Page 25 of A Dangerous Vision

The pale light of dawn filtered through her bedroom curtains just before five, and Electra gave up on sleep. She rose to wash and dress and head down to the kitchen for a cup of tea. She’d slept fitfully, plagued with thoughts of Mr. Percival Pennington’s murder and curiosity about why the man had died with her calling card clutched in his hand.

Most of her clients had been women, and she rarely gave out her card to strangers. Most often, they were presented to servants when she called upon a client in their home, so that she could be announced.

“Good morning, Miss Poole.” Jenny, one of the housemaids, greeted her with a smile as she stepped into the cream-tiled kitchen. “Tea or coffee, miss?”

“Tea would be lovely.”

“Shall I bring a tray up?”

“I’ll take my cup up myself. I’m not sure when Lady Redmayne will join me.”

The young woman nodded and assembled a small tray with a single cup of tea, just the way she liked it, and small plate with a few biscuits on it.

“Thank you, Jenny.” As Electra headed for the stairwell, she noticed the morning papers had already been delivered. They were laid out in preparation to be taken to the breakfast room when Cordelia came down.

She walked over and scanned the headlines. One stood out in tall black letters, and Electra clutched the newspaper in her hand.

OUTRAGE IN MOUNT STREET - FATAL STABBING OF RENOWNED BARRISTER

“I’m taking this one up,” she said before folding the newspaper under her arm and rushing up the stairs and into the drawing room.

She sat and opened the paper, reading the very brief account. It mentioned that Percival Pennington was seen in good health in court that day, then found stabbed last evening on Mount Street, near his residence.

Electra sat back and swallowed as memories flooded her mind. Not the sort that came when she saw the thoughts of others, but her own painful remembrances. The constable who’d come to their door to inform her that her father had been found—lifeless, beaten, with his pockets emptied—less than a mile from their front door. His murder was never solved, to Gideon’s great regret.

Had the barrister’s murder been as random as her father’s?

The newspaper mentioned that he’d been found with his watch and personal items intact, making robbery seem unlikely. When her father was attacked, they had been living in a neighborhood that wasn’t as fine or safe as Mayfair. But if the barrister’s murder was intentional, why attack a man in public, on the very street where he lived?

She considered seeking Gideon out. He wouldn’t wish for her to interfere, but he could hardly make the claim that the man’s murder had nothing to do with her since her card had been in the man’s hand.

Thankfully, the papers made no mention of that detail.

For a long while, she sipped her tea, savoring its warmth and trying not to sink into memories of her father and those harrowing days after learning of his death. She focused instead on the mystery of Percival Pennington, a man she was certain she’d never met, and yet, was linked to in some odd way.

What had Gideon discovered so far? And would he share any details with her?

To Electra’s surprise, Cordelia came down a little more than an hour later and joined her in the drawing room.

After Cordelia had her own cup of tea in hand, she confessed, “I struggled to sleep, and Kit was off again early this morning.” She smiled over the rim of her teacup.

The previous evening, Kit had not joined them for dinner. He’d sent a message that a debate in the House would keep him late, but he had arrived a couple of hours later. The three of them had chatted in the drawing room until Electra had gone up to her chamber.

“I'm eager to have him home,” Cordelia said as she traced her finger along the rim of her teacup, “but it frightens me as well.”

“Why does it frighten you?”

“We've lived apart for much of a year. He's come to visit, of course. Sometimes for several days, as you know.” She shot Electra an almost bashful smile, as if recalling those times fondly.

“Is that not how it should be?” Electra had observed that the two of them behave more warmly toward each other of late, though she’d seen them spar with each other too. Still, it had never been odd to her when Kit remained at Russell Square. It was his home.

“Yes, it is, and I want him here. But it won't be the same as before. You remember those early days?”

“I remember you were happy.”

“Quite blissfully.” A warm smile lit up her face, one Electra had noticed she reserved, of late, for Kit.

“You never told me what happened, Cordelia.”