A Riddle in Bronze

the heart of the matter wasn't helping. "Perhaps if you started with the letter?" I suggested.
"Here. Read it for yourself."
My dearest Roberta,
It was such a relief to be free of troubling spirits after your recent visit, but I'm afraid that relief lasted barely a week. Already, the phantasms return, and my household is all on edge once more.
I urgently require your assistance in this matter, and I understand if your bill reflects the rapid attention I require. No amount of money is too much for peace of mind.
Lady Fotherington-Eames
P.S. Although money is no object, I did feel your last bill was excessive.
I read the letter twice, but could make no connection between her ladyship's fancies and the professor's study of metals. Finally, I placed the letter on the table and looked to Roberta for an explanation.
"She is troubled by spirits," said Roberta.
"So I see."
"And she will pay to have them removed."
"I read that also."
"My father and I, we…" she stopped, and was unable to look me in the eyes. "We remove troublesome spirits on behalf of our clients."
In my dream, the professor had appeared as a music-hall magician, complete with top hat, tails and magic wand. Now, it seemed, my dream had a ring of truth to it after all. And what of Roberta? Was this intelligent young woman nothing more than the magician's assistant, twirling around in her undergarments and handing her father his props during his act? Shocked, I sat back in my seat, subconsciously distancing myself from Roberta. "But only the worst kind of charlatan would play a trick like that! Why, you're deceiving an old lady out of her money!" Then a further thought occurred to me, one even more troubling. "You're not planning on involving me in such parlour games?" I pushed my chair back and stood. "If that's the case, then the devil take your contract and your fifty pounds a year. I shall walk out this instant!"
She looked up at me. "Will you sit and listen, you self-righteous idiot?"
The words were cutting, but she spoke with a certain fondness, like a sister chiding a sibling. Feeling a little foolish after my passionate outburst, I retook my seat.
She, in turn, leaned towards me and clasped my hands in hers. "You must understand this. Whatever we're doing, whatever show we put on for our clients… it works."

Chapter 5
I studied Roberta's face, noting her earnest expression, and I decided that she had to be telling the truth. Either that, or she was the most accomplished liar I had ever met. "But ghosts and phantasms…" I protested. "They belong in a Dickens serial, not real life!"
"Septimus, all I ask is that you keep an open mind," said Roberta.
At that moment I became aware of two things. First, she was still holding my hands, and her slim fingers were warm and strong. And second, she had addressed me by my Christian name for the very first time. I am not a man given to romantic notions and the like, but I confess my heart quickened.
She, perhaps noticing this, withdrew her hands and folded them in her lap. "In any case, it does not matter," she said, her manner all of a sudden more formal. "You were employed in a financial capacity, and the work my father and I perform is neither here nor there. I have already revealed more than I should have, and should you be tempted to speak of our methods to outsiders, I would direct you to the terms of your contract."
I recalled the document I had signed the day before, of which I had read not a single word. "I will not share your secrets. You can trust me."
"I hope that is the case." Roberta gave me a reassuring smile. "Over time, as we get to know you, I'm sure father and I will reveal more of the workings of our business. You must be patient though, since others we once thought trustworthy turned out to be anything but."
This was the first I had heard of any others, and I was about to ask about the fate of my predecessors when Roberta stood. "Come, I will show you to your office. It's time you made a start on your day."
She led me to a study on the second floor, smaller than the professor's and illuminated by a single gaslight. There was a modest desk, the surface worn from use, and a small bookcase nearby which contained several dozen ledgers. Piled on top were numerous stacks of paperwork, at least a foot thick from the look of them. On the desk stood an inkwell and a number of quills, along with a blotter. On the wall behind the desk there were two paintings, one depicting a naval battle with tall ships, the other a country scene with cows. Nearby, a high-backed chair completed the furnishings, the leather seat sunken and cracked.
Roberta gestured towards the bookcase. "For the time being, I'd like you to enter expenses, receipts and invoices into the correct ledgers. It is some weeks since they were updated, and I know there are clients who have yet to pay what they owe."
"But of course." After the strange events and revelations of the past twenty-four hours, I relished the opportunity to bury myself in some traditional bookkeeping. "Until what time should I work?"
"There are no set hours, as long as the accounts are up to date." She saw me eyeing the stacks of paperwork to be processed, and laughed. "There is no need for alarm, Mr Jones. We do not expect miracles. Work at a steady pace, and you will be meeting your obligations. Now, I have matters to attend to, so I will leave you to your work."
After she departed, I transferred the three most recent ledgers to the desk, these covering a period of approximately six months. Then I took a large stack of paperwork and set it alongside. There were pages of all sizes, with notes from