Page 92 of The Siren of Sussex

Becky straightened the gauze trim on Evelyn’s bodice. “There were a gent once. A right big brute. He lost his temper with me over a trifle. Might have killed me if Mr. Malik hadn’t stepped in.”

Evelyn listened with bated breath. “This happened at the place where you worked?”

A look of embarrassment briefly crossed Becky’s face. “A sort of tavern, it were. Not the finest place you ever heard of, but Mr. Malik made it safe enough. If he hadn’t broke that bloke’s shoulder, he might be there still. Strange how things happen. I thought he’d be sent away for sure. Now he’s making gowns for the likes of you.”

“Yes. Very strange.” Evelyn wasn’t sure she entirely understood. Ahmad had rescued Becky from a violent man? He’d tossed the man out of the brothel and broken the fellow’s shoulder in the process? “Forgive me . . . Do you mean to say Mr. Malik was in some kind of trouble for hurting this man?”

“I should say so. The gent were a baronet, weren’t he? Wouldn’t be satisfied ’til Mr. Malik was punished.” Becky made one final adjustment to the ball gown. “There, that should do for you. And very fine, too.” Satisfied, she went to her thread case, and after returning her needle and thimble, closed the lid with a snap. “Will you be needing anything else, miss?”

Yes, Evelyn wanted to say. Tell me more about him. Tell me everything.

But when Becky turned around again, her expression was shuttered.

Evelyn didn’t have to be a mind reader to know that their conversation had come to an end.

Uncle Harris’s carriage traveled at a sedate pace toward Lady Arundell’s town house in Grosvenor Square. The wheels clattered over an uneven patch of road, jostling Evelyn in her seat. The hour was approaching nine o’clock. It was cold and damp; the starless sky black as pitch. One might expect people to be nestled warm in their houses.

But not in London.

And not during the season.

Here, gleaming coaches crowded the gaslit streets, the clip-clop of hooves echoing in company with the shouts of hansom cab drivers and the laughter of merrymakers strolling through the fog.

“You’ll have a fine time tonight,” Uncle Harris pronounced from his place beside Evelyn in the carriage. He was dressed in evening black, with an ebony cane in his hand and a jaunty satin-lined cape thrown over his shoulders. “Her ladyship has a seer in for the evening. A celebrated fellow, calls himself Zadkiel. Uses a crystal ball rumored to have been passed down from an Egyptian magician.”

Evelyn recalled the fortune-teller that Anne had mentioned. “This isn’t the gentleman who writes the astrological almanac?”

“The very same.”

“Is he going to perform parlor tricks for us?”

Uncle Harris shot her a narrow look. “Crystallomancy is no trick, my girl. Not when practiced by someone proficient in the arts.”

“And this Zadkiel gentleman is a proficient?”

Her uncle’s expression turned somber. “The best there is. He’s the chap who predicted the death of the Prince Consort.”

She hadn’t realized Prince Albert’s death had been predicted by anyone, let alone a famous crystal gazer. “When did this happen?”

“Last year. Had people taken the man seriously, the Consort’s death may have been prevented. Alas, these mysteries are greatly misunderstood.”

She could imagine. It sounded like so much silliness to her. The same sort of aristocratic absurdity as Lady Arundell’s familiar spirit. It was on the tip of her tongue to say as much, but Evelyn had no desire to be offensive. Settling back in her seat, she refrained from further comment.

Her uncle had hardly spoken to her at all since her arrival, and never on the topic of spiritualism. She didn’t wish to quarrel with him. Goodness knew they’d have reason enough to argue once she informed him that Fenny might be in London.

She hadn’t done so yet, nor had she written to Aunt Nora. After her discussion with Ahmad, Evelyn had thought it best to wait.

It felt natural to put her trust in him.

And a little strange, too.

She’d never had someone she could rely on absolutely. Someone to shoulder a burden for her. To solve a problem that needed solving. In the past, it had always come down to her own ingenuity.

But not this time.

Ahmad had said to leave it with him. And that’s precisely what she was going to do.

He’d promised to get back to her soon. Until then, there was no point in upsetting her entire family. Not when there was a chance that she could solve the problem without their intervention.