Midnight Angel Page 11

  There was a handsome assemblage in the large parlor. Men and women sat in clusters on elegant French couches and chairs with curved backs. Subdued lamplight shed a mellow glow on the silk-covered walls and the sprays of delicate plasterwork. A cool breeze blew through the netting on the windows.

  Catching sight of his daughter, Lord Stokehurst disengaged himself from a conversation and walked toward her. He was severely handsome in dark, tailored clothes and a silk waistcoat patterned in moss-green and charcoal. He reached his daughter and leaned down for a brief kiss. “I haven't seen you all day,” he said. “I wondered where you were hiding.”

  “Lady Harcourt told us not to—” Emma began, and stopped with a wince as Tasia discreetly poked her in the back. “We've been busy with my lessons, Papa.”

  “What did you learn today?”

  “In the morning we studied deportment, and in the afternoon, German history. I've been so good all day that Miss Billings said I could watch Madame Miracle from the corner.”

  “Madame Miracle,” Stokehurst said with a short laugh, “is a charlatan. You can sit with me at the front, Emma, but only if you promise not to believe a word she says.”

  “Thank you, Papa!” Emma beamed and went with him, pausing to glance over her shoulder. “You come too, Miss Billings!”

  Tasia shook her head. “I'll stay back here.”

  She stared at the center of Stokehurst's broad back as he walked away with his daughter. A forlorn, uneasy feeling came over her. She wondered why he hadn't spared her a single glance. He had deliberately ignored her. Beneath his cool self-possession there had been something tightly reined and threatening.

  Her thoughts were diverted as Lady Harcourt drew a black-garbed woman to the center of the room. “If I may have your attention, I would like to introduce our special guest for the evening. In London, Paris, and Venice, Madame Miracle is acknowledged as a clairvoyant with extraordinary powers. There is a rumor that she is frequently consulted by a certain member of our own royal family. Fortunately for us, she has graciously accepted my invitation to join our gathering this evening, and reveal her special gifts for our benefit.”

  A ripple of welcoming applause scattered through the room. Tasia retreated to the back wall, her face expressionless.

  Madame Miracle was a dark-haired woman in her forties, with kohl-rimmed eyes and rouged cheeks. A brilliant red and gold silk shawl was knotted around her shoulders. She wore jeweled rings on every finger and heavy bracelets that jangled on her wrists. Theatrically she passed an arm over a round table that had been draped with black scarves and weighted with lit candles. There were other objects on the table: a small bowl filled with colored stones, a deck of cards, and a few ornamental figurines.

  “My friends,” Madame Miracle began in a dramatic voice, “it is time to shed doubt and earthly limitations as we bid the spirits welcome. Tonight they will come to reveal the mirror to our souls. Prepare yourselves to discover the secrets of the future and the past.”

  As the woman continued to speak, Tasia became aware of a whisper nearby.

  “Tasia.”

  A chill went down her spine, and she turned quickly. Alicia was standing behind her, wearing an irrepressible smile. Obeying her silent gesture, Tasia slipped through the doorway, and they hurried into the empty hall together. Smiling with relief and happiness, Tasia hugged her.

  “Cousin,” she exclaimed, “I'm so glad to see you.”

  Alicia stood back and grinned at her. “Tasia, you look wonderful! The past weeks have made quite a difference in you.”

  Tasia looked down at herself critically. “I haven't noticed any changes.”

  “The lines have gone from your face, and your figure has filled out a little.”

  “I've been eating. The food is very good here.” Tasia made a face. “Except for the blancmange. They serve it all the time.”

  Alicia laughed with her. “You seem to be thriving on it. Tell me, Tasia, are you happy? Are you well?”

  Tasia shrugged uncomfortably, tempted to confide about the vision of Mikhail in the mirror, and about her nightmares. But that was all the result of a guilty conscience. She would accomplish nothing by telling Alicia, except to worry her. “I'm as well as could be expected,” she finally said.

  A compassionate look came over Alicia's face. “Charles and I are your family, Tasia. We will do what we can to help you. I trust Lord Stokehurst has been kind?”

  “He hasn't been unkind,” Tasia said cautiously.

  “Good.” Alicia took her hands and pressed them hard. She glanced around the empty hall. “We'd better go back. There'll be a chance for us to talk later.”

  Tasia let a minute or two pass before easing back into the parlor. Her fine brows quirked in surprise as she saw that Emma was seated at the clairvoyant's table. In spite of her father's warnings, Emma appeared to be spellbound by Madame Miracle. “Do you see anything?” Emma asked eagerly.

  A pattern of colored stones had been laid out on the table. Madame Miracle studied them closely. “Ah,” she said, nodding over the stones as if the arrangement were of great significance. “It is all becoming clear. You were born with a rebellious spirit. You have strong emotions—perhaps too strong—but eventually all will come into balance. In time your gift for love will attract many people to you, all seeking to draw from your strength.” She paused and took Emma's hands, closing her eyes to concentrate harder.

  “What about my future?” Emma prompted.

  “I see a husband. A man from a foreign country. He will bring conflict…but with patience and forgiveness you will weave the opposing forces in your life into a circle of unity.” She opened her eyes. “You will be blessed with many children. A happy future, indeed.”

  “What kind of foreigner will I marry?” Emma demanded. “French? German?”

  “The spirits did not say.”

  Emma frowned. “Could you ask them?” she urged.

  Madame Miracle released her hands and shrugged prosaically. “That is all.”

  “Drat,” Emma muttered. “Now I'll have to wonder every time I meet a foreigner.”

  Stokehurst grinned and gestured for his daughter to return to him. “It's time for someone else to have a turn, sweet.”

  “Miss Billings,” Emma said instantly. “I want to know what the spirits say about Miss Billings!”

  Tasia blanched as Emma pointed to her. Seats creaked as everyone turned to look. Abruptly she was ripped from her privacy, becoming the object of strangers' eyes. More than two hundred people were staring at her. A cold sweat broke out all over her body. For a moment she was back in Russia, at the murder trial, people staring at her with rapacious curiosity. Panic swamped her. She shook her head, unable to make a sound.

  Sinking deeper into the nightmare, she heard Lord Stokehurst's voice.

  “Why not?” he asked softly. “Come here, Miss Billings.”

  Four

  Tasia shrank back against the wall. Murmurs rustled through the crowd. “Only the governess,” came a loud whisper, while someone else asked, “Why bother with her?”

  Stokehurst pinned Tasia with a calculating stare. “Don't you want to know what your future holds?”

  “My future is of no consequence to anyone, sir,” she said calmly, while her mind raced with worry. Stokehurst seemed to want to punish her for something. Why? What had she done to provoke him?

  Emma glanced from her father to Tasia, her eager smile wavering as she apparently sensed that something was wrong. “It's quite fun, Miss Billings,” she said uncertainly. “Won't you give it a try?”

  All at once Alicia Ashbourne rose from her chair. Anxiety made her voice taut. “I would like to have my fortune told. Let's not waste time on someone who's unwilling.”

  “In good time, Lady Ashbourne,” Stokehurst said smoothly. “First we'll let the spirits have a go at our mysterious governess.”

  Alicia sputtered objections as her husband Charles pulled her back to her seat. Rubbing her stif
f hand between his, Charles tried to soothe her.

  Iris Harcourt's face puckered in a frown. “Luke, there's no need to torment the child. If she doesn't want to, let her be.”

  Stokehurst seemed not to hear her. His hard gaze was riveted on Tasia. “Come, Miss Billings. Don't keep us all waiting.”

  “I would rather not—”

  “I insist.”

  He intended to have his way, no matter how much of a scene it caused. There was no escape. Tasia moved forward as if she were walking to the guillotine.

  “Don't be afraid, child,” Madame Miracle said, waving her to the table. “Sit. Take the stones and warm them in your hand.”

  Squaring her shoulders, Tasia reached the table and sat down. She was cornered. There was nothing to do but confront the situation head-on. She scooped up a fistful of the stones and clenched them tightly. Everyone was watching her. She felt their stares like knife points on her skin.

  “Now,” Madame Miracle instructed, “let them drop through your fingers.”

  Opening her hand, Tasia let the stones fall to the table. They rattled on the cloth-covered surface, some bouncing on uneven edges and scattering widely.

  Looking troubled, the woman shook her head. She gathered the stones into a pile and put them back into the bowl. “It would be better if you tried again.”

  “Why?” Tasia asked in a low tone, although she knew. It was a bad reading.

  Madame Miracle shook her head and gestured for her to pick up the stones.

  Once more Tasia dropped them to the table. This time one of them teetered at the edge and fell to the carpet.

  “Ah.” The clairvoyant exhaled softly. “The pattern repeats itself. It is the shape of two brothers, death and sleep.” She bent to retrieve the stone that had fallen. Rolling it between her fingers, she studied the markings closely. It was bloodred in color, speckled with black. Setting down the stone, she took Tasia's hands in a firm grip. “You have traveled far from your birthplace. You have been torn from your home and history.” She paused, her painted brows knitting together. “Not long ago you touched the very wings of death.”

  Transfixed, Tasia made no sound. The candle flames seemed to turn red and purple at the edges.

  “I see a distant land…a city built on bones. It is surrounded by ancient forests. Wolves hide among the trees. I see piles of gold and amber…palaces, land, servants…all of it yours. I see you, wearing a gown of silk and a necklace of precious jewels.”

  Suddenly Lady Harcourt interrupted in a droll tone. “Miss Billings is only a governess, Madame. Pray tell, how has she achieved such a splendid future? Made a brilliant marriage, I suppose?”

  “Not the future,” Madame Miracle said. “I speak of the past.”

  The room was very quiet. Tasia's heart churned, and she tugged at her imprisoned hands. “I want to stop,” she said hoarsely.

  The clairvoyant's knotted fingers tightened, and a prickling heat began to build between their palms. Their joined hands twitched as if an electric current passed through them. “I see you in a room filled with gold and fine paintings and books. You are seeking someone. A shadow falls across your face. There is a young man with yellow eyes. Blood…His blood is spilling to the floor. You call his name…something like…Michael…Michael—” The woman screamed and jumped back, jerking away from Tasia's hands. Tasia remained sitting at the table, frozen in terror.

  Madame Miracle staggered backward and held up her scarlet palms. It looked as if she had taken hold of a boiling kettle. “She burned me!” she cried, glaring fearfully at Tasia. “Witch!”

  Tasia struggled from her chair, though her legs would hardly support her. “Fraud,” she countered, her voice trembling. “I've heard enough of your ridiculous lies.” Blindly she walked through the room, her head held high, though her bowels were wrenched with terror. She was desperate for a place to hide. Oh God, what have I done? Voices from the past swarmed through her mind.

  “They should burn you—”

  “My poor child.”

  “I didn't mean to do it.”

  “—burn you to ashes.”

  “God help me—”

  “Witch!”

  “No,” she whimpered, breaking into a run, stumbling, fleeing from the howling demons that chased her.

  The room erupted in excitement. Women snapped open their fans to stir the air and conceal their rapid-fire gossip. Guests milled around Madame Miracle with eager questions. Stone-faced, Luke strode out of the room in pursuit of the governess. As he reached the hallway, he felt a violent tug at his sleeve. He stopped and turned to face Alicia. She was furious, her cheeks blazing crimson and her mouth tight.

  “Not now,” Luke said harshly.

  “What is wrong with you?” Alicia demanded. She pulled him to the side of the grand staircase, where there was less chance of being overheard. “I should have Charles thrash you! How could you do that to my cousin? Putting her on vulgar display when you know all about her need for secrecy—”

  “I know nothing about her. Except that I'm sick of the way she floats around the mansion with her martyred air and her tragic glances, brimming with deep, dark secrets. God only knows what effect it's having on my daughter. I've had enough.”

  Alicia drew herself up as tall as possible. “And so you decided to torture her in public! I never thought of you as cruel before. Well, I'm going to find Tasia and take her away with me at once. I wouldn't allow a stray dog to be subjected to your so-called hospitality, much less my cousin.”

  Luke's gaze shot to her face with searing intensity. “Tasia? Is that her name?”

  Horror-struck, Alicia clapped her hand to her mouth. “Forget it,” she gasped between her fingers. “Forget it at once. Just let me take her back to London. I promise you'll never have to set eyes on her again.”

  His jaw hardened. “She's not going anywhere.”

  Alicia faced him like a yapping terrier confronting a wolfhound. “You've interfered quite enough, thank you! You were only meant to be a temporary safeguard. Now you've put her in danger. Dragging her in front of all those people—it could well be a death sentence, and all because of your offended pride. I assured Tasia that you were trustworthy, and you proved me false. How does it feel to destroy someone's life on a whim?”

  “You dragged me into this,” Luke said through his teeth. “I'll be damned if I won't see it through. What do you mean, ‘death sentence’? What the hell has she done?”

  Alicia frowned and looked away. Just when Luke thought she would refuse to answer, her voice emerged reluctantly. “I don't know what she's done. I'm not even certain she knows.”

  Driven to new heights of frustration, Luke uttered a foul oath. “I'll find her. Go back to the others.”

  “And who will protect my cousin?” Alicia demanded.

  “I will.”

  “A fine job you've done so far!”

  Plowing through the melée, Emma reached Madame Miracle and Lady Harcourt. She stared at both of them with snapping blue eyes, her golden freckles standing out in sharp relief against her flushed skin.

  “Emma,” Lady Harcourt said rapidly, “a childish tantrum is the last thing anyone needs at the moment.”

  Emma ignored her, turning to Madame Miracle. “Why did you have to make sport of Miss Billings? She's done nothing to you.”

  The woman puffed up indignantly. “I would not abuse my gift in such a way! I revealed the truth exactly as the spirits showed it to me!”

  Frowning, Emma folded her lanky arms. “I think you'd better leave now. I rang for our butler. Seymour will show you out. If you don't have a carriage of your own, one of ours will take you.”

  “Emma, dear,” Lady Harcourt said in a cutting tone, “just because your high-strung governess has taken offense doesn't mean the rest of the guests shouldn't be entertained. This is a matter for adults, not children. Why don't you go to your room and amuse yourself with your books and dolls?”

  Emma gave her a sly glance. “V
ery well. But I should hate for Madame to face my father when he returns. He has such a horrible temper. Who knows what might happen?” Grinning unpleasantly, Emma curled her finger into a hook, drew it across her own neck, and made a gurgling sound.

  Madame Miracle turned pale and began to scoop up her belongings.

  “Emma, don't make up horried stories about your father,” Iris hissed. “Go to your room. I won't tolerate your interference. I am the hostess, and I want Madame to stay.”

  Emma's devil-child expression vanished, replaced by mulish determination. “She made Miss Billings unhappy. I want her to leave. And it's my home, not yours.”

  “Ill-mannered brat!” Iris glanced around the room, seeming to take a hurried survey of the guests. “Where is your father?”

  Emma shrugged innocently. “I have no idea.”

  Luke went to the small third-floor room, finding the door ajar. The air was thick, filled with stifling silence. A chair was overturned on the floor, a small wooden icon laying beside it. The governess…Tasia…stood at the window. Somehow she knew it was he. “My lord,” she said tonelessly, without turning around.

  Suddenly Luke realized that she wasn't angry, or embarrassed, or even afraid. She was devastated. He had hurt her far more than he'd intended. Remorse swept over him, and the dark color of shame crept up his face. Uncomfortably he cleared his throat in the prelude to an apology.

  “I came to see how you—” He stopped suddenly. Expressing concern at this point would sound like mockery, when he had been the cause of her pain.

  She kept her back to him. Her voice was strained with the effort of sounding normal. “I'm fine, sir. I just need a few minutes alone. That woman was very strange, wasn't she? Forgive me for making a scene. If you would go, please…and let me restore myself. I just need to be alone…” She wound down like a mechanical toy, her words grinding into silence, her shoulders trembling. “Go…please.”

  Luke reached her in a few swift strides and pulled her stiff body into his arms. “I'm sorry,” he said against her hair. “I'm so damned sorry.”