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Gideon. He stood in the doorway⁠—

“Miss Poole.” Jane Wilson slipped her hand from Electra’s hold.

Electra’s throat had gone dry. Her heart pounded in her ears.

The lady across from her looked frightened as she rubbed her left hand over her right. “You held my hand so tightly,” she said, almost petulant. “It hurt.”

“Forgive me,” Electra whispered.

The gaslights seemed too bright. Her ears were ringing, though the room was silent.

“What happened?” Mrs. Wilson said quietly, her voice as unsteady as Electra felt. “You seemed quite overcome. Was it Phineas?” She shivered, her shoulders trembling. “Did he speak to you?”

“No, nothing to do with Mr. Wilson.”

The lady sighed as if relieved.

Electra reached into her pocket, grasping the stone there, trying to overcome how much the vision had unsettled her.

“Have you ever met a man called Gideon Pierce?” Electra asked.

“I don’t believe so, no.” Mrs. Wilson tipped her head, assessing her. “Shall we continue?”

“Yes.” Electra had promised the lady a sitting to assist with what troubled her. But just as she reached for the dead man’s chain, the drawing room door burst open.

“Electra— Oh my goodness, forgive me.” Cordelia stood on the threshold, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, looking mortified. “I had forgotten you expected a visitor today.”

Mrs. Wilson froze, jaw clenched and her body stiff. She glanced once at Cordelia, then turned back, keeping her gaze fixed on Electra.

Before Electra could offer Cordelia any reply, her friend ducked back out of the room and drew the door shut as she exited.

Mrs. Wilson shot to her feet a moment later, scooping up her husband’s chain. “This has been most unsettling. I wish to depart, Miss Poole.” The lady’s voice had risen, and she appeared more upset by a brief interruption than how Electra had all but crushed her hand during the vision.

“We will not be interrupted again, Mrs. Wilson,” Electra said as she got to her feet. “Please, let us sit, and we can resume.” It was not the first time Cordelia had forgotten Electra mentioning a session, but she never interrupted intentionally.

“No.” Mrs. Wilson shook her head. “I no longer feel confident of the privacy you promised me. I do not wish to have my name associated with our meeting, so I think I must go.”

Her vehemence shocked Electra, but she understood her wish for privacy about a visit to a psychic. Many would see it as foolish; some would view it as scandalous.

Electra lifted a calling card from her skirt pocket and offered it to her visitor. “Take my card, Mrs. Wilson, in case you wish to reschedule.”

The lady stared at the card. The agitation she’d shown when she entered the townhouse now seemed more like fear. But after a moment, she relented, taking the card and shoving it into her reticule.

“May I see you out?” Electra asked.

“I can see myself out.” With that, she turned and rushed from the drawing room.

Electra followed at a quick clip. “I could also visit you if you prefer,” she said quietly, not wishing even the Redmayne staff to overhear, since Mrs. Wilson seemed so shaken.

The auburn-haired lady shook her head but didn’t look back, didn’t even wait for the Redmaynes’ housekeeper to fully pull the door open wide before slipping through and striding out into the rain.

“She was in quite the hurry,” Mrs. Hurst remarked as she shut the door.

“Indeed.” Electra strode into the front parlor and pulled the drape aside, worrying that the lady would be soaked again by the time she found another hansom for hire.

But Mrs. Wilson must have made a dash for the busier cross street where cabs for hire would be plentiful.

“Can you forgive me?” Cordelia called as she entered the drawing room a few moments later. “It was thoughtless of me to burst in without thinking why the door would be closed.”