Wait Until Midnight

THIRTY-SIX

He got the message from Bassingthorpe late the following afternoon. The old forger received him in a comfortable house tucked away in an unmarked lane.

Bassingthorpe squinted at Adam through a pair of spectacles and heaved a weary sigh. "Eyes aren't what they used to be. Leave most of the fine work to my grandson these days. He's got talent, right enough."

"But you still look after the business, I assume?" Adam said.

"Certainly" Bassingthorpe snorted. "Can't be too careful in this profession. Teaching my granddaughter that side of the trade. She's no artist but she has a head for numbers and she's got the sort of common sense it takes to avoid trouble?

"Your grandson produced the stock certificates, then?" Adam asked.

"Yes, indeed," Bassingthorpe stated proudly. "Rather nice job, if I do say so myself. He's as good as I was at his age.

"It is the client who interests me," Adam said. "In the past, you were always very cautious in your business dealings."

Bassingthorpe raised one finger in an admonishing manner. "First rule of success in the profession is Know thy client. It is those who get greedy and take on any commission that comes along just for the sake of the money who land in prison."

"I have reason to believe that the person who commissioned the stock certificates from you may have murdered a woman. Irene Toller, the medium, to be specific."

Bassingthorpe frowned. "I say, are you certain of that?"

"Not entirely. I am still in the process of making inquiries."

"Huh" Bassingthorpe put his fingertips together and looked wise. "I've had a great deal of experience with: clients, as you well know. Wouldn't have said this one was, the murderous sort. More of a man of business"

"You may be correct. But either way, he is a link in the chain that I am following. I am very eager to locate him"

"You know I'll be glad to help you. I owe you one or two favors from the old days. Always pay my debts"

"I am very grateful, sir." Adam rested his arms on the sides of his chair. "The description I have been given is that of a heavily whiskered man who walks with a severe limp."

Bassingthorpe chuckled. "He affected that appearance when he met with me, also. But I took my usual precautions. Made certain that we met on neutral ground so that he did not have my address, and I set one of the lads who works in the shop to follow him after we came to an agreement."

Anticipation flashed through Adam. "The boy was successful?"

"Certainly. Young Harry comes from the same sort of neighborhood that you came from, Adam. No one knows more about following a man through the streets than a lad who was raised on them, eh?"

"What did young Harry discover?"

"Among other things, your man is a rather accomplished actor. He maintained his disguise right up until the moment hen he entered the back door of his lodgings. But then such talents are no doubt a requirement in his trade"

"And just what is his line?" Adam asked.

"Why, he's in the psychical research business. Gaining quite a reputation, too. I understand he gave a most astonishing performance for the police the other afternoon. Claimed he could help them identify the villain who murdered the mediums"

"Please come in, Mrs. Fordyce." Durward Reed ushered her into his cluttered office and motioned her to a chair. "I can-not tell you how much I appreciate your time today. I under-stand that you are an extremely busy person, what with your writing and your, uh, other affairs." He broke off, reddening. "I refer to the social demands that are made upon you due to your connection to Mr. Hardesty, of course"

"Of course." Caroline sat down and adjusted the heavy folds of her green gown. She pretended not to notice Reed's moment of awkwardness. A woman who was engaged in an affair with a notoriously mysterious and powerful gentle-man had to become accustomed to the occasional social lapse on the part of others. "I was delighted to receive your message. I appreciate your interest in my novels."

"Yes, indeed, I am a great admirer of your work, both as a publisher and as a reader." He motioned toward a tea tray. "May I pour you a cup?"

"Thank you."

While he busied himself with the pot and two cups, she took advantage of the opportunity to look around the office. It was not unlike Spraggett's domain, littered with papers, books and files. One entire shelf was crammed with old copies of New Dawn.

A photograph of the queen occupied a place of pride on one wall.

"My wife, Sarah, was very fond of novels. I'm sure she would have enjoyed your stories" Reed set a cup of tea on the table beside Caroline. "She was a medium of great power. Sadly, I lost her several years ago. Some monstrous villain attacked her the morning after our wedding night while she was walking in the park across the street."

"I am sorry for your loss, Mr. Reed."

"Thank you. It is my most fervent desire to contact her on the Other Side. Indeed, I have dedicated my life to that project"

A chill slithered through Caroline. "I see"

He moved one hand to indicate the office and the huge, dark mansion that seemed to press down upon them. "She was the last of her family. This house was part of her inheritance. I stayed on here after her death because I felt certain that it would be easier for her spirit to return to the place that had been her home in her earthly life."

"I understand."

"As the years passed and no contact was made, I de-voted myself to the study of psychical research. I established the Society and I try to encourage mediums and others who are interested in such matters. It is my hope that someone more gifted than I will help me find the answers I seek"

"You have contributed greatly to the field of psychical research, Mr. Reed." Out of politeness she tried another sip of the strong tea. The milk and sugar made it palatable, but just barely.

Reed folded his broad hands on his desk. Caroline noticed that he wore mourning cuff links fashioned of jet and silver.

"Everything I have done since Sarah's death has been guided by my hope of contacting her," he said. "But thus far, it has all been to no avail."

"It may be that such things are not meant to be," she suggested as kindly as possible.

He frowned. "If that were so, mediums such as my Sarah would not exist. She really did possess the most amazing gifts, Mrs. Fordyce. There is no doubt in my mind. Knowing that is what gives me the resolve to press on with all forms of psychical research. Sooner or later, I will find a medium who will be able to contact her. When that happens, I will not only be able to communicate with Sarah, I will prove to the world that psychical investigation is a legitimate field of science."

"I know that you are not alone in your convictions, sir." She paused delicately. "And I wish you well in your explorations. But I believe that you asked me to come here today to discuss more mundane business?"

"Not mundane at all, madam. I have been searching for ways to expand the readership of New Dawn and also membership in the Society. It is my firm belief that the more people who study psychical matters, the more likely we are to make a breakthrough."

"That sounds reasonable."

He leaned forward earnestly. "It occurred to me that if New Dawn were to publish one of your stories in a serialized fashion, I could attract a very large number of new readers and possibly discover new, talented mediums."

She swallowed, aware that her throat seemed to have gone quite dry and raspy. She hoped she was not coming down with a cold.

"I am flattered, Mr. Reed, but do you think my type of novels are suited to your publication?"

"You have told me that you are researching a new novel that will feature a powerful medium and several startling incidents involving the Other Side. I would very much like to offer you a contract to publish that story in New Dawn"

She took another sip of tea to moisten her unnaturally dry mouth and tongue. "It is an intriguing proposition, sir."

"I am well aware that your current publisher will no doubt make you an excellent offer for your next novel. All I ask is that you give me an opportunity to counter his offer with a better one. I confess I do not know how much one pays an author but I am not without resources. I trust we will be able to come to an agreement."

A discreet knock sounded on the office door.

Reed broke off, irritated. "Yes, Miller, what is it?"

The door opened. A diffident-looking young man nodded apologetically at Caroline and then cleared his throat. "I am sorry to interrupt you, sir, but you did ask to be notified when Mr. Elsworth arrived."

"Elsworth?" Reed was clearly annoyed. "He's here?"

"Yes, sir. He says he wishes to discuss the arrangements for this evening's reception and demonstration. Evidently there are some changes he wants to make"

"This is most awkward" Reed got to his feet. "It is just after three. My appointment with Elsworth was for four o'clock."

"Shall I ask him to come back?"

"No, no, you must not do anything that will cause him to take offense. This institution needs his illustrious presence. He has brought us a great deal of attention and credibility." Reed hurried around the desk. "You know how temperamental he is."

"Yes, sir." Miller waited for instructions.

Reed paused by Caroline's chair. "Mrs. Fordyce, will you excuse me for a few minutes? Elsworth can be quite difficult."

"I understand" A small, unpleasant wave of nausea roiled her stomach. Her skin went suddenly cold. "Perhaps 1 should return at some other time."

"No, please, wait here. I will be only a moment."

Reed vanished, ushering Miller ahead of him, before she could think of an excuse to leave. The door closed solidly.

Caroline sat very still for a moment, breathing deeply and hoping that her stomach would settle. She looked at the half-empty cup of cloyingly sweet, milky tea. The lines she had written the other evening after Adam had left her study came back to her. You are not yourself… I believe you may have been poisoned… Impossible, she thought. Do not let your writer's imagination run wild. Reed has no reason on earth to harm you.

Nevertheless, she was not herself. She wanted nothing more than to go home, crawl into her own bed, pull up the covers and sleep.

It took all of her strength to get out of the chair. For a few disorienting seconds she stood in the center of the room, trying to maintain her balance, trying not to be ill.

She closed her eyes against another churning twist of nausea. When the nasty sensation passed, she took a deep breath, opened her eyes and turned toward the door.

She found herself looking at a photograph. Not the one of the queen; rather another one that hung on the wall be-side the door. She had been sitting with her back to it and had not noticed it until now.

It was a picture of a young woman dressed in an elegant dress and a long white veil. Her beautiful face was set in unhappy lines, as though she was resigned to some unpleasant fate.

"Sarah Reed, I presume?" she whispered. "Were you a real medium? Did you actually reach through the veil to communicate with the Other Side?"

The veil.

There was something about the portrait..

The bride's pale hair was bound up in a style that had been fashionable a decade earlier.

Sarah Reed had evidently been blond, Caroline thought. Why was that important?

She moved closer to the photograph as though compelled. It required a great effort to concentrate on the de-tails. Sarah Reed's gown and veil were both white. That was not unusual. After the queen had chosen to wear white for her marriage to her beloved Albert, the color had become somewhat fashionable with brides. Many still preferred other colors, of course, but white was not uncommon.

She looked closer and noticed that Sarah Reed wore a brooch pinned to the bodice of her gown. It appeared to be covered in black enamel.

Dread whispered through Caroline. Her thoughts were starting to blur but somewhere in the haze she managed to summon up some of the elements that Adam had mentioned when he had described the brooch that he had found on Elizabeth Delmont's bodice. It had been enameled in black—she was quite certain of that. He had said that there was a photograph of a woman dressed in white and wearing a veil inside… A twist of blond hair had been set beneath the beveled crystal.

Dear heaven. Terror turned her blood to ice. She had to get out of here immediately.

The door of the office opened before she could take a single step.

"Mrs. Fordyce" Reed walked into the room, frowning in concern. "Are you all right?"

"No, I am ill. Please excuse me." She started forward, fighting to keep her balance. "I must go home at once" "Allow me to assist you"

Reed closed the door and came toward her, arms out-stretched.

"Don't touch me," she rasped, trying to evade his grasp. "But you are ill, Mrs. Fordyce. You need help." "No. I must leave."

But the room was spinning more violently now. A thick, murky darkness was closing in around her, leaving no solid shapes that she could use to orient herself. She tried to grab the back of a chair, missed and crumpled to her knees.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Fordyce. I will take care of you"

Reed reached down and picked her up in his arms. There was more strength in his square, stocky, broad-shouldered body than she would have imagined.

She opened her mouth to scream for help but the strange fog enveloped her completely. She found herself suddenly cast adrift in a vast, uncharted sea of nothingness, neither fully asleep nor entirely awake. A dreamworld.

She wondered if this was the Other Side.