Dariell said good night and left the room. The front door opened and closed, but they all knew the Frenchman had not left the house. Where he had gone and how he planned to hide in the window seat was a mystery.
Drake gestured to Dariell’s empty seat. “Please sit down, Mr Cassiel.”
The man thanked Drake and took a seat. His naturally sullen features—large pouting lips and heavy-lidded eyes—created an air of unpredictability about his countenance that reminded Valentine of being in his father’s presence.
“What a shame your friend could not stay.” Mr Cassiel turned his eerie stare towards Valentine, his gaze dropping to the scratch on his cheek. “When a man wanders in the dark, he is but a few steps from tragedy.”
Valentine’s blood turned cold. The comment related to Dariell’s disbelief but his mind jumped to the obvious conclusion. Was Cassiel referring to the night his father tumbled—or threw himself—from the cliff edge?
With a mental shake of the head, he dismissed the mystic’s attempt to intimidate.
“Some people prefer to live peacefully in ignorance,” Valentine countered.
“And some men never know inner peace, though their confident countenance says otherwise.”
Bloody hell!
Could this man read his mind?
“Peace comes from acceptance,” Drake said, “not from a word of encouragement from a relative long since deceased.”
Cassiel arched a thick brow. “Even when the nature of a loved one’s death is uncertain?”
The comment wiped the grin from Drake’s face. While he had come to terms with his brother’s death, there was uncertainty about the way Ambrose Drake had died.
“And what of me, Mr Cassiel?” Ava looked the man keenly in the eye. “If my parents wanted to bring me peace why frighten me by revealing that they were … were murdered?”
Cassiel opened his arms wide and shrugged. “I have no control over the messages, my dear. But tonight, with your permission, I shall ask poignant questions in the hope of bringing answers to light.”
Ava’s face grew pallid.
Valentine wished he could take her in his arms and offer the comfort she desperately needed—take the comfort he needed, too.
“Well,” Juliet began, being the only one not unnerved by the mystic’s odd revelations. “When shall we begin? I have to admit to being rather keen to hear if you have a message for me.”
Cassiel pulled his watch from his waistcoat pocket and examined the time.
Valentine was the only one who appeared to hear Ava’s gasp.
She stared at the watch with a look of shock and confusion. “That is a rather unusual watch, sir.” The slight tremor in her voice was unmistakable. “Made in Switzerland I believe.”
Cassiel thrust the watch back into his pocket, but not before Valentine noted the design on the lid of the gold hunter case. The circle in the centre resembled an image of the sun, each triangular marking around the circumference like the points on a compass. In contrast, the enamel decorating the outer bezel was a vibrant blue.
“Yes,” Cassiel replied. “I believe so. It keeps excellent time.”
“I knew a man who had one similar,” she persisted.
“I gather it was a popular design.” The mystic stood. “Now, the hour is approaching midnight. Before I begin, I would like a tour of the house.”
Damnation. What if he stumbled upon Dariell?
“Is that necessary?” Drake did not sound pleased.
“You may accompany me. The energy does not flow freely in some places, and so I must assess where to position you to best achieve success.”
Was this what happened at his mother’s house?
Was this how Mr Cassiel discovered what was worth stealing?