Read The Clairvoyant Curse Online

Authors: Anna Lord

Tags: #feng shui, #murder, #medium, #sherlock, #tarot, #seance, #steamship, #biarritz, #magic lantern, #camera obscura

The Clairvoyant Curse (32 page)

BOOK: The Clairvoyant Curse
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Cold incredulity turned to
impressive astonishment as the gypsy smiled slyly and not a little
gratefully, her hand unconsciously fingering her slender throat.
“You have done me a service, Countess. I will do one for you in
return. When I hid the brooch inside the wig I felt something there
already. It was a dart.”

That confirmed the murder
weapon. It also confirmed that the thief and the murderer were not
one and the same. Unfortunately, it did not clear Dr Watson. The
killer was still to be determined and time was running out.

“Before you go, Madame
Sosostras, tell me one last thing. Did you know Madame Moghra wore
a wig?”

“Of course! I know a wig when I
see one! Especially one that looks like something the cat has
dragged in! Besides, a woman past a certain age who applies
Venetian ceruse with a shovel is bound to be bald!”

The Hungarian gypsy marched out
with her dignity and her neck intact, and the healthy colour
restored to her swarthy complexion.

It was another ten minutes
before the Countess heard Monsieur Bresant cry out: “The brooch!
The brooch! It is found! It has turned up just as I predicted!”

While everyone crowded around
the pastry trolley to witness the miracle of the thistle the
Countess went in search of Fedir and Xenia. She found them on the
deck. They had successfully completed a search of Dr Hu’s cabin and
were coming to find her. The mysterious photo had been found.

“Where did you find it?”

“I find it in lining of silk
slipper,” said Fedir, passing the photo to his mistress, while
Xenia stood guard, shielding the transfer from view.

“Excellent work,” praised the
Countess. “I won’t examine it here. I will take it to my cabin. Go
and get yourselves some afternoon tea. When you have finished your
tea, Xenia can bring my tea to my cabin and you can take some tea
to the cabin of Dr Watson.”

Fedir clamped his hand
brusquely on his mistress’s sleeve in an effort to stop her moving
away, a presumptuous act for a manservant. The Countess was
momentarily stunned by the impertinence of the unprecedented
gesture and Xenia gasped audibly, wondering if her brother had gone
mad like Odysseus and would need to be tied to the mast while they
rode out the storm. Her brother had recounted to her that Dr Watson
blamed the Countess for his ill-fortune and the predicament he
found himself in. It had been the Countess who had insisted he come
on this voyage against his wishes. It had been she who had
befriended Madame Moghra against his better judgement and now he
was likely to be hanged for the murder. Had the Scottish doctor
found a sympathetic ear in Fedir? Had Fedir decided to throw his
lot in with the doctor and go against his mistress?

Fedir lowered his tone and
removed his hand but did not apologise, his voice vibrated with
fear though he was no coward. “I find something else in slipper -
gold ring with symbol of water dragon. I saw such a ring when I go
with Count of Odessos to Lake Baikal. It is ring of Chinese
assassin. Beware, mistress,” he warned, barely able to get the
words out as a shiver ran down the spines of the women.

The sky was darkening
prematurely, daylight had turned into dusk though it was still
mid-afternoon.

Just when the Countess thought
she might be making headway here came a fresh piece of information
that could not be ignored. Had Madame Moghra been assassinated by a
Chinese spy?

She looked again at the
dog-eared, faded, sepia photo. It was decades old. Madame Moghra
looked about sixteen years of age – young and pretty, her thick
wavy hair was fair, there was a sprinkling of freckles across her
cheeks, she was smiling shyly into the camera.

The man in the photo was
several decades her senior, stern and guarded. He was not a
Catholic priest, possibly a foreign missionary of some standing,
possibly her father or uncle. The Countess studied the photo again
and changed her mind. The way the two bodies were angled did not
suggest a familial bond. The man could have been her lover, though
the disparity in ages made her doubt it – the man looked about
fifty.

The Countess turned the photo
over in her hand and studied the Chinese writing. Unfortunately, it
was not a language she was familiar with. If she had the luxury of
time she could wait until they reached Biarritz, have the writing
translated, pore over the possibilities of a Chinese connection,
draw conclusions, and wait for logic to take care of the rest – but
she did not have the luxury of time. There was only one thing for
it. She would have to reveal her hand and call the assassin’s
bluff.

Dr Hu had returned to his
cabin. She knocked and entered. His enigmatic smile – the sort that
never parted at the lips - told her he knew his room had been
searched.

“Please to take a seat,
Countess Volodymylovna,” he gestured courteously. “How may I be of
assistance to you? A question about feng shui, perhaps?”

She made herself comfortable in
a
velour fauteuil
while he paced the length of the room, not
nervily like a cat on hot bricks but like someone calmly pacing
themself.

“I have come for a history
lesson.”

“Ah, whose histoly?”

“Chinese history.”

“The histoly of China is longer
than the Gleat Wall – any peliod in particular?”

“The Opium Wars.”

He pacing did not skip a beat.
“First or Second?”

She considered for a moment.
“The second – what years were they?”

“1856 – 1860.”

“Not so long ago really,” she
commented airily, noting how he could reel the war years off
without blinking. “Someone who might have been, let’s say, sixteen
when the Opium War finished would have recently turned
fifty-five.”

“Yes.”

“Do you have much memory of the
war, personally I mean?”

“War is never forgotten. I was
a young boy but I lemember. I lemember mostly the absence of my
mother and father, they are killed at the start of the war. I was
laised by an uncle.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that. I
was raised by a step-aunt. My childhood was blessed, but it is not
the same as having parents.”

He bowed his head in
acknowledgement of her observation but refrained from comment.
Perhaps his childhood had not been so blessed.

“I believe the Chinese did not
call it the Opium War. They gave it another name?”

“Allow War.”

“Oh, yes, that’s right! They
named it after the British ship – the Arrow. Why was the Arrow so
important?”

“Chinese sink Allow; Blitish
not happy.”

“If I recall my history tutor
correctly, the Arrow was involved in piracy?”

He nodded sombrely. “Blitish,
Flench and Lussian, they join forces to destloy Chinese.”

“Not exactly a glorious period
for the British, French and Russians, but very lucrative, what with
trade deals and so forth. I recall in the end they completely
destroyed the Summer Palace and the Old Summer Palace out of
retribution.”

“Yihe Yuan and Yuan Ming
Yuan.”

“They looted the artworks, is
that right – to the victor go the spoils?”

“Yes.”

“I think one day, perhaps
centuries from now, the Chinese will avenge themselves on the
British, French and Russians, what do you think Dr Hu?”

His enigmatic smile returned
and lengthened. “I think perhaps you are light, Countess.”

“Until that day comes, the
Empress may have to be satisfied with taking her revenge one person
at a time, quietly and in secret, what think you of that Dr
Hu?”

“Perhaps you are light
again.”

“Which brings me to the reason
I’m here in your cabin having a lesson in Chinese history.” She
extracted the old photo from her beaded reticule. “Can you tell me
why you had a photo of Madame Moghra in the lining of your slipper?
And before you consider doing something reckless with one of your
acupuncture needles I should let you know my maid and manservant
are privy to my whereabouts and are in possession of a letter
outlining everything I know regarding this matter which they will
hand to Captain Lanfranc should I end up looking like a porcupine.
Some answers – that is all I seek. I wish to prove the innocence of
Dr Watson but I have no great wish to see you banged up on Devil’s
Island.”

He digested her curious
confession while he settled on the end of his bed. His feet did not
reach the floor, but dangled in mid-air like those of a child. Of
course the last bit about the letter to Captain Lanfranc was a
complete fantasy but he had no way of knowing that.

“Let me prompt you,” she said
in a reasonably friendly tone. “Along with the photo in your
slipper you have a gold ring featuring a water dragon – the symbol
of a Chinese assassin.”

Still he did not speak, though
she thought she caught a flicker of fear – not of death but being
exposed.

“I have never seen such a
symbol but I imagine it might look like Capricorn, the head and
body of a fire-breathing goat-like creature and the tail of a scaly
leviathan. If you would be so kind, I would like very much to see
it. I believe it is still in your slipper.”

He slid off the bed and went to
find the ring, and she knew in that moment she had won him over. He
was about to open up and lead her one step closer to the truth.

He handed her the ring to study
at her leisure and settled back on the bed.

“It is my duty to kill Madame
Moghla. I spend years tlacking her flom Amelica to Flance to
England. Last night I wait until all go to bed. There is just you,
Countess, in the gland saloon. I take my chance. I go to libaly to
get I-Ching. I have acupuncture needle hidden in sleeve. I go to
chair, I go to Madame Moghla, but I see she is dead aleady. The
blooch is missing. I think the gypsy has it. I think the gypsy kill
Madame Moghla. I am lobbed of chance to avenge my uncle. I fail in
my duty.”

She handed back the ring. “Why
was it your duty to kill Madame Moghra?”

He slipped the ring onto the
index finger of his right hand and held it up to the gaslight to
gaze at the filigreed silver water dragon. “She betlay my uncle. He
is taken plisoner by the Blitish. He is shamed. He takes own life
in plison.”

“How did she betray him? She
was only a girl at the time, about fifteen or sixteen years of age
– not yet a woman.”

“Not yet a woman and aleady a
courtesan. She was the lover of my uncle. It was seen as high
status to take a young foleign mistless. She might one day be
concubine but foleign concubine not good in time of war. My uncle
not know she is Anglo-Flench spy. She is also lover of Monsieur
Henli de Finistere. He is head of Flench Foleign Missionaly
Society. She betlay my uncle to Flench. I must avenge my uncle. But
I fail. Madame Sosostlas beat me.”

“No, Madame Sosostras did not
kill Madame Moghra.”

“Not Madame Sosostlas?”

“That’s right, the gypsy stole
the brooch but she did not kill Madame Moghra, just as you did not
kill her either. You didn’t have enough time for a start. I know
that because I watched you. I just wanted to know what connected
Madame Moghra to a Chinese assassin. I’m afraid it doesn’t help me
much. I’m still no closer to finding the killer. All I know is that
it had to be number one, two, three, four or five. I guess that
narrows it down a bit but not enough unfortunately.”

He twirled the ring around his
finger. “I could not say anything earlier for fear of betlaying
myself, but as I go back to my loom I see man in billiard loom
hiding behind the gleen scleen.”

“What do you think he was doing
there?”

“I think he was doing something
to camela.”

“The camera obscura?’

He nodded.

 

The Countess guessed correctly
that Miss Morningstar might be taking a break from eternal boredom.
There was no way
la gamine
could be mistaken for a man but
the Countess had to know what else she’d seen while she’d been
sitting in the darkness of the card room. There was no time for any
preamble. The fairy-child was curled up on her bed, crying.

“After you saw Madame Sosostras
leave the library, what happened?”

Startled, Miss Morningstar
mopped her eyes with the corner of her quilted blanket. “Oh, it’s
you. I didn’t see anything else after that. I was glad the old
witch had had her brooch stolen. I didn’t know she was dead at the
time. I didn’t want to be accused of stealing her precious thistle
so I slipped out through the jib door that Monsieur Bresant uses –
you know the one the crew use so as not to get in the way of the
passengers. I thought if anyone sees me I can just act childish and
say I got lost. I came up the back stairs onto B deck and went to
my cabin.”

“You didn’t see anyone in the
billiard room?”

“Now that you mention it, I
thought there was someone there, but I didn’t see anyone. It was
probably the person who stole the slides back for more.”

“What slides?”

“Reverend Blackadder spread the
glass slides on the table as soon as he unpacked his bags. He
wanted to check if any were broken. He counted them out. There were
fifteen - three for each camera obscura. Later that afternoon,
after we finished playing games on the aft deck, he noticed three
slides had gone missing. Mr Ffrench said he probably miscounted.
Monsieur Croquemort, ever the saint, said it didn’t matter, as
there were still enough for the ghostly effect he wanted to achieve
in our next magic lantern show.”

The Countess noticed how Miss
Morningstar no longer referred to her love-interest as Crispin and
then self-corrected. “Fifteen? But that makes five cameras? I
thought you only had the two obscuras?”

“Three are made out of
cardboard. Mr Ffrench put them together yesterday. He was teaching
Reverend Blackadder how to use them. I asked him to teach me too
but he just scoffed. He can be very cruel sometimes. I’m really not
that stupid.”

BOOK: The Clairvoyant Curse
2.41Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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