Chapter 11 #3
A flash of color emerged, then crystallized into the walls of the very room they stood in.
The lady who had held the glass sat in the very chair Gideon occupied.
And it was a lady, because Electra could see her hand wrapped around the glass.
That hand was slim, delicate and adorned with a ring.
The same ring she’d seen on Mrs. Jane Wilson’s hand.
Electra pushed back the shock of that and tried to focus on the image, to direct her abilities, to seek something that might be meaningful to Gideon’s investigation.
Across from the lady with the glass, Eleanor Mahoney sat, speaking as she gesticulated wildly.
Her hair was unbound, her glasses had been set aside, and her cheeks were flushed as she spoke to Mrs. Wilson.
Electra felt sadness engulf her as it had filled Mrs. Wilson at that moment.
It was so potent that tears sprang to her eyes, and as if in answer, Miss Mahoney—Nell, somehow Electra knew that was what Mrs. Wilson called her—sprang up from the settee and wrapped Mrs. Wilson in her arms.
“Electra.” Gideon’s whisper jolted her, and Electra dropped the glass and opened her eyes.
But the glass didn’t drop on the wooden floor. Gideon had caught it. “I believe she’s returning,” he said quietly.
Footsteps approached and a moment later, Miss Mahoney and the maid who’d admitted them entered the room.
“Here we are,” Miss Mahoney announced, eyeing Electra with suspicion.
Gideon placed the glass on the table, but Miss Mahoney was so fixed on Electra that she didn’t seem to notice.
“Are you quite well, Miss Poole? You look rather pale.”
“I am quite well,” Electra told her. “I also have a question for you, Miss Mahoney.”
“Oh?” Now the lady looked intrigued.
“Do you know a Jane Wilson?”
The maid snapped her head up. “Told her there’s no such lady here, miss,” the girl murmured.
“That will be all, Alison. Thank you,” Miss Mahoney, said dismissing the servant before turning back toward Electra. “The name does not sound familiar to me, I’m afraid.”
She was lying. Electra could see it in the lady’s eyes, feel it. That protectiveness she’d noted before arose in Miss Mahoney like a shield she’d lifted between Electra and whoever she wished to safeguard. Mrs. Wilson, apparently.
Gideon gave her a curious look. He wanted to ask her something, she surmised, and she yearned to speak to him privately.
“Mrs. Wilson has red hair, though darker than yours,” Electra told Miss Mahoney as she walked back to her chair and sat down. “And quite lovely green eyes. Indeed, her beauty struck me when I met her.”
Miss Mahoney busied herself adding sugar and a lemon slice to her tea, but her mouth was curved in the slightest of smiles.
“She sounds lovely. I wish I could say I knew her,” Miss Mahoney finally said and then immediately sipped her tea.
Gideon had still not taken up the cup poured out for him. Indeed, he appeared suddenly restless, ready to depart.
“The lady Miss Poole speaks of visited her for one of her psychical consultations,” he said.
Electra was shocked to hear him speak of her abilities so plainly. It warmed something in the center of her chest.
“Prior to that visit, Mrs. Wilson sent her a letter with this house number listed as her return address.”
Miss Mahoney gave each of them a quizzical look. “Could it have been miswritten in some manner? I have resided here for almost four years, but perhaps they were related in some way to the previous owner.”
Gideon gritted his teeth. Electra noted the shifting muscles along his jaw. It seemed he was as frustrated with the lady’s prevarication as she was.
“Who is at the Regent Square address now?” he asked. “Is Mrs. Devlin still in residence?”
“My housekeeper is in residence and another housemaid. Mrs. Devlin is not. I’m afraid I have not heard from her in several days.”
Her mouth trembled, and her cup rattled a bit as she lifted it from the saucer.
“How many days?” Gideon asked.
“A few, Inspector. But Demeter knows her own mind, and I suspect she had her reasons for departing. I trust she is well and will be in touch soon.” The forced smile that came after those words wasn’t believable in the least.
Electra sensed her fear, like a new note laid over the resounding one of protectiveness. She felt it for Demeter Devlin too. Electra wondered if she took a keen interest in all the ladies who went to the Rosebud Club or if she had some special relationship, even a kinship, with Mrs. Devlin.
Gideon reached into his coat pocket and pulled out one of his calling cards, handing it over to Miss Mahoney. “I’d like to speak to Mrs. Devlin. When she contacts you, please send a message to me at Vine Street station. Day or night. I’ll come straight away.”
She took the card and offered a single dip of her head. “I don’t think Demeter will have any light to shed on Percival’s murder.”
“She is acquainted with him. That you’ve admitted, so I would like to speak with her,” Gideon insisted, then he tilted his head. “Do you know of anyone who might have wished him ill?”
“He only spoke of conflict with Mr. Beecham, the father of the girl he jilted. I know of no one else who menaced him.”
“Aside from the rivalry, as you said, with Mr. Callister.”
Miss Mahoney shook her head. “Did you not note my disdain when I spoke of it, Inspector? There was no true rivalry, but the two of them could argue over the weather. Men do sometimes behave like boys.”
Gideon watched her a moment, and Miss Mahoney held his gaze in an almost defiant manner.
“Thank you, Miss Mahoney. We’ve taken up enough of your time, I think.” With that, he stood and glanced at Electra, who got to her feet too, setting aside her cup of tea.
Miss Mahoney looked surprised by his sudden eagerness to depart. “I will send word if I hear from Mrs. Devlin, Inspector.”
Gideon nodded, then strode toward the front door, where the maid was waiting with their overcoats. They said nothing to each other as they donned them and then strode out into the overcast afternoon.
“Why did—” Electra started.
“Let’s speak once we’ve secured a cab.”