to secure the window and remove all traces of our departure. I huddled on the roof, too numb even to pray, shivering in the cool night air as my head swam from the height. There was a sliver of a moon, and I kept my eyes fixed upon that as I waited. At last, he sprang onto the rooftop, dropping lightly to his feet.
“Oof,” was the noise he made as I flung myself at him.
“Brisbane, you are never to do such a thing again,” I commanded. “You frightened me half to death. It was far too dangerous and I forbid it. Do you hear me? I forbid it.”
I was babbling, but to his credit, he merely enfolded me in his arms and held me close to him for a moment. “I had no choice,” he murmured. I burrowed closer, borrowing his warmth, until he patted me gently upon my posterior. “We must go.”
He took my hand and led me to the edge of the roof. A narrow gap divided this house from the next, and Brisbane leapt lightly, holding out his hand for me to follow after.
“Madness,” I muttered. “I do not have a head for heights.”
Brisbane gestured impatiently. “I have seen you stare down murderers. If you think I will permit you to turn missish now, you are quite mistaken. Now, jump!” There was no mistaking the authority in his tone, but still I hesitated.
“Julia, if you do not jump by the time I count to five, I will come back and throw you across. One. Two.”
I jumped. Being dashed to death on the street below was preferable to any punishment Brisbane might think to apply, I decided. And at the next house, he only had to count to one before I leapt. By the third, I was crossing side by side with him, although I still felt a trifle giddy at the height. Thus we proceeded down the street, walking softly over rooftops. It was too early for the servants to be settled into their attic beds for the night, but we took no chances. To my astonishment, I began to rather enjoy myself. I would not let myself think on the horror of Madame’s death, but in this moment, I was a real part of Brisbane’s investigation, a true partner in detection, and I almost laughed aloud as a sharp river breeze caught at my wig and snatched it off, loosening my hair from the pins.
Just then we came to the end of the last house, and I realised what I ought to have seen before—there was no easy way down. I peered over the edge of the roof far down to the cobbles of the darkened street.
“Brisbane? What now?”
He motioned for me to climb onto his back again and I did so, squeezing my eyes shut once more and cursing myself for a fool for ever thinking this might be enjoyable.
He proceeded slowly, but as we descended, it became clear that it was a much more difficult thing for him to make his way down with me attached to him like a monkey than it had been to climb up. The momentum alone should have torn him from the wall, and I saw the effort it cost him to keep us safe as the muscles of his shoulders and arms corded tightly.
At last, we reached a small bit of coping and I was able to slide from his back as he held on to a piece of ironwork. I gulped in great draughts of fresh air—or what passed for fresh air in London—and pondered our next move.
Suddenly, Brisbane reached out and grasped me high up on the arm and swung me free of the wall. My boot tips brushed the stone, and I stifled a scream as I looked up into his eyes.
“Trust me?” he challenged. There was a grim purpose there, but something more, some animal vitality that the evening’s adventure had roused in him. He was a man thoroughly within his element.
“I trust you,” I vowed.
And then he dropped me.
The FIFTH CHAPTER
You tread upon my patience.
—Henry IV, Part One
Before I had a chance to scream out in surprise, I landed upon a soft pile of wool, newly shorn and smelling warmly of lanolin and bound for the mill in a wagon. A second later, Brisbane landed almost directly on top of me, crushing me down into the soft wool beneath.
“Brisbane, that is the second time in our acquaintance that you have done such a foul thing. And you are crushing the breath out of me. Remove yourself,” I remarked coolly, attempting to recover my sangfroid. I knew his little trick was to get back a bit of his own after I had bungled my way into his investigation, and I took it with good grace. I deserved far worse, if I was honest.
He slanted me a smile. “Oh, I think the situation offers up some very interesting possibilities.”
I shoved hard against his shoulder and he heaved a sigh before levering himself off of me. “Pity,” he murmured, and I felt my own lips twitching in response. He rolled away and we spent the next quarter of an hour lying very quietly and collecting our breath. I longed to ask him a thousand questions, but just when I opened my mouth his eyes sharpened and he rose, pulling me hastily to my knees.
“Quickly. The cart is preparing to slow down for an omnibus. Wait, now, just until it stops. Here we are then, over the side,” he ordered, pushing my backside until I obeyed, landing solidly on the cobbles with Brisbane hard after.
“Where are we?” I demanded. We were on a street wholly unfamiliar to me and rather unsavoury in appearance. A gin palace stood upon the corner, the doors thrown open to night air. Raucous laughter and the tinny music of an elderly piano filled the air along with the stench of raw sewage in the gutters. I wrinkled my nose as Brisbane rose and dusted himself, taking in the surroundings. I realised what a sight we must present, for Brisbane was clearly a gentleman dressed in the forefront of fashion in an unfashionable part of town, and I, without my hat and moustaches, was undeniably a woman pretending to be something she was not.
A creature of the night crept from a doorway, offering some unspeakable service and Brisbane grabbed my wrist. “Let us go, and quickly,” he muttered under his breath.
We hurried into the nearest alley, a narrow street thick with shadows. Against my will, I thought of the vicious murderer who had terrorised the East End during the previous year. He had never been apprehended, and just because the murders had ceased was no guarantee they would not be resumed.
I clung to Brisbane’s hand as we moved silently through the shadows. His head swung left and then right, carefully assessing the situation at all times. Suddenly, he lifted his head like a pointer and thrust me behind him. An instant later, a villainous fellow materialised in front of us. His accent was so thick I could scarcely understand him, but it was quite apparent that he was demanding our money, and when he brandished his cudgel, he grinned broadly at the pair of us.
Brisbane swore fluently, and I made no attempt to remonstrate with him. I had long since given up on civilising his choice of oaths when he was in a temper.
He gave a deep sigh and slid out of his coat, handing it to me. “Keep it out of the fray, would you? I just this week had it from my tailor.”
He unpinned his cuffs and turned back his sleeves with the same casual grace I saw him use every night when he disrobed. He loosened his neckcloth and folded it tidily into his pocket, and only then did he turn back to the fellow and gave a little gesture of impatience. “Come on then.”
“I do wish you had not done that,” I muttered, for as the fellow came forward I could see he was far larger than I had first anticipated. He was unkempt and had misplaced a few of his teeth. When he smiled, there were noticeable gaps where the teeth ought to have been, and he smiled rather too often for my comfort. The effect was one of a leering jack-o’-lantern, and I shuddered. But I knew better than to say a word, and I simply held Brisbane’s coat, creasing the fabric irreparably in my clammy fingers.
The ruffian came at him quickly, anticipating a hard left to the jaw would take Brisbane by surprise and drop him instantly. But he had seen Brisbane’s clothes and taken him for a creature of the city, a soft, useless gentleman who had never raised his fists except in the boxing ring against another of his own kind.
He did not know Brisbane. Elegant as a matador, Brisbane stepped neatly aside, avoiding the blow, and at the last moment, pivoted and swung his right elbow up sharply into the fellow’s jaw, using the villain’s own momentum to throw him to the ground.
