Page 49 of A Dangerous Vision

“We do not,” he said smoothly, “but it’s most urgent that we speak with her.”

The housemaid assessed him a moment longer, then seemed to relent. “And your name, sir?”

“Gideon Pierce, and this is Miss Electra Poole.”

The maid stepped back, ushered them inside, and then bid them to wait in the house’s foyer. She took a few steps down the hall and slid a pair of pocket doors open just enough for her to slip inside.

Electra could detect a discussion, muted by the wood panels, as she took in the house’s details. Art cluttered the walls, but in a pleasing way. All the color seemed to blend harmoniously with the pale-yellow wallpaper, the polished oak banister, the vase of flowers on a half-moon table. Every surface was neat, and the entryway smelled of lemon wax.

When the maid emerged, she waved them closer. “Miss Mahoney says she’ll see you, but she can only spare a quarter of an hour.”

“That’ll do,” Gideon told her. “Thank you.”

After the maid took their coats, she pointed toward the pocket doors. Inside the room, the scent changed to one of roses. A bouquet of them sat on a table near the doors. It captured Electra’s senses, as it was a scent that reminded her of her mother, who’d always favored rosewater.

The room itself was cluttered with furnishings. A set of chairs sat facing a velvet settee, but another settee sat back-to-back with that one. The second settee faced a massive dark-wood desk, mahogany perhaps, with a black leather blotter and a lovely stained-glass oil lamp dominating the edge of it. The rest of the desk was littered with ledgers.

Behind it, a lady with bright red hair stood to greet them. She peered at them from over gold spectacles, as if cataloging everything she could in that single glance.

“This is unexpected.” Her voice was husky and had a faint Irish lilt to it. “I am not in the habit of receiving visitors with whom I am unacquainted. Or haven’t explicitly invited.” Coming out from her behind her desk, the tall, lean woman crossed her arms and squared her shoulders, almost defensively. “Who are you and what is the reason for your visit?”

Gideon strode forward. “Miss Mahoney, thank you for seeing us. I have a few questions for you regarding the death of Percival Pennington.”

The lady jolted back, as if unable to conceal her shock. “Are you an investigator? Has the family hired someone?”

“Not the family, Miss Mahoney. I am a detective inspector with Scotland Yard, which I failed to tell your maid. Forgive me. I thought it might prevent you from wishing to speak with me.”

A slow smile spread across her full lips, making her look suddenly younger. Electra judged her to be in her mid-thirties.

“I have no battles with Scotland Yard, Inspector, and I trust it has none with me. But it does necessitate a change in the nature of our conversation.”

“Oh?” By his tone, Electra sensed Gideon’s interest was piqued. “In what regard?”

“Well,” Miss Mahoney said with a coy smile, “I may be a bit more circumspect in my answers.”

“I would urge you to tell me the truth, Miss Mahoney. That will help me a great deal.”

The lady gave no response to that, just regarded him with an amused look, then turned her attention to Electra. “And you? Are you a lady investigator? I didn’t know Scotland Yard allowed women to attain such a role, but I suspect they’d be better off if they did.” She said the last with a glance at Gideon.

“My name is Electra Poole. I’m not a Scotland Yard investigator, I’m afraid.”

But the lady knew that. She knew who Electra was. There was a palpable sense of recognition in her expression.

“I’ve read about you in the newspaper and saw a sketch of you.” Miss Mahoney took a few steps closer. Her pale blue eyes glinted behind her spectacles. “You’re a seer.”

“Yes,” Electra admitted.

“I would very much like to speak to you one day. Privately.” She tipped a look at Gideon. “Do you accept a fee for what you do? I would insist on paying you, Miss Poole.”

“I do, Miss Mahoney.”

The lady turned back to her desk and plucked a calling card from a gilded tray on her desk, then handed it to Electra. “You could call on me, or I could call on you, if you prefer.”

Electra reached into her reticule and pulled out one of her own calling cards. “If you write to me at this address, providing a time and your preference of date, we can arrange something.”

Miss Mahoney took her card, gave it a cursory glance, and smiled. “Thank you, Miss Poole. You shall be hearing from me soon.”

Gideon had stood by patiently during the exchange, but he shifted on his feet when they were done.