Don’t Look Back

Chapter Fifteen

Tobias walked into the cheerful little breakfast room with what had lately become a familiar sense of satisfaction and anticipation. Outside, a light, misty rain was falling, but in here all was warm and cozy. The enticing aromas of hot coffee, eggs, and freshly baked muffins swirled in the air.

Emeline gave him her warm, gracious smile. “Good morning, sir. How nice to see you.”

“Miss Emeline.”

Her smile dimmed only slightly when she looked past him into the empty hall. “Oh, I see Mr. Sinclair did not accompany you.”

“He will be along in an hour to fetch you so that the two of you may start your inquiries at the Banks mansion.” He turned to Lavinia. “Good morning, madam.”

Lavinia looked up from the morning paper, a decidedly frosty expression in her vivid eyes. She was dressed in a rich, dark purple-red gown that framed her elegant neck in a dainty little ruff. Her red hair was bound up in a stylish knot at the back of her nicely shaped head and set off with a lacy cap. He thought about making love to her in the Stillwaters’ conservatory and how it had felt when she had come undone in his arms. The memories heated his blood. He wondered if he would ever grow accustomed to the effect she had on him.

He smiled. “I vow, your eyes resemble emerald seas in the morning sun.”

“It is raining, in case you had not noticed, sir.”

Emeline gave Lavinia a troubled frown. “Aunt Lavinia, there’s no need to be rude. Mr. March paid you a very pretty compliment.”

“No, he did not.” Lavinia turned the page in her paper. “The remark about my eyes was just another part of a diabolical experiment he is attempting to perform on me.”

Emeline was clearly baffled. “An experiment}”

“Mr. March thinks to employ charm in an effort to influence me so that I will take his instructions and orders in regard to my business affairs.”

Emeline switched her bemused eyes to Tobias, silently seeking clarification.

He pulled out a chair and winked at her. “As you can see from her gracious, welcoming manner, my cunning plan is working. She is soft clay in my hands.” He reached for the coffeepot.

Lavinia folded the paper with a crisp snap. “We do not generally expect callers at breakfast, you know.”

“I’m amazed to hear you say that.” He slathered butter on a muffin. “I have joined you for breakfast on several occasions of late. One would have thought that you would have grown accustomed to the sight of me at your table at this hour. Mrs. Chilton certainly has.

I’ve noticed that she has begun making extra servings of everything.”

“Indeed. And I have noticed the cost of those extra servings. They have begun making a dent in the household accounts.”

“Larder and pantry getting a bit bare?” He helped himself to a large spoonful of currant jam. “Don’t fret. I shall have Whitby send over some supplies.”

“That is not the point,” Lavinia said.

He took a mouthful of muffin. “Why raise the issue if it is not the point?”

Emeline chuckled. “My aunt is in an ill temper this morning, sir. Do not pay her any heed.”

“Thank you for alerting me to her foul mood.” He swallowed the bite of muffin. “I might have missed it altogether if you had not called it to my attention.”

Lavinia rolled her eyes and went back to reading the paper.

“Never mind,” Emeline said quickly. “Please tell me more about the inquiries Anthony and I are to conduct today.”

“Mrs. Rushton has agreed to allow you to question the members of her household staff,” he said. “We wish to ascertain whether any of them might have had access to the key to the safe in Banks’s dressing room.”

“I see. You believe that one of them might have been involved in the theft of the bracelet?”

“It is a possibility that must be ruled out. But you and Anthony will need to be subtle in your questioning. None of the servants is likely to simply announce that he knows something about the affair.”

“No, of course not.” Emeline’s enthusiasm for the project vibrated in her voice. “Anthony and I will be very cautious and circumspect.”

“Remember to make notes, even if the details you learn do not sound as if they would be important.

Sometimes the smallest point proves to be crucial to the solution.”

“I shall keep very complete notes,” Emeline assured him.

Tobias looked at Lavinia. “What are your plans for the day, madam?”

“I have a few errands to see to this afternoon,” Lavinia said with a vague air as she continued to read her newspaper. “I thought that I would call upon Mrs. Dove to find out if she has had any new thoughts on the case. What about you, sir?”

“I intend to consult with Crackenburne and Smiling Jack again,” he said. He could be vague, too, he thought.

She nodded without looking up. “An excellent plan.”

No doubt about it, he thought. Lavinia had concocted some private scheme she intended to carry out today. He knew the signs all too well.

The great difficulty in conducting an investigation with Lavinia was that he was obliged to spend nearly as much time keeping an eye on her as he did searching for answers for the client.

The dark green door opened just as Lavinia started up the steps. A woman emerged from the front hall of Dr. Darfield’s rooms. Her cheeks were flushed with the pink glow of good health and there was a cheerful expression in her lively eyes.

“Good day.” The lady bestowed a friendly smile on Lavinia as she swept past. “Lovely weather, is it not?”

“Very nice,” Lavinia murmured.

The lady set off with an energetic stride, a living tribute to the skills of Dr. Darfield. Lavinia watched her for a moment, thinking of Mrs. Rushton’s enthusiasm for the treatments she received from the mesmerist.

Obviously the good doctor inspired a very positive reaction in his patients.

She continued up the steps and clanged the knocker, still not certain what had induced this urge to pay a call on Mrs. Rushton’s mesmerist today. Perhaps it had something to do with the great disappointment she had endured yesterday. She had been so certain that Mrs. Rushton’s interest in the mesmeric therapies constituted a link with Celeste. It was very hard to give up the notion that she had come across a clue.

The door opened almost at once. A very handsome young man smiled at her. He was fashionably dressed in a brown velvet coat, yellow waistcoat, pleated trousers, and an intricately tied cravat. His blond hair had been ruthlessly attacked by a curling iron. Artfully arranged curls fell forward over his eyes in a seemingly careless style that had no doubt required a great deal of time in front of a mirror.

“Good day, sir. I wish to consult with Dr. Darfield.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, I’m afraid not.” She stepped quickly into the hall and turned to smile at him before he could figure out how to politely close the door in her face. “My case of bad nerves came upon me quite suddenly this morning and I cannot wait for professional assistance. I fear that if I do not get help immediately, I may have an attack of female hysteria. I am hoping that you will be able to fit me into Dr. Darfield’s schedule.”

The young man looked deeply troubled. “I’m so sorry, but Dr. Darfield is very busy today. Perhaps you could come back tomorrow?”

“I’m afraid I really must see him now. My nerves are in the most dreadful condition. They are very delicate.”

“I understand, but-”

She recalled the details of Dr. Darfield’s advertisement, with its emphasis on widows and married ladies. “I have been a widow for some time and I fear that the strain of being alone in the world has taken its toll.” She patted her reticule. “I am, of course, prepared to pay a bit extra for the inconvenience to Dr. Darfield’s schedule.”

“I see.” The young man glanced thoughtfully at her reticule. “In advance, as it were?”

“Yes, of course.”

He gave her a winning smile. “Why don’t you have a seat in the reception room and I will have a look at the appointment book. It may be possible to work you in this afternoon.”

“I cannot tell you how grateful I am for your consideration.”

The secretary ushered her into a room across the hall and disappeared. Lavinia sat down, removed her bonnet, and surveyed her surroundings with professional interest.

She was accustomed to the soothing, calming quality that most practitioners of mesmerism sought to effect in their reception rooms. But Dr. Darfield’s decorator had chosen a more dramatic theme.

The walls were covered with large murals depicting scenes from a Roman bath. Admirably painted classical columns framed tableaux of voluptuous, scantily draped ladies disporting themselves in the waters.

There were a number of full-size statues standing in the corners of the room. She recognized them as reproductions, but they were all very nicely modeled figures of nude Greek and Roman gods. Upon closer inspection she saw that they were extremely well-endowed gods. Not unlike some of the statuary that she had sold quite profitably during her sojourn in Italy, she thought.

Scenes of lovers entwined in various graphic poses were depicted on the red-figure Greek vases that flanked the windows.

There always seemed to be an inexhaustible demand for naked Greek and Roman gods in the antiquities business, but she was somewhat startled to see such figures here in a mesmerist’s waiting room.

A low, masculine voice drew her attention to the small group of people in the corner. Three ladies, presumably patients, were gathered around a young man who, if anything, was even more handsome than the secretary. He read to the ladies from a leather-bound volume.

Lavinia recognized the lines. They were from one of Shakespeare’s more sensual sonnets. Pleased with the prospect of listening to some well-read poetry, she collected her skirts, preparing to rise and move to another chair, one that was closer to the young man with the book.

At that moment, the door of the waiting room opened again. The blond secretary motioned to Lavinia.

“Dr. Darfield will see you now,” he said in a low voice.

“Excellent.” Already out of her chair, she changed direction and went through the door into the hall.

The secretary closed the door softly and inclined his head toward the staircase.

“Dr. Darfield’s treatment rooms are on the floor above,” he said. “If you will follow me I will show you.”

“Thank you.”

He gave her a charming smile. “But I must ask that you pay the fee in advance.”

“Yes, of course.” She opened her reticule.

The business transaction was completed with stunning efficiency. When it was finished, the secretary escorted her up the stairs and down a hall. He opened a door and bowed her into the chamber.

“Please be seated in the treatment chair. Dr. Darfield will be with you shortly.”

She went through the opening and found herself in a dimly lit room. Heavy drapes were drawn across the window. A single candle burned on a table. The air was scented with fragrant incense.

The door closed quietly behind her. When her eyes were adjusted to the low illumination, she saw a large, padded chair with an unusual, hinged footrest and wide arms in the center of the room. A strange-looking mechanical device with a hand crank sat on a small, wheeled cart.

She put her bonnet aside and went forward to sit down on the padded chair. It proved to be quite comfortable, even with the footrest down.

The door opened just as she was bending over to see how the footrest worked.

“Mrs. Lake? I am Dr. Darfield.”

“Oh.” She sat up quickly at the sound of the deep, resonant voice.

A tall, broad-shouldered man dressed in exotically patterned blue robes stood in the doorway. The attire marked him as a true student of Mesmer, she thought. She had read accounts written by persons who had been privileged to observe the great man at work. According to them, Mesmer had favored flowing robes, subdued lighting, and background music played by handsome young men. Several of the observers had also taken note of the large numbers of women who had flocked to Mesmer’s rooms for treatments, she recalled.

Darfield’s brown hair was cut in a fashionable style that set off his deep, penetrating eyes and showed his excellent profile to perfection. He was not quite so handsome as his assistants, she decided, but he was a good deal more interesting, probably because he was not as young as his employees. It occurred to her that she had reached the age when a gentleman with some crinkles at the corners of his eyes and some experience of the world on his face was vastly more intriguing than a smooth-faced younger man.

She gave him what she hoped was a suitably grateful smile, the sort of smile a lady on the brink of a fit of female hysteria might give her medical practitioner.

“It was kind of you to see me on such short notice,” she said.

Dr. Darfield walked into the chamber and closed the door. “My secretary tells me that your nerves are in very bad condition. Something of an emergency, I collect.”

“Yes, I have been under considerable strain lately and I fear my nerves have not borne up well. I do hope you will be able to relieve me of some of my tension and anxiety.”

“I will be happy to do what I can.” Darfield picked up the single taper and carried it across the room to where she sat. “May I ask how you learned of my practice?”

“I saw your advertisement in a newspaper,” she said, not wanting to mention Mrs. Rushton’s name.

“I see.” He sat down in a wooden chair across from her, his knees very close to her own. He looked at her across the flame of the candle. In the shadows his eyes were even more penetrating. “You were not referred by one of my other clients, then?”

“No.”

“Very well. In that case perhaps I should explain a bit about my therapy. It is necessary that you relax and gaze directly at the flame.”

She had no intention of allowing him to hypnotize her. In point of fact, she was not a good subject, according to her parents, who had run some experiments. But she had been an expert practitioner at one time and she certainly knew what a trance looked like in others.

A feigned trance would provide her with an opportunity to observe Dr. Darfield at work. Even if it transpired that it provided no particular insight into her investigation, it was always interesting to observe another professional in the field.

“A lady’s nerves are delicate, in keeping with the gentle, refined sensibilities that nature has bestowed upon her.” Dr. Darfield’s voice was low and deep, with a melodious quality that could have taken him far in the theater. “This is especially true in widows such as yourself, who are deprived of the normal attentions of a husband.”

She nodded politely and tried to conceal her impatience. The assumption that nervous disorders in women, together with myriad other vague symptoms classified under the label of female hysteria, were due to a lack of regular, energetic sexual congress was common among members of the medical profession. It was, she knew, a very ancient and well-documented tenet.

“The symptoms of anxiety, agitation, melancholia, and other nervous conditions in ladies are expelled from the body when the patient undergoes a crisis in the course of a treatment,” Darfield explained.

“Crisis?”

“Yes. In medical terms it is known as an hysterical paroxysm.”

“I have heard the term,” she said.

That much was true, but for the first time she wondered if her scheme to feign an entranced state might have some drawbacks. She had never actually witnessed a subject in the throes of an hysterical paroxysm and therefore was uncertain how to simulate a realistic crisis.

The problem was that there were vast differences among practitioners of mesmerism when it came to styles and methods. She had learned her techniques from her parents, who had not put much stock in the business of inducing paroxysms. Her father had often said that the response, while dramatic, was generally a short-lived cure at best.

“The hysterical paroxysm relieves the congestion in the flow of the waves of the body’s natural magnetic fluids,” Dr. Darfield continued in his deep voice. “There is no cause for concern. It produces what my patients assure me is a very pleasant convulsion followed by an extremely tranquil effect on the senses. Mesmer and many learned doctors believe the crisis to be highly efficacious.”

“I see.”

“Now, then, to obtain the full effect of the process, you must be as comfortable as possible.”

He leaned toward her and grasped a small lever she had not noticed in the side of the chair. When he pulled it forward, the footrest promptly elevated. She was marveling at that clever result when she noticed that Darfield had risen and moved to stand behind her.

She heard another lever shift and simultaneously the rear section of the chair went back by several degrees.

She suddenly found herself in a partially reclining position. It was somewhat disconcerting, she decided, but on the whole, quite comfortable. It also altered the angle of her gaze to show her the ceiling. For the first time she noticed that it had been decorated with a scene depicting a twilight sky complete with wispy pink clouds and a scattering of stars.

“A most unusual chair,” she said.

“I designed it myself.”

Dr. Darfield came back around to the side of the chair. He droned on pleasantly in her ear as he continued to discuss the delicate nature of the female constitution and how unnatural it was for an adult lady to be unable to experience healthy, invigorating marital relations on a regular basis. He explained that many married women also suffered from similar symptoms due to a lack of proper attention from their husbands. She recognized the quiet, authoritative tone that was used to induce a light trance and tried to compose her expression appropriately.

“Please watch the flame now,” he said in a soft but very firm voice.

He held the candle so that she could see it and began to inscribe a slow circle in the air with it.

“Think of that most delicate and tender region of the female form,” Darfield murmured. “That is where the congestion that causes nervous disorders occurs in ladies. I must relieve that tight, full feeling in order for you to find relief.”

She knew that the little blaze was meant to concentrate her attention. Politely, she followed it with her eyes.

Darfield moved the taper in a slow, steady pattern. Behind the glow of the flame he watched her with riveting intensity.

“You will abandon yourself to my healing touch, Mrs. Lake.” His voice, still mellifluous, grew more authoritative. He leaned over the chair, the folds of his robes sweeping lightly against her arm.

“I am going to put down the candle now.” He did not take his eyes off her as he set the taper on a nearby stand. “You will close your eyes and be guided by my voice and my touch.”

Obediently, she lowered her lashes. But she could not resist peeking.

“Do not think about anything else except the unrelieved congestion in that delicate, exquisitely sensitive portion of your body.” Darfield reached out and drew the cart on which the mechanical apparatus stood toward Lavinia’s chair. “Feel the blockage and the resulting tension that has gathered there. Do not repress it. Allow it to swell and build. Soon I will release you from the tight, hot sensation that is enfeebling your nerves.”

Through her lashes she watched him pick up a small unguent jar and remove the stopper. A delightful fragrance wafted through the air. Some sort of flower-scented oil, she decided.

“I have invented an ingenious device that has allowed me to improve greatly upon the traditional techniques of mesmeric therapy for the treatment of female hysteria,” Darfield said. “It is a highly effective and extremely efficient aid for relieving the congestion in the lower body, as you will discover.”

I’m getting a bad feeling about this, Lavinia thought.

Darfield reached down and tugged on yet another chair lever. The footrest promptly divided into two sections and drew apart. She froze when she realized that the device had separated her legs by a space of several inches. It was almost as if she was astride a horse.

Alarm shot through her. She knew that her limbs were still modestly covered to her ankles by the skirts of her gown, but the position left her feeling decidedly awkward.

He’s a trained practitioner, she reminded herself. A professional who gives these treatments to ladies on a regular basis. His clients think very highly of him.

For the first time she wondered just how far she wanted to take her role of patient.

Dr. Darfield rolled the narrow cart forward and positioned it between her feet. Through the veil of her lashes she saw that there was a soft-looking little brush attached to the end of a long metal arm that extended from the mechanical device. Darfield turned the hand crank a few times, apparently testing to ensure that it moved smoothly.

The long metal arm with the small brush spun rapidly when he worked the crank.

“I will now employ my invention to control the waves of animal magnetism in your body,” Darfield said. “Think of those magnetic waves as a cascade of rushing water that must burst through a dam before falling into a calm, tranquil pool. Think of this medical device as the tool that will release that inner flood. Abandon yourself to the therapy, madam. You are in the hands of a doctor.”

He grasped the hem of her skirts with one hand and started to ease them up toward her knees. With his other hand he pushed the little cart with the mechanical device forward between her legs. She understood now just where he intended to apply the whirling brush in order to relieve her so-called congestion.

“Dr. Darfield. Stop at once.” She sat bolt upright, snapped her legs together, and bounded up out of the chair. “That is quite enough.”

She whirled around to face him and found him watching her with an expression of grave concern.

“Calm yourself, madam. Your nerves are, indeed, very highly strung.”

“They shall have to remain that way, I’m afraid. I do not care for your methods, sir. I have no intention of allowing you to treat me with that odd mechanical device.”

“Madam, I assure you that my methods are firmly rooted in sound modern science and centuries of medical practice. Why, every notable man of medicine from the great Galen of Pergamum to the esteemed Culpeper himself has advised vigorous massage of that region of the female anatomy for the relief of hysteria and nervous disorders.”

“A rather intimate form of massage, in my opinion.”

He was clearly affronted. “I will have you know that there is absolutely nothing controversial about my therapies. The only thing I have done is to improve upon the old-fashioned manual techniques that have long been in use by doctors. This modern mechanical device affords my patients a far more efficient form of treatment.”

“Efficiency is hardly the point here.”

“It bloody well is the point if you’re trying to make a decent living in this business.” His mouth thinned. “I’ll have you know that before I perfected my device, some of my patients took damned near an hour to reach the paroxysm. Do you have any notion of how much manual labor that required on my part? That sort of thing is bloody hard work, madam.”

“Work.” She swept out a hand to indicate the hinged chair and his machine. “You call this work, sir?”

“Yes, I most certainly do call it work. E)o you think it’s easy to induce a paroxysm over and over again in an endless line of female patients? I tell you, madam, there were days when my arm and hand were so fatigued and so sore from my efforts that I was obliged to apply a poultice at night.”

“Do not expect me to extend my sympathies.” She plucked her bonnet off the table and started toward the door. “It appears that you are doing quite well for yourself with your therapeutic treatments.”

“I make a decent living, but I am far short of making a fortune in this business. Unfortunately, to date I have been unsuccessful in attracting the attention of the fashionable members of the ton. That is where the real money is to be made, you know.”

“I am well aware of that.” She paused, curious in spite of herself. “Do you mean to say that your excellent advertisements in the papers fail to bring you the more exclusive sort of clientele?”

“The High Flyers always want references from others who move in rare circles,” he muttered.

She could not help but sympathize. “References are always a problem, are they not?”

“Yes.” He paused. “Now, then, if we might return to the subject of your delicate nerves, madam, I assure you, if you will allow me to apply my mechanical device-”

“No, thank you.” She shuddered and threw open the door. “I do not think my delicate nerves would be able to withstand a treatment with your apparatus. Good day, Dr. Darfield.”

She swept through the doorway and hurried toward the staircase. In her rush to escape, she nearly collided with the blond secretary in the downstairs hall. He recovered and opened the front door for her.

She tried to appear casual and nonchalant as she went down the steps to the street. She even managed a polite smile for the woman who passed her on her way to the green door. But the pose was not easy to maintain.

She was forced to concede that the decision to investigate Mrs. Rushton’s mesmerist had not been one of her more brilliant notions. How fortunate that she had not mentioned her plan to Tobias that morning at breakfast. She was at least saved the necessity of having to provide him with a report of her inquiries.

She walked briskly past the dark entrance to an alley, not noticing the man standing in the shadows until he moved out. She jumped several inches when he fell into step beside her.

“Tobias.”

“A pleasant day for a walk, is it not?” Tobias asked.

“Must you lurk in dark alleys? I vow, you nearly gave me an attack of the vapors. What on earth do you think you are doing?”

“You could not resist a firsthand look at the good doctor, could you?” Tobias did not trouble to hide his mocking smile. “Did you let Darfield put you into a trance?”

“No. As it happens, I am not a suitable subject.”

“That does not surprise me. You would not find it easy to surrender your will to another.”

“No more than you would,” she shot back. “Only consider how stubborn you have been whenever I have offered to see if I could give you some relief from your wound.”

“You have provided me with exquisite relief of another sort on a number of occasions, madam. I am very satisfied with your therapeutic treatments.”

“That is less amusing than you can possibly imagine,” she muttered. “What are you doing here? Good grief, sir, you followed me, did you not?”

“I will admit that I was somewhat curious. Well? Did you learn anything useful?”

“Our primary client is a mesmerist, and the murder victim had some skills in the science,” she said stiffly. “I admit that the fact that another one of our clients, Mrs. Rushton, happens to be seeing a mesmerist bothered me. You are the one who taught me to be wary of coincidences.”

“Given the number of people who consult mesmerists about poor nerves, it would be more astonishing if it transpired that Mrs. Rushton had not sought therapy for hers,” he said dryly. “Well? Were you satisfied with your inquiries in that direction?”

She cleared her throat. “Quite satisfied.”

“You are convinced that Darfield is a legitimate practitioner?”

“Indeed.”

Tobias glanced thoughtfully back over his shoulder toward the green door. “Judging from the patients I saw going into his establishment while I waited for you, he appears to specialize in the treatment of ladies.”

“Yes. Yes, he does, as a matter of fact. He is an expert in the treatment of female hysteria.”

“What the devil is female hysteria, anyway? I’ve often wondered.”

“It is somewhat difficult to describe to an untrained person,” she said very coolly. “Suffice it to say that it is an extremely profitable complaint so far as those in the medical and mesmeric professions are concerned because the patient neither dies nor recovers from her disease. One gets a great deal of repeat business.”

“As is the case with Mrs. Rushton.”

“Yes.”

“Something to be said for a profession that encourages repeat business.” He took her arm and started across the street. “How does Dr. Darfield treat female hysterics?”

“Why are you suddenly so curious about such an arcane medical subject?”

“I could not help but notice that the ladies who were admitted to his rooms seemed to go up those steps with a great deal of enthusiasm. I also recall that Mrs. Rushton spoke glowingly about his treatments. I assume Darfield’s mode of therapy is not only effective but painless.”

“Indeed.”

He drew her to a halt and stood looking past her toward the green door on the opposite side of the street. She did not care for the dangerously thoughtful expression in his eyes.

“I also could not help but notice that you very nearly flew down those front steps a moment ago. You appeared quite eager to leave.”

“I am in a hurry. I have a number of things I wish to accomplish this afternoon.”

“Did something happen in Darfield’s rooms, Lavinia?”

“Nothing of any significance,” she said airily. “As you surmised, Mrs. Rushton’s visits to him are entirely unremarkable and in no way connected to our case.”

“You’re quite certain that there is nothing in this that I should know about?”

“Tobias, I vow, on occasion you are like a dog with a bone.” She made a show of checking the time on the little watch pinned to her pelisse. “Gracious, where has the day gone? I wanted to do some shopping on the way home.”

“About Darfield’s therapeutic techniques-”

“Do not concern yourself, sir. I assure you that Dr. Darfield’s method of treating nervous disorders in ladies falls within the accepted boundaries of traditional and well-established medical and mesmeric practice.”