The Twisted Tragedy of Miss Natalie Stewart (12 page)

I didn’t want Mrs. Northe to replace me. I didn’t want her to become more important to Father than me. I was the center of his world, even if he didn’t always know what to do with me. But Mrs. Northe was perfect and charming in nearly every way. How could she not become the whole of someone’s life? He’d said himself that he was changing and I was changing. There was truth in my fear of bringing supernatural woe to my father’s attention. But it was also about my father’s attention in general.

I took a few deep breaths upon my stoop, listening to the evening sounds of the city, which mixed into a soft whir. Looking down, I admired my gorgeous gown. And then I looked down the street past the brownstone row houses and across avenues to see the corner of Central Park. In the gaslit distance, the Metropolitan stood shrouded in shadows of parkland, remaining as full of mystery and grandeur as when it was dreamed up by New York philanthropists.

I was elegant and so was my city. I felt
so
alive and so was my city. Jonathon would be here soon to share it with me. There was nothing to fear.

“My, my.” My father examined me at the door. Bessie dragged me inside and into the light so she could turn me around and admire all the gathers, beads, and bustling. “And how was the show?” Father asked. “I saw the posters. Were you one of those swooning women straining to clutch at Veil’s cloak?”

“One could hardly swoon and catch him from the height of Mrs. Northe’s box, Father,” I replied pointedly. Bessie chuckled.

“But was it any good?” she asked.

“Brilliant,” I replied, perhaps a bit too eagerly. Father smirked, and his nose went into a book. As I kissed him on the head, he gave me a wary eye.

“And when does that lord of yours arrive? When must I keep an
extra
special eye on you?”

“I don’t know yet. Mrs. Northe will collect him, as he’ll stay in her home. You’ll meet him soon after. He doesn’t want to vex you, believe me,” I assured him, and I went to my room to admire my dress in the mirror again before there were any further questions.

***

Something of my mind must have been in the mood for testing the waters that night. For guess who stood at the end of my mind’s darkened hallway in my most recent dream?

Nathaniel Veil was lit only by dim gaslight from indeterminate sources, casting contrast on his sharp features and making his silhouette just like his dramatic poster. His wide hand was stretched out to me, like some mesmerist drawing me in. I was somehow helpless to resist, and I fell into the folds of his black robes. He dove upon my neck with searing kisses and a teasing nibble as if he were one of the vampires from his show. It was admittedly thrilling.

But then Jonathon was there. And he did not like this scene one bit. He stood behind me in the hall, bright blue eyes flashing with fury.

“Veil, unhand her,” he said coldly. “Natalie, why are you cruel?”

Nathaniel whirled my body around so that I could face the sound, and there was Jonathon, just as tall and striking, but less wild and unpredictable than his friend. He was hurt and angry.

Nathaniel did not let go, instead kissing the back of my neck gently and drawing my hair aside. My hair was down, which had to mean I was in my night-dress. And so I stared helplessly at Jonathon while I could not help but shudder at the sensation.

“Cruel,” he repeated. “I’m in
London
. You know, I can have plenty of attention too, whenever I like.”

At that, the hall suddenly flickered to life, one flaming lamp after the next in an inexorable line. The corridor now filled with pretty ladies, and the burning wicks against mirrored sconces cast illuminated glittering jewels like stars in a gaslit sky. Each finely bedecked female stared at Jonathon hungrily.

My mouth dropped open. “Is that a threat, Lord Denbury?”

“Just keep your dreaming focused, Natalie. I can’t take any more betrayals.”

“As if I’d betray you—”

“But she’s under my spell, old chap,” Nathaniel finished. “Can you begrudge a spirit like hers a bit of curiosity? It isn’t like you haven’t kissed other girls before.”

“Not since meeting her,” Jonathon insisted, breaking free from a long-limbed girl in a sapphire ball-gown who had wrapped her arms around him and staring down Veil. “And you’re not really here, Veil. It’s just the two of us, Natalie.” He pinned me with his gaze. “It’s just us and whatever your mind creates. So stop it. I’m having enough trouble sleeping without seeing another man have his way with you.”

I closed my eyes. I tried to break free, to move toward the beautiful blue-eyed man in the hall that I knew I loved. “I choose you,” I said to Jonathon, praying he’d believe me, and stumbled forward as if pushed, a hand—no, a claw—raking down my back and scoring me with a sharp pain. I cried out, falling not forward into Jonathon’s arms but straight up in my bed.

I’d managed not to wake Father this time, for which I was grateful. I wrestled myself back to sleep. I had plans to visit Maggie tomorrow, and it would do no good to go looking like hell. I needed to be at my very best. Dealing with Margaret Hathorn might be its own careful game.

Chapter 10

To my surprise, I found I was nearly as nervous about paying a visit to Maggie as I was about dealing with curses and double-crossing intrigues. Chiefly because I wasn’t sure what sort of reception I would get, and I never really knew where I stood with her.

“Hello? And you are?” the maid asked at the door.

“Miss Stewart. Miss Hathorn knows me.”

“I’ll announce you to the mistress,” the maid said, bobbing her head. She closed the door a moment. I fiddled with the small silken pouch in my hand. At least I came bearing gifts. The maid opened the door and led me through the lavish entrance hall to the open doors of an even more elaborate parlor.

The residence was just as fine as Mrs. Northe’s home, but I didn’t like it. It was ostentatious in a way Mrs. Northe’s home was not, trying very hard to impress. While Mrs. Northe’s home was elegantly classic, the Hathorn residence was on the cutting edge of so many fashions that nothing matched, but I’m sure it was all
very
expensive.

Mrs. Hathorn was a bit confused as the maid led me into the parlor. “I know I know your name, Miss Stewart, but—”

“Hello, Natalie,” came a wary voice from the top of the grand staircase. Maggie was looking very lovely, her dark hair pinned up at the sides but left down in the back, as I used to wear mine as a girl, giving her a youthful look even though her day dress was sumptuous in layered satin stripes. Her eyes were dark and wide, sizing me up.

“Ah, yes, the Metropolitan, that’s it. Mr. Stewart,” Mrs. Hathorn said, finally placing me. The Stewarts didn’t rank high on her social list so it took her a moment.

“Yes, the
Metropolitan
,” Maggie repeated carefully.

Last I’d seen Maggie, she was standing before Jonathon’s portrait in the museum, chanting in his exhibition room at midnight and looking like a ridiculous gypsy. She had laid out a chalk pentagram on the floor, not even knowing the right way to draw it so that it wasn’t a sign of the devil.

Clearly, we were both thinking of that moment during the strained silence. Just as I had no idea why Maggie had been there, neither did she understand why I was. We had to move toward some semblance of the truth.

“Claire,” Maggie called to the maid finally.

“Yes, mum.”

“Bring us lemonade on the balcony. Come, Natalie.” Maggie was so used to ordering people around that it came effortlessly. She gestured for me to join her on the landing, so I climbed the grand staircase.

The balcony looked out over a painstakingly manicured lawn with landscaped flowers in bloom. It was admittedly impressive. There were fewer and fewer grand mansions these days along midtown avenues. Blocks were giving over to town houses and row houses and fine shops, but mansions like this still clung to Millionaires’ Mile, where a higher concentration of wealth resided than anywhere else in our country, maybe even the world.

“How lovely,” I breathed. Maggie started.

“Ah, yes, that’s right, you can speak. I’d forgotten about it amid the…madness when last I saw you. Where did you go after that night? It was awfully suspicious that you were out of town visiting a relative.”

Was that the alibi Mrs. Northe had given? I thought a moment. “I had to get out of the city. That night proved…traumatic.”

“How so?”

“Here, I brought you a present.” Distraction was always such a lovely way to change the subject.

“Ooh!” Maggie squeaked. She opened the drawstring pouch and pulled out the pin and brooch. They sparkled in the sunlight. Maggie held them up to admire the glitter. Claire brought us lemonade. I thanked her, and she smiled at me.

“These are very nice. Where did you get them?

“Stewart’s,” I replied.

“Ah. Shame you’re not—”

“Related, yes. I know.”

“I suppose Auntie took you shopping then,” she said, a bite to her tone. Of course. It wasn’t as though I had money to get them on my own, and the fact that her aunt had been out with me and not her was an additional slight. I looked into my lemonade, shamed.

“I’m sorry.” Maggie sighed. “I’m still angry at Aunt Evelyn. And you. I don’t understand why you kept things from me. Why you still keep things from me. Maybe there are things I know that you don’t. Did you ever think that?”

“Maggie, I want to be your friend,” I said earnestly. “I never wanted to keep anything from you. But things got very…complicated, and it wasn’t just my safety at stake, but the safety of others.”

“Lord Denbury. I don’t think he’s dead, Natalie,” she breathed.

“No, I’m not sure he is either. But whatever happened to him, it’s a mystery.”

“What do you know about it?” Maggie breathed. I sighed. I had to throw her a bone and debated how to do so.

“Why were you there that night?” she pressed. “I was trying a spell to bring him to life before me. Were you there to do the same?”

“No.” I took a deep breath. “I was there as bait.”

“What?”

“The painting was tied to unsavory types who’d seized the Denbury estate. One of the criminals had a particular…penchant for young ladies. So I stood as bait.”

“Have you met him? Denbury?”

“No, just a solicitor in touch with my father. Denbury, if alive at all, remains to be seen.”

“Your father risked his own daughter as bait?”

“No, I volunteered. Insisted, really, and since it was Mrs. Northe’s painting, she agreed, provided Mr. Smith stood guard.”

“Because you wanted to meet him too,” Maggie said, a hint of conspiratorial glee in her tone. I looked at her. “Admit it.” There was a mischievous sparkle in her eye. And with that, she was a girl who could be my friend.

I laughed. “All right. Yes. I wanted to meet him.”

“Finally, some truth—”

“I thought if I was bait, he’d at least want to meet a girl who risked her safety to help him. I mean, no girl is immune to that man’s looks.”

“That’s for certain,” she sighed dreamily.

Oh, if you only knew, Margaret Hathorn, if you only knew.
I blushed, thinking of his kisses and caresses.

“I still dream of him,” Maggie whispered. “Scandalous dreams.”

I opened my mouth as if to agree, to giggle and blush and conspire with her further, so glad to have the icy gulf between us bridged, but I really couldn’t share the contents of my dreams with Maggie; they were too complicated by nightmares. Jonathon had indeed been in my dream the night before, but it was hardly a dream I was proud of or could share.

No, I could never really tell her the truth. She could never be the sort of confidante Mrs. Northe was, and for that I doubted Maggie could ever forgive me.

“So what happened?” Maggie prompted. “In the museum room.”

“Someone came. He tried to attack me, then got arrested.”

“The crazy man, that awful broker—” Maggie clapped her hands over her mouth.

“One of his people.”

“Oh, Natalie, that was very brave,” she said and meant it.

“Thank you.”

“And he has yet to reveal himself? After all that? After his painting is…”

I eyed her. “Is what?”

“The painting is gone, Natalie. Don’t tell Mum or Auntie, but I sneaked out to the Metropolitan the next day. I saw workers throw out the pieces.” She bit her lip, as if she was about to say something more. “If you hear anything. Anything from him, promise to tell me.”

“All right…” I replied hesitantly. “If I can.”

“Natalie, you must.” There was an odd urgency to her tone. The clock down the hall struck half past three. “Ah, I must get ready for my drawing lesson. I’m hoping to study in Paris. Wouldn’t that be heavenly?”

I nodded. I’d like to see Paris. I wondered what it would be like to live with every opportunity available. Well, every opportunity available to a woman.

As she saw me to the door, she thanked me for the baubles. “Do come again, Natalie. It was good to see you.”