Page 23 of Nature of the Crime
He tugged the brim of his livery hat. “Good enough for me,” he said, and retreated toward the stairs.
Audrey closed the door and locked it, then went to her bed and dumped the two items onto the counterpane. Hesitation crept in, and she stood there, twisting her fingers together. Men usually wore their time pieces on chains, and they were most often tucked into waistcoat pockets. As her visions were all shown as if from the object’s point of view, it was entirely possible all she would see were the darkened interior of Mr. Vaillancourt’s pocket. But ostensibly, he would have taken his watch out at some points to view the face.
She flexed her fingers, as if preparing them to touch the items. It was pointless. Staring at them wasn’t going to help anyone or anything.
She sat on the edge of the bed, braced herself, and reached for the pocket watch first. To let in the energy, she needed only to clear her mind and allow the energy inside. With just as much effort, she could have also kept it out. Sometimes, when she touched an object unprepared, or distractedly or thoughtlessly, she received unwanted or startling visions. And rarely, whenshe made contact with someone’s skin, she could accidentally be shown whatever was front of mind for that person. Some lasting memory that plagued them.
Now, however, she knew what to expect. With calm precision, which she’d learned over time, she pushed past the most recent energy stored within the silver watch—Sir’s retrieval, Lord Burton handling the item, his face a somber cast—to a memory from the packet ship. The more distant the memory, the dimmer it appeared in her mind. The vivid colors and lines of the most recent energy faded as time worked backward, and so the men’s compartment aboard theBritanniahad a grainy quality, the edges hounded by shadows.
The cabin was not like the one in which Audrey, Cassie, and their maids had stayed in during the crossing, but a common cabin, with tables, armchairs, and bookshelves lining the walls, fronted by glass doors. Vaillancourt appeared to be standing and was walking toward one of the tables. He must have had the watch free from his pocket. Perhaps checking his timepiece as he approached a man, who was seated in a chair at the table. A white porcelain tea service was set out for two, and a French newspaper was folded next to his cup and saucer. He was positioned so that only the back of his head was visible. His dark hair was fashionably long, bound by black ribbon at his nape, and his high, starched collar nearly reached his earlobes. However, not even his profile was perceptible as Vaillancourt approached. He passed the seated man and reached for the opposite chair.
“She may have seen me.” A man’s voice. It had the usual burbled, underwater quality that all sound did in her visions. It was unclear if it had been said by Mr. Vaillancourt or by the seated man. But instinctively, she knew they were speaking of her.
“You worry too much,” came a second male voice. The seated one, perhaps? “She knows nothing.”
The darkened edges of the dim cabin closed in, and she could no longer see anything. With the energy depleted, the pocket watch in her palm was now just an object, voided and vacant. It even felt lighter in her hand, though she knew she was only imagining it.
Audrey returned it to the counterpane and exhaled. The memories had not shown her Mr. Vaillancourt’s death, presumably because the pocket watch had been in his waistcoat pocket at the time. But she now knew Mr. Vaillancourthadbeen traveling with someone, or at least he’d known another passenger. A man. A gentleman. The “she” they’d discussed…it had to be her. It sounded as if Mr. Vaillancourt was concerned that she had seen him and would recognize him as Mr. Ricci from their tour of Rome. Then again, she could have been completely off the mark, and they might have been discussing something and someone else. Still, she wanted to trust her instinct.
If only she could have seen the other passenger’s face. Though, if she could speak to the crew of the packet ship and describe what she had seen of him…they might recall him and his name. Long odds, but not impossible. Or perhaps the penknife would provide another glimpse of this mysterious man. She flexed her hand again and then gripped the burnished wood and mother-of-pearl tool.
An image materialized before her, strong and solid. She was looking out at a room, not a cabin on the packet ship. Instantly, she recognized the paper on the walls—a robin’s egg blue with thin gray stripes. The dark mahogany and yellow-and-blue striped silk furnishings also slammed into her with familiarity. This was a room at Hotel d’Angleterre in Paris. A writing box sat open on a desk, directly in her view, and a man was writing witha quill pen. It was Mr. Vaillancourt. No one else was with him, but he seemed focused on his task. He finished and set down his pen, the nib of which had most likely been trimmed with the penknife. As the energy began to fade as he began to fold the paper into thirds.
Audrey tried to push further back into the object’s memories, but there was nothing. Frustrated, she released the penknife and stood. Mr. Vaillancourt had written the note warning that he knew the truth about Philip and that others soon would as well. He’d been the one to leave it for her. He’d been staying at the same hotel.
Massaging her temple, she gathered the two pilfered items and stored them in her skirt pocket. There was nowhere she could leave them without either Greer or Becky, the chambermaid, finding them.
A coiling sensation in her legs was impossible to ignore. She needed to move. To walk and think. She needed to see Hugh and tell him what she now knew: Mr. Vaillancourt had been hired to follow her, and it was because he—or the person who hired him—knew that Philip was still alive. That he’d falsified his own death.
Unable to stay in her room another moment, Audrey took up her pelisse, hat, and gloves and went across the hall. Cassie appeared at her door only a second after Audrey knocked.
“Fresh air?” she asked.
“We’ll have to take our nannies with us,” Cassie replied, grabbing her own winter pelisse.
Unsurprisingly, she was game for a walk, but she was also correct in that the guards posted at the inn would not allow them to pass without an escort.
The bracing January air was worth the hassle. As she and Cassie linked arms and ambled along the promenade near the water, she was able to sort through the images and informationthe pocket watch and penknife had provided. Mr. Vaillancourt’s employer was, most likely, the mystery man who’d been on theBritannia. The passenger manifest would include his name. And if Mr. Vaillancourt had left the warning note in the hotel, that could mean one of two things: either his employer had instructed him to do so, or he had discovered the truth about Philip himself, free from his employer. The implications of either were dire.
“You’re quiet,” Cassie said after a bit. Audrey realized they’d been walking in silence, even if her mind was rather loud. “I meant to inquire earlier…how are things with the viscount?”
She sounded hesitant to ask. But at Audrey’s answering grin and then a brief explanation about the intercepted letters, she squeezed her arm. “Oh, I justknewhe could not have forsaken you. But who would want to take your letters?” She paused then said, “Do you think Mr. Ricci—or Mr. Vaillancourt, I should say—is connected?”
“I do.” Though Audrey could not voice why, or anything having to do with what her visions had shown her.
Not for the first time, Audrey wished she could share with Cassie the truth about her ability. She was a bright young woman, never saying the expected thing, and thinking beyond the usual decrees women were restricted to in their social set. Cassie would surely believe her, and better still, accept her. But she wasn’t overly discreet, and the risk of her letting something slip to someone would wear on Audrey.
“I know you are worried about the inquest,” Cassie went on after walking a bit more in silence. “But Michael and Hugh are here, and they will see that you are absolved of any wrongdoing. This whole ordeal will be over soon, I know it will be.”
She was convincing in her optimism.
“I’m sure you’re right,” Audrey said as they left the promenade and used the stone steps to descend to the beach.
The slate sky stood in austere contrast to the white chalk cliffs that loomed over the coastline. They strolled along the sand and crushed shells, hard packed by the last high tide. Ahead, some craggy rocks jutted out into the water, drawing a line in the beach. The incessant winds would soon convince them to turn back for the inn and the warm fire in the front sitting room. She checked over her shoulder, and sure enough, the two red-coated guards followed.
“Let’s see if there are any tidal pools,” Cassie said, tugging her arm eagerly.
As they scaled some scattered boulders, indistinct voices from farther down the beach carried toward them on the wind. At some distance on the other side of the rocks, a crowd of men and women gathered.
