The Dark Between (22 page)

“I’m sure you’re right.” Elsie’s brow furrowed. “Last night, when Simon Wakeham took my hand, I could almost feel a spell coming on. But I concentrated, breathing deeply to calm myself, and somehow held it off. It would be a relief not to take the dose every day. And yet I feel so ill when I’ve gone too long without it.”

“You could try to wean yourself slowly.”

“I know. I want to be strong enough to do that.” She took Kate’s hand. “You will come rowing with us, won’t you?”

“I have work in the library, and I’m afraid your aunt will sack me if I ask for more time away.”

“Oh, she’ll be pleased you’ve agreed to accompany us. You know she thinks of you as more than a servant. You’re a guest, Kate.”

Kate shrugged, secretly pleased by these words.

“I won’t be able to go if you don’t come, too,” added Elsie.

So she was to be the
chaperone
? How tiresome. It was on Kate’s lips to decline, to protest that Mrs. Thompson would prefer she keep to her employment, but Elsie’s expression was desperate. The girl deserved a pleasant afternoon after the morning’s episode. “Fine. You arrange it with Mrs. Thompson and I’ll come along. As I said before, in all these years in Cambridge, I’ve never boated the Cam.” Kate took a deep breath. “But you must do something for me in return.”

“Absolutely. What can I do?”

“Go with me now to the old laboratory.”

“Why?”

“I want to see if we can get in without the key. I know you feel as I do—something happened to Billy in that building.”

Elsie nodded slowly. “There may be an unlocked window.”

“You’d be surprised by how small a space I can fit through,” Kate said with a grin.

Chapter 21

E
lsie ran her hand along the old lab’s rough brick, trying to sense what had happened inside. How did one access those dark places consciously? She watched her hand skidding along the brick and imagined her mind having similar fingers, reaching out for spirit thoughts, emotions … pain. When she closed her eyes she thought something might be there, just out of her reach. A heaviness hung in the air, cold and dark, but it eluded the fingers of her mind.

The sound of Kate’s voice dragged her even farther from it.

“The door is still locked, and I can’t see. The curtains are drawn.”

Elsie blinked, focusing on Kate. “You’ve checked every window?”

“Yes, but this one tempts me.” Kate scrutinized the bottom half of a tall window that extended lower than the others. “Do you see that pane up there by the latch? It’s cracked. If I could push that piece through, we might be able to reach inside to unlatch the window.” Kate looked about her, then picked up a slim branch that lay near the building.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” said Elsie, but Kate had
already poked the small section of pane. Elsie heard the tinkle of glass shattering inside the building.

“Easy enough,” said Kate, dropping the branch and wiping her hands on her skirt. “The gardener will think it fell out on its own, if he even sees it. But I can’t reach the latch without your help.”

“What can I do?”

“Make a step with your hands.” Kate bent over and laced her fingers together. “See?”

Elsie knew she could have refused and ended the matter; the girl could not pull herself up to the windowsill. But the vision of Billy’s pale face, his pathetic confusion, still haunted her. If something terrible had happened in this building, they might be very close to learning what it was.

She leaned over and made the step. Kate placed her small foot on it and grasped Elsie’s shoulder. “Now lift me a few inches,” she said. With a groan Elsie hoisted her up, bracing Kate’s legs as the girl slipped her thin arm through the hole and reached for the inner latch.

“Young lady, just
what
do you think you are doing?”

Elsie turned to find her uncle standing several feet away, mouth clenched and nostrils flaring. She heard Kate curse softly as she jerked her arm out of the window.

“Come down from there at once!”

“Uncle!” Elsie cried, her knees wobbling. “We were … we were just—”

Kate came tumbling down, sending them both to the ground with a thud.

Kate recovered quickly, rising from the overgrown grass to brush leaves from her skirt. “We noticed one of the panes had fallen out, Mr. Thompson,” she said, her breath coming fast.
“I was just going to open the window to see if it could be retrieved, but it seems the glass has shattered.”

Elsie flinched when Uncle Oliver thumped the ground with his cane. “And now you’ve no doubt cut your hand in your foolishness. Stand up, Elsie. Both of you come here and let me see if you’ve hurt yourselves.”

“I’m fine, Uncle,” Elsie said, awkwardly rising to stand next to Kate. “We were only curious—”

“You had no right to be fooling with those windows. I told you the building is locked and only the gardener has the key. And we keep this
laboratory
locked because there are delicate instruments and specimens in there, flammable chemicals even. Mrs. Thompson doesn’t want anything broken, nor does she want anyone messing about and getting hurt.” He glowered at each of them in turn. After a moment his face softened. “Am I understood?”

“Yes, Uncle,” Elsie said.

“Now come here, Kate, and let me look at your hand.”

“It’s only a splinter, Mr. Thompson.”

He held her hand to his face, lifting his spectacles to peer at it. Then he shook his head. “I can barely see it. Take her to the kitchen, Elsie—Cook should be able to retrieve it. It’ll serve you right if it hurts.” He released her hand to adjust his spectacles. “After that, I trust you two will find something better to do with your Sunday afternoon than haunt this place.”

“Yes, Uncle.”

Elsie avoided Kate’s gaze as they walked in silence toward the kitchen. She already knew what she would find written in the girl’s expression.

Suspicion.

Asher watched Elsie and Kate out of the corner of his eye the next morning. They sat next to each other at the breakfast table, speaking in low voices. This new intimacy fascinated him, for each of them seemed improved by it. Elsie was more alert and outgoing, while Kate’s rough edges had smoothed considerably. Kate was, in fact, looking more human each day.

Just then, Kate turned to look at him. To find him
staring
at her. She grinned before he could turn away.

He quickly focused his attention upon his toast.

Halfway through breakfast, Millie walked in with the morning post for Mrs. Thompson. The girl pointed at the envelope that lay on top. “That one was delivered by hand, ma’am,” she said, glancing at Elsie before bobbing a curtsy. Asher thought she might be stifling a giggle.

Mrs. Thompson scanned the envelopes. “Ah, and here’s another telegram for you, Asher.”

As soon as she handed the thin envelope to him, he stuffed it in his pocket. He might have known Kate wouldn’t let that pass without comment.

“Who’s it from, Asher?”

“My father,” he mumbled. “I’ll read it later.” He turned from her inquisitive gaze to study Mrs. Thompson as she silently read another note—the very one Millie had singled out.

“My, my,” the woman breathed, pushing the note across the table to her husband. “Young Simon Wakeham wishes to invite us on a rowing expedition tomorrow. What do you think of that, Oliver?”

Mr. Thompson spoke from behind his paper. “Too damp for me, I’m afraid. And I’ve too much work, anyway. Young people seem to have more time for such frivolities.”

Mrs. Thompson’s smile faded. “You’re right, of course. My plate is quite full this entire week, and we have much to do in
preparation for the next Society meeting.” She glanced at Elsie. “But that doesn’t mean the three of you can’t enjoy a row on the Cam. Kate, I will inform Miss Barrett that you won’t be available that afternoon.”

Asher couldn’t ignore the triumphant look Elsie gave Kate, and in that moment he hated Simon Wakeham more than his own father. Why was Wakeham the one to make Elsie so giddy? It was Asher who’d followed her to London to make sure she was safe. And when Wakeham departed, Asher had escorted her home and kept her secret from the Thompsons. The only thing Wakeham had done was to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was no hero—just a man who happened to bump into Elsie and send her into a seizure.

Why, it was the complete
opposite
of a romantic encounter!

“You seem so gloomy today.” Kate’s voice roused him from his thoughts. “You will come with us, won’t you?”

Asher glanced at Elsie. The sight of her sipping tea and staring dreamily into the distance decided the matter.

“Actually,” he said, “I have a mind to accept Dr. Marshall’s invitation to visit Trinity.”

“Oh, I think you should,” said Mr. Thompson, smiling. “Nothing better than an insider’s view of the college. No doubt he’ll take you on a tour of Addenbrooke’s Hospital, too. Marshall lectures on some peculiar aspect of medical research. Can’t remember what exactly—electrotherapy or some such.”

Asher cast another covert glance at Elsie. She’d not even heard Mr. Thompson, for she still stared like a besotted fool.

“It will be a pleasure to see Dr. Marshall again,” he said finally. “In fact, I think I might stay at Trinity for several days.”

Chapter 22

“I
do hope the rain holds off, don’t you, Mr. Wakeham?” Elsie twitched her parasol as though to beckon the sun from behind the thickening clouds.

“Indeed.” He smiled politely before returning his gaze to the water.

She took in more of the view before trying again. “That chapel is very striking. It would make a lovely photograph, particularly from this angle. Is that King’s College?”

This time he only nodded before once again fixing his attention on the oars.

Elsie sighed.

Nearly all the men she had ever encountered felt it their right to stare at her. Some stared openly, while others waited until they thought she wouldn’t notice. She’d never sought such attention, nor was she always pleased by it, but she’d grown accustomed nonetheless.

On this morning when she actually would have welcomed it, Simon Wakeham did not stare. In fact, he barely looked her way. He politely met her gaze when she spoke but otherwise was content to look out onto the water as he pulled the oars.

Their conversation continued to lag in the shallows. Kate was no help, for she merely stared into the distance as Elsie and Mr. Wakeham traded bland observations about the scenery. As they glided past Clare College, Mr. Wakeham remarked on the architecture and shared an amusing story of rivalry from his days as a Trinity man. Elsie enjoyed watching his face as he talked, but she wished he would meet her gaze for more than a fleeting moment.

It was then that Kate broke her silence.

“Mr. Wakeham, how old are you?”

“Kate!” Elsie nearly dropped her parasol at the impertinent question. But when she chanced a look at Simon—for she decided now to call him by his Christian name in the privacy of her thoughts—his eyes were merry.

“Why do you wish to know?” he countered.

“I didn’t mean to offend,” Kate said. “It’s just that you seem young to be a member of the Metaphysical Society. Those Society men are all so old.”

“I suppose they are,” he said, grinning. “But since you ask, Miss Poole, I am twenty-one. I started a little early at Trinity, and perhaps I worked a bit harder than some of my peers.” His face grew serious. “I don’t say that to boast, mind you. It’s just … studying was all I had. I cared little about society or sport. I simply couldn’t afford to care—they each required more money than I was able to part with.”

Kate nodded thoughtfully, and Elsie knew she was calculating Simon’s age when her father died. No older than eighteen, she thought. Was it possible for someone so young to be corresponding with a prominent, well-respected gentleman? According to Kate, Frederic Stanton was a man born to wealth who dabbled in many things other than metaphysical research. Why would he bother writing letters to a young student at Trinity College?

“This is my favorite spot for picnics,” said Simon, rousing her out of such thoughts.

He moored the boat by a small brick arch and stone staircase on the east side of the river. Keeping one leg inside the boat, he extended his hand to Elsie. It wasn’t an elegant disembarkation, but his hand was warm and steady as he pulled her to higher ground. Once she and Kate had climbed the steep bank, they positioned their blanket to enjoy a view of Trinity College and unpacked the picnic basket.

The day had dawned bright with only a few puffy clouds dotting the skies, but now those clouds had gathered into solid grey clumps, and the breeze blew chilly from the river. Elsie did not mind the drop in temperature or the threat of rain, for it meant they were alone in their picnicking. She and Kate laughed with abandon as Simon continued to share anecdotes from his days as a student—more than once poking gentle fun at her uncle and his tendency to stutter, or that odd habit of chewing his long beard when preoccupied. Elsie knew Simon was fond of the man, so she never doubted his teasing was meant affectionately.