Jane lingered in the kitchen, looking at the gleaming metal, barely blackened anymore from the flames. She thought of the scalpel that had bit into her finger. Creeping closer, she looked for any trace of blood on the cloth they rested on and found nothing.
Of course there was nothing. They’d been cleaned. They were identical to the instruments at the surgery that had seen a hundred patients. The past did not cling to them, any more than it should have clung to the house.
When she emerged from the kitchen, she found the doctors all gathered in the foyer, checking their bags. Hunt’s hand was bound tight, and she was swaying slightly where she stood. There were many hours still until dawn. Jane frowned.
“What has happened?”
“The spell,” Reese said as she cinched her valise shut. She had shed her robes—they all had—but she still looked slightly abstracted as she had inside the circle. She eyed Jane warily. “I haven’t been able to right it.”
“Leave off it!” one of the men snapped. “You’re just riling everybody up with your spiritualist talk. The carriages are hours off still, and if any of us is going to get to sleep, we need to drop the act for the night. It’s not fun anymore, Reese.”
Reese scowled, and Hunt laughed shrilly. “It’s not fun because you know it’s real now.”
“See, look what you’ve done!” the man shouted.
“Doctors,” Jane said, stepping into the fray though she quaked in her shoes. “This house is not the most comforting place to spend the night, as Dr. Lawrence and I attempted to warn you.” You are not safe; we should all leave immediately. But she could hear rain beginning to drum on the roof far above, and she felt again the carriage turning, sliding toward the ridge. It was a risk to remain, but it was plainly dangerous to leave. “Let us all settle in to the sitting room; I will fetch blankets. Though I understand your unease, I assure you that you are in no danger.”
The spirits had yet to attack her.
She had to believe that would hold.
CHAPTER TWENTY
THERE WAS LITTLE sleep in the sitting room, though Jane saw no more visions or ghostly specters, statuesque or otherwise. There were no more disappearing bags, though one of the doctors—an ophthalmologist named Dr. Guernsey—thought for five minutes that his cravat had been stolen from his very neck, only to admit, sheepishly, that perhaps he had loosened it earlier and it had slipped off on its own.
Murmurations swept through the room in cycles, Reese still wide-eyed and convinced that she had put them all in danger, Hunt on the edge of hysterics, and all the rest vacillating by the hour as to whether they thought everything a game that had overstayed its welcome, or a real threat. Dr. Nizamiev sat quietly by the doorway out to the hall, contributing nothing, entertaining no theories and offering no guidance, merely writing in her notebook. Jane watched her nervously.
Nobody spoke to her after she provided the blankets and Reese had checked her eyes and balance for any sign of lingering disruption. Once she was proven sound, in body if not in mind, they all avoided her. She was grateful; all the safety of not being alone, all the privacy of being ignored. It was only quietly that she wondered if they were afraid of her.
When the sun finally broke over the mist-draped hills surrounding Lindridge Hall, and Mrs. Purl and Mrs. Luthbright arrived, bearing apologies that there would not be much breakfast beyond bread and tea, the tension in the house lessened—but did not leave entirely. Vingh immediately imposed on Mrs. Purl to have her husband go to town and summon back their carriages, despite her protests that he would already be working in the fields. Jane saw a small amount of money change hands, and then Mrs. Purl was out the door.
Jane left the group as they sat down to breakfast, retreating up to the bedroom to splash water on her face and change her clothing. The bed galled her now to her very core, and for a moment she considered telling Mrs. Purl to ready the upstairs bedroom for her alone. But no; she had no plans to remain. Not in this house, and not in this madness.
The carriages seemingly arrived as soon as she had buttoned up her fresh dress, and Jane realized she must have drifted off where she was standing.
She shook herself and went back out into the hallway, watching from the landing as her guests gathered up all their belongings. She descended the stairs, smoothing out her skirts, and came to Hunt’s side. The woman was bleary-eyed, her hair frizzing wildly.
“Where will you be staying in town?” Jane asked.
“Nowhere.”
Relief warred with embarrassment in her heart. “Are you sure?”