Chapter Twenty-Six. A Second-Chance Séance

C HAPTER T WENTY-SIX

A Second-Chance Séance

MY conversation with Malachi rehashed all the small insecurities and fears I’d had about Mr. Owen since arriving in Scotland. Each lie and prevarication over the last handful of years, things I’d once deemed benign, suddenly took on a more malevolent tone. He’d hidden his entire identity from me, and yet here I was, willingly ready to believe yet another lie. I might not have shared the details of my past with him, but I never once pretended to be someone I was not. I’d always been Ruby Vaughn.

But could he be a killer?

I swallowed hard, not ready to answer that question.

The three-mile journey along the main road back to Manhurst exhausted Ruan enough that he went straight to bed and fell fast asleep before I managed to close the door behind me. A greedy part of me wanted to stay with him, to reassure myself he was safe here and that I hadn’t done him any lasting harm. But my mind was too cloudy for all that. Instead, I locked him in and made for the library to sort my thoughts.

The tale that Malachi Lennox wove was one of passion, betrayal, and murder. I twisted the ring in my pocket. His story also echoed what the spirit had announced at the very first séance. She too spoke of betrayal. Of greed. Of love.

I had known Mr. Owen for several years, and yet that entire relationship had been built upon a foundation of lies. What did one do when confronted with an unpleasant truth? How did one even know what was the truth? I desperately needed a drink, but couldn’t risk further clouding my thoughts. Besides, even if I allowed the most improbable of options—that Mr. Owen killed Mariah and Lucy—he most certainly did not shoot me and the odds of there being two killers on one rural Scottish estate beggared belief.

No. Mr. Owen was innocent. He had to be.

The fire crackled low in the hearth and I toyed with the idea of tossing a new log onto the dying flames, or letting it fade to embers and seeking my own bed for the night. Everyone else, with the exception of myself and the angry ghosts of Manhurst, had long done the same.

There is nowhere on earth you can hide from the dead. The dead know… they know… they always know what you’ve done.

What precisely do the dead know—and why wouldn’t they just say the thing plainly?

I pulled the ring from my pocket and turned it over in the firelight, leaning closer to get a better look.

The door creaked open and I turned to the sound, slipping the ring on my little finger.

Mr. Sharpe—Elijah—whoever he was, walked in, closing and locking the door behind him. A frisson of fear climbed up my spine at the sound.

He locked the door.

“Oh, Ruby… what am I to do with you?” He tapped an envelope against his palm.

I stood at once, heart hammering in my chest, and backed up from the chair until I was pressed against the bookshelf. “Elijah?” I tried cautiously.

He sniffed and nodded, again tapping the envelope in his hand. “You’ve grown up.”

Was that all he had to say? No apologies, no indication for why he’d locked me into this room with no way to escape. “What do you want?”

He raked a hand through his hair and shook his head, his expression bleak—broken—I might have pitied him were he not keeping me from leaving. “The same as you, I suspect. To hide. To start over. A little of both. I never anticipated running into anyone from New York all the way up here. I never did hear what happened to you after…”

“After your best friend destroyed my reputation?” I arched a brow, feeling suddenly emboldened despite the fact the only thing I had to protect myself were books.

He wet his lips and nodded again. “I regret that. I know it was not my doing, but I wish to apologize for my role in what happened to you… I should have seen him for what he was. Should have stopped him.”

Now this was unexpected. I opened my mouth to speak but snapped it shut again. I did not trust this sudden honesty. I glanced back from the locked door to the envelope in his hand. I knew this man once. He’d worn that same weary trepidation on his face in New York—back when Christopher would suggest some mad scheme and Elijah would play the voice of caution. I was too young then to realize that I was being manipulated. The idealistic young pawn in a rich man’s game.

I could only imagine the mutinous expression on my face, because he raised his hands in silent surrender. “Christopher mistreated both of us. It was a surprise to see you… to have you recognize me after all these years. I ought to have confronted you at once—told you the truth and not risked you learning on your own. If I could do it again I would—but I was startled to learn you were alive and here. I thought if I stayed away from you, then perhaps you would never need to know who I truly was.”

My eyebrows raised at his audacity. “Mistreated us both? I was sixteen, Elijah. A child . You were a grown man—you both were!”

Elijah sank down into the chair before me with a sigh. “I did not know the truth about him either. He fooled us all. If I had known that he was married… I would have spoken to your father—told him of my suspicions before any harm befell you.”

“And yet you continued on in business with him long after I was sent away. Why was that?”

He cast his eyes to the carpet and shook his head. “Because I was afraid. I saw how easily he walked away from what he did to you. How he manipulated the papers, turned the public eye to see him as the victim and transform a mere girl into a temptress for all the world. I was horrified how quickly he could change the story to suit him.”

“Evidently not horrified enough to cut ties.”

He winced. “I am ashamed of how I behaved, and my shame is no excuse but it is at least an answer. I do not expect forgiveness, nor do I deserve it. I only want you to know that I did not see the monster within the man was until it was too late.”

Nor I. “How can I believe you?”

“It does not matter—it is the truth. Christopher ruined me as well as you. Even had I tried to disavow him earlier, our financial futures were entwined. I could not have escaped him without ruining myself in the process. There is a reason, Ruby, that I am here in Scotland and not still in New York. My debts—the men that he’d defrauded. He used the same methods on me that he used on you, for I was the one who took all the blame for his fraudulent schemes. I too left America under a cloud of shame. I have not even spoken to my own mother since that day in 1917. My entire life, my businesses that I’d built—all sand beneath his schemes. And yet he walked away without a scratch. Yes, I do regret not knowing the depths of his villainy far sooner. It would have saved both of us a great deal of heartache.”

“I am sorry for it.”

“It is done. I cannot change what happened, and I do not want your pity.”

“I don’t intend to give it.”

He let out a strangled laugh and ran a shaking hand over his jaw.

I didn’t believe his pretty words, but I no longer wished to dwell on what happened in New York. It was a long time ago, and I was no longer that shy girl who’d been maneuvered and played. Now I was a grown woman who was being maneuvered and played. I eyed the decanter across the room.

Elijah must have sensed my turn of mood and he quickly went to it, pouring himself a snifter of brandy. “Care for some?”

“Please.”

He poured a second and brought it to me, the round glasses cupped gently in his nimble fingers. “I was relieved to hear you were not more grievously wounded at the lake.” He took a long drink of the amber liquid, leaning against a tall bookshelf. He was still a strikingly handsome man—long and lean, with an expression that gave away little. “I have always been afraid of just that thing happening. It’s why I do not allow hunting on Manhurst grounds.”

“You don’t allow hunting?” I could not disguise the surprise in my voice. “Why would the inspector be certain it was a hunting accident then?”

The amber liquid in his glass winked in the firelight. “I asked the very same thing, because if it were a hunting accident, I would wish to have whoever did it arrested for trespass. While the bridge leads to Hawick lands, there is no way a bullet could travel onto my estate at that direction. It is simply impossible and in that weather…?”

I let out a bitter laugh. “The inspector is probably disappointed that Mr. Owen confessed and he couldn’t watch me hang. Is that why you suddenly told me the truth about who you are? Guilt from my being shot on your property?”

He flushed slightly, giving me a sheepish look before handing the envelope in his fingers to me. “No. I’m afraid my hand was forced in the matter. I thought it best to confess before you saw the news yourself.”

I looked at what he’d handed me. A response from my solicitor, Hari, addressed to Ruan. The seal had been broken. “Ah.”

“Ah, indeed.” He cleared his throat, changing the subject. “Manhurst is getting quite the bloody reputation. First poor Lucy Campbell… now this.”

I lifted my glass to that and took a sip, letting the brandy do its work. “While on the subject, Miss Demidov mentioned there being another medium here before. A woman who disappeared shortly before the séance. Do you know anything of her?”

“You mean Abigail? No. Not much at all. Though I did take Miss Lucy to Edinburgh to seek assistance in finding the poor woman, but she disappeared without a trace.” He snapped his fingers to underscore the point. “You don’t think the two cases are connected?”

I weighed how much to share, but decided it did no harm to tell him what I knew. At least about the mediums. “I do. I think they were looking for something here.”

He made a low sound of understanding in his chest. “That’s an interesting ring.” He tilted his head toward Mariah’s ring, which I’d been rubbing absently.

“It is, isn’t it? It was my mother’s.” I was beginning to lie as smoothly as Mr. Owen, which was a damning thought considering all.

“I had forgotten about that. Christ, I am an utter ass, aren’t I?”

I smiled faintly at him, there was the Elijah I remembered. “Only a partial ass.”

Elijah’s eyes lingered on my finger. “Do you miss her—your mother? It was international news when it happened.”

“I do.” More and more with each passing day.

“Forgive me. I was only thinking, that if you missed her, perhaps you could put Miss Demidov to use. Help you find a bit of peace. I know I have no right to speak to you as a friend after all that’s come before.”

No. He didn’t, but I’d once counted him as one. “I suppose I will allow it.”

He stared at me, stunned. “You have changed—I remember you as such a shy girl, always with your freckled nose in a book, hiding in corners until Christopher dragged you into the light. And now—now you are utterly fearless. I think he would tremble at what he made.”

“It’s amazing what disgrace will do to a girl. You either die of the shame, or you learn to rise above it.” My words held far more venom than I intended—but it was the truth. I had been given a choice when my father sent me away from New York. I could mourn the loss of the future I’d imagined and blame myself for what Christopher stole—or I could create my own life. One that suited me . I chose the latter and thus far it has not disappointed.

“Again, I apologize—”

“Enough with the apologies, Elijah. What are you dancing around?”

He studied his decanter intently, long enough that I thought that he might not answer at all. “It is real. That’s what I mean to say.”

“Pardon?”

“The séances. They’re real . It seems strange to admit now, but as you recall my sister died in childbirth the summer we met. When I purchased Manhurst, I spoke with Lucy about her death—about how I missed her, how desperately I wanted to say goodbye but that she passed too quickly. Lucy asked me for a piece of her clothing, or a token to call her spirit close—all I had was a handkerchief my sister had embroidered for me. But Lucy was able to reach her from the grave. It gave me peace to speak to her one last time, to know she had found peace herself—I know I cannot change what happened in New York—but perhaps one of the mediums here could bring you that solace too.”

I stared at him in disbelief. Of all the conversations to be having… But a curious thought struck me. What if I could use a séance to draw out Lucy’s killer? If Mr. Owen was right, and that the killer was after the ring, then what if I used it as bait? An object to bring forth the dead—or in this instance—the living.

Elijah’s eyes lingered on the ring. “It couldn’t hurt.”

I seriously doubted it would bring me peace, but if it could bring me Lucy’s killer, that would be the next best thing.

“ O VER MY DEAD body!” Ruan growled as he shrugged away from my hands and began prowling about his bedchamber, incensed by my idea of creating a trap with the ring. He was remarkably hale considering he’d been barely able to keep his eyes open when I left him in this room a few hours before.

“That can be arranged if you don’t hold still,” I growled, holding the clean dressings in my hands. “Now get back here.”

He grumbled, sinking down on the mattress. I grabbed a little jar of salve that he’d made earlier and unscrewed the lid. The herbal scent was overpowering. I dabbed my fingers in it, and gently began rubbing it over his stitches as he’d instructed.

Ruan winced, his beautiful eyes closed. “Ruby…” His voice was gentler this time. “The idea is reckless. We’ve already been shot once.”

I caught my lower lip beneath my teeth as I wiped the remnants of the sticky medicine from my fingers onto his unmarred other shoulder. “We don’t know for certain that it was the same person.”

He held a clean dressing to his chest as I unraveled the long bandage, preparing to wrap him up again. “And you think someone else here would decide to use you for target practice?”

“How do you know they weren’t aiming for you?” I certainly would be right now.

He sighed, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling.

I finished wrapping the long cloth around his shoulder, securing the bandage, careful not to let my hands linger too much on his bare skin. The man was temptation, even in this sorry state. “Ruan—we are out of ideas. And there’s something else…” I sank down onto the dresser, pulling my left leg up under my rump, my right dangling loosely.

He watched me, clutching his clean shirt to his chest. “I can’t hear you, Ruby, you’re going to have to tell me.”

I nodded with a frown and proceeded to tell him what I’d overheard at Hawick House between Andrew and his father, what Mr. Owen had told me earlier that morning about the last time he saw his wife, his oddly convenient lapse in memory—his brother’s recollection of the same events and my own growing suspicions about Mr. Owen. “Oh… and we were right. Mr. Sharpe is Elijah Keene.”

He stared at me, his eyes dark with emotion. “Have I missed anything else while I’ve been napping?”

I let out a startled laugh and shook my head. “What do you make of it?”

“It sounds to me like Owen killed his wife.”

“I know—but I refuse to believe it. Besides, I know he didn’t kill Lucy, and he certainly wouldn’t have harmed us.”

He raised his brows.

My stomach knotted. “Even if it was Mr. Owen, it doesn’t explain the photographs. The mediums were afraid of something—afraid enough they sent for him. They had to believe he could help them. Besides, I learned one other thing at Rivenly. Lady Morton? Her husband was one of the Eurydiceans. A particularly nasty one, if what Mr. Owen said holds any weight.”

“It comes back to the ring again,” Ruan murmured.

I swung my leg aimlessly, bare heel gently thumping against the wood of his dresser. “I can’t help but think he’s right. Mariah knew something. She had some proof—some evidence—and the ring is the key to all of it.”

Ruan exhaled loudly, drumming the fingers of his good hand on his blanket. “Is she still here?”

I blinked. “Who?”

“Lady Morton?”

I shook my head. “I don’t believe so. I was told she was leaving before we got shot. I cannot fathom she’d remain.”

“Are you sure you want to do this second séance?”

“I’m out of other ideas.”

Ruan remained silent for several seconds before he stood and started struggling to pull his shirt over his wounded shoulder. “Very well. We’ll do this your way. I don’t like the idea of another séance. But remember, I cannot hear you anymore, Ruby—and that frightens me a good deal. I could not bear it if something happened to you.”

Nor I you. I straightened my spine and turned to the door. “Tomorrow then?”

“Tomorrow.”