A Riddle in Bronze, page 7
"Lady Snetton," said Roberta, advancing into the room. "I trust we find you well?"
"As well as can be expected." The woman closed her book with a snap, placing it on a side table. Then she signalled to the maid to leave, and rose to greet us. I saw a hint of amusement as she looked me up and down. "I have heard great things about your father, Roberta, but I did not expect the professor to look this young. If he's invented a youth potion, my husband will be first in line for a dose."
I was still trying to reconcile this young woman with the dour matronly type I'd imagined to be waiting for us, and so it was left to Roberta to introduce me.
"This is Septimus Jones, my assistant," said Roberta quickly. "Father has been laid low by a fever, else he would have attended in person."
"He is not, perhaps, providing his services to a more valued client?"
"You have my word, but if you prefer, I can postpone our appointment until he is well enough to—"
"No! I must be free of this devilish spirit today."
Until this moment Lady Snetton's tone had been light and bantering, but now, for the first time, I saw a hint of the strain she was under. I also happened to notice the title of the book she had been reading, which was a treatise on the various types of ghosts and apparitions one might encounter. I'd heard of the publication, for it had raised a stir on first release. Now, after my own recent experiences, I realised it might not be as fanciful as everyone declared it to be, and I smiled grimly at the thought.
"You must take me for a fool," said Lady Snetton in a low voice, having noticed my expression. "But if you lived in this miserable house for a single day, you would see and hear things that would turn your hair white."
Roberta hurried forward, guiding the unhappy young woman towards the armchair. "Lady Snetton, please make yourself comfortable. Should I ring for your maid? Brandy, perhaps?"
"There are spirits enough in this household," said Lady Snetton, with a wintry smile, but she took her seat all the same. "Please sit with me, and I shall reveal the troubles with which I am plagued."
I was eager to set up the equipment in order to catch the wayward phantasm, but Roberta seemed to be in no hurry. As she sat down, I realised there was more to her profession than I'd first thought. Apparently, our services included listening to our clients unburdening themselves of their worries and discussing details of their private lives.
"My husband's first wife died two years ago," began Lady Snetton. "Theirs was not a happy marriage, but my dearest David — that's Admiral Lord Snetton — was at sea for months on end, and they got by during those brief intervals when they were forced to live under the same roof. Fortunately there were no children, and—"
I would sooner have faced ten glowing red phantasms than endured one intimate conversation of this sort with a stranger, and thus I was perched on the edge of my chair, feeling most uncomfortable. "Lady Snetton, would you prefer me to leave the room?"
"Why? Are you feeling unwell?"
"No, but—"
My face must have been flushed with embarrassment, because she laughed. "Oh, have no fear. I will not share anything you wouldn't read in the Gazette, should you have a mind to. Please, sit back and allow me to finish, for I must pour out this sorry tale."
I obeyed, striving to keep my soot-marked clothes off the pristine upholstery.
"I knew David through an acquaintance of my father's," continued Lady Snetton. "We grew close after the death of his wife, and were married before too long. Our lives were very happy for some eight months or so." Her face, which had been glowing as she recounted the tale, now fell. "Then the hauntings began," she continued, in a low voice. "David hasn't noticed a thing, bless him, but I am slowly being driven mad. I will wake in the middle of the night for no reason, and a cold chill will come over me, even though the fire in the grate has not yet died. Sometimes I smell the perfume David's first wife preferred, even though there is none in the entire house. At other times, things will… move… of their own accord." She eyed us anxiously, looking much younger than her years. "You do believe me, don't you? More than anything I fear I shall be mocked for these fancies."
"We believe you," said Roberta firmly. "I think, too, that you know whose spirit this might be."
"David's first wife," whispered Lady Snetton.
CRASH!
We all spun round, shocked by the sudden noise. A painting which had been hanging above the fireplace had just plunged to the ground, splintering the frame and splitting the canvas. I could still see the remains of the picture, which was a portrait of the lady sitting before us. Even now, flames from the fire were licking at the ruined portrait, and I leapt from my seat to beat them out.
"Oh, do you see?" cried lady Snetton. "If you can't banish this hateful spirit, I swear I'll be forced from my own house!"
I inspected the back of the ruined painting, where the hanging-cord had parted to leave two frayed ends. The sudden fall could have been a coincidence, especially as the frame was an older one which had been reused, but the timing had been impeccable. I shifted my investigation to the wall, and was just inspecting the area around the brass hook set deep into the plaster when Roberta called out to me.
"Mr Jones, would you see if you can find a small glass vial in our things?"
I hastened to obey, and I confess my hands were unsteady as I searched in the haversacks. I was still shaken by the falling painting, which had given me much to think about. It seemed that spirits could appear in different guises, and it shocked me that they could also interact with physical objects. If this were the case, then what could possibly prevent a ghost from placing its hand over a sleeping person's mouth, choking them to death? After all, whether flesh or wood or metal, matter was matter, and the force required to snap a strong piece of hanging-cord could be applied just as effectively to someone's throat. A shiver ran up my spine at the thought, for there is nothing I find more terrifying than the idea of being attacked in my sleep, when I am completely unable to defend myself. With an ordinary intruder, locked doors and windows served as a warning, for they had to be broken down to gain access. But what of a spirit that could slip beneath the door, or slither down the chimney despite a fire burning in the hearth?
I checked those haversacks three times over, but in spite of my troubled thoughts I was certain there was no glass vial. "I'm sorry, Miss Twickham. I can't find the item you need."
"No matter. It's not important." While I'd been searching the bags, Roberta had been comforting Lady Snetton, reassuring her that we would do our very best to free the house of the malevolent presence. Now, she offered a suggestion. "Your ladyship, why don't you take afternoon tea with a friend, so we might work in peace?"
"But I thought I might watch as you—"
"I advise against it," said Roberta briskly, laying a hand on her ladyship's sleeve. "In my experience, phantoms are most unwilling to depart, and many put up a very good fight indeed. I would not want you to witness the spectacle, for it can be most distressing."
"Are you sure? If I do not witness this… capture… with my own eyes, how will I know you've succeeded?"
"I assure you, once the phantom has departed you will feel a difference in this house."
"Oh, my dear. You are a great comfort," said Lady Snetton, squeezing Roberta's hand. "Succeed in banishing this spirit, and you can name your own price."
"For a difficult case such as this, twenty pounds is our usual rate," said Roberta smoothly.
Lady Snetton blinked, and I wasn't surprised. Twenty pounds was an immense sum, and easily four times the largest invoice I'd processed that morning. Why, I would scarcely earn that much in the next six months!
"Of course, I would never charge a friend of Lady Fotherington-Eames such a large amount," continued Roberta. "Therefore, as long as today's extraction proceeds as planned, I would expect to invoice you no more than ten pounds."
"Done, and I'll be glad to pay it," said Lady Snetton, looking relieved.
I admired Roberta's tactics, for despite the substantial discount, she'd still managed to obtain promise of twice the usual rate. This gave me pause, because I now wondered whether she expected the banishing to be twice as difficult also. That was not something I wished to contemplate, not with the professor lying abed half a city away, and only my inexperienced help to catch this wayward spirit.
Lady Snetton rang for a maid, and together they departed for the upper reaches of the house. "We'll wait until she's gone out," Roberta murmured to me. "I don't like them witnessing our methods."
"Are you afraid she won't see ten pounds of value?"
"She can afford it," said Roberta, unmoved. "But I'd rather she didn't reveal all to her friends. A little mystery goes a long way."
And it doesn't harm your income any, I wanted to say. Instead, I raised a point that had been troubling me. "You told me Lady Snetton was sceptical of your services, and yet she employed you without protest."
"No doubt she expressed reservations to her friends, but in reality she knew I was her only hope." Roberta smiled. "That's why father leaves this side of the business to me. He can be prickly, as I'm sure you've noticed."
I said nothing to this, and instead looked around the room. "Is the spirit of his Lordship's first wife truly present in this room with us?"
"We'll find out soon enough, Mr Jones. Now, will you help me with the equipment? There is lots to do, and I'd like to be off the streets before evening. Tinkering with the spirit world as I do, I sometimes feel they might single me out for special attention, and I have no wish to be cornered in a darkened alleyway by a vengeful phantom."
I too wished to be home by evening, for I had not forgotten the note in my pocket inviting me to the Crown and Feather for a clandestine meeting.
Chapter 10
I thought we would be setting up the equipment in the sitting room, but Roberta shouldered her haversack and led me into the hall. Here, we encountered our host coming downstairs with a maid. Lady Snetton had donned a fancy hat and coat, and the maid was carrying her bag.
"Lady Snetton," said Roberta. "Would it be possible to perform our work upstairs, in the main bedroom?"
"Is that really necessary?"
"In my experience, yes. Sleeping areas are usually a focal point for—"
"I understand, and I give my permission," said Lady Snetton quickly. She gestured at the maid. "Run and find Annie, and tell her to show our guests to my bedroom."
"Yes ma'am."
The maid hurried off, and there was an awkward silence as we waited in the hall with Lady Snetton. Finally, both maids returned, and Annie promptly led us upstairs to the sleeping quarters while Lady Snetton's personal maid accompanied her to the front door. As we reached the landing I glanced back down the stairs, and I saw Lady Snetton at the far end of the hall, looking anxiously up at me. She gave me a small, hopeful smile just before the door closed, hiding her from view. With that look she'd bared her soul to me, revealing a scared, vulnerable young woman, and I resolved to do everything in my power to rid this house of the malevolent spirit. This, even though I was feeling somewhat vulnerable and scared myself, loath though I was to admit it.
We reached the upper floor, where Annie showed us into a sumptuous room with a four-poster bed, expensive furnishings and a large bay window that looked out on the smoky haze blanketing the city. A tree in the road outside stuck its twisted branches into the sky, with its sparse spring growth struggling for life in the heavy, polluted air, and I saw a mangy-looking dog darting through the foot traffic, bound for who-knew-where. Below, Lady Snetton's carriage was drawing away from the house, pulled by two magnificent horses. The driver flicked his reins, and the carriage vanished down the road, lost in the thronging crowds and the late-afternoon gloom.
"Mr Jones, would you assist me please?"
I turned to see Roberta near the bedroom door, which she'd just closed. The maid had already left, and the two of us could now speak freely. "What caused the painting to fall?" I asked her.
"Some spirits have influence in the physical world, although it's rare."
I recalled the shattered equipment from her previous cleansing, and also the ill-effects that phantasm had inflicted on the professor. "Is this one of the… stronger kind?" I asked nervously.
"Fear not, Mr Jones. Together, we will cope."
I admired her confidence, even though my own was sorely lacking. There was little time to dwell on the dangers though, because Roberta had me unpacking the equipment and setting it up in every nook and cranny of the room. I placed the metal discs where she directed, this batch once again marked with fine tracings. "What is the purpose of these designs?" I asked, as I laid a disc on the windowsill. No sooner had I let go than it gleamed briefly in the light, the pattern seeming to pulse with energy.
Roberta hesitated, and I guessed she was debating how much information to share with me. "As I already explained, we infuse the metal with traces of the spirits we capture. There are many different kinds, and when we blend them it leaves a distinctive pattern."
I finished placing the discs and took up a tripod, setting it up where she indicated. "What kinds of spirits are there?" I asked, as I adjusted the legs and tightened the brass thumbscrews to hold them in place.
"We have catalogued more than a dozen to date. Some are lost souls, unable to find their way to the next world. Others are vengeful spirits out to cause harm to those who wronged them." Roberta indicated the bedroom with a sweeping gesture. "And some are jealous of a rival."
I half-expected another painting to topple from the wall, but the room was still. "And the one which… attacked the professor?"
Roberta's face darkened. "That was a being the likes of which we've never encountered. It had enough power to shatter the trap, and my father happened to be holding the device at the time. It flowed up his arm and entered his very being."
I swallowed. "That's… that's not likely to happen here, is it?" I lamented the stammer in my voice, for I knew I sounded like a nervous child. But surely I had an excuse!
"Oh no," said Roberta calmly. "This may be far worse." Then, noting my expression, she gave a peal of laughter. "Oh Mr Jones, if you could only see your face."
"I don't see anything remotely amusing in this situation," I snapped, irritated by her casual attitude towards a very real danger. "You hired me to look after your accounts, and traipsing around the city after perilous ghosts was not included in my duties!"
She was immediately contrite, and she left the device she'd been setting to come over and comfort me. "Septimus, I'm sorry," she said, her tone genuinely apologetic. "Sometimes my sense of humour—"
"I'm sure I'll get used to it eventually," I said stiffly. Then, seeing she'd just laid her hand on my sleeve, I managed a smile. "Assuming I live that long, of course."
"That's the spirit!"
"Where? Where?" I demanded, looking around in panic.
"No, I meant… I was just…" Roberta took one look at me and doubled up, this time fairly cackling with laughter. I too saw the funny side, and moments later we were both shaking with mirth. If one could banish ghosts with happiness alone, at that moment the entire city would have been cleansed of their foul presence. Unfortunately, the power of laughter wouldn't suffice, and so we returned to our work. The mood was noticeably lighter though, and I had a spring in my step as I helped to set up the equipment.
The procedure was similar to that used when banishing the professor's unwanted passenger, and once the net was in position and the lantern — or rather, trap — was installed near the centre of the room, Roberta took out the same tool she'd used on her father. I watched, curious, because unlike earlier, this time there was no knowing where the spirit might be hiding. So how, then, was she going to trap it?
Roberta donned the curious spectacles with their mismatched lenses, and, standing with her back to the door, she traversed the room with an unblinking gaze. Once or twice she paused, seeming to study a piece of furniture, and each time I held my breath. Would the spirit launch from hiding, intent on causing as much harm as possible before it was caught? Or would it slide from one hiding place to the next, trying not to reveal itself?
The tension was unbearable, and I almost prayed for the phantasm to break cover. It would mean facing genuine danger, but anything would be better than this silent anticipation.
"There," murmured Roberta, her voice all but inaudible.
She'd frozen where she stood, and appeared to be looking at the nightstand on the far side of the large bed, where a pitcher of water sat next to an enamelled mug and a silver-backed hand mirror. I stared at the same location, and I fancied I saw a faint shimmering in the air. I could have been imagining things, but even so I felt my hackles rising.
Roberta took a step forward, holding the tool in front of her in the manner of St George approaching the fabled dragon. Then she took another step, and my eyes felt like they were standing proud from my head as I strove to identify the focus of her attention. My hands were clenched, my breathing shallow, and at that moment I had little doubt that the slightest unexpected noise would have stilled the heart pounding in my chest.
Seemingly immune to such fancies, Roberta continued to advance on the nightstand, skirting the bed with the tool held in both hands. There was a faint keening noise, as if the wind were suddenly blowing through a gap in the windows, and it grew louder the closer Roberta got.
Crash!
The nightstand shook from a sudden impact, and the jug sitting on the polished wooden surface toppled to the floor, where it shattered into a dozen pieces. Water sprayed out, hitting the curtains and splashing on the bedspread, and for a brief moment I fancied I saw the outline of a figure inside the welter of flying droplets. Then it was gone, and I saw Roberta leap backwards, brandishing the tool as though warding off an invisible attacker. The end gleamed a dull red, and in the baleful illumination I saw a shadow pursuing her.
