Lily’s interest grew like a small bud slowly unfurling in her heart. “What was he like when he was young?” Her desire to know more had nothing to do with how she might persuade him to publish a photograph or give Mrs Moore the publicity she craved.
Really, solving Mr Renquist’s murder seemed a hopeless and, in fact, completely unimportant distraction right now.
“Would you really like to know?” Lucy looked delighted. “I’ll show you some photographs if you like.”
Happily, she led the way up the passage, saying over her shoulder, “Come into my room. I have them framed on my mantelpiece. There! Isn’t he sweet? Of course, I was just a baby when Hamish went to boarding school.
I’m nine years younger. And there’s Mama and Papa and Hamish and me.”
Lily studied the family group. Mr McTavish senior looked a serious gentleman with a head of snowy-white hair, even though he was the father of two young children at the time. Beside the grim father figure was seated a demure, sweet-faced young woman nursing the infant, Lucy, on her lap.
“What happened to your mother?”
“She died when I was eight. I don’t remember very much about her except that she was kind. Hamish was at boarding school, so it was just Papa and me.”
“But then you went to the Ladies’ Seminary, and that’s where you met Cassandra, Lord Lambton’s daughter.” Lily moved the subject forward. Lucy looked like it was unpleasant dwelling on childhood memories, and she was anxious to discover what she could that might promote her Wednesday seances with Lord Lambton. Lord Lambton seemed a lost soul, his grief so very genuine as far as Lily was able to tell. “Were you friends from the beginning?”
“I suppose so, although Cassandra was always a bit…different. But we became friends because we both despised our fathers,” Lucy added boldly.
“Goodness. Did you?” Lily picked up a photograph of Hamish as a young man and thought what a kind, open smile he had. “Why did Cassandra despise her father?” She thought of the Lord Lambton she knew, a kindly, harmless old man. “I believe he really is distraught at her death. Was he unkind to her?”
“No!”
Lucy must have realised that the vehemence of her refutation was extreme, for she coloured and bowed her head. “Her father never struck her. Never! She had nothing to complain about.”
Unsure whether to press this, Lily instead said mildly, “I think Lord Lambton loved his daughter more than she might ever have realised. It’s the impression I get from seeing him these last few Wednesdays, as you know.”
“Yes, and I wish I could attend.”
“I’m sorry your brother is so disapproving.”
“He’s just afraid word will make it to Father’s ears. Poor Hamish tries so hard to find the balance between keeping in Papa’s good books and doing what I might want. Or what he wants.” She looked furtively at the door. “I have an admirer, you see. He’s very poor, but I’ve known him since I was at the seminary. He’s the older brother of one of my friends there, and he’s the sweetest young man, but it’ll be several years before he’ll be in a position to take a wife. I don’t mind. I’ll wait forever. But I do wish Hamish would let me see him.”
“He doesn’t approve?”
“He knows how violently Papa would disapprove. That’s the problem, really. Oh, but Mrs Eustace, you don’t know what it is to be violently in love and to be denied even seeing your sweetheart. Sometimes we meet in the park. We have to pretend it’s a coincidence in case someone passes on word to Papa, and then he’d take me back to live with him. And I’d rather be dead than have that happen,” she added dramatically.
They were sitting on the edge of the bed now, the picture of Hamish lying between them. Lucy picked it up. “My brother likes you very much, Mrs Eustace,” she said, smiling shyly as she traced her finger over the edge of the frame.
“And I like him very much.” In a burst of bravery, Lily opened her reticule and closed her fingers round the paper and key Celeste had given her. “I don’t suppose you have an envelope and writing implements so I could compose a quick note?” she asked abruptly.
Lucy was only too happy to oblige, laying everything out on her writing desk. “I’ll happily pass that on to Hamish when he gets in tonight,” she said, taking the sealed pale-pink envelope Lily handed to her when she’d finished scratching out a quick, artful invitation to Mr Hamish McTavish. “And perhaps, Mrs Eustace, you could persuade my brother to let me attend one of Mrs Moore’s seances. I think it might be something my Arthur would be very interested in attending too.” She smiled shyly, adding, “I’m sure you understand what I’m saying.”
“I do,” Lily reassured her. She rose. “And now I must return home and prepare myself for tonight’s séance. Tomorrow will be a very different one.” Nervousness clawed up her throat as she answered the young woman’s questioning look. “I’m the conduit that will communicate between a dead man and his bereaved widow. You might have read it in the newspapers. Mr Renquist—”
“Of course, I know every detail of the Renquist murder! A man that rich doesn’t just vanish into thin air never to be seen again. Hamish was upset because his photographer wanted to attend tonight’s seance, only Hamish said he’d not buy into that mumbo jumbo, as he termed it. Not that you’re pretending to be someone you’re not, of course, Mrs Eustace! I know you’re doing this to get at the truth for the benefit of society at large.”
Lily sent her a wry smile. “So your brother calls it mumbo jumbo, does he? I thank you for your honesty, Lucy.”
Lucy blushed. “Hamish calls me a terrible liar and quite tactless, and I know it to be true. But the truth is always best. That’s one thing I remember my dear mama always telling us. Don’t you think the truth is always best?”
Lily weighed up her answer. “As long as the truth is in the interests of the listener,” she said, finally, hoping she’d struck the right note and that young Miss McTavish wouldn’t think to unravel the finer points of her answer.
To her relief, this seemed to satisfy the young woman, for she hooked her elbow through Lily’s as she led her to the door saying, “I think we are very much of the same mind, Mrs Eustace. I couldn’t agree more. Harmful lies are the devil’s work. That’s one of Papa’s favourite sayings. And there I would agree with him. Now, please borrow my umbrella for your walk home. I know the rain has stopped for the moment, but you don’t want to be wet and discomposed for the event tonight. There’s an old man to comfort tonight and a murderer to catch tomorrow. Goodness, we don’t want you to be sick for what could be one of the most important performances of your life.”
* * *
Despite suffering no ill effects from the cold weather, Lily felt very sick as she waited in the cellar beneath Mrs Moore’s parlour and listened to muted sounds of the chattering throng following another heartrending session, during which Lily had relayed the love that Cassandra, Lord Lambton’s daughter, had felt for her father. And her guilt for causing him such pain.