Page 3
“More than worthwhile. The woman who runs this place has been bilking the viscountess out of her money for years now. Offering false hope that she can communicate with Christina, when everyone knows it’s impossible.”
“The spiritualists would beg to differ.”
“People believe something en masse doesn’t make it real.” The guilt pressing on his chest transformed into righteous indignation, as it so often did when he spent too much time thinking about his late wife and his mother-in-law’s quest for a spiritual connection to her daughter.
The carriage lurched, and both men braced themselves on the seats to stay upright. “Why not confront the woman in London?”
“Because every time I’ve attempted to question this Madame Sandrine Moreau, she evades me, finds an excuse to divert me or the viscountess. She ignores my letters and refuses a private meeting. She won’t be able to avoid me at the manor.” Hence why he didn’t write ahead to inform the medium that he would attend in the viscountess’ place.
Benedict looked reluctantly impressed. “Into the belly of the beast. Good for you.” He shifted on the seat. “Any news on Dalton’s proposal?”
“Not that I’ve heard, but I told my secretary to forward his correspondence to Cornwall.” Phineas had been a vocal supporter of Lord Dalton’s parliamentary measure requiring harsh punishments for fraudulent mediums and their deceitful practices. “It will be months before it goes into effect. The viscountess might spend all her coin before then, all without moving on from Christina’s death.”
Benedict raised a questioning brow. “When are you going to move on?”
Phineas shifted on the bench. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t fault you for keeping your privacy—Lord, what I would give for some solitude—but aside from voting your seat, no one ever sees you in Town.”
“People are dreadful,” Phineas grumbled.
“Horrifying. But you’ll need to interact with them if you want another wife.”
Phineas snapped his gaze to his friend. “Another wife? Are you mad?”
“Not a bit. You have no family remaining, and you never come to London. Don’t you want company?”
“I don’t need company.” He had his estate, his books. And, unfortunately, a former mother-in-law. He’d be damned if she spent herself into poverty. “If I can help Dalton with making his case in Lords, I’ll have plenty to keep myself occupied. The question is where to find the evidence I need.”
“Hence your wild foray to Cornwall.”
“I need to see this operation firsthand to see how they’re managing it.”
“Managing what?”
“Lying to everyone!” That righteous indignation made his voice unnecessarily loud for the confined quarters. “Dalton’s bill will have enough support with solid evidence, and I won’t find it unless I see these charlatans in action.”
Benedict shook his head, and Phineas resisted the urge to continue persuading his friend about the importance of his mission.
“Well,” Benedict said, “while you’re rendezvousing with ghosts, I’ll be at the Royal Institution. They expanded their collection of Cornish copper and tin specimens, and I’ve been dying to see them.”
Phineas blinked. “That sounds… riveting.”
“For me, it is. Though I suspect your next few days will be far more exciting than mine.”
“When these three days are over, I’ll have the evidence I need and will be eager to catch the next train home.”
CHAPTER 3
Phineas checked his pocket watch, blinked to clear the exhaustion from his eyes, and read the paper in the twilight.
Half-past seven at the Amity Inn
He scowled. The hour wasn’t even quite six, but Benedict and the coachman had been all too eager to depart the sleepy hamlet of Ashveil shortly after depositing Phineas at his destination.
The dowager viscountess had given him explicit instructions on where to meet the coach that would deliver him to Ashveil Manor, so unless he intended to set out on foot—and potentially end up arse-over-teakettle in the Celtic Sea—he’d best wait and have a pint. What he wouldn’t give for a hot bath and a large pour of brandy, but it seemed his travel was not over.
Fog clung to the spires of the church and obscured any buildings beyond the central square. The evening was eerily silent, as if a heavy quilt had been draped over the town. Funny, given how the wind off the sea had buffeted the coach mercilessly for the entire trip to the seaside.
