The Lazarus Engine – Chapter 15
The Séance
Lady Isolde Vane had not fled the manor fire. She had simply moved her operation to a townhouse in Belgravia, where she hosted weekly séances for wealthy widows and grieving mothers. It was the perfect cover. No one suspected that the spiritualist who spoke to the dead was also protecting a woman who built engines to kill the living.
Thorne and Gray arrived at the townhouse at 8:00 PM, four hours before midnight. The fog had lifted, but the night was cold. A line of carriages waited outside the door. Inside, the guests were already gathered in a parlor lit by candles and draped in black velvet.
“Isolde will be expecting us,” Thorne said.
“Then let’s not disappoint her.”
The séance was already in progress when they entered.
The guests sat in a circle, hands joined, eyes closed. At the head of the circle stood Isolde Vane, dressed in a gown of deep purple, her face hidden behind a veil. She was chanting something in a language Thorne didn’t recognize—Latin, perhaps, or something older.
When she saw them, she stopped.
“Dr. Thorne. Constable Gray. How delightful.” She gestured to two empty chairs. “Please. Join us. We were just about to contact the spirit of Sir Humphrey Wells.”
The guests murmured. A few opened their eyes.
Gray sat down. Thorne remained standing.
“We’re not here for a séance, Lady Vane. We’re here for Charlotte.”
Isolde’s smile did not waver. “Charlotte is not here. She is… elsewhere.”
“Then you’ll take us to her.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible. Charlotte chooses her own company. And tonight, she has chosen the Royal Institute.” Isolde lifted a crystal glass from the table. “But first—a toast. To the dead. And to those who will soon join them.”
She raised the glass to her lips.
Thorne knocked it from her hand.
The glass shattered on the floor. The liquid—dark red, like wine—sizzled where it touched the carpet.
“Poison,” Gray said.
Isolde’s face went white. “That was not—”
“It was. And you knew it.” Thorne grabbed her wrist. “Charlotte sent you to kill us. Or at least to slow us down.”
The guests were screaming now, scrambling for the doors. Within seconds, the parlor was empty except for Thorne, Gray, and Isolde.
Isolde pulled free of Thorne’s grip.
“Charlotte doesn’t want you dead,” she hissed. “She wants you present. At the Institute. At midnight. She wants you to witness her triumph.”
“Then why the poison?”
“A test. To see if you were worthy.” Isolde stepped back. “You passed. Now go. The Institute is waiting. And so is she.”
She pointed to the door.
Thorne and Gray exchanged a glance. Then they walked out.
On the street, Gray said, “She’s playing with us.”
“Let her. We have the counter-measure. We have the regulator. We have Pound’s device.” Thorne pulled out his pocket watch. 9:15 PM. “We have time.”
“Enough time to stop her?”
Thorne looked toward the Royal Institute, its dome visible above the rooftops.
“We have enough time to try.”
They hailed a cab.
Behind them, in the townhouse, Isolde Vane knelt on the floor and collected the shattered glass.
She pressed a piece to her lips and whispered, “Forgive me, Charlotte. They’re stronger than we thought.”
Somewhere in the distance, a clock began to chime.