Arms flailing, the mystic reached the front door, but he would be lucky to set foot on the pavement before Valentine caught him.
Valentine was on the bottom stair when Miss Kendall came running out of the drawing room.
She threw herself at Valentine, mistaking his rage for distress. “What is it? What did he say to you?”
Valentine looked at Ava, noted the whites of her eyes were bloodshot, noted the dark circles beneath her bottom lids. Her face was porcelain white, her lips drawn thin, and all he could do was pull her into an embrace and offer soothing words of comfort.
Over her shoulder, he watched C
assiel scurry away.
The man would not get far. Come the morning Valentine would hunt him down and drag the truth from the devil’s lips.
“The man has evil motives,” Ava said. “He poured me a drink, but Dariell advised not to let a drop pass my lips.”
Dariell appeared at the drawing room door. “Come. Let us sit for a moment. We cannot tear through the streets at this hour. We should discuss our findings, no?”
Valentine agreed. They should compare notes while the mystic’s words were still fresh in their minds.
While Valentine, Ava and Dariell returned to the drawing room, Drake went to the study to fetch Juliet. Once they were all seated, and Dariell had taken it upon himself to light the fire and candles, the Frenchman gave his account of the mysterious goings-on in the drawing room.
“I am no expert when it comes to manipulating the mind, but Mr Cassiel, he does not hear the dead.”
Ava gasped. “But how can you be so sure?”
“The man’s words sent you into a deep meditative state, a trance.” Dariell sat forward. “If I spoke in a certain way—slow and hypnotic—it is possible to send a person to the far reaches of their mind.”
“Trust me,” Valentine began, trying to dismiss the theory that Ava had somehow lost control of her senses. “I was fully aware of all that took place. The man was playing games, using information about my family to cause me distress.”
“Information about your father?” Drake enquired.
Valentine nodded. “Information few people are privy to.”
“I cannot speak for what happened upstairs,” Dariell said, “but Miss Kendall’s mind did slip back in time. I was here. I heard what she said.”
Valentine glanced at Ava who had taken the seat next to a curious-looking Juliet. A mild sense of panic gripped him when he noted the distress in her eyes. “What did you say, Miss Kendall?”
“Nothing of great importance. He spoke about the prospect of me continuing my mother’s work.” She frowned as if struggling to remember. “But Mr Dariell is right. Somehow I travelled back in my mind to the day before my parents died.”
“You were just reliving memories,” Valentine said, softening his tone for he had no desire to make her feel foolish.
“But I saw my parents as clearly as if they were standing here. The smell of my mother’s perfume filled the room.” She inhaled deeply as if hoping she might still catch a whiff of the fragrance. “The scent is rare, purchased abroad.”
Drake cleared his throat. “Might the primary note be frankincense?”
“Why, yes.”
Drake stood. He crossed the room and offered Ava a small brown vial. “This fell out of Cassiel’s pocket during his tussle with Valentine.”
Ava’s hand shook as she accepted the tiny bottle.
Juliet looked up at Drake and gave a smile full of love and longing. Drake took his wife’s hand and squeezed gently before returning to his seat.
Ava studied the bottle before pulling the stopper and inhaling the contents. She closed her eyes. A tear fell and landed on her cheek. “It is so similar to my mother’s scent. In my confusion, it smelt the same.”
Valentine watched her. The knot in his stomach wrung tighter with every sniff, every tear.
Propriety be damned, Valentine thought. They were amongst friends, and so he rose from his chair and came to sit next to Ava on the sofa. He draped his arm around her and drew her to lean on his shoulder.