WHY THE SUDDEN interest in Lord Ackland?” Venetia asked.
She sat across from Gabriel in an unlit cab, watching the street in front of Ackland’s mansion. The windows on the ground floor of the big house were illuminated but the curtains were drawn tightly shut. Outside, a thick fog reflected the glow of the streetlamps, creating an eerie, otherworldly atmosphere.
Venetia was dressed in the masculine attire that she had worn to the Janus Club. She and Gabriel had been sitting in the motionless cab for nearly an hour. She was quite certain that both the horse and the driver had dozed off some time ago.
“We have been assuming that he is Mrs. Fleming’s unwitting dupe in this affair,” Gabriel said. “A source of money and an entrée into Society. But Harrow and my father have both told me that they were under the impression that as of a few months ago, Ackland was not only losing his mind but gravely ill.”
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“In the course of the conversation in the park with my father this afternoon, it occurred to me that perhaps Ackland’s newfound stamina might be due to more than Mrs.Fleming’s therapeutic influence.”
A chill that had nothing to do with the fog tingled across her nerves. “Are you implying that someone may be posing as Lord Ackland?”
“When you consider it, masquerading as a doddering old fool in the thrall of a lovely schemer is excellent camouflage, is it not?”
“But if he isn’t the real Lord Ackland, who is he and how did he come to take Ackland’s place?”
“One question at a time,” Gabriel said. “We don’t know for certain yet that the man living in that house is a fraud. That is what I wish to ascertain this evening. With any luck at all, he will leave to visit the charming Mrs. Fleming for a few hours or perhaps go to his club. If he does, I am hoping that you will have an opportunity to view his aura.”
“You think I have seen it before?” she asked uneasily.
“Yes.”
“One of my photography clients, perhaps?”
“Hush,” Gabriel whispered. “The lights are going out inside the house. Ackland is either heading upstairs to bed or leaving for the evening.”
She turned back to the mansion. The front door opened. The only remaining light was the gasolier in the front hall. Ackland was silhouetted briefly in its glare. Then he turned down the lamp and tottered out onto the steps, cane in hand. He paused to close the door before he made his slow, unsteady way down to the street.
When he reached the pavement, he blew a whistle. A hansom appeared in response. It came briskly around the corner, heading toward Ackland.
Venetia realized that in another few seconds the vehicle would be between Ackland and herself, blocking her view.
She concentrated, letting everything inside her go still. The dark, fog-bound world became a negative photographic image. Across from her Gabriel’s powerful, controlled aura pulsed darkly. She was also vaguely aware of the aura of the driver of the oncoming hansom. It danced in an erratic pattern that made her suspect that he had been drinking.
She focused on the hunched figure of Ackland, who was leaning heavily on his walking stick while he waited for the hansom to stop.
Ghostly energy seethed around him—intense, disturbing shades of darkness that had no names but made her blood freeze.
“Venetia?” Gabriel said softly.
She blinked, drew a deep, steadying breath and returned to her normal vision. The hansom had halted in front of Ackland. He clambered heavily up into the narrow confines of the cab. The vehicle set off down the street.
Gabriel leaned forward and wrapped his fingers around her wrist. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she managed. She realized she was shivering. “Yes, I’m all right.”
“He’s the killer, isn’t he?” Gabriel asked. There was the certainty of the hunter that has sighted prey in every word. “The one you saw fleeing the darkroom where Harold Burton drank the cyanide-laced brandy.”
She clasped her hands very tightly together. “Yes.”
“Ackland was at the reception with Mrs. Fleming that night. The two of them left before Burton disappeared. But Ackland could easily have returned to the exhibition hall using the stairs that descend into the alley at the side of the building.”
“He must have arranged to meet Burton in the darkroom,” Venetia said.
“I suspect that Ackland or whoever is playing the role was Burton’s mysterious wealthy client, the one who paid him to follow you about and keep track of the people you met.”
“What are we going to do now? We have no proof of any of this.”
Gabriel released her. He leaned back in the seat and studied the dark mansion with a thoughtful expression.
“No servants,” he said finally.
“I beg your pardon?”
“We have here a very large house and an obviously infirm old man living in it; a wealthy old man, at that. Yet there is no one to see him out the door, turn off the lights or summon a cab.”
She examined the big, fog-shrouded house. “Perhaps he gave the staff the night off.”
“I think it is more likely that he does not allow his servants to remain in the house at night because he fears they might discover his secrets,” Gabriel said.
He unlatched the carriage door.
Alarmed, she put her hand on his arm. “What are you doing?”
He glanced down at his sleeve, as though surprised to see her touching him. “I am going to see if I can get inside that house and have a look around.”
“You mustn’t.”
“I will never get a better opportunity.” He made to move past her. “I will instruct the driver to take you straight to my parents’ house and see you safely inside.”
“Gabriel, I do not like this.”
“This business must be concluded as swiftly as possible.”
He paused long enough to kiss her hard on the mouth, and then he vaulted lightly down to the pavement.
He closed the door, spoke briefly to the driver and glided away into the deep shadows of the night.
Venetia looked back as the cab rolled off down the street. She could not see any trace of Gabriel, not even his aura. He had vanished like smoke into the mist.