“They were planning to go to his surgical laboratory,” she continued. “All I had to do was keep watching and follow them. But I was too agitated, and I only woke myself up.”
I steadied my shaking hand and reminded myself that I would never find her if I kept panicking. It hasn’t happened yet. I organized my thoughts piece by piece and finally managed to find my words. “They never said an address?”
She shook her head miserably. “I lost them before they left.”
Even with Miss Grey’s power, we couldn’t do anything, except learn how much more dire the situation was. But it was motivation enough for me. I glanced at the ticking clock on the mantel. “Now we have all the more reason to find her as soon as possible,” I said in the strongest voice I could hold. “We must go—it’s almost eight o’clock. Let’s hope Mr. Kent will have a plan.”
Shakily, Miss Grey nodded and followed me to the carriage, and within a minute, we were clattering to our destination.
On the way, I recounted what had happened since we last spoke: the play, the public house, Camille, and Lady Kent. Miss Grey finally explained why she had been unavailable. She had taken laudanum to aid her sleep and spent hours desperately trying to find my sister with another dream. As a result, she missed the entire day, only receiving my messages this morning. As if she hadn’t already given me enough apologies, she continued to pour them out for abandoning me and for losing Rose again. Only by the time we arrived at Mr. Kent’s had I managed to convince her that all was forgiven and that I healed rather quickly, in both senses.
Miss Gates let us into the bright, empty entrance hall, where Mr. Kent and Robert happened to be making their way downstairs.
“Ah, Miss Wyndham. A lovely day to solve cases, don’t you think? Glorious lamp of heaven and all,” Mr. Kent said, peering down from the top of the stairs. Sun streaked across his face as he descended.
“Not exactly,” I replied. “We don’t have much time left.”
“That’s what I was saying with my poetic allusions. Carpe diem. Gather our rosebuds as we may.”
“I just hope you have a plan.”
“Not only do I have a plan, but I have a plan for the picnic we will all surely have time for after,” Mr. Kent said, tapping his cane.
Behind the energetic Mr. Kent followed Robert. In contrast, his movements were a bit sluggish, but they were still a dramatic improvement over the collapsed heap he was last night.
“Robert, are you well?” I asked.
“Evelyn, will you please tell me what is going on?” he barked.
I was taken aback by the sudden anger. “I don’t know—”
“Oh, don’t bother with him,” Mr. Kent said as he reached the bottom of the stairs. “I’ve already tried to explain everything to him, and he refuses to believe me. He’s convinced we’ve concocted this fantastical story to hide the truth that she’s run off with Mr. Braddock.”
“I don’t care about her virtue!” Robert shouted.
Mr. Kent shook his head and closed his eyes, exasperated. “Neither do we, Robert. Neither do we.”
Robert crossed his arms and remained halfway up the stairs in a stubborn sulk, his attention on a seascape painting beside him.
“Very well, no time for that, then. Now, introductions,” I said, gesturing between him and Miss Grey. “You have both heard of each other. Miss Grey, meet my friend Nicholas Kent. Mr. Kent, my governess, Alice Grey.”
Mr. Kent bowed and reached out his hand, and Miss Grey let him take it, though she appeared pained.
“Mr. Kent. Have we—” Miss Grey raised her eyebrows and spoke tautly. “Oh. Yes. Excuse me, Mr. Kent. Evelyn, perhaps we might speak in private?”
“At this very moment?” I asked.
“It is urgent.”
Mr. Kent nodded politely, retracting his hand to gesture down his narrow hallway. Miss Grey shuffled me into a small parlor, oddly decorated with all sorts of artwork of maritime disasters, before shutting the door behind her.
“How well do you know this man?” she whispered.
“Fairly well . . . I met him during the last season. Why do you ask?”
Her eyes flitted about the room, as if she were checking for eavesdroppers. “I’ve seen him in my dreams.”
“Your dreams? Then . . .”
No. That couldn’t be true.
Miss Grey tightened her lips and nodded.
“So . . . he has an ability, too?” I asked in a daze.
“A talent for learning the truth. Any question he asks will receive an honest response. One is simply compelled to answer him. I’ve never seen anyone resist.”
I was thunderstruck. The memories hit me by degrees. The search, the ball, the entire blasted season! I had been candid in every conversation with him, believing I couldn’t hold my tongue or that he was trustworthy. But it had been a power—his awful, intrusive power.
I tightened my fists and threw open the door, ready to accuse him. One angry step forward was all I could manage before Miss Grey seized my shoulder. “Evelyn, wait! Now is not the time.”
“He manipulated me!” I whispered in a fury. “All of us! With his every word!”