A Study in Sable Read online

  Then again, that was de rigeur for anyone who wanted to rise in the world of opera or the theater. One certainly could not describe the Divine Sarah Bernhardt as a shrinking violet!

  Sarah spoke first, as the lady hesitated for a moment, looking between them. “I am Sarah Lyon-White, come as you requested,” Sarah said. “This is my companion and coworker in the occult, Miss Nan Killian.”

  “Oh! Thank God you have come!” the lady replied, casting herself down upon the fainting couch in a dramatic pose—precisely as Nan had thought she would. “The persecution is unending! I have changed rooms twice, and still the spirits follow me! And of course, no one sees or hears them but me! It is unbearable! I cannot sleep! I cannot rest!” Her hands fluttered, as if she could not find words to properly express herself. Her voice had very little trace of a German accent, but then she must, as an opera singer, have a good command of at least French, Italian, and English, in addition to her native tongue.

  “Perhaps if you begin at the beginning?” Sarah prompted. “When did this persecution begin?”

  “Some time after my sister Johanna ran away with that Canadian adventurer,” Magdalena replied, and pouted a little. “Johanna! What a scandal! Thank God it did not reflect on me! I told Vater he should wash his hands of her! He kept asking me why she would run off like that! I do not know why she would have done such a thing, except that she did not truly love poor Helmut, and he would not, in respect for her reputation, end the engagement himself, so perhaps this was her way of ending it herself.”

  What an odd thing to say . . . Nan decided at the moment it would be a very good idea to do a little thought reading. After all, this was one of the big questions, wasn’t it? And if she had the answer to that one, she might be able to give Holmes the information that would put him on the right footing in his case. But surprisingly, Magdalena’s thoughts were so shielded that it would have taken a great deal of effort—and the risk that Magdalena would sense something—in order to read them. Nan curbed her impulses and went back to less occult means of observation.

  She also reminded herself that, so far, Magdalena had only shown herself to be self-centered, which, given her profession, was rather to be expected. It wasn’t that unusual for people to have natural shielding on their minds, after all, and having such did not imply anything sinister.

  In fact, if Magdalena was, indeed, plagued by ghosts, her mind might naturally have sealed itself off in an effort to protect itself.

  “But when, more precisely, did you first notice anything unusual?” Sarah asked.

  “It was just after my parents and Helmut arrived to see if—” Magdalena paused. “Well, I think they did not believe that my outwardly gentle and compliant sister would do something so reckless, even if her engagement with Helmut was one that suited my father, rather than Johanna. They thought her to be meek and utterly obedient. They did not know her as I did.”

  “Parents are often deceived,” Nan murmured.

  Magdalena cast her a sudden, slightly suspicious, look, then returned her attention to Sarah. “My sister was . . . romantic,” she said, knitting her perfectly shaped brows together.

  “And you are not?” Sarah said, blandly.

  Magdalena laughed. Strangely, it was a sound with very little humor in it. “One does not rise in the theater without learning that romance is not unlike a stage backdrop. It might appear real and enticing, but when you draw near to it, you find there is nothing but painted canvas, air, and nothing of substance. But Johanna still believed in maerchen. Fairy tales, I think you call them.”

  Oh yes. Fairy tales. Where eyes are scratched out by thorns, girls are poisoned by their stepmothers, or men are sent to cut out their hearts . . .

  “And Johanna was able to keep her secrets close. Even I knew nothing about this man until the day the maid awoke me and gave me her farewell letter.” Magdalena shrugged. “But that has nothing to do with why I wish your help, Fraulein Sarah. I am dying for lack of sleep. These haunting spirits will not allow me to rest! I no sooner close my eyes than I am awakened by them!”

  “Ye-es . . .” Sarah said, slowly. “That was something I wanted to ask you about. You never are disturbed by them until after you have fallen asleep?”

  “Exactly!” Magdalena was pleased. “That is precisely what happens!”

  Sarah nodded gravely. “Then I must tell you, it may not be . . . spirits. It may only be a . . . sort of waking dream. Many people have these attacks, and mistake them for—”

  “No!” Magdalena sat straight up, and even stamped her foot on the floor. “I am telling you, this is not something I have dreamed! It is real! These are spirits!”

  “Calm yourself, fraulein,” Sarah said hastily. “I know that these waking dreams can feel absolutely real, and unfortunately if that is what you are suffering from, I cannot help you, although a physician may advise you on sedatives that will allow you to sleep.” She made a point of looking around. “I neither see nor sense any spirits here now.”

  A look of absolute fury passed over Magdalena’s face. It was so violent that Nan felt a brief moment of fear.

  But the expression was there and gone in a flash, and the only outward signs of the diva’s anger were the hands clenched in her lap. “They never appear until after I have fallen asleep,” she repeated. “I tell you, this is not some waking dream, they are real, and they are horrifying. You must help me. I will pay you any amount you require. If you require something other than money, I will obtain that.” Her mouth twisted wryly. “At least you are more honest than the charlatan I first consulted, who claimed to see spirits infesting this suite in the light of day, and said nothing about . . . waking dreams.”

  Sarah nodded slightly. And under the cover of her skirts she poked Nan’s foot with her own. That meant, in their private code, follow my lead.

  “Well, what, exactly, is it that you want me to do?” Sarah asked patiently.

  Magdalena waved an impatient hand, and reclined again. “Whatever it is you do! Remain here in my suite. Confront these spirits when they appear. Banish them! I will pay whatever it takes to be rid of them! Only tell me how much, and what else it is that you need.”

  “Tonight?” Sarah asked, a little startled by the imperious order.

  She threw up her hands with impatience. “Of course, tonight, and every night they plague me! How am I to perform if I cannot sleep?”

  Sarah bit her lip. “I need to talk this over with my companion,” she said firmly. Very firmly, her tone saying that this was not negotiable. Magdalena looked as if she was about to object, then shrugged, waved her hand at them, and turned to the young maid and ordered wine.

  Sarah got up and moved to the back of the sitting room; Nan came with her. “Do you really want to go along with this?” Nan whispered dubiously.

  “Well, we’ve finished the only job that John Watson has for us at the moment,” Sarah pointed out. “And . . . I might be able to find more for Holmes about the sister if I stay.”

  Nan glanced over at Magdalena, who was sipping a glass of champagne. “Do you really think she’s being haunted?”

  “I’ve no notion. The only way to find out is to spend the night here. I can sleep during the day at home.” Sarah made a little face. “I don’t much like her, but I don’t have to like her to want to help spirits trapped on this side. Maybe it’s the fact that she’s made herself a focus of envy that has attracted them. Maybe it isn’t ghosts at all, but the actions of an Elemental Magician, in which case the Watsons and Lord A should be told. And maybe it’s night terrors, in which case I will wash my hands of her and suggest Watson come treat her; he is a doctor, after all.”

  Nan sighed, but she knew Sarah in this mood, and there was no changing her mind. “All right, stay the night. But charge her something absurd. If she is going to make you lose a good night’s sleep, she should be prepared to pay for the privilege.
”

  They returned and took their seats on the couch. “I am prepared to spend at least one night to determine if you are indeed haunted, and do what I may about it if you are,” Sarah said, steadily, and held up a hand to keep the diva from saying anything. “This is a considerable inconvenience to me. I will require ten guineas for this single night. If, after tonight, I determine that you are the subject of hauntings, we will discuss further fees.”

  The amount, which was enough to pay the rental on their lodgings for the better part of a full month, scarcely seemed to faze Magdalena. Instead, her face only registered satisfaction. “Excellent! You need not remain here all evening. I am about to leave for the opera house; I will return at midnight. Alicia will let you in, if you come at that time. Alicia, my box, at once.”

  The maid hurried to another room, and came back with an elegant inlaid box, which Magdalena opened with a key she took from around her neck. She counted out ten guineas, and leaning forward, placed them in Sarah’s hand. “I shall see you at midnight, then. Alicia, have my usual supper, laid for two, at that time.”

  Well, she’s generous, I’ll give her that.

  Now Magdalena rose, and perforce they did, too. She took Sarah’s hand, briefly. “Thank you again. The torment I am undergoing nightly is taking a toll on my art. If you can free me from it, you will not only earn my gratitude, but that of every music devotee in the world.”

  “I’m sure I shall,” Sarah said, and Nan could tell she was hiding her amusement at the diva’s enormous ego. “Until midnight, then.”

  “Until midnight. Alicia, see them out. Then get my cloak.”

  The maid showed them to the door; Nan could not help but notice that the diva had taken as little notice of her as possible. Probably because she thinks I’m just some sort of hanger-on to the great medium, Nan thought with amusement—and irritation.

  Sarah put the fee in her purse as they walked to the elevator and summoned it. They stood there, waiting, listening to the sound of the motor as the cage crept its way up to them. “Well . . . that was interesting. What do you think?”

  “Other than that she has a very high opinion of herself? I don’t know.” At that moment, the elevator door opened, and Nan switched subjects slightly. “I wonder if our friends have gone to see her perform at the opera. I know John’s neighbor is fond of violin music, do you have any notion if he likes voice as well?”

  The elevator arrived, and they nodded at the attendant and stepped into the cage beside him.

  “If he does, I never heard about it. But we’ve never gone to the opera, even though we both like music. I prefer the ballet myself,” Sarah replied lightly.

  “I know,” Nan replied, amused again. “I’ve suffered through ballets often enough with you. Well, don’t tell anyone, or I’ll lose all respect, but you can give me a good old panto over either anytime,” Nan continued in a conspiratorial manner, which made the elevator attendant smile.

  The lobby was less full now than it had been when they arrived; the restaurant was open, and those who had been waiting to be seated had gone in. But now they were two unescorted ladies leaving, rather than arriving, and since they were well and modestly dressed, though people did notice them, they did so discreetly.

  The doorman got them a cab, and they headed back to their lodgings. As they got out, Sarah got the attention of the cabbie. “Sir?” she said politely, as he looked down at her from his perch and accepted his fee. “I’m going to need accommodation back to the Langham at midnight; do you think you could arrange to be here to get me there in time?”

  As she had added a generous tip to their fare, the cabby tipped his top hat and replied, “Ye can be certain of it, miss, sure as my name’s Freddy Smart.” Nan felt an instant liking for this man; he had none of the signs of a heavy drinker about him, an all-too-common trait in cabbies, and his horse was well groomed, glossy, and clearly well cared for. He was in late middle age, with a wedding ring on his finger, and from the carefully cleaned state of his top hat and coat, he was as well tended as his horse.

  “Thank you, Mister Smart, I greatly appreciate it.” She paused, and then added, “It is possible I may be making nightly trips there at the same time for a while. Would you be available for them, and if so, how can I reach you tomorrow night if it is necessary?”

  “I’ll tell ye what. I’ll just trot by here at half past eleven tomorrow, and you can wave to me from the winder if ye needs me.” He twinkled at her, and the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled with his smile. “Missus Smart’d put me eyes out if I let a young thing like you take ’er chances with whatever cabby comes by at that time’o night.”

  “Thank you, sir!” Sarah said, relieved. “That will be perfect!”

  “Thank you, miss. It’ll be getting me a good fare, and taking me to where I’ll get another good one. The Missus’ll like that. Hup!” he said to the horse, who moved off without needing a touch of the whip he kept in its socket beside him.

  “Well, that was sorted nicely. I was a little worried about your finding a way to the Langham tonight.” Nan took the door key out of her purse and let them both in. Mrs. Horace poked her head out of her own door when she heard the outer door open.

  “Ah, there you are! I’ve been keeping your dinner warm in the oven! It will be up in two shakes of a lamb’s tail!” their landlady said, and ducked back inside.

  Suki had heard voices and opened the door at their landing. “Table’s set, Mrs. ’Orace!” she called, and ushered them both inside, like a fussy hen chasing in two chicks.

  After they were all settled around the table and Mrs. Horace was back downstairs, Suki peppered both of them with questions about the opera singer, what she wanted, and whether or not Sarah believed her story about being haunted.

  “Well, that’s difficult to say, Suki,” Sarah said, as they finished the last of an excellent white bean cassoulet and Nan passed around the treacle tart. The birds both begged for some, and got it. “The lady is an artist, and has an artistic temperament.”

  “Ye means t’say she’s barmy,” Suki replied wisely.

  Nan laughed. “Not exactly. But she’s very likely given to exaggeration and drama. It would do her reputation no harm at all if she could claim to be haunted; people do love a good ghost story, after all.” She cast a glance at the birds. “I wish we’d been able to bring Neville and Grey; they are both quite good at telling when someone is trying to gammon us.”

  “On the other hand . . . I’m not so sure I want them there,” Sarah said slowly. “They are birds, and they are more delicate than you’d think. I don’t believe Magdalena von Dietersdorf likes animals at all. Normally these artistic women have pampered little dogs, or the occasional elegant cat. Sarah Bernhardt is said to travel with a cheetah! But Magdalena has no animals about her, and there is nothing in her rooms to suggest she would welcome such a thing.”

  Nan and Suki nodded. Now that I think about it, Sarah is right. In fact . . . I don’t think I want the birds anywhere around that woman.

  “It might be that she is subject to night terrors—you know what those are, Suki, you used to have them.” Sarah took a bite of her tart as Suki nodded. “I find it very hard to think of a reason why she should be haunted in the first place. She says she has moved rooms twice, and the spirits follow her—as you know, spirits are usually bound to a place, and seldom follow a specific person about. She is a stranger to London, so there seems no logical reason why a spirit should choose her to show itself to. And yet . . . although there is a great deal about her that reads false to me, I am bound to say I think she is speaking the plain truth.”

  “She seems willing to pay almost anything to be rid of her haunts,” Nan observed. “Which is a refreshing change from our non-paying clients!”

  Suki laughed.

  “Well, if she’s a-payin’, might as well see, eh?” Suki nodded, her curls bobbing e
nthusiastically.

  “Exactly. So I am going to sleep a little and rejoin the lady when her performance is over. I will be there all night and return in the morning.” Sarah smiled apologetically to Suki. “Nan will have to help you with your lessons, tomorrow at least.”

  Suki waved that away as unimportant. “Th’ lady’s payin’,” she said, making it clear that was of primary importance in her mind. “’Sides. Miss Nan allus tells me the horripilatin’ stuff you won’t.”

  • • •

  Sarah felt very . . . alone . . . as she got into Freddy Smart’s cab and the horse trotted briskly away from the house. It felt strange to be doing anything without Nan and the birds. Wrong, even. But they had discussed this over dinner, and it had been quite obvious to both of them that Magdalena had issued her invitation to Sarah, and Sarah only.

  Neither of them could think of any good reason for her to refuse to go alone. The Langham was the most respectable hotel in London. Magdalena might be a respected singer, but she was also a foreigner, and her debut could be utterly ruined by even a breath of scandal. And although the lady was taller and heavier than Sarah, it was not possible that she was stronger. Ever since they were children and first came into the Harton School, she and Nan had been instructed in many ways of self-defense by Karamjit, Agansing, Gupta, and Selim. Although normally Nan was the “warrior,” Sarah was perfectly capable of defending herself, and she had several items secreted on her person to enable her to do just that.