Charlotte grimaced. “It certainly seemed like a very modern, very romantic notion at the time. But sometimes I wonder if perhaps we may have been a bit too hasty.”

“Enough of this depressing conversation. Let’s talk about something else.”

“Such as?”

“I think there is someone who may be able to shed some light on this investigation.”

“Who?”

“Lady Hollister’s companion,” Virginia said. “There has been so much going on in the past few days that we have all but forgotten about her.”

“Why is she important?”

“She may well have been the last person to see her employer alive.”

Charlotte glanced at the copy of the Flying Intelligencer on the table. “According to the report in the press, Lady Hollister’s body was found by the housekeeper. The rest of the staff was dismissed the morning after you were kidnapped.”

“In which case the companion is no doubt searching for another post.”

“Yes.” Charlotte’s eyes gleamed with anticipation. “I could make some inquiries among the agencies that provide hired companions, if you like. It might take some time, but it shouldn’t be too difficult to find the woman who attended Lady Hollister.”

“That’s a brilliant idea,” Virginia said. “How soon can you start?”

She was interrupted by the tinkling of the bell above the door of the shop. She turned to watch Owen walk into the room. It seemed to her that he entered on an invisible tide of power. The lower edges of his unbuttoned overcoat swept out around him. She thrilled to his presence as she always did, with a stirring sense of awareness.

He was followed by a tall, lanky gentleman in need of a visit to his barber. The long-haired man wore an expensively tailored but sadly rumpled suit. His tie was a shapeless knot at his throat.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” Owen said. He came to a halt in the center of the room and inclined his head very formally in Charlotte’s direction. “Miss Tate, I presume?”

Virginia remembered her manners. “This is Mr. Sweetwater, Charlotte.”

Charlotte stared, fascinated, at Owen. “Yes, I know. Indeed, all the Leybrook practitioners are aware of your identity, sir.”

Owen looked amused. “Miss Dean warned me that was the case.”

Charlotte blushed. “You have a certain reputation in our world, Mr. Sweetwater.”

“So I’m told.” He moved one gloved hand toward the tall man in the rumpled suit. “Allow me to present my cousin, Nicholas Sweetwater. Nick, Miss Dean and Miss Tate.”

Virginia and Charlotte both looked politely at Nick, but he seemed unaware of them. He had wandered over to the locked bookcase and was perusing the collection of ancient leather-bound volumes with great interest.

“I say, this collection looks a good deal more promising than I had anticipated, Owen,” he announced. “When you informed me that we were going to visit a bookshop that specialized in the paranormal, I assumed the place would be rife with lurid books on magic and the occult. But I see what may actually be a genuine copy of Wakefield’s Notes on Alchemy.”

“It is most certainly a genuine copy of Wakefield’s Notes, sir,” Charlotte snapped. “I would not have taken the trouble to store it in that locked case if it was a copy or a forgery.”

“What?” Startled, Nick turned around. For the first time he appeared to notice Charlotte and Virginia. He turned red. “Sorry. Good afternoon, ladies.”

Virginia murmured a polite greeting. Now that she could see him more plainly, she realized that Nick Sweetwater was younger than Owen, twenty-eight or twenty-nine, perhaps. There was some family resemblance, most noticeably in the broad shoulders and lean physiques of the two men. But Nick’s intelligent eyes lacked the dark knowledge that burned in the depths of Owen’s disturbing gaze.

“That particular volume is extremely rare,” Charlotte informed Nick in frosty tones.

“I am well aware of that,” Nick said eagerly. “I would very much like to examine it to determine its authenticity for myself.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Charlotte said a little too sweetly.

“What do you mean? This is a bookshop. I am interested in examining a book that I might wish to purchase.”

“I’m afraid I only allow legitimate practitioners of the paranormal and researchers who are known to me or vouchsafed by someone I trust to examine the books in the locked cases,” Charlotte informed him in lofty accents. “Many of those volumes contain dangerous information. I cannot let just anyone read them.”

Nick stared at her, shocked. Then he started to scowl. “I assure you I possess a fair amount of psychical ability. Just ask my cousin, here.”

Owen caught Virginia’s eye. She realized he was suppressing a grin.

“I am happy to verify that my cousin does indeed possess a high level of psychical ability,” Owen said.

“What of it?” Charlotte shot back. “That is not as important as his standing as a researcher. What are his academic credentials?”

Nick’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll have you know, Miss Tate, that I can read a number of ancient languages, including three or four that are dead, and I have deciphered the codes of several old alchemists.”

“Hmm.” Charlotte was not impressed.

“I have been a student of the paranormal since I was old enough to open a book. I have, in fact, written a few papers for the Arcane Society’s Journal of Paranormal and Psychical Research, which is, I might add, a far more legitimate publication than the Leybrook Institute’s ridiculous rag. It’s true that I write under a pseudonym, due to the fact that my family does not like to see the Sweetwater name in print, but that does not alter the validity of my work.”

“Oh, dear,” Virginia murmured. “I’m afraid Arcane is not the most helpful recommendation, sir.”

Nick switched his attention to her. “What do you mean?”

Charlotte cleared her throat. “For your information, Mr. Sweetwater, the Arcane Society carries very little weight in this shop.”

“How can you say that?” Nick swept out a hand to indicate one of the shelves. “It looks like you’ve got several years’ worth of the Society’s Journal over there. Which means you’ve got some of my research papers sitting right here on the premises.”

“I do subscribe to the Journal,” Charlotte agreed. “But that does not mean that I tolerate its members, which I have always found to be an arrogant and irritating lot.”

“So do I,” Nick shot back. “Which is why I am not a member of the Society.”

Owen cleared his throat. “Well, that and the fact that Sweetwaters are not in the habit of joining organizations of any kind.”

“That’s not the point,” Nick grumbled.

“No, it’s not,” Charlotte agreed.

Evidently concluding that the argument had gone on long enough, Owen took charge.

“Now that we have all survived the social pleasantries,” he said, “I suggest we move on to the particulars of the situation that brings us together today.”

“An excellent notion,” Virginia said quickly.

“My cousin is assisting me in the investigation,” Owen said. “This morning he tracked down the clock maker who made the clockwork weapons.”

“That’s wonderful news,” Virginia said.

Nick grimaced. “No, it’s not, I’m afraid. Owen and I paid a visit to the shop. It was empty. Mrs. Bridewell, the clock maker, has disappeared. There was no trace of any of her curiosities or her financial records left on the premises.”

“Oh,” Virginia said, deflated. “Now what do we do?”

“We will leave Mrs. Bridewell to J & J,” Owen said. “I want Nick to help us with another aspect of the investigation. He has agreed to attend the reception at the Institute tonight. I want him to assess possible suspects in the crowd.”

Charlotte narrowed her eyes at Nick. “Are you any good at that sort of thing, Mr. Sweetwater?”

“Yes,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I am.”