She discovered she was screaming only when he slapped her hard enough to jolt her from the trance. She lay trembling, dizzy and ill, and focused slowly on his eyes. He sat staring down at her, eyes wide and shocked and blazing with an unholy sort of triumph. “By God,” he whispered, “what else can you do?”
When she was unable to speak, he leaned close. “Concentrate! Tell me where Eddy is now!”
The tragic, lonely young man flashed into her mind, surrounded by splendour such as Ianira had never dreamed might exist. He was seated at a long table, covered with gleaming silver and crystal and china edged in gold. An elderly woman in black Ianira recognized from photographs presided over the head of the table, her severe gaze directed toward the frightened young man.
“You are not to go wandering about in the East End again, Eddy, is that understood? It is a disgrace, shameful, such conduct. I’m sending you to Sandringham soon, I won’t stand for such behavior . . .”
“Yes, Grandmama,” he whispered, confused and miserable and frightened to be the object of her displeasure.
Ianira did not realize she had spoken aloud, describing what she saw until her jailor’s voice shocked her back into the little room with the expensive coverlets and the gas lights and the drugs in her veins. “Sandringham?” he gasped. “The queen is sending him to Scotland? Bloody hell . . .” Then the look in his eyes changed. “Might be just as well. Get the boy out of the road for a bit, until this miserable business is finished. God knows, I won’t risk having him connected with it.”