Page 101 of The Siren of Sussex

“There’s a gatehouse,” Uncle Harris exclaimed.

“And an ivy-covered tower,” Lady Arundell said.

Uncle Harris’s expression was rapt. “Can that be a moat?”

“It is, it is.” A look of elation came over Lady Arundell’s face. “Upon my word . . . it’s Kirby Castle!”

Uncle Harris nearly leapt from his chair. “By Jove, you’re right!”

“Is this castle significant to you, madam?” Zadkiel asked. “Sir?”

“Not of itself,” Lady Arundell replied. “But given recent events in the spiritual realm, it’s location must be critical.”

“Kirby Castle is in Leicestershire,” Uncle Harris said. “The boy medium was born in Leicestershire. It’s a sign, surely.”

Lady Arundell’s formidable bosom expanded with satisfaction. “The boy’s messages from the Prince Consort are legitimate. They must be.” Her gaze came to rest on Evelyn. “And it was your energy that enabled us to see it.”

“Mine?” Evelyn drew back. “I really don’t think—”

“Her ladyship is right,” Zadkiel said. “I feel it quite strongly. You have a gift.”

Uncle Harris fixed Evelyn with an appraising stare. It was as if he was seeing her for the first time. “Well,” he murmured. “This changes everything.”

Twenty

Zadkiel’s pronouncement about Evelyn had a profound and immediate effect. It not only elevated her in her uncle’s estimation, but in the rest of occult society as well. By Monday afternoon, she’d received nearly a dozen invitations to various functions, all of them related in some way to astrology, crystallomancy, and the spirit realm.

“There are worse things to be known for than having positive psychic energy,” Anne said when she called at Russell Square later that day in company with Julia and Stella.

Seated in the drawing room, Evelyn poured them each a cup of tea. “It’s certainly provoked my uncle to take an interest in me.”

“But that’s good, isn’t it?” Stella asked.

Evelyn wasn’t so sure. “I wouldn’t mind the extra attention so much if what Zadkiel said was true. Instead, I feel like the veriest fraud.”

“Why?” Anne wondered. “You aren’t the one who claimed to have a gift.”

“No, indeed.” Evelyn passed her friends their tea.

“Perhaps it is true,” Julia said from her seat on the scroll-armed sofa. “The human mind is full of mysteries.”

Stella nodded her agreement, adding, “You might have powers you haven’t accessed yet.”

“I don’t,” Evelyn assured them.

Anne sipped her tea. “It hardly matters. Merely by suggesting it, Zadkiel has all but guaranteed you’ll receive invitations to the best entertainments.”

“And callers,” Stella predicted. “Lots of callers.”

She was right on that score.

Not long after Evelyn’s friends took their leave, Lady Blackstone arrived. It was she who was hosting the ball at Cremorne Gardens next month. After her came Mrs. Holt-Simmons and her sister—two black-clad young widows with a strong belief in crystallomancy.

They’d no sooner gone than Mrs. Quick brought in the visiting card of Evelyn’s next caller. A name was engraved upon it in elegant script.

Mildred Lacey, Viscountess Heatherton

Evelyn suppressed a flare of unease. Unlike her previous callers, whom she’d met at the Arundell ball, she had no prior acquaintance with Lady Heatherton. She knew nothing of her save what her friends had told her.