She shook her head. “He’s from my father’s side of the family. And I have no other family. Except . . . Robby.”
“And until you reach your majority, who manages your money? Surely you don’t have control of your inheritance yet.”
“Oh, well, it’s Cousin Herrell, of course. He’s been doing so since Father died. And I won’t gain control of any of my inheritance until I turn twenty-five, unless I marry first.”
Quite enlightening. My range of suspects was growing by leaps and bounds.
Willa’s voice choked with emotion. “Dear gad, this cannot be happening! All of these theories and suspicions simply cannot be true. I don’t believe any of them!” Her cheeks flushed, but this time from indignation and vehemence. “And I know my mother’s visits . . . well, I know she’s really here! I can feel her.”
Before I could respond, someone knocked on the door. At Miss Ashton’s invitation, the good housekeeper poked her white head around. “The post has arrived. There is a letter for you, Miss Willa. It’s from an Yrmintrude Yingling.”
Our hostess fairly bolted from her seat. “From Mrs. Yingling? Why . . . how could that be?”
“Perhaps she mailed it before she died,” Miss Stoker suggested.
“Or someone mailed it for her. After she died.” I was very eager to get my hands on that letter. “Or, more likely, she wasn’t even the authoress.”
“It’s rather eerie to get a letter from a dead woman.” Miss Ashton looked down at the missive as if it were possessed itself. Then she broke the seal.
She scanned the note, then went back and reread it. When finished, she looked up at us, her eyes bright with enthusiasm. “Mrs. Yingling sends me the name of a woman—let me read it to you. ‘Miss Louisa Fenley and her assistant, Espasia, have a great familiarity with orb devices such as the one you possess. Miss Fenley is also a spirit-talker of renown. I will contact her to ascertain whether she would be willing to experiment with us and your glass.’ So you see, now I have someone to take Mrs. Yingling’s place. How fortunate!”
Indeed. How conveniently fortunate. How coincidental that Mrs. Yingling should have somehow managed to post a letter with such important information to Miss Ashton . . . and then find herself murdered only hours later. Especially since she had announced her intention of helping Willa use the spirit-glass herself.
I railed on about these so-called conveniences and educated Miss Stoker about the absence of true coincidences in nature as we drove away from Miss Ashton’s home a short while later. Thunderous clouds and an accompanying heavy rain made the afternoon dark as dusk. The drumming downpour nearly drowned out my lecture.
“Something is afoot here, Evaline!”
“You’ve said that. Thrice already, Mina.”
“And the letter purporting to be from Mrs. Yingling. I examined it closely—”
“I saw you. I was there.”
“—and I am certain she was not the writer, although it is a fair copy of her hand and on her stationery. But there are none of the ink smudges from a left-handed writer. They are always there, however subtle or faint.”
“I know. You’ve mentioned that. Multiple times.”
“Which gives an excellent explanation for why the writing implements and papers were rearranged improperly on Mrs. Yingling’s desk. The murderer killed her, and then wrote the letter, copying her penmanship as well as possible.”
“Now that makes much better sense.”
“And aside from all that, Miss Ashton truly believes her deceased mother is visiting her. I suspect after one night spent in her chamber I’d be able to explain to her exactly what is happening. Either she’s imagining it, or someone is playing a vile trick on her.”
“Or perhaps her brother really is alive, and she can save him, and her mother is trying to help.”
“The thought has occurred to me as well. Not that Miss Ashton is truly receiving messages from beyond,” I was quick to say, “but that Robby might still be alive. He’s not the only boy to have recently gone missing.” When Evaline looked at me blankly, I sighed. “Do you not read the papers? There’s a boy from Bloomsbury and one from Drury-lane both gone missing in the last two weeks. Disappeared without a trace. It wasn’t until Uncle Sherlock mentioned the cases that I realized they could be connected to Robby’s disappearance.”
“But you still won’t allow the possibility that Willa—and I—have received messages from beyond.”
My entire life was built around scientific fact and tangible, visible elements. To even consider things that could not be explained by physics or chemistry or any other natural law would disrupt my entire belief system. It wouldn’t make sense, and the very thought was unsettling.
“Mrs. Yingling was a fraud. There is no possibility of messages from the spirit world.”
“Maybe,” Miss Stoker said stubbornly, “only part of her was a fraud.”
The vehicle rolled to a stop and I peeked out. The tall, black turreted building loomed above us, sleek and glistening with raindrops. “Ah, we’ve arrived.”
My companion stepped onto the platform and was lowered to the street after me. A generous awning stretched over the walkway, keeping us out of the rain.
“What is it we’re going to see again? I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” she grumbled.
“It was on the way home. Even a handmaker like you might find it enlightening. We are going to see an exhibition about a device called the Analytical Engine, which could potentially compute mathematical problems. Charles Babbage made several designs for this machine before he died, but it was never built. Mr. Oligary is showing a display of Mr. Babbage’s drawings and prototypes, as well as some of his other inventions. There is talk that Oligary might attempt to have a version of the Analytical Engine built.”
“Great. Just what I wanted: An afternoon with a bunch of cognoggins, talking about gears and gadgets and things that move.” Miss Stoker followed me into the building. “Why can’t we be visiting a collection of ancient weaponry? That would be much more interesting.”
“I suppose you haven’t any money with you.” I was already digging in my oversized reticule. “As usual.”
“Blooming fish, we have to pay to see it?”
I supposed it was only fair that I cover her expenses, since I’d had to drag her anyway. I handed two shillings to the gatesman, who ushered both of us into the exhibition area.