Mesmerized (13 page)

“They were not terribly important historically,” Stephen agreed. “But it’s something of a local leg
end. You know how that is—tales of some ghostly woman who is seen at midnight, and people say she was one of the martyred family. It makes a good story. There is a family history of the St. Legers, and I believe the martyred Scorhills are mentioned there. They might be included in a comprehensive account of King Henry’s reign. But, more likely, they picked it up from something Mother or Belinda or Pamela said.”

“The same way they learned your brother’s favorite songs.”

“Yes. But how did they bring off that ruse?” Stephen asked. “I mean, we all heard ‘Fur Elise.”

“First they would have found out what songs he particularly liked, probably easier to bring out in casual conversation than one would imagine. Then they just had to find a small music box that played one of the tunes that were his favorites. They wind the music box up so that it will play, then Madame Valenskaya conceals it in another of her pockets or maybe even inside the skirt. She runs a thin wire inside her dress from the switch on the music box to her hand, and when she tugs on the wire, the lever on the music box is pulled, releasing the mechanism, and it plays, fading out soon enough.”

He shook his head. “They are clever.”

“What of the monk tonight?” Olivia asked. “Is that another local legend? Monks, headless and otherwise, frequently are.”

Stephen shrugged. “Not that I can recall. Although,
as you said, they often appear in ghostly stories. And a monk would fit with the idea of the Martyrs, since they were killed for not renouncing Catholicism. The Dissolution of the Abbeys was at the same time as the Scorhills’ troubles.”

Olivia looked thoughtful. “I think they made a mistake with that ‘ghost’ tonight. However badly it may have frightened Lady St. Leger and softened her up for tonight’s séance, it also carries the seeds of their destruction. If we could just find that robe in one of their rooms, it would prove they were behind the little show in the garden.”

“I presume it was Babington,” Stephen mused.

“I would think so. The monk was certainly not wide and short enough to be Madame Valenskaya, and though it was hard to judge height looking down on it like that, I think it was probably taller than Irina, also. So, unless they have a cohort outside this house working with them, it would have to be Mr. Babington.”

“He hardly seems the sort to have the nerve for it,” Stephen commented.

“Perhaps that quiet, reticent demeanor of his is another disguise.” Olivia shrugged. “Tom can get into his room tomorrow. He offered to take on the job of polishing Mr. Babington’s shoes and cleaning his clothes from one of the other footman, so it won’t be remarked if he goes in there tomorrow morning. He can search for the robe.”

“Yes, if Babington has not already destroyed it.
That would be the first thing I would do if I were he—toss it into the fire as soon as I got back and let it burn while everyone is downstairs talking about the incident.”

“Not if you intended to use it again,” Olivia pointed out. “How could you be certain that you might not have to trot out the ghost for another fright? I wouldn’t imagine they think you are going to give in easily.”

“I’m not so sure that I would want to have to carry it back into the house, either,” Stephen said thoughtfully. “I mean, here I am—I run off into the lower garden. I know there is bound to be pursuit soon. So I strip off the robe and mask—presuming that the skull face is some sort of mask.”

Olivia nodded. “That would seem far easier than disguising one’s face with phosphorescent paint. After all, then you would have to take the time to wipe it all off before you slipped back into the house, and what if you missed some of it and ran into someone and they saw it? The game would be up.”

“That’s the crux of the problem—running into someone. The fellow has to get back into the house, and there are going to be people running around outside and in after something like that. One could hope to slip in a side door, and then, if someone comes upon you out in the garden, you can say that you, too, are looking for the ‘ghost.’ And once inside, you can just pretend to have been in another part of the house and have come to see what all the fuss is. But it would
be a little difficult to explain why you are carrying a robe and mask with you.”

“True. The intelligent thing would be to take it off in the garden and leave it. Hide it, because you don’t want the thing found, for then it’s clear that it was a person, not an apparition.”

“Right.” Stephen grinned at her. “So you scout out a place to hide it before the event, then go there, put the thing away, and go back to retrieve it later.”

“The next day?”

He looked thoughtful. “I think tonight, don’t you?”

Olivia nodded. “Yes. He is bound to realize that you will start a massive hunt for it tomorrow. So he would not want to leave it. We are much more likely to find it in the daylight, so unless it is in an excellent hiding space, we might very well come upon it. I wouldn’t take the chance if I were he.”

“Then he will sneak outside tonight to retrieve his robe, if we are right in our assumptions.” Stephen’s eyes brightened. “What would you say to keeping a watch on our guest Mr. Babington? We might follow him to the hiding place and catch him red-handed.”

“I think it’s an excellent idea.” Olivia smiled back, excitement fizzing up inside her.

They left the study and climbed the stairs, going down the hall past Mr. Babington’s room, treading with extreme softness. Stephen stopped in front of the door across the hall and down one from Babington’s and silently turned the knob. He opened the door, and they slipped inside, leaving the door open a crack.

The room in which they stood was clearly unused,
its furniture hidden under dustcovers, and it was a trifle chilly in the late August evening. Stephen looked around the room, lit only by the crack of light from the hall, then moved about, locating a stool in front of the vanity, which he brought back and set down for Olivia to sit on.

The minutes passed slowly. The house was quiet, no one stirring. Olivia began to wonder if they had thought of Babington’s going out to retrieve the robe too late. Or perhaps they had it all wrong, and it had not been Mr. Babington in the garden this evening at all. She shivered in the growing evening chill and wished she had thought to go to her room and get a shawl before coming here. Indeed, it would have been a good idea to change out of her evening dress altogether, for while its wide, open neckline might set off her chest and shoulders admirably, it did little to keep her warm.

Stephen removed his jacket and draped it around her shoulders, and Olivia looked up, surprised. The coat was still warm from the heat of his body, and she noticed that it smelled like him, a clean, crisp, indefinably masculine scent. She thought of yesterday when he had kissed her, and looking at his face, she was suddenly sure he was thinking of the same thing. Her breath came a little faster in her throat, and she rose slowly to her feet.

The soft click of a door closing in the hall broke in on her consciousness, and she turned back quickly to look through the crack of the door. Howard Babington was walking the hall, his steps careful and soft.

“He’s leaving,” she hissed, and Stephen opened the door a little wider so he could also see.

Their quarry started down the main staircase, and they left the room, following him with equal quietness. At the top of the stairs, they paused, watching as Babington crossed the large room below them and entered the hall leading to the conservatory and the back door. Stephen, more familiar with the house, went down the stairs first, with Olivia right behind him. The large, open area below them was lit dimly by a few of the wall sconces, their wicks turned so low that Stephen and Olivia were barely able to see their way. They reached the bottom of the stairs and started to tiptoe across the marbled floor in the direction Babington had taken.

At that moment a woman walked across the room. Olivia and Stephen came to a dead halt, staring at her.

She wore a long, narrow dress, belted with a chain of gold rings around her hips and falling straight down the front almost to her knees. Her hair was hidden under a veil that fell back from a low headdress. She did not turn her head to look at them as she moved across their path. It was as if she was the only person in the room. Nor did she pause as she neared the wall. Instead, she walked straight through it and disappeared.

O
livia let out a squeak and leaped across the space separating her from Stephen. His arms went around her tightly, and for a long moment they stood, staring at the spot where the woman had disappeared.

“Bloody hell!” Stephen exclaimed softly. “What was that?”

Olivia could only shake her head, unspeaking. A shudder shook her body, and he squeezed her more tightly to him. They looked at each other, and it struck them, finally, that they were standing in each other’s arms in full view of anyone who might happen to come by.

Suddenly embarrassed and awkward, they let their arms fall away from each other, and they stepped back. Olivia felt very cold, even inside Stephen’s jacket, and she wished she were back in his arms once more.

“Did you see—” he began and stopped, searching for the right words.

“A woman?” Olivia offered. “Yes, I did.”

“And did she pass right through that wall?”

Olivia nodded.

“Well, at least I know I’m not mad, unless we’ve both been struck at once.”

Stephen went to a table and picked up a candle, lighting it from one of the sconces, and walked over to the part of the wall where the woman had disappeared. Olivia joined him, though she wasn’t entirely sure whether it was from curiosity or from a distinct desire not to be left by herself in the middle of the room.

He held the candle close to the wall, moving it from side to side and up and down, looking for some sort of crack or opening. Olivia shivered.

“It’s freezing,” Stephen said, and, amazingly, his breath hung on the air for an instant like mist.

They looked at each other again in consternation. It was August, not nearly cold enough for one’s breath to condense in the chilled air. Olivia shook her head, as if to disown the reality before them. They moved away from the wall until they reached a place where it was no longer cold.

“I think,” Stephen said after a moment, “that what we could use now is a bit of brandy.”

He took her arm and led her in the other direction, where his study lay. Once there, he closed the door behind them and lit the wall sconces, as well as the lamp on his desk. Olivia plopped down in a chair, watching him numbly as he crossed to a cabinet and
pulled out a bottle of brandy. After pouring a healthy dollop into each snifter, he brought them back and handed one to Olivia.

“I’ve never—” she began protestingly, but he shook his head.

“This is a time to break the rules,” Stephen assured her. “Drink up.”

In truth, Olivia felt as though she needed something to calm her nerves, and she took a quick sip. The liquid burned in her mouth and all the way down her throat to her stomach. Her eyes watered, and she let out a gasp. But she had to admit that a moment later she no longer felt as cold or as numb.

“Now…” Stephen said, taking a healthy swallow and perching on the edge of his desk. “Can you tell me what we just saw?”

“A woman,” Olivia said, pleased that she managed to keep her voice steady. “Who appeared from nowhere and walked across the room in front of us and through a wall, disappearing.”

“Succinctly put.” He paused. “Can this have been some trick of Madame and her group?”

“Oh! Babington!” Olivia exclaimed, suddenly remembering. “We were following him.”

Stephen nodded. “That apparition drove him out of my head. No hope of finding him now. We don’t even know by which door he left.”

“I guess not. I’ll tell Tom to search Mr. Babington’s room tomorrow, to see if he hides it there.” Olivia sighed and turned her mind to his question.
Could Madame Valenskaya have engineered the vision they saw?

What they had seen, she thought, had been far eerier than the “monk” treading the garden path this afternoon. There had been something not quite solid about the woman; she had not been transparent, but she had somehow not looked substantial, either. Most of all, she had not gone from sight down steps into the dark lower garden. She had walked through a solid wall and completely vanished.

“I cannot imagine how anyone could have accomplished such a trick,” Olivia admitted, and took another swallow of brandy. “I have seen a medium put on gauze painted with phosphorescent paint and move about the room in very little light to pretend to be a spirit. But this was nothing like that. What we saw appeared to be a real person, someone of flesh and blood. And she walked through a wall! How could anyone make it look as if she had strode right through a solid wall?”

She did not add the most bizarre and chilling thing about the vision they had just seen: that the woman had looked exactly like the woman Olivia had dreamed about sitting in front of the fire yesterday.

She could not think of any way to tell Stephen that without sounding as if she had gone utterly mad. But she was certain it was the same woman. The dress had been different, a deep crimson this time, with gold undertunic and sleeves, a richer, more formal looking gown, and she had worn a headdress and veil,
which had hidden her pale blond hair except at the very front, but her eyes, her facial features, the small, lithe body—all were exactly like the woman in her dream.

It was impossible. One did not dream of an unknown woman, then see her so soon thereafter, particularly when that woman seemed to walk straight through a wall. She refused to even think about the fact that at first, when she had seen the woman yesterday, Olivia had thought she really was there in front of the fire. It was only later, when Olivia woke up, that she realized she must have been dreaming. The whole thing made her uneasy in a way she could not begin to express. If it were not for the fact that Stephen, too, had seen the woman tonight, she would have been afraid she had run mad.

“Would it be possible…?” Stephen began musingly, then halted, looking embarrassed.

“What? Go on? It could not possibly be any more bizarre than what we just witnessed.”

“You’re right. What I was thinking was—if a person were an expert mesmerist, would he or she be able to make someone else believe that he saw something that was not really there? I have heard strange tales of mesmerism.”

Olivia sat up a little straighter, intrigued by the idea. “I’m not sure. I have studied mesmerism—it is a fascinating subject. Not all that silly mumbo jumbo about animal magnetism and such. That is why I prefer the term ‘hypnotism.’ It separates the study from
Mesmer’s oddities. It is possible to put a person into a sort of half-conscious state. It can be used to remove pain. I have experienced that myself. But I personally have never witnessed any of the phenomena that some have claimed, such as making people act in peculiar ways or do things that they do not remember. The times when I was put into a trance that way, I was aware all the time of what he was saying, and I remembered it afterward, as well. However, there are those who claim it can be used to give one suggestions that one later carries out, not knowing why. If such claims are true, then…”

Stephen grimaced. “It sounds absurd.”

Olivia nodded. “But no more absurd than someone walking through walls. However, it would mean that Madame Valenskaya or one of the other two would have had to hypnotize both of us and implant the suggestion that we would see such a woman, and also have gotten us to forget that we had ever been hypnotized.”

“Unlikely,” Stephen agreed. “And how could they make sure that we would see her at the same time? But how else could they have done it? Some sort of mirror arrangement? There was no sign of any mirrors in that room. And I can see no way for a person to appear to step into a wall and disappear.”

“And how would they have known to set it up for just that particular time and place? It was happenstance that we were there,” Olivia pointed out.

“Not entirely. We were following Mr. Babington.”

“You mean, he could have led us right to it? That would indicate they knew we would be following him,” Olivia said.

“One could assume we might, I suppose. Clearly you and I did not believe there was a ghost in the garden. They could guess that we would have worked out that Mr. Babington would be the most likely suspect and that he would go out to retrieve his costume, and that we would follow him.”

“They could assume that
you
might,” Olivia corrected. “I do not think most people would expect me to be helping you in the investigation.”

“True. But if they set it up for me, you saw it simply because you were there, too. They wouldn’t have had to plan for you.”

“Unless it was done by hypnotism, as you suggested. But then they would have had to plant the suggestion in both of us. And they would have had to know we would be there at that time.”

“Not necessarily,” Stephen argued. “It could have been something that they suggested we would do if we followed Mr. Babington. That way it would throw us off his trail no matter what the reason we were following him—and it would make us witnesses to another ghost.”

“A much more believable one,” Olivia commented.

“I must say, none of this seems very believable to me,” Stephen said wryly.

“No. Nor to me. But we cannot ignore the evi
dence of our own eyes, either. If we are to judge things impartially, scientifically, we cannot afford blind disbelief any more than blind faith.”

“What are you suggesting, then? That this really was a ghost?” Stephen asked.

Olivia glanced at him. “I have as little faith as you do in the actuality of spirits and ghosts. But we must sift through all the information that we have if we are to arrive at an accurate conclusion. It occurs to me—why was she dressed the way she was dressed?”

“Because she was from a different time—or, rather, because we were to be led to believe she was from a different time.”

“Yes, but why that time? They were talking about this martyred family tonight, the Scorhills, but if I understood you correctly, they were from the early sixteenth century. Yet this woman’s dress was definitely medieval. My guess is from around the time of Eleanor of Aquitaine.”

Stephen raised his brows. “You can be that specific?”

Olivia shrugged. “I am fairly confident of it. Within a hundred years or so. Styles did not change as quickly in the Middle Ages. But her dress resembled ones I have seen in drawings and paintings of Queen Eleanor. I have read a good bit of history, and my favorite great-uncle is forever reading and talking about it. He, as it happens, is a great student of Henry II, Eleanor’s husband, so I have seen pictures of her
more than once. At any rate, I am certain it is medieval, not Tudor.”

“Why wouldn’t they play up the Martyrs, given what happened in the séance?”

“It would seem to make more sense.”

He smiled. “Perhaps they had a medieval costume handy but not a Tudor one. It might not be accurate, but at least it’s ghostly.”

“A medieval tunic and underdress would probably be easier to sew and to get into, that’s true. They are simpler. But this afternoon they used a robed monk, which does seem to fit with the Martyrs, at least to some extent. And if someone is able to pull off as good a trick as a woman walking through a wall, I would think they would bother to costume the ghost correctly.”

“What I find hardest to swallow is the idea that Madame Valenskaya and her cohorts have the intelligence to conjure up a trick like that,” Stephen said.

“I agree. But if it was not somehow caused by them, then we are left with only the theory that it was real.”

They looked at each other. It was not a theory either of them was eager to accept.

Olivia glanced around the room. “There are a number of books here.”

“Yes, and more in the library. What are you suggesting?”

“That we do a little research,” Olivia replied.

“Into what?”

“Well…her gown, for one thing. We could make sure that it really is from the period I think it is. And perhaps we could find some information about the house. Belinda said she found out about the name while she was researching a paper for her tutor. She must have gotten the information from somewhere.”

“Oh, I’m sure there must be some histories. People are always writing tiresome tracts about their ancestors. What exactly are we looking for?”

“I’m not sure. Hopefully we will know it when we see it.”

They started at one end of the study, and after a few minutes of searching the shelves, they found two histories of England and a study of the English monarchs. Olivia sat down in the comfortable chair in front of Stephen’s desk and began to flip through the biographies of the monarchs.

It was not long before she exclaimed with triumph, “Here! Look, a drawing of Queen Mathilde—you know, who fought with Henry over who was the rightful ruler of England. She is dressed in much the same way as our woman tonight.”

Stephen, who had settled down behind the desk with one of the histories, came around to look over her shoulder. “Yes. Except for the fur around the cuffs and neck, it looks very much the same.”

Olivia turned another few pages. “And here is Eleanor. Still much the same.”

“So we must assume that our apparition is dressed as a—what, twelfth-century lady?”

“Yes. She’s clearly a woman of some consequence—that girdle she wore around her waist looked like gold links with some sort of stones, perhaps even precious gems. They were unfaceted back then, you know.”