uncharacteristically quiet since Helen had left. Evidently she had not yet recovered from the shock of discovering that her employer was the by-blow of a shady psychical practitioner and a gentleman descended from one of the most distinguished families in society.
“Please have one of the street boys take that note around to Lady Mansfield in Hamilton Square immediately, Mrs. Crofton,” Virginia said. “She is very worried about her daughter.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mrs. Crofton said. The words were stilted and tight. She opened the door.
Virginia went out onto the front step.
“Miss Dean?” Mrs. Crofton said quietly behind her.
Virginia paused. “Yes?”
“Under the circumstances, I think you were very generous to Lady Mansfield.”
“It was not her fault that her husband chose to keep a second family on the side.”
“He wasn’t the first to do so, and he won’t be the last. But it does not follow that you owe Lady Mansfield anything.”
“My concern is for Elizabeth. She is the innocent one.”
Mrs. Crofton looked knowingly. “She is growing up in luxury and will inherit a fortune. She will take her place in society and make a grand marriage. You will spend most of your life working for your living. You’ll be fortunate, indeed, if you are able to put enough aside for your later years.”
“You’re right, Mrs. Crofton. Given the rosy future that you portray, I really do need to see about attracting higher-quality clients.”
“Time you raised your fees, as well. People don’t value services unless they pay dearly for them.”
Virginia smiled. “Thank you for the advice, Mrs. Crofton. I shall consider it closely.”
She pulled up the hood of her cloak and set off briskly into the fogbound afternoon. It was a fifteen-minute walk to the Leybrook Institute. There were usually a number of carriages and cabs parked in the street in front of the large building that housed the Institute’s offices and meeting rooms. This afternoon was no exception. Lectures on the paranormal and demonstrations of psychical powers were given frequently during the week. They attracted enthusiastic audiences, which, in turn, generated clients for practitioners affiliated with the Institute.
Those who chose to associate with the Institute paid a portion of their fees to Gilmore Leybrook for the privilege, but Virginia considered the cost to be more than worthwhile. Her business had increased dramatically in recent months. She was now making twice what she had earned as a practitioner on her own.
She went up the broad front steps and into the marble-tiled hall. Fulton, the porter who sold tickets to the lectures and demonstrations, signaled to her.
“Miss Dean,” he said. “Mr. Welch said you were expected shortly. Asked me to send you straight to his assistant’s office. There is a young lady waiting to see you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Fulton.”
She went down a corridor lined with offices and demonstration rooms. A familiar voice drifted out from behind a closed door. Dr. Gatwood was giving a lecture to a group of fellow researchers.
She went past the door and on down the hall. When she reached Mrs. Fordham’s office she raised her hand to knock. For a few seconds she hesitated. What would she say to the sister she had never met?
Before she could come up with an answer, Jasper Welch opened the door of the neighboring office.
“There you are, Miss Dean,” Welch said. He was a serious, scholarly looking man in his early thirties with nondescript light brown hair that was starting to thin. He peered at her through his spectacles. “I see you got the message. Mrs. Fordham tells me the young lady is most eager to speak to you.”
“I must thank Mrs. Fordham for being so prompt,” Virginia said.
Welch lowered his voice and cast a meaningful glance at the closed door of his assistant’s office. “Mrs. Fordham informs me that the young lady is obviously very well bred. The girl wouldn’t give her name, but Mrs. Fordham suspects she is the daughter of a very fine family. Just the sort of people Mr. Leybrook likes to encourage as clients, if you know what I mean.”
“Yes, Mr. Welch, I know what you mean. If you’ll excuse me?”
“Of course, of course. See you at the reception tomorrow evening.”
“Certainly.”
Welch popped back into his office and closed the door.
Virginia took a deep breath and knocked.
“Come in,” Mrs. Fordham called, her crisp, no-nonsense voice tinged with impatience.
Virginia opened the door. Mrs. Fordham was at her desk. She was a woman of a certain age, prim, gray- haired and a model of painfully erect posture. She regarded Virginia with sharp, birdlike eyes.
“Miss Dean,” she said crisply. “This is the young lady who is asking for you.”
She inclined her head toward the girl, who sat, stiff and uncertain, in a wooden chair.
“Miss Dean?” Elizabeth asked with an air of barely suppressed hope. “I am Elizabeth.”
“Hello, Elizabeth,” she said quietly. “Your mother has been very worried about you.”
Elizabeth blinked, startled. “She spoke with you?”
“Yes.”
“I did not want to alarm her. But I had to meet you, and I knew that she would never approve.”
“I am aware of that, but I must tell you that I sent word to her when I learned that you were here. She is no doubt on her way to collect you.”
Tears glittered in Elizabeth’s eyes. “But I must talk to you, Miss Dean. I do not know where else to turn.”
“Why don’t we go downstairs and have some tea while we wait for your mother?”
The tearoom was located on the ground floor of the Institute. The high Palladian windows looked out onto a large garden planted with a wide variety of herbs and plants reputed to have psychical properties.
Virginia and Elizabeth sat at a small table, cups and saucers, a pot of oolong and a plate of small, dainty cakes between them. The room was lightly crowded with a mix of outsiders who had come to attend the lectures and demonstrations, as well as a scattering of practitioners and researchers.
“When I first began seeing lights around people, I thought it was rather entertaining,” Elizabeth said. She munched a bite of cake. “But Mama got upset when I told her about it. She said I must not tell anyone what I could see. Her reaction frightened me. I tried to stop seeing the lights.”
“But you could not stop perceiving the auras,” Virginia said.
“Well, I could stifle the urge for a time, but it was like closing my eyes or holding my breath. After a while I just had to look.”
“That is because using your talent is as natural and intuitive as using any of your other senses, like vision or hearing or touch. It must have been very difficult for you, coming into your new senses with no one to guide you.”
“Mama said it was just my imagination. She said that if I told other people, everyone would think that I was mentally unbalanced.”
Virginia picked up her cup. “You wondered if that might be true.”
“Yes. For Mama’s sake I tried to pretend that I was no longer using my other sight, but on a couple of occasions I felt I absolutely had to tell her what I had seen.”
Virginia sipped some tea and lowered the cup. “Your talent is a form of intuition that allows you to tell a great deal about another person’s character.”
“Yes, exactly,” Elizabeth said eagerly. “For example, a couple of months ago I was visiting a friend, Sophy Wheeler, when her elder sister’s fiance arrived at the house. He was shown into the library to discuss the marriage settlements with Mr. Wheeler. Before they closed the door I saw the two men talking. I opened my other senses, and I knew at once that the fiance was lying about the state of his finances.”
“What did you do?”
