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“Has Miss Faraday returned, by chance?”

“No, sir.”

“I’ll come back in the morning to speak to her and may have further questions for the staff.”

As if he’d been waiting for the cue, the footman, Spivey, approached with his coat and hat.

“Word should be sent to Mr. Pennington’s brother as well. I would like to speak to him when I meet with Miss Faraday.”

“Yes, sir.” Mrs. Coyle nodded. “It would do well for Miss Faraday not to be alone when she learns the news.”

“Indeed.” Gideon spied Burton at the end of the hall, observing their discussion. “Mr. Burton, where are the calling cards collected, particularly those that Mr. Pennington may have been given while out during the course of a day?”

Burton strode closer with a furrowed brow. “There is a box I keep them in and record the names, in case Mr. Pennington wishes to pay a visit or recall a name at some later date.”

“I’d like to examine them tomorrow.”

“I shall retrieve the box tonight, Inspector.”

“Thank you.” Gideon offered each of them a nod of leave-taking and then strode out into the drizzle to secure a hansom for the trip to see Electra.

His mind had already shifted into the focused, pensive mode he employed as he began collecting facts. Stepping back to look at them objectively. Sifting details and committing them to memory, all the while hoping a clear picture would emerge once more pieces of the puzzle were assembled.

But tonight, all of that was undercut by emotions he wasn't used to. Disappointment and regret about his foiled evening with Electra. And one emotion that he was becoming more used to of late: yearning. He had wanted this night to go well and had been looking forward to seeing Electra for weeks, despite how much he disliked celebrating his birthday. But Electra had always insisted it was something worth an acknowledgment, whether it be a gift, an outing, or simply time spent together.

The part of him that yearned wanted to believe it was merely a postponement, that perhaps they could have their dinner later in the week. But it was impossible to predict how much time the Pennington case would consume. It seemed Percival Pennington was connected to a member of Parliament, and as the man had been a Queens Counsel barrister, the chief inspector would, no doubt, consider it a priority case. That meant late nights at work that brooked no leisure for a friendly dinner.

And, most crucial, there was the question of how Electra might be tangled up in the barrister’s death. Worry for her threatened to unravel his composure, but he took a steadying breath as he stepped up into a hansom cab and called up the Redmaynes’ address on Russell Square.

Chapter Four

Electra checked her hair again, patting at the curls Cordelia's lady's maid had pinned up in an artful manner. She twisted in front of her mirror to check that all the buttons at the back of her gown were fastened, that nothing was askew. It was one of Cordelia’s gowns, a cast-off, far fancier than any of her own, one she never imagined having an opportunity to wear.

But tonight seemed reason enough to pull the wine-colored gown out. As she prepared to go downstairs and await Gideon’s arrival, her pulse raced in her veins. She told herself she was being ridiculous. She knew Gideon almost as well as she knew herself. There was no reason to be anxious about seeing him this evening.

She grabbed the gift she’d bought him—a new pocket watch since his had stopped keeping time as it should, even after being repaired.

Down in the drawing room, she tried to sit patiently but found herself pacing. As the minutes stretched on, she took a seat near the fire and reached for a book she’d been reading, trying to distract herself.

Then the clock struck seven, and she was soon up on her feet, pacing the drawing room’s thick floral rug. She told herself that it was certainly a case that delayed him. As a police man’s daughter, she’d learned long ago not to allow her mind to wander to the most dreadful possibilities when her father had not come home when she expected him.

But one night, he hadn’t come home at all.

The vision she’d had played in her mind. Most of her visions were of future events and seemed meant as a warning. But Phineas Wilson was dead. Nothing she’d seen suggested any future harm might come to Gideon. So why had the vision come at all?

Mrs. Wilson had cut it short by calling her name. Would the vision have shifted to some future event? Would it have revealed something she should warn Gideon about?

She sat again, closed her eyes, fixing her thoughts on him. Her ability to see the past or the future was tied to touching something that another person had touched, or to touching a person. She wondered if whatever gifts she possessed might allow her to reach out over a distance. Was there some energy, intangible to the naked eye, that she could read when others could not?

Nothing came, yet she’d learned that sometimes her second sight rewarded patience, so she kept her eyes closed, her mind fixed on Gideon.

A shiver ran through her, akin to the jolt that often preceded a vision, and she saw Gideon as if through a veil, the image clouded. He stood in gaslight, his expression hard, the one she knew meant he was assessing someone and doing his best to give nothing away himself.

He looked down, but Electra couldn’t make out why. The images blurred and then dissipated altogether. She opened her eyes a moment later, and realized someone was knocking at the Redmaynes’ front door.

Through the closed drawing room door, she heard the butler, Selwyn, greeting someone. Gideon. At the sound of his voice, she bolted up from the settee.

As she entered the hallway, she smiled, relieved that he’d finally come. But all of that faltered the minute he looked her way. A wave of emotion moved toward her, a dark, ominous feeling. He approached still wearing his overcoat. He had not even afforded Selwyn time to take it, and the grim look on his face confirmed that something was dreadfully wrong.