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

“Not so long as you suspect my son of murder,” she answered. She gathered Stoker in with a look. “I assure you both that I know his faults better than he does. I was cataloging them in his father’s character before he was born. You have never seen two men cut so closely from the same cloth. But their impracticality, their scenes and dramatics, are nothing more substantial than that bit of muslin in your hands. Caspian has made a hobby of throwing tantrums simply because he thinks it makes him interesting. He might have taken up hunting or the glockenspiel, but he does this instead. There is, beneath it all, not a malicious atom in his person.”

I would not quarrel with a devoted mother’s assessment of her child. I tried a different tack instead. “Surely Malcolm would have helped if he had known there were difficulties with money,” I ventured.

“Malcolm! Bless you, he was unable to help himself. When Rosamund disappeared, he fairly went out of his mind. The letters I sent went unanswered for months. By the time he was able to respond, I had already chosen. I did not wish to sell my body, so I sold my soul.”

“That is when you became Madame Helena?” I asked.

“There was an annuity that Lucian had secured for us from the Romilly estate, but he left debts as well, heavy ones. I have struggled to pay them. In the end, I thought it best to bring Caspian here to see his uncle, to remind Malcolm that he had a ready-made heir in his brother’s son.”

“And perhaps to feel guilty enough about cutting Caspian out via his marriage that he might make him a separate allowance?” I ventured.

She shrugged. “Why not? It was possible. If nothing else, it meant a few months of room and board I did not have to pay. So I wrote and Malcolm invited us for the summer. We stayed through the wedding and when Rosamund disappeared, it was clear there would be no additional money for us. Malcolm asked us to go. In London, it became apparent that we could not continue on as we had been. I considered every possible method by which I might assuage our financial difficulties. In desperation, I went to a medium and attempted to contact Lucian. I’ll admit I was influenced by the effects of the last of Lucian’s excellent wine cellar. But I had my wits about me. I knew the woman for a fraud within the first two minutes. I was never going to hear from Lucian, but as I left, it occurred to me that I had discovered an answer after all. I was more presentable and better spoken than that charlatan, and I had a better way with people. I needed only a few props and a new persona. Thus, Madame Helena was born,” she finished with a flourish.

“Why have you come now?” Stoker asked.

Her smile was mirthless. “Because I may have kept the wolf from the door but I can still hear him howling. With Rosamund gone, Malcolm’s only heir is Caspian. He needed reminding of that. If he wanted to invite me here to conjure her spirit, I was too happy to play along.”

“You have never actually been witness to a ghost?” I asked.

Her expression shuttered and her hand stilled on the cat. “Only once.”

“Rosamund’s,” Stoker said gently.

“I don’t know what happened. I began the séance as I always do, invoking the spirits. And then things began that I cannot explain.”

“How did you manage the rapping?” I inquired.

“Simple,” Stoker said. “She slipped her hand out of Caspian’s and knocked on the underside of the table.”

Helen nodded. “Most people are too suspicious to permit such an easy trick, but I knew Malcolm would not think it peculiar if Caspian were seated next to me.”

“And the candles? They were fixed to extinguish themselves?” I asked.

“Yes. We have them timed perfectly so that I know just when to ask a question. The sudden guttering of the candle looks like an answer then. It is most effective under the right circumstances.”

“You did not trouble to use the ectoplasm,” Stoker pointed out. “Or were you saving it for later?”

Her smile was wry. “One of the guiding principles of my success: I do as little as I need to set the scene. Malcolm was only too ready to believe in Rosamund. It required nothing on my part but a little acting and the candles.”

“And the music,” I reminded her.

Her expression shuttered again. “That was not me.”

“Come, now,” Stoker began.

Her fingers tightened on the cat’s fur, earning her a growl of protest. She opened her hands, crooning an apology to the animal.

“The music was the climax of your performance,” I said. “Surely that was arranged.”

“It most certainly was not,” she snapped. “I have confessed to everything else. If I had managed to arrange that, I would say it.”

“Then how was it done?” Stoker demanded.

“How should I know?” she replied in some desperation. “I was as surprised as the rest of you when I heard it.”

“But you immediately associated it with Rosamund?” I asked.

“Yes. She was the only musical one in the family apart from Lucian. When he left for school, the music room was shut up and no one played. But Rosamund asked that Malcolm open it up again and he was only too happy to oblige her. She played for hours on end, maddening Baroque stuff. I used to go for walks just to get away from the sound of it,” she told us.

“And when you heard the music you believed you had actually conjured her ghost?” Stoker did his best to keep the skepticism from his voice, I think, but I heard it, as did Helen.

“I know you do not believe me,” she said, her voice dropping dully. “But how else can you explain it?”

I flicked Stoker a warning glance and spoke before he could reply. “Is that why you bought the charm from Mother