The Spiritualist (8 page)

“Of course, but—perhaps I should go to Dorothy Bennett’s and make inquiries?”

“Good Lord, Evelyn, what a dreadful idea!” Penny said. “It would be best if you stayed home. That way, if Peter returns or sends word, you’ll be the first to hear.”

“You should stay here too, Penny.” Pamela turned from the window. “It would help to have someone near, wouldn’t it, Evelyn? Some family to help you through this trying time?”

“I’d be grateful for it,” I said, though I didn’t like how quickly they dismissed the one bit of information I had.

“And Evelyn,” Pamela went on thoughtfully, “do go through his things, as the police suggested, won’t you? I doubt anything will surface, but it does seem that Peter kept secrets from us after all, and I wonder”—she looked up at me, and I had the startling thought that there was smugness in her gaze—“if perhaps he kept secrets from you too.”

Her words sent a frisson of unease through me. But then I banished the feeling as uncharitable. The Athertons had embraced me as family; what could I possibly have to fear from them?

P
enny brought her trunks with her the next morning. “The roads are impassable! It took us nearly an hour to move two blocks!”

“It’s not surprising, after such a storm.” I stood back to allow her servants—a chambermaid and driver, and one other—entry. Penny came bustling in behind them.

“You could use more help, Evelyn. Mama always had at least an upstairs and downstairs maid.”

She also brought the news that Peter’s disappearance had pushed the difficulties of the snowstorm to the back of everyone’s mind, and that the speculation about where he was and what might have happened to him abounded. Someone had even suggested he’d been drugged in a local opium den and abducted by white slavers—to this, the
New York Times
had responded tartly, “It appears there are those to whom Peter Atherton’s disappearance gives the opportunity to indulge in childhood flights of fancy.”

“Has Paul talked to the police?” I asked her. “Has John?”

Penny nodded as she directed her maid in the unpacking of her trunk. “Both of them were with the commissioners last night. The police have been told to leave Dorothy Bennett alone. They were quite relieved, I gather. I doubt they would have intruded upon her in any case, but one never knows when the police will suddenly get it into their heads to actually do something.”

I found myself wishing Ben was in town, and that I could turn to him for advice. Though I understood the Atherton concerns, I wanted answers, and I’d spent the night sleepless and asking myself how it could possibly hurt to talk to Dorothy personally. Was there some reason I hadn’t considered? Some little known society rule or breech of etiquette that would make everything worse? Ben would know the answer. It would relieve my mind to at least discover if Dorothy had seen my husband after Thursday night, and to ask the same question of Michel Jourdain. If no one knew of the visit, what could be the harm?

I had myself talked into it within the hour. After that, it was only a matter of waiting, of looking for an excuse to go out. When Penny told me she planned to cancel a dinner engagement with one of her abolitionist friends, I told her not to worry about me, and to go.

She frowned at me. “Are you certain, Evelyn? You’ll be fine here by yourself?”

“I’m almost always here by myself.”

“Very well.” She wrapped a muted scarf about her throat—only Penny would have managed to find such a colorless paisley. “If the police come, you’ll send for me right away, won’t you? Don’t speak to them yourself, Evelyn.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

She went out into the night reassured, but the moment she was gone, I bade Kitty follow me to my room and dress me for a social call.

As I was still in half mourning for Peter’s mother, I wore a deep lilac silk with a high collar and long sleeves and black lace flounces. I directed Kitty to do my hair in a simple chignon, and I wore no jewelry but for the locket around my neck that held some of Peter’s hair.

In the street, Cullen was moving from foot to foot against the frigid breeze, which blew the snow about in blinding clouds, rearranging it for its pleasure. Tiny, icy flakes pricked against my cheeks. The bare-limbed trees lining the street creaked and cracked their branches against one another, and the snow crunched and squeaked beneath my boots.

“It’ll be a hard journey, ma’am,” Cullen warned me as he opened the door and helped me inside. “The roads’re froze.”

“We aren’t going far. Only to Mrs. Bennett’s house.”

“I lit the brazier a half hour ago. You keep warm, Mrs. Atherton.” Then he closed the door and mounted the driver’s seat, and we were off.

We were only going a few blocks, but the roads were as impossible as Penny had warned, and it took us forty-five minutes to reach the familiar Bennett brownstone only a short distance away. Even with the brazier, I was stiff with cold when we finally arrived. The lights of the Bennett house were burning, and there were carriages lining the frozen, snowy street in front. Dorothy must be holding a circle.

I hesitated. I’d intended to speak only to Dorothy and Michel Jourdain. I had no interest in voices from beyond or eerie parlor tricks, especially now. Penny or Pamela would be horrified to discover I’d gone to another. I could turn around now, go home, and no one would be the wiser. The Athertons would find Peter without my help.

But I wanted answers. And now that I’d taken the trouble to come, I didn’t want to go home with nothing. What could be the harm in asking them all my questions?

My booted feet slipped and slid on the ice-slick walk as Cullen escorted me to the stoop. I rapped sharply on the door.

It was opened by the butler. I held out my card. “I know I’m not expected, but—”

“Come in, Mrs. Atherton,” he said, though he didn’t take my card, nor seemingly glance at it. I was surprised that he recognized me, but I didn’t question it. I stepped inside.

“They’re upstairs, ma’am,” he explained as he took my cloak. “They’ve only just arrived.”

“They haven’t started yet?”

“No, ma’am.”

I went upstairs. The door to the second-floor parlor was open; I heard the voices beyond it. I remembered the conviction on my husband’s face the last time I’d been here, and it was that memory that shored my determination. I stepped into the parlor.

Michel Jourdain stood in the middle of a group composed of Robert Dudley and Sarah Grimm, and he was talking animatedly; with every gesture, strands of his hair came loose from its riband to fall into his face. He was wearing gray today, an exquisitely tailored frock coat, and trousers of a silvery hue. As if he felt me there, he stopped speaking and turned, and looked directly at me, and I felt the full and compelling force of his gaze.

“Evelyn!” Robert Dudley had followed Michel’s glance, and now he came toward me with his hands outstretched. “How wonderful that you’ve come! We were just speaking of you.”

Sarah came hurrying over. “We’ve heard the news about Peter. Is there any word? Any word at all?”

I shook my head. “None at all, I’m afraid.”

“I’m certain there’s nothing to worry about.”

I said, “I hope not. His family is looking into everything. But I thought perhaps—”

“Ah! Well, the Athertons will find him soon enough.” Jacob Colville stepped from the corner, where he’d been with Grace Dudley. “You mustn’t fret, Evelyn, truly. You’re with friends. We can help ease your mind.”

I heard a flurry behind me. I was still standing in the doorway, and down the hall now came Dorothy’s nurses, two of them supporting her as she made her wheezing and difficult way toward us. She was trembling, and the green she wore today only accented the sallowness of her skin, the dark circles beneath her eyes. Ribbons from her hat dangled beside her face like loose and unruly hair, and her neck disappeared into the voluminous folds of a beribboned lace bertha.

She squinted up at me as they reached the doorway. “Evelyn? Evelyn, is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me. I’m afraid I’ve come unforgivably uninvited.”

“Nonsense. There’s no such thing.” As she spoke, Michel Jourdain moved past, brushing against me as he went to her. Dorothy straightened, smiling, and slapped at one of the nurses so he released her arm, and the others let her go into Michel’s keeping. “There you are, my boy. Did you see our Evelyn has returned to us?”

“
Oui, ma chère.
I’ve barely had time to greet her myself.” The moment he touched her, I witnessed a remarkable transformation. Dorothy’s trembling stopped, and the pain I’d seen in her eyes disappeared. Michel again gave me his charming smile. “Did you find us irresistible after all,
Madame
?”

“I’ve come because of Peter,” I said. “He was troubled the night we were at the circle, and—”

“Troubled?” Dorothy asked sharply. “About what?”

They were all staring at me as if they had no idea why Peter might have been disturbed. Uncomfortably, Ben’s words to leave it be returned. I forced myself to forge ahead.

“Over the incident with the gun. I thought perhaps he’d come back here to ask questions.”

Dorothy shook her head. The ribbons around her face shook with her. “My dear child, we’ve heard nothing. I’d expected him last night, but he never showed. And it seems he isn’t here tonight.”

I’d put more hope into this meeting than I’d realized. Still, I persisted. “Are you certain? Have none of you heard from him at all?”

“Not a word,” said Dudley.

“I’m afraid not, my dear,” Jacob told me.

Wilson Maull shook his head, and Sarah Grimm fingered the ruby at her throat—a little nervously, I thought—and said, “Not since that circle.”

Michel Jourdain was noticeably silent.

“What about you, Mr. Jourdain?” I asked pointedly. “Did my husband visit you again that night?”

“I’ve not seen him,
Madame
,” he said. “It seems none of us has.”

I didn’t disbelieve them, but I didn’t quite believe them, either. “I was so certain he had returned here.”

“Oh, child, I wish he had,” Dorothy said with a troubled expression. “Perhaps we could have dissuaded him from pursuing this any further. Such bother over a silly misfire.”

“Dissuade Peter?” Michel lifted a brow. “
Non, ma chère
, not possible.”

“Of course, you’re right,” she agreed with a sigh. “Once Peter gets an idea in his head, it takes heaven and earth to move him.”

“Didn’t you find it so,
Madame
?” Michel asked.

They were both looking at me as if they expected me to agree, and so I found myself nodding, saying, “Yes, of course,” though their simple observation was a revelation to me, and I realized in dismay that they were right. It was one of the reasons my husband and I were so often at odds.
“I am the husband here, Evie! God, I could strangle your father. Instead of teaching you Plato, he should have been teaching you how to be a wife.”

I winced at the memory of Peter’s words, and when I looked at Michel, I saw he was watching me.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t be more help,” he said, but I had the impression he was not that sorry at all.

“There is one thing we could try, I suppose,” Robert Dudley said thoughtfully. “With Evelyn here, we’ve the affinities we need.”

“Oh, of course,” Grace said. “Won’t you stay for a circle, Evelyn?”

It was the last thing I wanted to do, but Peter had said he wanted questions answered, and who else would have answers but those who had been present? He must have talked to one of them, and I was determined to find out who it was.

“Do you really think a circle could help?” I asked.

Wilson Maull nodded so his fiery curls shook about his head. “Assuredly. The spirits care deeply for the world they’ve left behind. They watch over everything. I’m certain one of them could tell us Peter’s whereabouts.”

“You must stay, child,” Dorothy said. “The spirits could ease your worries. Michel, tell her to stay.”

Michel dug into his vest for a handkerchief, which he pressed to his lips, as if he would cough, though he didn’t. Dorothy looked worried.

“My dear boy—”

He ignored her concern and looked at me. “Dorothy wants you to stay,
Madame
. Surely you won’t disappoint her? Or me?”

I gave him a stiff smile. “I wouldn’t dream of disappointing either of you.”

“Excellent!” Robert Dudley said. “Shall we begin then?”

I stood back as Michel escorted Dorothy to the table. He helped her into her chair and pulled up the footstool for her feet. He leaned close to listen to her, laughing at something she said. Dorothy glowed in response. When he started to his seat, she grabbed his arm to forestall him, and then let him go with a reluctant and foolish smile.

Like a young girl in love
. How easily he worked her. I could not fault him for trying. Dorothy was a grown woman. To be a fool or not was every person’s prerogative.

I realized the others were sitting, and the only vacant chair was the one next to Michel Jourdain, where I’d sat before.

“Come,
Madame
,” he called to me.

I made my way to the table. He took my hand, and once again, his grip was too tight, and he was too close, and I felt the deliberateness of it.

Grace Dudley dimmed the lights, and the circle began.

It progressed much as before, with prayers and singing. When Michel spoke his invocation, his voice was strong. There was no sign of his cough, or of the usual breathlessness of a consumptive. “Almighty God, we ask you to bless this meeting tonight, and ask that you send a spirit to converse with us.”

The dim gaslight flickered, but did not go out. There was silence for a moment, and then the first rap sounded.

“Who is it?” Wilson Maull whispered.

There was a chorus of ssshhhh’s. Michel seemed not to hear. “Is this a spirit come to speak with us?”