The dark green door opened just as Lavinia started up the steps. A woman emerged from the front hall of Dr. Darfield’s rooms. Her cheeks were flushed with the pink glow of good health and there was a cheerful expression in her lively eyes.

“Good day.” The lady bestowed a friendly smile on Lavinia as she swept past. “Lovely weather, is it not?”

“Very nice,” Lavinia murmured.

The lady set off with an energetic stride, a living tribute to the skills of Dr. Darfield. Lavinia watched her for a moment, thinking of Mrs. Rushton’s enthusiasm for the treatments she received from the mesmerist.

Obviously the good doctor inspired a very positive reaction in his patients.

She continued up the steps and clanged the knocker, still not certain what had induced this urge to pay a call on Mrs. Rushton’s mesmerist today. Perhaps it had something to do with the great disappointment she had endured yesterday. She had been so certain that Mrs. Rushton’s interest in the mesmeric therapies constituted a link with Celeste. It was very hard to give up the notion that she had come across a clue.

The door opened almost at once. A very handsome young man smiled at her. He was fashionably dressed in a brown velvet coat, yellow waistcoat, pleated trousers, and an intricately tied cravat. His blond hair had been ruthlessly attacked by a curling iron. Artfully arranged curls fell forward over his eyes in a seemingly careless style that had no doubt required a great deal of time in front of a mirror.

“Good day, sir. I wish to consult with Dr. Darfield.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, I’m afraid not.” She stepped quickly into the hall and turned to smile at him before he could figure out how to politely close the door in her face. “My case of bad nerves came upon me quite suddenly this morning and I cannot wait for professional assistance. I fear that if I do not get help immediately, I may have an attack of female hysteria. I am hoping that you will be able to fit me into Dr. Darfield’s schedule.”

The young man looked deeply troubled. “I’m so sorry, but Dr. Darfield is very busy today. Perhaps you could come back tomorrow?”

“I’m afraid I really must see him now. My nerves are in the most dreadful condition. They are very delicate.”

“I understand, but-”

She recalled the details of Dr. Darfield’s advertisement, with its emphasis on widows and married ladies. “I have been a widow for some time and I fear that the strain of being alone in the world has taken its toll.” She patted her reticule. “I am, of course, prepared to pay a bit extra for the inconvenience to Dr. Darfield’s schedule.”

“I see.” The young man glanced thoughtfully at her reticule. “In advance, as it were?”

“Yes, of course.”

He gave her a winning smile. “Why don’t you have a seat in the reception room and I will have a look at the appointment book. It may be possible to work you in this afternoon.”

“I cannot tell you how grateful I am for your consideration.”

The secretary ushered her into a room across the hall and disappeared. Lavinia sat down, removed her bonnet, and surveyed her surroundings with professional interest.

She was accustomed to the soothing, calming quality that most practitioners of mesmerism sought to effect in their reception rooms. But Dr. Darfield’s decorator had chosen a more dramatic theme.

The walls were covered with large murals depicting scenes from a Roman bath. Admirably painted classical columns framed tableaux of voluptuous, scantily draped ladies disporting themselves in the waters.

There were a number of full-size statues standing in the corners of the room. She recognized them as reproductions, but they were all very nicely modeled figures of nude Greek and Roman gods. Upon closer inspection she saw that they were extremely well-endowed gods. Not unlike some of the statuary that she had sold quite profitably during her sojourn in Italy, she thought.

Scenes of lovers entwined in various graphic poses were depicted on the red-figure Greek vases that flanked the windows.

There always seemed to be an inexhaustible demand for naked Greek and Roman gods in the antiquities business, but she was somewhat startled to see such figures here in a mesmerist’s waiting room.

A low, masculine voice drew her attention to the small group of people in the corner. Three ladies, presumably patients, were gathered around a young man who, if anything, was even more handsome than the secretary. He read to the ladies from a leather-bound volume.

Lavinia recognized the lines. They were from one of Shakespeare’s more sensual sonnets. Pleased with the prospect of listening to some well-read poetry, she collected her skirts, preparing to rise and move to another chair, one that was closer to the young man with the book.

At that moment, the door of the waiting room opened again. The blond secretary motioned to Lavinia.

“Dr. Darfield will see you now,” he said in a low voice.

“Excellent.” Already out of her chair, she changed direction and went through the door into the hall.

The secretary closed the door softly and inclined his head toward the staircase.

“Dr. Darfield’s treatment rooms are on the floor above,” he said. “If you will follow me I will show you.”

“Thank you.”

He gave her a charming smile. “But I must ask that you pay the fee in advance.”

“Yes, of course.” She opened her reticule.

The business transaction was completed with stunning efficiency. When it was finished, the secretary escorted her up the stairs and down a hall. He opened a door and bowed her into the chamber.

“Please be seated in the treatment chair. Dr. Darfield will be with you shortly.”

She went through the opening and found herself in a dimly lit room. Heavy drapes were drawn across the window. A single candle burned on a table. The air was scented with fragrant incense.

The door closed quietly behind her. When her eyes were adjusted to the low illumination, she saw a large, padded chair with an unusual, hinged footrest and wide arms in the center of the room. A strange-looking mechanical device with a hand crank sat on a small, wheeled cart.

She put her bonnet aside and went forward to sit down on the padded chair. It proved to be quite comfortable, even with the footrest down.

The door opened just as she was bending over to see how the footrest worked.

“Mrs. Lake? I am Dr. Darfield.”

“Oh.” She sat up quickly at the sound of the deep, resonant voice.

A tall, broad-shouldered man dressed in exotically patterned blue robes stood in the doorway. The attire marked him as a true student of Mesmer, she thought. She had read accounts written by persons who had been privileged to observe the great man at work. According to them, Mesmer had favored flowing robes, subdued lighting, and background music played by handsome young men. Several of the observers had also taken note of the large numbers of women who had flocked to Mesmer’s rooms for treatments, she recalled.

Darfield’s brown hair was cut in a fashionable style that set off his deep, penetrating eyes and showed his excellent profile to perfection. He was not quite so handsome as his assistants, she decided, but he was a good deal more interesting, probably because he was not as young as his employees. It occurred to her that she had reached the age when a gentleman with some crinkles at the corners of his eyes and some experience of the world on his face was vastly more intriguing than a smooth-faced younger man.

She gave him what she hoped was a suitably grateful smile, the sort of smile a lady on the brink of a fit of female hysteria might give her medical practitioner.

“It was kind of you to see me on such short notice,” she said.

Dr. Darfield walked into the chamber and closed the door. “My secretary tells me that your nerves are in very bad condition. Something of an emergency, I collect.”