The Hanged Man

CHAPTER FIVE

She thrashed in blind panic, reaching for the surface. Her fingers brushed slimy mud.

She pushed against it, tried to still herself enough to let buoyancy take her up, but her coat and skirts dragged in the current. Her chest hurt from holding out the water. She willed herself to not breathe, just a few seconds, another few-she had to find light and swim toward it.

But the day, so dark, the murky water the same color-

Mud again.

She put both hands into it and shoved as hard as she could away.

Bubbles. Air slipping from her mouth, floating free.

Follow them.

She reached, kicking, and could not quite catch up to them.

But it was getting lighter.… Just a little farther.…

She slipped into a strange limbo where the desperate need for air ceased to drive her. Her lungs were empty; the next breath would be water, but her body desperately held off from that action. Instinct told her she had but a few counts of her laboring heart before that changed.

The bitter cold numbed her flesh, her mind. She’d perish from it, not drowning.

Then the water rushed in. She choked, gasped, more water painfully clotted her lungs. She ceased moving. A tiny ember of thought, that it was over and she’d see her father soon, winked and went out.

Something brutally strong seized her arm.

Such single-mindedness.

The emotions were simple and clean: worry, desperation, triumph. She didn’t want them, but couldn’t break the contact.

Triumph … relief …

Someone shouting in her ear. She was too listless to respond, just wanting sleep. If they’d only go and give her some peace.

* * *

Alex’s nose, no, the whole front of her face ached, as though someone had struck her with … she didn’t know what. So did her chest, constricted by a hard and heavy weight.

She rolled on her side, coughing. Water spewed, and again it hurt, hurt, hurt up inside the front of her head and deep in her chest. She gasped and gagged until more air went in than water came out. Her throat … an utterly revolting taste in her mouth.

Gradually, she became aware of being surrounded by people, and a man asked repeatedly how she felt. She waved him off, shivering uncontrollably.

She struggled through the shreds of emotions, fighting them as she’d fought the water. Which were hers, which were Fingate’s, which belonged to others…?

“Still on this side of the veil,” pronounced a familiar voice.

A cheer went up, along with applause.

She rubbed her blurred eyes. Lieutenant Brook?

He knelt next to her and was the source of one set of emotions. She felt his gladness as a physical thing. Soaking wet and shivering, he had no mind for his discomfort, and was focused wholly on her. There was a warmth in his soul such as she’d sensed in Master Shan and a very few others: no pretension, he was as presented.

Which was greatly comforting. She’d trained to avoid embracing the feelings of others-too addictive-but this one time could do no harm.

“A blanket,” he bellowed, standing. “Quickly!”

Lying on muddy ground, surrounded by concerned onlookers, she lost sight of him. In a break in the forest of trouser-clad legs she glimpsed two excited youths pushing through with a long wicker basket. It looked just like the one the ambulance men used to carry her father.

She choked and tried to get up, but well-meaning rescuers held her down.

The man in the medals who had directed the swimming race was one of them; he and two others lifted Alex into the long basket with little effort and tucked a blanket over her. She bucked and would have screamed, but her voice had been stolen by fresh panic. She was weak and-it hardly seemed possible-colder than when still in the lake. Her teeth chattered, fit to snap.

The helpful man, part of the Royal Humane Society and thus trained in the saving and resuscitation of the drowned, put a calming hand on her forehead. “There now, missy, settle down. You’re safe.”

Her armor was gone, but his warm reassurance flowed over her like balm on a raw wound. Her panic faded. After so many years of protecting herself from unwanted feelings, this was a day of revelation.

“Brook-where’s Brook?” she demanded, her voice thin and raspy.

“That was no brook, my girl,” he said, “but a great big lake you went into.”

“The man who fell in with me.”

“Which one? No matter, they’re seeing to them all.”

All?

They carried her, an odd floating sensation, to the Society’s receiving house on the north side of the Serpentine.

A fit-looking matron took over her care and keeping, shooing the men away from the females-only area. She delivered Alex from the dreadful basket. In a remarkably short time Alex’s soaked clothes were removed, and she was bundled into a long tub of unexpectedly hot water. Her skin puckered with painful gooseflesh, then abruptly smoothed as the heat took hold. It was better than any blanket. She’d never been so deliciously warm before. She tried not to moan, but one leaked out.

“There now, it’s all right,” said the matron. “A doctor’s been sent for. How do you feel?”

“Bloody awful.”

“No surprise in that, my dear. Such a nasty shock.”

Alex was not done coughing. She felt the wet bubbling in her throat and whooped and wheezed into a bucket. When it was all out, the woman gently washed her hair, reminding Alex of some of the kindlier nannies of her childhood.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Came that close, did you?”

A simple question and yet so much to it as Alex realized just how easily she’d given in to death, fighting one instant, ceasing the next, with no transition from one to the other. She’d wanted peace, rest, to be left alone-but not forever.

The matron smiled down at her, as though able to follow her thoughts.

Or my feelings.

Not all the psychically gifted were in the Service.

“I almost-”

“But you didn’t. The Lord spared you for another day, so there’s a use for you yet. Never doubt that.”

Years ago, Master Shan had expressed a similar outlook. Alex had been in a low mood, desiring a cure for her ability to Read. She did not want to learn to live with it. He’d been gently adamant that she should. It had been a struggle; nevertheless, he managed to persuade her that she and it had a purpose.

Alex hiccupped and felt hot tears. “Oh, not this. Not now.”

“What better time?” The matron patted her hand. “It’s perfectly normal, dear. Have it out now while there’s no one about to tell you to stop. I won’t mind.”

Alex couldn’t hold off her reaction; sobs shook her small frame, even as part of her mind looked impartially on, analyzing.

Weeping for myself, but not for Father. I didn’t die; he did. I’m mourning for the living.

Her analytical side decided she was indulging in self-pity because she was thinking too much. She shut that side down, recalling Inspector Lennon’s comment about meeting herself coming around corners. His deep rough voice seemed to sound right between her ears. He’d show her budding self-pity to the door-or rather kick it through headfirst, a strangely comforting image.

The storm was intense but brief, and when it passed, the matron, God bless her, brought a cup of strong tea and a warning that it was hot.

“Do you get many in here?” Alex asked. The tea stripped the taste of the lake from her throat with a single sip. She nearly gulped the rest, suddenly thirsty.

“Too many by half. Some don’t know how to swim well, get tired and sink, then there are the poor souls who throw themselves off the bridge, hoping they’ll be gone by the time they reach the sluice at the end. That’s why we’re here. They said you jumped in, is that true, dear?”

“It was an accident. If he’d not slipped on the ice…”

“Oh, you’ve not done one of those lover’s leaping acts of desperation, have you?”

Alex coughed again, clearing her throat, and handed back the teacup. “Absolutely not. Please, would you see if he’s all right? His name is Brook. Tall, with a moustache, hasn’t shaved today.”

“If it’ll settle you down, of course.” But first she helped Alex from the tub, wrapped her in a Turkish towel, and sat her before a large iron stove. “Dry your hair, dearie.”

The matron soon returned. “That first young fellow is fine, and so are the others. They’re getting sorted out and their clothes dried. He’s like to get a medal for this day’s work, being the one who got to you first. Said you were limp as a water weed when he pulled you to shore. I let them know you’re coming along just fine.”

Alex had underestimated Brook and, influenced by Fingate, had unfairly judged him. Recalling Brook’s concern, his unabashed warmth, she grimaced.

“There now, half the swimming club saw you go in, they weren’t going to leave you. Several people jumped in to help, including a doctor-oh, here he is.”

Looking like a theatrical ghost with a blanket wrapped Turkish-style around his body, a towel draped over his head, and his feet bare, James Fonteyn pushed through the door. He cast about with brief curiosity before spying her. For once he presented a serious face.

He came over, eased onto a chair next to her, and took her hand. She was tardy getting her armor up and caught a wretched tug of his guilt and worry.

“You look a right mess,” he said. “I’ve never seen you so dreadful and that’s saying a lot.”

The matron lost her kindly expression.

Alex found herself responding with a feeble laugh that threatened to devolve into more coughing. “You jumped in after me?”

“Certainly not before, as I’ve better sense than to do such appallingly ridiculous acrobatics. My suit will never recover. What were you thinking?”

Devil take it. Now they’d demand explanations, not just James but everyone. It was bloody inconvenient.

“Doctor?” said the matron, moving closer.

“Thank you for the reminder. Her pulse is steady enough.” He let go of Alex’s hand, where he had indeed been pressing a thumb to the right spot on her wrist. “The patient is alert, but I’ll hold judgment on her sanity until she can answer my question.”

“It’s a state secret,” Alex said, looking at him steadily, and for the first time saw her cousin at a loss for words. A sweet moment.

“To do with the party last night?” he finally asked.

She nodded.

His expression shifted back to its habitual self-satisfied lines. “Oh, that won’t serve at all. Reports will be written, witnesses interviewed; there’s a few fellows without who claim to be with the newspapers, though one is with The Times and I wouldn’t put that in the same class as the Police Gazette. Shall I mention policemen as well? They’ve a station just behind this place. They want to make sure you weren’t drowning yourself on purpose, as suicide is against the-” He cut himself off, mouth open in honest horror. “Oh, my God. I’m sorry, Alex. I forgot. I’ll stop babbling. Infernally stupid of me.”

She chose not to speak, lest she damned his eyes.

“I’ll make them go away, shall I?” He hurried out.

The matron shut the door firmly. “Calls himself a doctor?”

“He is a medical man, and my first cousin-and is usually far more foolish than that.”

“Good heavens. How?”

“Will the police question me? I don’t want my name in the papers.”

“Of course you don’t. The police are only here in case you’re in a despondent state of mind, but if it was an accident, then there’s no need.”

James returned a short while later, damply dressed, apparently too impatient to wait for his clothes to dry. His great coat was fine, he’d shed it before leaping in.

“My hat’s dented, but I want a newer one anyway,” he told her.

“Bother your hat, is Mr. Brook all right?”

“He’s bursting with good health and energy for his morning tub.”

“Please, James, be serious.”

“No, sorry, none today, thank you. He wants to see you as soon as is decently possible. I’ll put him off for longer if you like. While it would be entertaining to see how you manage things with a colleague while looking like a water rat, it would be better to receive him after you’re dressed and on your feet.”

That was uncommonly sensible of him.

“The newspapers?”

“I worked a miracle, little cousin. I was brilliant, even inspired. The curious have been routed. The story will have mention in several London journals; that can’t be helped. A Christmas swimming race is of minor interest, but a daring water rescue involving several participants and a helpless maid of tender years is something else again. Mr. Brook was modestly loath to have mention in the saga, so I provided the press with false names, and gave full credit to Mr. Ashburn Poultreen of the Royal Humane Society for recovering a schoolgirl of fourteen years, six months, who had fallen in by accident. Miss Violet Kettle of Basingstoke is now safe and well in the bosom of her family, thanks to his heroic efforts.”

It could have been worse.

“Much as it went against my desire for fame, I downplayed my part and provided a false name as well. I’ve my reputation to protect. Can’t have eye surgeons leaping into the Serpentine, it might cause a patient to blink in dismay, and that would interfere with a proper ocular exam. Don’t you think so, Matron?”

The good woman ventured no opinion. “More tea, miss?”

“Please. Are my clothes dry?”

“Not nearly. You need to rest, give yourself a bit of time to get past it. Doctor, it will be best if you leave now.”

“People are always telling me that. One of these days I’ll sort out why. And if no one has mentioned it before, I want to express my appreciation on behalf of the family for looking after my soggy cousin.” He presented a genial smile to her, along with five gold sovereigns.

She gasped, staring at them. “Oh, sir, I couldn’t!”

“You most certainly can or I’ll lodge a complaint. Not sure where, but it will be lodged. If you don’t want it, then donate it to the Humane Society.”

She gave him a shrewd eye, surrendered to the largesse with a soft “thank you.”

“James?” He was well off, as were many of the Fonteyns, but the princely sum-not to mention the generosity-startled Alex.

He continued as though she’d not spoken. “If you’re in a hurry to leave, I’ll send someone to fetch clothes from your house. Boodles Churchill is here with his fiancée and they have a carriage to take us to Baker Street. She can find something appropriate if she has access to your digs.”

“I lost the key, my reticule-”

“Was recovered. You dropped it when you tackled that big fellow; he’s looking after it, so I suppose he’s forgiven you for assaulting him. That was a magnificent block, by the way. Learn that in your travels? Oh, there I am rattling on, but I am curious why you thought it necessary. He was doing quite well before you decided to bring him down.”

“Mr. Brook slipped on the ice. I didn’t plan any of this, just wanted to delay him.”

“Well, he was quite keen to catch up with that chap who ran off; who was he? Looked familiar.”

“Fingate, my fa-damn you, James!” His blather had neatly undermined her defenses.

Across the room, the matron gaped at the outburst, apparently not used to refined young ladies expressing anger in such terms.

“I don’t recall anyone of that name, but give me time,” James said, unfazed and cheerful.

“You know very well who he is,” she whispered.

“State secrets, little cousin. I’ll have a chat with Boodles’s fiancée. Stay warm and do what you’re told for the next hour. It won’t require effort, all you need do is sit there for a bit. Think of England,” he added brightly.

Instead, she thought of bouncing some object off the back of his head as he left, but nothing suitable was within reach.

A second cup of tea helped, easing her sore throat.

“There’s another man wanting to see you, Miss,” said the matron. “Says he’s your cousin Theodore. That first being a doctor was one thing, but this side is for females only.”

“Assure him that I’m fine and will talk to him when I’ve rested-”

Teddy poked his head in. “Hallo, sorry, but had to see you, Alex. There’s going to be the devil to pay when Mother finds out about this.”

“Then don’t tell her.” Good God, she’d nearly died and he was worried about what Aunt Honoria would think? Alex knew him to be a sometimes charming fool, like James, but harbored a small hope that it was a simple front he presented to the world. But no, he was a fool through and through.

He eased the rest of the way inside, looking nervous. “I say, there aren’t any undressed females about?”

“Hoping to see some?”

Teddy flushed a gratifying shade of brick red. “Really, now! I’ve been worried sick for you-”

More likely worried over the scandal had she drowned.

“Are you all right?” he demanded. “Whatever possessed you to jump in?”

“It was an accident.”

“Who was the fellow you were talking to? He nearly took my arm out of my socket, the little bas-that is to say-I’m bruised all over. Who was he?”

She felt inordinately pleased about his damage. “Please, Teddy, don’t ask questions. There’s an inquiry I’m working on with the police and I’m not allowed to discuss it until it’s resolved.”

“Surely with family you can drop a hint or two.”

She’d already had too much familial faux pas with James. “I’m sorry, I cannot, no more than you can discuss your own work.”

“The two are hardly comparable. Now who was that fellow on the bridge? The one who ran away? Oh, don’t make a face, I have to know.”

“Honestly, I can’t.”

“That other fellow who fell in won’t say a word, either. Why didn’t you say he was with you? I took him for a ruffian.”

“He was the one you saw following me?”

“Yes. Had I known he was a policeman in disguise I’d not have chased after you from church to protect you from him. Of course you had no way to tell me, so I suppose that’s hardly fair.”

Correcting his assumption about Brook’s occupation would serve no purpose. “I appreciate that you tried to help.”

“You’re welcome. But your reaction when I told you-someone else must be following you, someone who is not a policeman.”

That was a perceptive guess. She had to head him off. “I deal with criminals, Teddy. I have to be cautious. It’s only good sense.”

“But carrying around a firearm, really now!”

“Where is it?”

“With that policeman. Mr. Fonteyn gave him charge of it, which is only right. He’ll keep it safe, I’m sure. Whatever shall I tell Mother about this-this … incident?”

“You don’t tell her anything.” She raised a hand to quell objections. “Our names won’t be in the papers, so she need never find out. You’ll just spoil Christmas dinner for her and Uncle Leo.” Andrina would find it entertaining, and Alex did not care to provide her with any such distraction.

Teddy made noises to indicate he was thinking it through and then finally agreed. “That would be for the best. She’ll be annoyed enough that I didn’t sit with the family in church. I suppose I can say I saw a friend and had to chat with him, borrowing your story, as it were. What shall I say about your disappearance?”

“That I could not bear the crowds. Aunt Honoria knows my dislikes. I won’t be there for dinner, so give her my regrets.”

“You can’t avoid dinner.”

“Of course I can, I’ll not show up. It will be better for all concerned. I have to go to the head office at the Service and put in a report.”

“Ridiculous. Your employers will forgive you for having a respite after such a terrible misadventure, especially on a holiday. Come home.”

She decided not to remind him of the perils she survived when traveling with her father. Most of those dangers were wholly preferable to dinner with relatives. “I’m to be called in today regardless. I expect a message is already waiting for me at Pendlebury House.”

“Then you send a message right back that you’re not going. Father will sign it. They’ll have to pay attention to him.”

“Most kind, but the matter is closed. Besides, I didn’t bring anything suitable to wear.”

That sank in. He blithered a bit, then said brightly, “Borrow a frock from Andrina.”

She gave him a look.

He had the decency to wince. “Never mind.”

“Just find Mr. Brook and make sure they’re taking good care of him. He saved my life; afford him the appropriate respect and honor he deserves.”

Teddy might have offered more argument, but the matron put herself forward. “Sir, I must ask you to leave. The lady wants care and rest.” She guided him toward the door and threw the bolt the instant he was on the other side.

She and Alex each breathed a sigh of relief.

“Sorry,” said Alex.

“It’s good to have family about, but some of them do get underfoot. I’ll make sure no one else comes in.”

Taking advantage of the respite, Alex’s busy mind turned to how she’d come to be here in the first place. Where would Fingate have taken himself? What had Father been investigating? What awaited her at the head office of the Service? She’d have to get to the bottom of this nonsense about the Ætheric Society.

No time to waste, then.

She stood and performed the undignified gyrations necessary to dry her hair: bending double, her head upside down, swaying one side to the other, shaking and combing through with her fingers. The result was an untidy tangle, but a few pins would keep it hidden under a hat.

The matron answered a knock at the door, exchanged a few words, and accepted a carpetbag from someone. Alex recognized it as one of her own and padded over. It contained not only dry clothes and her best wool cloak and hat, but undergarments, stockings, walking shoes, her brush, comb, hairpins, and a bottle of hair pomade that would smooth the wild disarray on her head.

She vowed to make the acquaintance of Boodles Churchill’s fiancée and treat her to a lavish tea and some shopping.

The dress was not one Alex would have chosen for an interview at the head office. The blue was too frivolous, the fabric too rich, but the hat matched, as did the gloves. The ensemble was better suited for social calls, but it would have to serve for now. With the matron’s help, she dressed and stuffed her damp clothes into the bag.

At the door, Alex hesitated.

“What’s wrong, dearie?” asked the matron.

“Whatever awaits outside. That’s what’s wrong.”

“Lord bless you, is that not the truth?”

* * *

After imparting her sincere gratitude to the matron (privately resolving to write a letter to the R.H.S. praising her), Alex left the sanctuary of the women’s side and entered a sort of lobby. It had a lofty ceiling, dim in the winter gloom, and the gas was alight. Benches were placed along the walls, and a plain receiving desk was in the middle, but no one manned it. Several people were about, all strangers. She expected James and his friends to be there, perhaps Teddy still lingered. She didn’t like him, but he was familiar.

No relatives in sight. That was oddly disappointing.

Brook, his cabman’s clothing the worse for wear but dry, detached from a group and hurried over. He seemed on the verge of reaching out to her, but checked himself. He did take her in, head to toe, his eyes strangely intense. Her barriers were back in place, so she could not tell if he was anxious or angry. Certainly he was entitled to the latter.

“You’re all right, Miss Pendlebury?” His tone expressed concern. She could deal with that.

“Thanks to you, Mr. Brook. Are you restored, no ill effects from immersion?”

“They looked after me marvelously fine.”

“Thank God for that. Mr. Brook, I am deeply, deeply sorry to have caused you such hazard and distress and am very grateful. You saved my life. I shall never forget that. Thank you.”

His fair skin went pink. “I’m glad I was there to help, but would be gladder still to have possession of an explanation.”

“I did not intend we should fall in.”

“So I was informed. I felt my foot slip and then it was over and gone for us both. May I ask why you impeded my pursuit of a wanted man?”

“If I may ask why you did not make yourself known to me sooner. I assume the Service delegated you with the task of keeping watch on Pendlebury House?”

“They did. My round was up at noon. The next man will wonder where I’ve gotten to; I hope the horse and hansom are where I left them on the crescent.”

“If not, we’ll find them.” Alex was chagrined. She should have noticed their presence, but Teddy had distracted her with his chatter. “Is my cousin about? Either of them?”

“They left. Dr. Fonteyn seemed to be in a hurry about something and said he’d be in touch. Mr. Pendlebury insisted I persuade you to return home. He was much in earnest about it.”

She was not surprised, but it still stung. Teddy would have to be at the dining table so as not to offend his mother and whatever guests she’d invited. James must want to get back to whatever bacchanal he’d planned prior to her invasion of his house. She’d nearly drowned, but God forbid they should hang about. Had Alex died, then might they have been upset for a time, but not for long.

The flow of frivolous life must return to its normal course.

But not for Father. The thought jabbed her, knife-sharp. Teddy could be excused, he didn’t know, but she’d thought James might be more considerate. On the other hand, he had jumped in to save her. She should have thanked him for that, and would have had he not hared off.

“Are you all right, Miss Pendlebury?”

She was a breath away from a harsh complaint, but smothered it. The shortcomings of family were her cross to bear, not Brook’s. “They can do without me. We must get to the head office. Mrs. Woodwake may have sent for me already.”

“Yes, Miss Pendlebury.” He took the carpetbag from her, gathered a bundle of his own from a bench, and followed as she briskly launched into the cold again.

* * *

Brook’s hansom was where he’d left it along Wilton Crescent commanding a view of Pendlebury House. Anybody would assume the driver would be waiting to be called to one of the houses. While it should have been in the mews behind the trees banking the crescent, it was so common a sight as to be invisible. Little wonder she’d not noticed.

Behind the hansom was a coach, and two men Alex recognized as Service emerged as she and Brook crossed the street. Dressed as cabmen, they were alert, but lacked a certain tension of manner she expected to see. News of Lord Richard’s murder must still be a secret, even within the walls of the Psychic Service.

They had orders she was to report to the head office as soon as possible. One took up post in the hansom, the other handed Alex into the coach-her long skirt and cloak were impediments to agility-and Brook followed after with the bags, settling them on the floor between.

She relaxed marginally when they were away from the crescent, proceeding along Upper Belgrave. This was Uncle Leo’s daily route to the Home Office. They would travel a bit farther to get to the Service’s offices, which were next to Scotland Yard.

“My question, Miss Pendlebury,” said Brook.

“Question?”

“Why did you interfere with my catching Fingate?”

Why indeed?

“My answer wants for logic, Lieutenant. He took fright at your approach and I … I caught it.”

“You caught fright,” he said, his expression neutral.

“I caught his fright. Did they explain about Readers and how we work?”

“You sense the emotions of others and the residual of emotions they leave behind.”

“Yes. When my internal defenses are down, the feelings generated by others can be overwhelming. Fingate was terrified and did not know who to trust. I was trying to convince him to come with me when your approach set him off.”

“Sorry, miss, but I had orders.”

“Not your fault, but singularly bad timing. Another moment and I’d have brought him around. We’ll have to wait until he contacts me again.”

“You’ll pardon my curiosity, but when I came up you didn’t look frightened.”

“Readers learn to conceal emotions. If you don’t know whose they are, it’s best to keep them hidden.”

“If you were so fearful, why did you not run yourself?”

She shook her head. “That’s an acquired foolishness. I learned to fight rather than run from a threat.”

He responded with a ghost of a smile. “Next time I’ll give you a wider berth.”

“I hope there will not be a next time, Mr. Brook.”

“Indeed, Miss Pendlebury. Once was sufficiently damaging.”

There was that warmth of spirit again, strong enough that it filtered through her barriers. She pushed aside its distraction. “You followed me from the house?”

“At a prudent distance. I planned to stay clear of you at the church, didn’t want to intrude on the family, but you went haring off toward the park. Lost you in the crowd. Couldn’t think why you did that, though now I believe it was to meet with Mr. Fingate.”

“That was my intent, yes. Before running away last night he passed me a note on where to meet.”

“You did not mention that then.”

“We got rather busy. By the time I remembered-well, I know I’m going to be hauled over the coals. Had I brought him in, the situation would be different. Just have to deal with things as they are and hope they improve. I’ll make a full report and mention you did your duty. You went above and beyond in your actions to preserve me. I hope you’ll get proper recognition for that.”

“Really, now.”

“I mean it.”

“I would prefer to forget it altogether-not my most shining moment, falling off a bridge.”

“Nor mine.” Alex was not keen to report; she’d look like a fool. There was a possibility of disciplinary action, but they’d not dismiss her. Good Readers were rare, and she was one of the better ones. “How long have you been with the Service?”

“A week. They gave some instruction in protocol, lectures on investigations, and yesterday was my first day of active duty.”

Good God. Greener than grass. “Where were you prior?”

“I’d rather not discuss that, if you don’t mind, Miss Pendlebury. This is where I serve now.”

“Offended someone?”

He hesitated, eventually offering a wry smile. “I got noticed.”

“In a good way or bad way?”

“I’m still sorting that out.”

“What sort of experience do you bring to the Service?”

“Ample.”

She verged on giving in to annoyance, but for his smile. A person must be forgiven for wanting to preserve their privacy; she certainly put effort into keeping herself apart from others. She had but a handful of friends, none outside the Service; like her, they had various quirks due to their psychical talents that had to be tolerated. Social gatherings tended to be an extension of work, with talk centered on whatever was going on at the time. Usually it was interesting, but Alex wanted to try ordinary chat about ordinary things. A simple conversation about weather that did not involve working out how long a corpse had been exposed to the elements would make a pleasing change.

As for anything approaching courtship, she’d found that impossible. Some men were too curious about her Reading ability, others discounted its existence, and the rest were unsuitable for one reason or another. Human relationships relied on pretense and lies, and one could maintain neither with a Reader.

She rather liked Lieutenant Brook, but Sergeant Greene would return on Boxing Day as her usual driver. Brook would remain a colleague to be nodded at as they passed in the halls, though perhaps a bit more, for having saved her life.

“Your cousin had me keep this for you,” said Brook. He pulled her mud-smeared reticule from his bag. Her revolver was still in it.

“Thank you again, I’m glad to have this back.” She slipped the firearm into her cloak pocket.

“Yesterday I’d have found the idea of a lady carrying one of those around to be a bit of a shock,” he said.

“And today?”

“A necessity. That attack last night-well, you should have a spare.”

What an enlightened sort.

“I’ve also this for you.…” He drew a walking stick out. “Never saw one like this before. Certainly unique-looking.”

Her father’s cane.

She’d been too distracted on the bridge to recognize it, but the memory rushed back sharply. The stick had been a gift from some South American dignitary, made from a type of wood that was almost as hard as the iron ferrule. The handle and intricately wrought wide collar were silver, its detailed, one-of-a kind crafting by a master smith.

Only yesterday her father’s living hand had carried it.

Blinking, she pulled off her right glove and-

The imprint of him remained. She shut her eyes and felt his presence like a solid thing. He was next to her, warm, caring, proud, his love tinged with worry. It washed over her soul like a sun-warmed wave. Whatever his actions, wherever their travels had taken them, his love for Alex had been the force that kept him moving. If he hadn’t found help for her …

I might have become like Mother or turned drunkard like most of the other Fonteyns.

That had been the unspoken threat over much of her young life. He’d all but obsessed on it, looking for some way to save her.

Alex drew back, opening her eyes. How much of that was from the cane and how much dredged from her memory?

They were too closely blended. For all she knew it was wholly from memory and only wishful thinking made him alive again.

But he was gone, the door between shut. He was never to return, and she was truly an orphan. All that remained were echoes in her mind of his voice, glimpses of his face, a thousand memories of travels past, and nothing for the future but grief. Her limbo of waiting was ended, cruelly ended. No chance to say good-bye, he’d said that on a pier in Hong Kong a decade past. In London he could have walked just a few streets over and knocked on her door. Why hadn’t he done so? If he loved her that much, what could possibly be more important than seeing his only child?

Tears fled down her cheeks. She dropped the cane.

“Miss Pendlebury?”

“It was Father’s. He’s … something of him lingers.”

“And it is not enough.”

“No.…”

“I’m so sorry.”

Alex dug blindly through the reticule for a handkerchief. One should be there, she always had two or three.… Had she forgotten, how could she forget anything so fundamental as a bloody handkerchief-

Brook offered her one of his and she realized she’d been speaking aloud. She must sound like a lunatic, but he merely looked concerned.

Alex accepted his help and snuffled and dabbed her eyes.

He abruptly shifted from the bench opposite and sat next to her. More shockingly, he put an arm about her shoulders. He must not know that most Readers did not like to be touched, the flow of emotions …

Such as came to her now.

Brook’s concern was deep, sincere, mixed with compassion and sympathy. He’d known loss, understood what she was going through and what was needed. The touch from … well, if not a friend, then a caring stranger made it easier.

“I could say it will be all right, but I know it is not all right,” he murmured. “It’s perfectly awful.”

She stopped fighting and let the grief come. Alex could never have dropped her barriers with any family member, nor even with her few friends. She had a facade to preserve, but with this man, as with the matron, it was safe. He would not think less of her or treat her differently after.

Alex sobbed and wailed and Brook held her and said nothing more.