Patricia looked at Caleb. “Why does it concern you that the newspaper correspondent may have heard some gossip about the Arcane Society, Mr. Jones?”
“There is a conviction among the members of the Council that it is best that the Society does not become fodder for the sensation press.” Caleb scooped jam out of a pot. “I agree. But I doubt very much that a little gossip about the existence of yet another secret society of psychical researchers will do any great harm. There are, after all, a host of groups and organizations devoted to the study of the paranormal in London. What is one more?”
“This was why you got no sleep on Tuesday night, isn’t it?” Lucinda tapped the newspaper with her forefinger. “You were the unseen hands from beyond the Veil who rescued that young boy. That explains your bruised ribs and black eye.”
“I was present, but I wasn’t alone.” Caleb spread the jam on a slice of toast. “A young gentleman named Fletcher, who possesses a most unusual talent, was the one who got me in and whisked Kit off that altar and out of the sacrificial chamber. I was there only to make certain that the leader did not escape when the police moved in. Would you kindly pass the coffee, Miss Bromley?”
“How did this gentleman accomplish such an amazing feat?” Patricia asked.
“His talent is the ability to manipulate energy in such a way as to distract the eye. In a sense he can make things, and even himself, disappear, at least for a short period of time. He is also very, very good at getting through locks. In essence, he is the ultimate magician.” Caleb paused, considering. “Although, for some reason, he was never very good onstage. I suspect that something about being in the spotlight made him uneasy.”
“He can actually make things disappear?” Patricia asked. “Why, that is astonishing.”
“Probably carries some fern seed in his pocket,” Lucinda said dryly.
Patricia frowned. “But there is no such thing as fern seed. Ferns reproduce by spores.”
“Ah, but the ancients were convinced that all plants had to spring from seeds,” Lucinda said. “They couldn’t find any seeds in ferns so they concluded that they were invisible. By extension, people believed that carrying fern seeds on one’s person would make one invisible, too. Remember the line from Shakespeare’s Henry the Fourth?”
“We have the receipt of fern-seed,” Caleb quoted around another mouthful of eggs. “We walk invisible.”
Patricia was enthralled. “This Mr. Fletcher sounds like a most interesting gentleman. I take it he works for your agency now, Mr. Jones?”
“Only on an occasional basis.” Caleb poured coffee for himself. “I prefer not to inquire into his other sources of income.”
Lucinda studied his still-colorful eye. “How often does your career as an investigator place you in jeopardy, sir?”
“I assure you, I do not spend every night engaging in fisticuffs with crackbrains who operate cults.”
She shuddered. “I should hope not.”
“I usually have better things to do with my time,” Caleb added.
“Why did you become involved in the case, sir?” Patricia asked.
Caleb shrugged. “Gabe has persuaded the Council that the Society has an obligation to deal with particularly dangerous criminals who happen to possess psychical powers. He fears that the police cannot always cope effectively with such villains.”
“He’s probably right,” Lucinda said, helping herself to more coffee. “Furthermore, given the public’s fascination with the paranormal these days, it would not be at all helpful if reports of villains with psychical powers began appearing in the press. It would take very little to turn curiosity and interest into fear and panic.”
Caleb paused in mid-chew and gave her an odd look.
She raised her brows. “What is it?”
He swallowed. “That is exactly what Gabe says. The two of you evidently take a similar view of such matters.”
“What was the cult leader’s talent?” Patricia asked.
“Hatcher had a gift for attracting, deceiving and manipulating others in a way that can only be described as mesmeric, although his talent was not, strictly speaking, that of a hypnotist,” Caleb said. “Probably should have gone into the patent medicine line. He came to my attention when he began recruiting boys off the streets for his cult.”
“Why do you speak of Mr. Hatcher’s talent in the past tense?” Lucinda asked.
Caleb’s expression grew abruptly somber. “Because it appears that he can no longer employ it on anyone other than himself.”
Patricia’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
“He has become a victim of the very deception he practiced on the members of the cult,” Caleb explained. “There is no question but that Hatcher was unbalanced to begin with but the events of Tuesday night pushed him deeper into the imaginary world he created as the basis of his cult. Now he actually believes that he succeeded in piercing the Veil between this world and the Other Side but that instead of summoning a demon he could command, dark forces came through to destroy him.”
“What a chilling sort of justice,” Patricia whispered.
“Yes,” Caleb said, his voice suddenly devoid of all inflection. “I suppose you could say that.”
He drank coffee and looked into the mirror that hung on the wall at the opposite end of the table as though he could see into another dimension. Whatever he saw there did not elevate his spirits, Lucinda thought. A sense of deep knowing whispered through her. He fears the same fate that overtook Hatcher. But that was nonsense. As she had told Patricia, Caleb had complete mastery of his talent.
Then again, did anyone have complete control of all of their senses?
She put the paper down on the table. “About your questions, Mr. Jones,” she said firmly.
Caleb jerked his attention away from the mirror and whatever dark thoughts had drawn him inward for a moment. He focused on her, his expression sharpening once more.
“I spoke with the three botanists on your list yesterday, Weeks and Brickstone and Morgan. All claimed to be unacquainted with anyone of Hulsey’s description, and I’m inclined to believe them.”
“I agree,” Lucinda said. “That leaves the apothecary, Mrs. Daykin, who requested a tour a week or so before Hulsey called on me.”
“Yes, it does.” He fished a notebook out of his pocket and flipped it open. “Today I intend to speak with her. Something about her interests me.”
“What is it that caught your attention?”
“Just a hunch.”
She smiled. “Your talent is at work, you mean.”
He ate half the toast in a single bite. “That, too. I’ve already checked the records. She is not a registered member of the Society. But do you think there is any possibility that she has a talent akin to your own?”
“Definitely,” Lucinda said. “She is not nearly as strong as I am, though. I did hint at the possibility that she possesses some psychical ability while she was here but she acted as if she did not comprehend my meaning.”
“She might not realize it,” Caleb said. “A lot of people with moderate amounts of talent take their abilities for granted and consider them normal. It is only when such powers are particularly strong or of an unusual or disturbing nature that one questions them.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s true.”
Caleb reached into his coat and brought out his pencil. “Very well, I will assume that Mrs. Daykin has a measure of talent. What else can you tell me?”
“Very little, I’m afraid. I met her only the one time when she sent around a note requesting a tour. She appeared to be in her late forties. She called herself Mrs. Daykin but I got the impression from something she said that she lives alone above her shop.”
Caleb looked up at that. “Are you saying you don’t think she is married?”
Lucinda hesitated, thinking about the question. “I’m not sure. As I said, it was just an impression. Perhaps her husband is dead. She wore no sign of mourning, though. She did mention once during her visit that she has a son, however. A woman with a child out of wedlock would very likely use the married title.”
“Does she do well in her business?”
“I cannot say for certain. I have never visited her shop. But she was certainly well dressed, and she wore a rather expensive-looking cameo necklace. My guess is that she is quite successful.”
“Did you get along well with her?”
“She was not the most congenial individual I have ever met,” Lucinda said dryly. “The only thing we had in common was our mutual interest in the medicinal properties of herbs.”
“How did she come to learn of the specimens in your conservatory?”
Patricia looked at him, surprised by the question. “Everyone in the botanical world knows about Lucy’s specimens, Mr. Jones. It doesn’t seem odd that a successful apothecary would be aware of my cousin’s collection, nor that she would be curious to see it.”
“Mrs. Daykin has evidently been in the apothecary business for some time,” Caleb said. He turned back to Lucinda. “Has she ever contacted you before?”
“No,” Lucinda said. “There was only the one visit.”
“Which occurred on what date?” Caleb asked.
Lucinda winced. “I was afraid you would ask that. I cannot recall the precise date, although I’m sure I made a note in my journal. I can tell you that it was not long before Hulsey’s visit, however.”
“Did you show her the fern?”
“Yes, along with a great many other specimens that I thought an apothecary would find interesting. She did not appear unduly curious about my Ameliopteris amazonensis, however.”
Patricia lowered her coffee cup. “Perhaps she deliberately concealed her interest.”
“Why would she do that?” Lucinda asked.
A strange heat lit Caleb’s eyes. “Because she is connected to Hulsey,” he said very softly. “She knew that he would be interested in your fern. In fact, he no doubt sent her here.”
“Do you really think so?” Patricia asked.
“The timing of her visit coincides with the demise of the Third Circle. Hulsey would have been between patrons and desperate to renew his dream research. I suspect that he sent Daykin here on a sort of scouting mission. Probably sent her around to a great many botanical gardens, as well, in search of herbs and plants he could use.” He looked at Lucinda. “But your collection would have been of special interest to him.”
“Why?” Patricia asked.
“Because Hulsey is a member of the Society,” Caleb explained. “He is no doubt aware that Miss Bromley’s parents were not just any botanists, but botanists of talent. He had every reason to expect that the collection in this conservatory would likely include some specimens with psychical properties. He sent Daykin to inspect the specimens first, however, because he did not want to take the risk of coming here if it wasn’t necessary. He must know that the Society is looking for him.”
Lucinda thought about that. “When she reported that there was a certain fern with psychical properties in my collection, he requested a tour in order to ascertain for himself whether or not it would be useful to him and to work out how to steal it.”
Caleb nodded once, very certain now. “It feels right.”
“What happens next?” Patricia asked.
He closed the notebook. “I am going to pay a call on Mrs. Daykin as soon as I finish this excellent breakfast.”
“I’ll go with you,” Lucinda said.
Caleb frowned. “Why the devil would you want to do that?”
“Something tells me that Mrs. Daykin might be a trifle uneasy about speaking with you. My presence will serve to calm her.”
“Are you implying that I might make her nervous?”
Lucinda gave him her most gracious smile. “Rest assured that there is nothing amiss with your social polish and convivial personality, sir. It is just that some women might be somewhat alarmed by the sight of a gentleman who looks as though he was recently in a fistfight.” She cleared her throat meaningfully. “A gentleman who was in a fistfight.”
His scowl darkened. “Hadn’t thought of that.”
“The implications of recent violence are difficult to ignore,” she continued smoothly. “You would not believe it, but I have it on good authority that there are those with weak nerves who are quite shocked by that sort of thing.”
Caleb glanced at the mirror again and exhaled in resignation. “You may be right. How very fortunate that your nerves are not so easily shattered, Miss Bromley.”
The narrow street was cloaked in fog. From inside the carriage it was difficult to make out the dark row of shops, let alone read the names on the signs. Anticipation flickered through Caleb’s veins. He was going to discover something very important here today. He could feel it.
“You can’t see more than a couple of yards in this stuff,” he said to Lucinda.
She looked at him. “I gather you think that is a good thing?”
“Mrs. Daykin will not notice us until we open the door and walk into her shop.”
“You’re convinced that she is involved in this affair, aren’t you?”
“Yes, and if I’m right she will have reason to be wary of both of us. Me, because I am a stranger to her and a stranger with a battered face, at that. You, because of the theft of the fern.”
“But if you are wrong and she is innocent?”
“Then she will have no qualms about answering our questions, especially since you will be present to assure her that I am not a member of the criminal class.”
He opened the door, kicked down the carriage steps and descended, trying not to jolt his ribs any more than necessary. He was feeling much improved today, thanks to Lucinda’s tonics, but he was still sore in places.
The prospect of finding answers was also extremely therapeutic. The icy thrill of the hunt sleeted through his veins. When he reached up to assist Lucinda, he discovered that she was tense with excitement, too. Energy pulsed in the air around them. The intimacy of the shared sensation aroused him. He wondered if she felt the same sensual pull.
She lowered the veil of her hat to cover her face and gave him her gloved hand. He closed his fingers around hers, enjoying the contours of her delicate, feminine bones. He could feel the shape of her ring beneath the fabric of her glove, as well. When she gripped his hand a little tighter to steady herself on the steps, he was surprised by the strength of her grasp. All that gardening work in her conservatory, he thought. She was stronger than she appeared.