Authors: Saralynn Hoyt
"I would normally agree with you, Northcliffe, except—"
"Except?"
"Except that Lady Farnsworth has been dead for nearly
three years." O’Neill sat back and let his shocking words sink in.
"Preposterous, balderdash, poppycock!" Ford was
nearly sputtering with indignation. He had never heard such a tall tale told
with such seriousness. "If this is what society spends time discussing, I
might as well forgo the party. I can make better use of my time in the
laboratory."
"Come now, Northcliffe," O’Neill said, trying to
sooth his friend’s ruffled feathers. "I’m just relaying the facts as I
know them."
"How the minds of simple people make up such amazing
stories without the benefit of any logical reasoning, I’ll never know."
Ford wasn’t listening to the Earl. "Wild imaginings and illusions of
importance, I tell you, that’s what is behind such nonsense. Someone is pulling
a swindle, and I’d be willing to bet it’s this psychic you’ve been alluding to,
isn’t it?"
O’Neill shrugged, but looked as though he was considering
Ford’s deduction. "Don’t know how the old hag could have anything to do
with the boy talking to his dead mother though. But you would know, old chap,
having recently lost your own mum and a sister to boot. They haven’t visited
you from time to time, then?"
Ford glared at Suffolk, wondering just how the man could be
so dead on when it came to reading a situation or a person. There wasn’t any
way that his friend could know he just possibly had such an encounter, was
there?
"Things at 42 Park Lane aren’t going bump in the night,
are they?" O’Neill couldn’t seem to resist prodding Ford. "I’ve heard
that when a family has a tragedy, they are more likely to be haunted by the
dead. And," the Earl went on, lowering his voice dramatically, "there
are rumors that your neighbor’s house, number 51, has been haunted for some
time by a couple of blokes who were murdered there a few years back."
Suddenly a childlike shadow appeared to Ford’s right making
him jump from his chair in what could only be described as undignified. Piper!
Was she angry with him for denying her existence as a spirit?
"You gents be needing a shine?" It was just the
boy who had been skulking around the club recently.
"No, go away." Ford regretted the words as soon as
they left his mouth. Feeling guilty, he tossed the boy a penny and tried to act
as if he hadn’t just nearly been spooked to his bones.
"Jumpy?" O’Neill drawled, raising that damnable
eyebrow again. He was obviously trying hard not to laugh.
It took a supreme effort of Ford’s will not to scowl at the
Earl and pretend that he was simply fed up with the conversation and ready to
leave. Ford flicked at an invisible speck of lint then motioned to the footman
for his hat and coat.
"I have work to do," he said, trying to sound
dignified and calm. "Important scientific work."
"Of course," O’Neill said, and then muttered under
his breath, "Watch out for goblins on the way home."
Ford jammed his arms into his greatcoat and shoved his hat
down hard upon his head. Goblins, indeed, he thought leaving the warmth of the
club and heading towards home. He thrust his walking stick under one arm and
plunged his hands into his pockets to search for his gloves. Instead, he pulled
out a neatly folded piece of paper. It’s elegant old fashioned script read:
Séances With Madame Lou. Make Contact With Loved Ones
From Beyond. No. 14 Tottenham Court Road. By Appointment Only
"Poppycock," Ford mumbled to himself, crumpling
the leaflet and tossing it into the gutter. "Suffolk has some nerve
slipping that nonsense into my pocket. Very clever joke, old chap. I owe you
one, and I’ll make certain it’s a good one."
He made his way home grumbling the whole way about juvenile
pranks and full grown men. By the time he reached his front door, though, he
was actually chuckling about the evening’s events. Maybe Lord Suffolk was just
trying to lighten things up. After all, Ford did tend to take life a bit too seriously
sometimes. Although there was a particular bit the Earl had said that was
tickling something at the back of Ford’s mind. Or was it the leaflet? There had
been something awfully familiar about it, and Ford almost wished he hadn’t
thrown the thing away. Oh well, if it was at all important, it would come back
to him, he reasoned taking the stairs up to the porch two at a time. The door
swung open before he could knock or even reach for the handle. Startled, he
nearly fell back down the steps, unused to someone being there to let him in.
Ford was still adjusting to the fact that his household was actually beginning
to function smoothly again.
"Thank goodness you’re home, sir!" Roland was
there pulling Ford inside and taking his coat in the manner of a true butler. "We’ve
been just frantic without you."
Now Ford was really confused, as if the rest of the evening
hadn’t already accomplished that. Nobody at his house ever needed him for
anything. And now that Mrs. Tremaine was here to manage the intricacies, he
couldn’t imagine how his not being at home had even been noted. Although, maybe
that was all changing now. Maybe she had already trained the staff to
anticipate for his every need. But then what was all this about?
"Me, what can you possibly need me for?"
"Oh sir, it’s the little miss. She’s burning up with
the fever." Roland was practically blubbering in his concern. "You
must come quickly."
"Little miss?" Ford asked, wondering if he had
heard right. "What little miss?"
"Miss Alice," Roland said, practically pushing his
master up the stairs and towards Sabrina’s suite. "She was just running
around in her nightgown, fit as a fiddle, not more than a few hours ago, then
suddenly—"
"A little girl running around this house in her night
clothes?" Ford said the words almost to himself. So that explained what he
had seen earlier. He knew there had to be a reasonable explanation and not a
ghostly one. "Whose little girl?"
"Alice belongs to Mrs. Tremaine," Roland said,
hurrying Ford along. "She’ll explain everything. I’ll get your medical
bag."
"Yes, of course," Ford didn’t know what to think
now. Had Mrs. Tremaine been deceiving him? Or had he completely missed the fact
that she had a daughter?
As he approached her rooms, he could hear her sobbing from
within. Knocking, he turned the knob and called out announcing his entrance.
"Mrs. Tremaine?"
Sabrina appeared at the bedroom door. She was in her
dressing gown and her thick black hair was tumbled around her shoulders. She
was clutching a handkerchief and her blue eyes were rimmed red with tears.
"Tell me what is wrong with your daughter," he
said gently, knowing how awful sickness in a child could be.
"Oh, Mr. Northcliffe. Thank God you’re home!"
And before Ford knew what was happening, Sabrina had flung herself
into his arms and was clinging to him as if he were the only thing in her
universe. He held her close and murmured soothing words, trying not to think
about her soft breasts pressing into his chest or the way she fit perfectly
into his embrace. Looking over her shoulder, he could make out the small form
of a little girl in the bedroom, almost invisible in the huge tester bed. If he
hadn’t known better, Ford would have sworn it was his little sister. She was
drenched in sweat and thrashing, and suddenly he felt as helpless as he had all
those years ago when Piper had died in his arms.
"Please, you have to save her." Sabrina lifted her
tear stained face to look into his eyes. "You’re the only one who can."
"No, I can’t," Ford choked on the words. Untangling
himself from Sabrina’s comforting embrace he raced from the room.
A child’s life hung in the balance. He’d failed before and
he couldn’t take a chance that he would fail again.
At midnight Madame Lou felt compelled to pull cards from
the tarot deck. Something was wrong. The male spirit was restless and had woken
her from a deep sleep, insisting on her help. The candles flickered
uncontrollably as she lit the incense and shuffled the cards. The first card
was the page of staves—a dark haired, fair skinned child. Of course, what else
should she have expected with the husband and father being so insistent? Next,
the three of swords. Sickness? How could this be? Why hadn’t she seen something
sooner? Her hand hovered over the last card. She was almost afraid to turn it
over. But the male spirit would not leave her be. With a flick of her wrist,
the Wheel of Fortune showed its endless circle of life. A very unsatisfying
card. Going up on one side, and down on the other. All things that God created
had an opposite, the darkness and the light, air and water, life and death. The
constant ups and downs of daily existence that are felt by all. Life was a
circle and one could only guess as to which direction its current cycle was
heading. Whatever turned out to be the final destination, however, Madame Lou
was needed, and she always went where she was needed.
"Roland, will you have Mrs. Dixon sit with Alice?"
Sabrina desperately tried to gather her composure. "And where exactly is
Mr. Northcliffe’s laboratory?"
"I’ll stay with Miss Alice until Mrs. Dixon can be
fetched," Roland said, acting like a Papa bear protecting its cub. "The
laboratory is in the basement, behind the laundry."
"Thank you Roland," Sabrina worked to control her
emotions, barely keeping herself from sobbing as she made her way downstairs.
Why had Ford run off like that? She needed him, his
strength, his knowledge, and most of all his courage. But he’d run off and left
her without hope. Only she couldn’t give up without at least trying.
Look how far she and Alice had come? They had escaped
Gerald’s licentious clutches, survived the cold lonely streets of London, found
good people and managed to end up in a house even finer than the one they had
run away from.
Sabrina refused to allow a man who was trying to overcome a
tragic past himself and his own ridiculous fears stop them now. She was sorry
his sister had died when he was too young to help, and she knew it must have
scarred him terribly, however, she couldn’t allow something that had happened
over a decade ago keep him from saving Alice’s life in the present.
The past was a terrible thing, and Ford obviously felt great
pain for his loss. Why else would he exhaust himself daily in search of
answers? But now he could use all those years of research, training and
sacrifice for good. He could finally reconcile Piper’s death by creating some
purpose beyond his grief. She had to convince him that by helping Alice, he
would be giving his own sister’s life and death meaning.
She found Ford standing in the middle of a room that was a
mishmash of papers, half-filled glass jugs and tubes, plants, and hundreds of
jars filled with goodness only knew what indefinable substances. He stood with
his back to her, his jacket off and his shirtsleeves rolled up. His tan
waistcoat was half unbuttoned and slightly askew and his blond hair mussed from
the constant raking of his splayed hand through the golden tresses. For a
moment, Sabrina was a bit frightened of her mad scientist employer, but she
quickly got over her trepidation. Fear was something she couldn’t afford to
contemplate today.
"Please, help my daughter," Sabrina said the words
quietly, but she knew he heard her.
"I can’t, don’t you understand?" Ford turned to
her and held out his hands, palms up, looking as helpless as he sounded. "All
I have are theories. I’ve never tested any of my serums on a human, only these
damn mice."
He smacked the side of the cage, sending the tiny creatures
scurrying for cover.
Sabrina hadn’t noticed the vermin when she had first
entered, and took a step back when they made some rodent like sounds. She had a
particular aversion to rats, and mice were just smaller versions of those beady
eyed creatures.
She forced herself to step closer though. There had to be
something here that would convince Ford he could help Alice. Since the mice
were behind bars, she felt fairly secure stepping up to the cage and looking at
them. They appeared lively, active, and very healthy.
"Did you give the serum to them?" She asked, truly
curious now. "Because they don’t look sick at all."
Ford turned to look at the little white critters. He ran a
hand through his hair and squinted, as if trying to remember something.
"You’re right." He opened the top of the wire mesh
and reached in to pull one of the mice out. "His eyes are clear, and he’s
not burning up. Two days ago he was listless and running a fever."
"You see?" Sabrina said, the excitement bubbling
up inside her. "You can help Alice. I just know you can. Please, Ford."
Sabrina knew she shouldn’t be getting so personal with her
employer, but for some reason it just seemed right to call him by his Christian
name.
"You have to, otherwise you’ve wasted all these years
grieving for your sister, sitting in this room, haven’t you?" Sabrina knew
she was begging now, but she would get down on her knees to help Alice if
that’s what it took.
With her tears nearly choking her, she kept going. "Please,
Ford. Do it for Piper’s memory. Do it so that your work here honors her. But
most important, do it to save Alice. Please, oh please help my daughter."
Ford studied her from behind his spectacles. Had she gotten
through to him? She wasn’t sure, but there was something there in his beautiful
tawny eyes. A spark, a light, a gleam of confidence that had been re-awoken by
her words.
Sabrina watched as he picked up each of the mice and
examined them one at a time. Then he went to his desk and started shuffling
through some notes and mumbling to himself.