A Dangerous Collaboration (A Veronica Speedwell Mystery) by Deanna Raybourn (english novels for students .txt) 📕

with her, then she must be here. And who else would hide her traveling bag except someone who wanted to make you think she left of her own accord?”

Put so bluntly, the question laid a pall upon the gathering. We were all silent a long moment, each of us grappling with the enormity of what we had just heard. Malcolm carefully laid the decrepit bag upon his chair and took up his glass.

“What do you want us to do?” Tiberius asked.

“I hoped each of you would bring your skills to the question of Rosamund’s fate.” He paused, his gaze resting upon Tiberius. “Tiberius, you are my oldest friend, and I find myself in need of support. We were close as brothers once, and I think you will not now refuse me.”

Tiberius stirred. “Naturally, I will do whatever I can. I do have a few contacts in London who might prove useful. I will write in the morning and make inquiries. Discreetly, of course,” he added with a graceful inclination of the head.

“Thank you, Tiberius. I am grateful,” Malcolm Romilly replied gravely. “I cannot imagine there has been any further development, but if there is the slightest chance, we should ask.” He seemed about to say something more but fell silent instead. There was an odd undercurrent between the two men, as if something more significant than words had passed between them, only a flicker and then it was gone as Malcolm Romilly moved on, looking to Stoker and to me.

“I had no thought of asking either of you to help, but when you unexpectedly joined our little endeavor here, it did occur to me that, as natural scientists, you are trained observers. There must be something the rest of us have overlooked. A fresh perspective from those who are experienced at observation must be useful and I am desperate enough to throw myself upon your generosity and implore you to lend your skills.”

He turned his head slightly. “Mertensia, Caspian. You are both Romillys. The local folk are loyal to us. It is possible that someone has seen or heard something. They might be willing to tell you.”

He took a deep breath. “Helen, that brings me to your particular talents.”

She inhaled sharply, the jet beads at her throat dancing in time. “Malcolm, surely there are better ways—”

Mertensia regarded her brother in dismay. “Malcolm, this is not wise,” she started.

He held up a hand, silencing them both. “I am resolved.”

“What talents?” Stoker inquired.

“My sister-in-law is renowned for her abilities to contact those who have passed beyond the veil,” Malcolm said. “She is a spiritualist.”

“Not just any spiritualist,” Caspian put in proudly. “She is rather famous. Perhaps you have heard of Madame Helena?” He finished with a flourish, bowing to his mother, who looked deeply unhappy.

“Malcolm, really,” she began again, but her brother-in-law shook his head.

“Helen, I know you must think me inhospitable. I have not invited my own brother’s widow and son to enter his family home for years. I have not answered letters. I have fulfilled the very least of my obligations and nothing more.”

Helen shook her head. “You have continued the allowance that was Lucian’s. You were not obligated to do so,” she said in a low voice.

Malcolm brushed her remark aside, and for an instant I saw a flash of the man he must have been before tragedy and isolation had worked their worst upon him. He was decisive and unflinching and new blood rose to his cheeks, giving him a more animated look than I had yet seen. “It is not enough. I have failed,” he said firmly. “I have scrutinized my own conduct, and believe me when I say that I am the first to condemn myself for being consumed with my own difficulties and giving little consideration to yours. I wish to make amends, truly. But I understand if you do not wish to clasp the olive branch that I extend.”

“It is not that, Malcolm. You must not think so.” She stopped, biting her lip until the blood rushed into it.

He rose and went to her, putting out his hand. “Shake hands with me, Helen. Do this for me, and let us be a proper family once more.”

Her eyes flicked briefly to her son and she summoned a smile that did not touch her eyes. Slowly, she reached out and took the hand he offered. “Of course, Malcolm. Whatever you wish.”

“Then it is settled,” he said. “Tonight we will begin our investigations in earnest. With a séance.”

“No,” she put in sharply. “That is, I cannot possibly summon the spirits with so little preparation. I must have time.”

“You do not have to do this,” her son said. “Uncle Malcolm has done little enough for us.”

Malcolm flushed but did not reply. Helen gave her son a look of mild reproach. “Your uncle is right. We have the chance to be a proper family. And if I can help, I owe it to him. I will do this,” she said, more firmly than before. But as she reached to her son, her hand trembled, and something like dread settled in her eyes.

I moved forward as if to look into the bag, but Malcolm met my gaze, his expression bleak. I paused, checking my enthusiasm. To me, it might rank as evidence to be met with scientific inquiry, but to him it could only be a painful reminder of the wife he had lost. Worse still, it was no impersonal item, but her traveling bag, doubtless packed with her most intimate possessions. There would be time enough to ask for its examination later, I decided. I stepped back.

“Tomorrow,” Malcolm said firmly, picking up the decaying bag. “We will begin.”

•   •   •

As with my visit to Stoker’s room the previous night, I did not bother to knock. I entered Tiberius’ bedchamber under a full head of steam, surprised to find that he was already undressing. He gave me a wicked glance.

“Why, Veronica, this is all so terribly sudden. Will you still respect