Lillian Holmes and the Leaping Man (6 page)

***

The evening was as hot and cloudless as the day. Bess pulled Lillian along from this tent to that vendor, every which way, so excited to be out and about in a crowd. She squealed in front of a colorfully striped tent and squeezed Lillian’s arm. “Oh! We found her!”

“I see why you are here, Elisabeth.” Lillian pointed to the sign announcing Madam Pelosi’s talents and sighed. Wasn’t it enough that they would be entertained by this charlatan on Saturday night? There was a short line of people waiting to experience the magic for themselves. “Your romantic life is not in the hands of the spirit world. I entreat you to walk with me and save your coin.”

Bess frowned and stomped her good foot. “Your promises are very short-lived, Lil. You owe me several gay evenings, a dress and a hat, and if memory serves—”

“And it always does.”

“—a trip to the seaside as a reward for dressing as a charwoman and following that poor,
innocent
Chinaman about last summer.”

“Well, I was mistaken about him. I was certain that was a disguise. In any case, I suggest a compromise. Walk with me a bit, and we will return shortly to end our adventure at this tent. I would like a cool drink first.”

“You know I do not like to walk far.”

“Just a bit. Come now, be brave and proud!”

Lillian marveled at the transformation of her neighborhood park—indeed, it belonged to all of Baltimore, though she’d come to think of it as her personal garden, as it nearly fronted her home. Tonight strains of calliope music fought with a marching band playing the latest Sousa tune in the distance, and were punctuated by the squeals of children’s laughter.

Bess clapped as a juggler threw flaming torches high into the air. A man dressed in Chinese silks and a grotesque mask walked past them on stilts in the unsettling gait of a giant insect. “Perhaps
he
is your criminal. Would you have me follow him as well?” she chided.

Their attention was drawn to a hundred marvels, and Lillian, much to her own surprise, found that she was enjoying the night immensely. She only thought of the Leaping Man every half hour or so.

Bess adjusted Lillian’s feathered hat and linked her arm through hers. “Isn’t this better than reading a pamphlet on soils or mollusks or the history of the Hindus? Why must you always wear deep blue? You look as if you’re in mourning. How lovely you’d look in white. I know, quite impractical. You’re so beautiful, Lillian. Why must you ignore your appearance? Now your hat has gone quite floppy again.”

“I’ve gone quite floppy in this heat. At least I didn’t wear a corset. You must be ready to faint. Although I must say you look rather pretty in all that pink, like a small party cake from Eisner’s bakery.”

“No corset?” Bess’s blonde curls bobbed as she shook her head in frustration. “Didn’t Aileen dress you tonight? What am I to do with you?”

Bess regaled Lillian with details of the coming circus, but Lillian only took in half of what she said. Several feet away, a young boy of no more than eight, dressed in near rags that hung limply on his thin torso, pretended to watch a shell game at a nearby table. He was giving quick glances at a gentleman whose senses were entirely focused on the chap running the game.

I see you, little man.

In a practiced nonchalant move, the urchin backed into the gentleman, apologized, and moved deftly behind a nearby tree. Lillian dashed after him and clamped onto his arm before he could flee. She squatted down and stared into his widened eyes.

“Yes, miss?” He trembled, eyes darting about to plan his escape.

Lillian held her palm out. The boy bit at his lip and dropped the watch and fob into her hand.

“I am going to count. If you are not far from this park by the time I reach twenty, you shall certainly be sorry. Do you understand?” She kept a tight grip on the boy’s arm.

“Lillian, surely you must report him,” Bess whispered, appearing from around the side of the tree.

“Surely you know he is too young for prison, where he will no doubt live someday,” Lillian whispered back. Then, to the quivering boy she said, “One,” and he was off like a rabbit.

Lillian handed the watch and fob to Bess with the instruction to return them to the owner before she spun to address the busy table with the shell game. She pushed her way directly to the front and picked up the thimblerigger’s three thimbles, creating a scene among his unsuspecting patrons.

The thimblerigger’s face flushed scarlet in anger. “What are you thinking there? Give me those back. I have a business to run.”

“Your business is a fraud. Your son is a shill and a pickpocket. I would encourage your customers to move along and enjoy the music.”

Bess linked them arm in arm to pull Lillian away from the burly man. “That’s enough, Lil. We must hurry, or we’ll not have time for our psychic readings.” As they made their escape she added, “How did you know it was his son?”

“How could you not know?”

“You must be more discreet. Now that carnie is angry at you, and if your neighbors are about they’ll tell Addie or even the Jackal about your shenanigans.”

“Stopping a theft is not shenanigans. The Jackal, as a lawyer, albeit a terrible one in my estimation, could not even argue that point.”

They bought lemons with peppermint stick straws and strolled back to the medium’s tent. A patron emerged, and with no one else in line Bess steeled herself for her long-desired reading.

“I shall wait here,” Lillian ventured.

“No, please! What if she imparts terrible news? I would want you nearby.”

Bess pulled at Lillian’s arm and drew back the tent flap. The cloying smell of candles and incense assaulted them as the contents of the darkened tent came into focus, and Bess cried out at the otherworldly images that danced on a screen set up on one side of the tent.

“Bess, it’s a phantasmagoria, a projection, designed to instill fear and wonder. Ignore the images.” At the same time Lillian wondered how Mr. Conan Doyle could be so taken with this type of amusement. Surely he did not believe in anything but the here and now, as did Uncle Sherlock.

She started at the astounding vision of Madam Pelosi and her ridiculous costume: a multicolored suit of varying fabrics, a tall black hat with a meshed veil pulled across her cheeks, enough kohl on her eyes for a wagon of gypsies. The woman was more frightful even than the phantasmagoria.

Lillian took Bess’s hand. “I think we have made a mistake.”

The medium smiled, bringing deep dimples to life. “What sort of mistake, Miss Holmes?” Then she patted the table in a merry fashion with her black lace gloves and gestured for them to sit.

Bess tightened her grip on Lillian’s hand and whispered, “She knows your name, Lil!”

“I would think that her friend Kitty Twamley is skilled at description. Is that not so, Madam Pelosi?”

“Do call me Anna. My friends do, and my hope is that we shall become friends. Kitty described you both perfectly, which is her habit as she is an artist.”

Lillian sighed and examined the counterfeit antiquities for sale on a display table and shelves above it.

“Of course, Mr. Orleans said that you were both beautiful women of society.”

“How generous,” Lillian mumbled.

“Now, Miss Wheeler, since Miss Holmes is not a believer, I assume you are the one with questions for the spirit world?”

Bess stepped forward and nodded eagerly.

As her friend discussed with Anna what manner of communication would be best for the divination of her future, Lillian continued to survey the medium’s possessions: jars of crushed stones and colorful viscous liquids that vied for shelf space with talismans from the corners of the world, miniature obelisks and pyramids, and even a few fragments that appeared to be mummified human fingers and toes.

“We are ready, Miss Holmes,” Anna announced. “Won’t you join us?”

Lillian took a seat and watched carefully for the medium’s tricks. Madam Pelosi closed her eyes and hummed lowly, swaying to and fro. Bess seemed mesmerized, but Lillian recognized the tune as a southern Negro cakewalk rather than a mysterious chant of the Orient.

As if she truly read minds, Anna opened her eyes suddenly and stared at Lillian. “I am simply clearing my head. The tune is not important.” She pulled out a leather bound notebook, flattened it open to a fresh page, and dipped her pen in a bronze inkwell. “Miss Wheeler, ask three questions and I will lift the veil to allow the spirits to answer.”

Lillian snickered. “Will the spirits write in English or Italian, Miss Pelosi?”

Bess was undeterred. She leaned in to whisper her questions in Anna’s ear.

Immediately, the mystic wrote in a flourishing script, not stopping for a full minute. “There!” she said when through. “Simple enough. You are favored, Miss Wheeler. The spirits are happy to report that, aside from your gait, you are sound of health, will live a happy life, and bear several healthy children. You will find a good match within the year.”

Bess let out a gasp and quickly covered her mouth to hide how pleased she was.

Lillian held back a cluck of disdain and rose to leave. Any simpleton would know the right answers to give an unmarried young woman. “Since I owe you several debts, Elisabeth, allow me to pay for your reading.”

“There is no charge, Miss Holmes, as we have a mutual friend. Now it is your turn.”

“No, thank you.”

“Are you quite sure? The spirit world dictated for you as well. I believe we have contacted one of your dearly departed relatives. Your mother, perhaps?”

Anna turned the notebook around and stared into Lillian’s eyes until gooseflesh rose on her flesh and her legs turned to soft taffy. The light reflecting on her face made her look deathly pale beneath her heavy makeup, and her breath seemed to take on shape, as if they sat out in freezing winter.

Bess linked her arm through Lillian’s. “Miss Pelosi, that is a delicate matter. Lillian is more sensitive on this subject than she might appear.”

“I assure you, it is not meant in jest.”

Lillian eyed the scrawl and felt frozen, afraid to look, unable to turn away. No, the mother she did not remember would not speak to this charlatan. But she struggled to hold back a tear as she leaned in and squinted to take in the words.

As she finished reading the first phrase,
Beware, my love,
the script faded quickly until she saw only a blank page.

Lillian sat up straight and gathered herself. “Disappearing ink from beyond the grave, Miss Pelosi?”

The woman frowned and examined her bronze inkpot. “Heartfelt apologies, Miss Holmes. I am sure I filled the pot with India ink. How unfortunate.” She pinched the bridge of her turned-up nose and blew out a deep breath. “I cannot remember what I wrote. That is the nature of the communication. It is a trance, you see.”

“How inconvenient,” Lillian retorted.

“Oh, now, don’t be angry. We will meet again at the Orleans home, where I shall make it right.” She offered her gloved hand, which Lillian shook.

Bess and Lillian left the tent. As arm in arm they wound their way up to Eutaw Street, Lillian kept silent, mulling over the strange encounter with Madam Annaluisa Pelosi. At least, she admitted, her friend was happy knowing her future was secure.

CHAPTER FIVE

He stoops to conquer.

“No, I won’t do it.” George tapped his brother in the back with his walking stick to punctuate each word.

“You said you’d enjoy hunting with me again. Blazes, George, I’m usually snug in my bed by this hour.”

“It’s not my fault you prefer daylight and I dislike it.”

Phillip sneered. “You created me. Now hold a cloth over your nose. You asked for one week to prove your sincerity. I intend to fully test your character change.”

George stared at the gruesome sight before them. A young man lay on the dock, having taken a bullet to his torso. He wore the clothes of a sailor, with the grime and stench of the harbor covering his clothes, and he was near death, given the amount of blood seeping out of him. Next to him, his small roll of belongings had been rifled through, and no doubt any valuables whisked into the night by his attacker.

“Perhaps he’s dead.”

“He’s not dead and you know it. He’s suffering.”

“Then we should call for a physician.”

“Stop it! He has a few minutes. And we could be after his attacker, you know. Although it’s likely too late for that.”

“After his attacker? It’s not enough that you feast on the damned, you also try to right society’s wrongs? Will you become a barrister next? Perhaps open a home for sailors and orphans?”

“I’m immune to your insults, as you well know.”

“God, this is a hard bargain.” George steeled himself for the stench and knelt by the victim. “My appetite is nearly spoiled.” But he lied. He’d not fed for the two days he’d been back in the house with Phillip.

He knelt down and lifted the dying lad into his arms. Their gazes held for a moment before George pushed the sailor’s face to the side and slid his teeth into that barely pulsing neck. But the rush of energy through his veins was tainted as he drank, tainted with the act of helping usher this man out of pain. His eyes had said it all.
“Help me.”

George did. When he wiped his mouth and stood, he turned away from Phillip’s annoying watchfulness.

“See, you survived.”

George shrugged off Phillip’s hand and strode along the dock.

“Oh, come on, Georgy. I’ve seen you do far lower things.”

Aye, they’d
all
been lower.
Had he felt sympathy before this night? What a hellish bargain this would be, far worse than he anticipated. “I’m going home. Enough for one night. I need a bath.”

“That’s fine. Now, to impress Kitty a bit more, you’ll have to socialize with us. It will take some masterful acting on your part to be less of a bore—”

“A bore!”

Phillip smiled, and George couldn’t help but smirk back. It
was
good to be with him again, even under these intolerable circumstances.

“Yes, we’re entertaining on Saturday. You remember Madam Pelosi from New Orleans, don’t you? She’ll be there, and a few new friends of Kitty’s.”