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Gideon felt the first stirrings of headache. No matter how he attempted to shield her from a case, she inevitably became more entangled in it.
“Why would you come here to speak to him before I have had a chance to?” he spoke quietly, fearing the footman or Beecham himself might overhear.
“Well, I tried to speak to you first. I went to Vine Street, but you were not there. They told me you were likely visiting Mount Street, but I decided not to wait.”
“You very well could have.” And should have.
“I wanted to come before Miss Beecham—”
The footman opened the drawing room door.
“Miss Poole, Mr. Beecham will see you now.”
Gideon stepped forward. “If you would give us a moment, please.”
The young man frowned in confusion. “Yes, sir.”
“Thank you,” Electra said sweetly.
The young man departed once more and pulled the door closed.
“Gideon, I did attempt to speak to you first, but I needed to talk to Mr. Beecham before his daughter returned home.”
“I’m missing some piece of information.” Or several. He still couldn’t parse why Electra would be so fiercely determined to speak to Roderick Beecham.
“Aurora Beecham came to me. She was there when I returned to Russell Square and wished for me to conduct a sitting for her.”
That did make sense. “Yes, I remember her reaction to you at the inquest.”
Electra flicked a look at the drawing room door and stepped even closer. “She wanted me to attempt to discern whether her father murdered Pennington.”
Gideon could not quite follow the lady’s logic. “Miss Beecham suspects her father,” he whispered, “and went to a psychic rather than to the police.”
Electra gave him a long-suffering look, but he meant no offense about her abilities, only to question the young woman’s intentions.
“Perhaps it is the wrong way to go about the matter, but she had only fear, no proof. In fact, the only proof she does have is counter-indicative of him having committed the crime.” She tipped her head and studied him, and the look in her eyes seemed to say look at it another way. She often challenged him in that regard.
“Sometimes in life,” she said quietly, “fear outweighs reason.”
“Agreed.” When fear overtook him, most often for Electra’s safety, his ability to reason waned. “Were you able to determine anything?”
“No. And yes.”
“Electra…”
“She brought an object that she said was her father's favorite pen. I held it, and I did see something significant, but I did not see him doing any harm to Pennington. They argued, but Pennington walked out of the man's study alive and well.”
Gideon frowned. “Then what was the significant insight?”
She leaned yet closer. “Mr. Beecham spoke to Mrs. Devlin. The lady who came to me as Jane Wilson. He confronted her in Hyde Park. I don't know what was said, but she was upset. She didn't wish to speak to him and walked away.”
“So Roderick Beecham knows Demeter Devlin, who was a paramour of both Percival Pennington and his brother.”
“Perhaps he discovered that fact,” Electra suggested. “And meant to use it as some sort of leverage.”
Gideon couldn’t disagree with that hypothesis.
“There's another thing—”
