The White Forest (17 page)

I
t was several days after our visit with Judith Ulster that we were invited to tea by Nathan’s mother, Mary-Thomas Ashe. Lady Ashe extended such an invitation monthly and spent hours recounting for us her private adventures at various séances and ghost hunts. I remember being initially surprised at Mary-Thomas’s apparent warmth and grace. After all, neither Maddy nor I seemed a suitable match for the son of a lord. We were both outcasts in our own right. The fact that we spent so many hours alone with Nathan could have produced a certain animosity in Lady Ashe. We might have been viewed as a threat to her lineage. But instead, Nathan’s mother accepted us as unlikely confidantes. She was a good deal more eccentric than her practical husband, and she confessed to finding such topics as class and breeding a bore. I believe she also secretly thought Nathan would never dare choose one of us as his wife. Even if he did, Lord Ashe would put a stop to such a union. We likely seemed nothing more than playthings to her, and there was safety in that.

•   •   •

Our carriage ascended Parliament Hill, trundling toward Ashe High House, the bright manse that presided over the Heath from its aerie.
Seeing it again made my heart feel like a stone. I was surprised that Lady Ashe was keeping up her invitations at all, considering the turmoil that had been caused by her son’s disappearance, and I wondered if she might have some ulterior motive in inviting us for tea now. I was glad for the chance to enter the house once more, though, as it might provide another opportunity to try an experiment on one of Nathan’s personal possessions.

In the carriage, Maddy and I discussed the stories we’d heard from Paul Rafferty and Judith Ulster but came to few conclusions. “Our investigation doesn’t provide answers,” I said. “Rather, it’s putting us in danger.”

Maddy studied me, eyes half-lidded. “No answers, Jane? We are now certain where Nathan spent his final hour. We also know that the Fetches are capable of extreme violence.”

“But what good is that?” I asked.

“It’s a step toward a solution. Honestly, at times I feel as though you don’t even want to find him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Then show some initiative, Jane. Vidocq is proving more useless by the day. I read recently in the
Athenaeum
that he’s taken to drinking pints to while away his afternoons.”

“Do we believe the newspapers now?” I asked.

“My point is that discovering what happened to Nathan is up to us.”

“I wouldn’t underestimate the inspector, Maddy. If he’s beginning to seem clouded, perhaps that’s because he wants us to perceive him so.” I knew for a fact that Vidocq was quite perceptive and resourceful, as could be seen in the research that I’d stolen from him.

The carriage came to a halt, and the tall driver opened the door to help me out onto the stone drive. Nathan’s house, surrounded by oaks and cedars, had the honor of being the only inhabitance on the hill, as some antiquated law permitted the ancestors of Lord Ashe to build on the hallowed parkland. Before going to ring the bell, Maddy and I stood together on the lawn, looking toward the distant domes and towers of London. The tower bells of St. Paul’s chimed, and a yellow fog moved across the buildings of our city, seeming to dissolve
spires and cupolas in its wake. “Do you think he’s really in that maze somewhere?” Maddy asked. “Is it possible that, at this moment, we’re looking at the place where he’s concealed?”

“I don’t feel him there,” I said, honestly.

“Nor do I,” she said. “But if not London, then where?”

I looped my arm through hers, careful not to touch her skin. I didn’t want her to hear the way Ashe High House wept behind us. “Let’s go inside, dear,” I said, and she allowed me to lead her to the bell rope.

Lord Ashe had retreated to his offices at Parliament, so we found Mary-Thomas alone, a shadow of her former self, sitting in her stiff parlor chair. Her hair, normally an architectural masterpiece, hung loose around her gaunt shoulders. Her skin was sallow, and her hand trembled when she lifted it in greeting.

The tea table was set with egg and cress sandwiches; a variety of fruit scones with clotted cream; and a coral-colored tea set Lady Ashe’s cousin Manfred had brought back from China. The head girl, whose name I’d forgotten, poured tea and seemed unsteady, glancing from time to time at Lady Ashe, as if to check that her mistress was not about to have an outburst.

“Every morning, I expect to see poor Nathan in the foyer,” Lady Ashe said, “carrying his bags as when he came back from war. At the very least, I thought I’d have a vision. Even if he looked dreadful, I’d know his soul persists. But there’s been nothing. I’ve tried to make contact with my spirit guide, the Golden Cloud, thinking perhaps it could help us with our search, but even the Cloud will not speak to me. I feel as though I’ve been made blind.”

I knew far too much about Mary-Thomas’s supposed spirit guide, the Golden Cloud. Nathan loved to regale us with her stories of their correspondence. The Cloud was not a person but an incorporeal field of bright dust that spoke to Mary-Thomas through the aether. “Do you realize Mother’s spirit guide has visited both Jupiter and Mars?” he asked once. “The Cloud apparently prefers Mars because the landscape there is more inviting—beautiful red hills and all that.” At this, Nathan broke down, nearly crying from the hilarity of it.

Maddy expressed her sympathy to Mary-Thomas while I studied the parlor, looking for remnants of Nathan. I was simultaneously excited and filled with dread at the prospect of touching another of his possessions and what I would see next.

In one corner of the parlor hung a painting Nathan had done as a child, showing the Malebolge, the eighth circle of Dante’s Hell. It was an endearing piece of work despite its macabre subject matter. Poorly drawn sinners flailed in the oval-shaped ditches of the Malebolge, waving their clawlike hands in an attempt to get the attention of the viewer. The drawing emitted a low frequency, nothing terribly urgent, and I wondered, for a moment, if perhaps the objects had already shown me all they needed of the painted forest.

“I’m afraid my invitation wasn’t extended entirely for social reasons,” Mary-Thomas said, confirming my suspicions. “I was hoping you girls might help me do a summoning here. If the three of us call out to Nathan together, perhaps he will respond.”

“A séance, Lady Ashe? You’re not saying you think he’s—” Maddy asked, sounding honestly frightened.

“Oh, no,” she replied. “Even the spirits of the living can be summoned under the right circumstance. Lord Ashe doesn’t approve of these irregular habits of mine, of course, but I’ve learned from my years of summoning that such practices are valuable. The human mind can conjure such a wide variety of useful communicants.”

We were compelled to agree to her experiment, though I was fairly sure a séance or summoning would not help our cause. Mary-Thomas asked the maid, whom she called Vicky, to draw the heavy parlor drapes, and we were left in what seemed at first complete darkness. Then slowly my eyes adjusted, and the gray shapes of Maddy and Mary-Thomas appeared. Mary-Thomas produced a knitted scarf and wound it tightly around her hand. I recognized the scarf as one that Nathan often wore at Christmastime.

“We’ll focus on this scarf,” Mary-Thomas said. “Think of pleasant times with dear Nathan. Such thoughts will act as sweet honey to draw his spirit.”

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply and audibly. The clock
ticked on the mantel, and somewhere in Ashe High House, a dog barked. We joined hands around the tea set. I touched Mary-Thomas gingerly, attempting to dampen the transference, as I often had with Nathan. But she obviously possessed some element of authentic psychic strength. I could feel my talent being pulled out of me and examined. A brief frown darkened her face, but soon enough she was speaking in a low monotone, asking Nathan to respond.

“We who love you need to understand,” she said. “Come to us, Nathan. Tell us what’s become of you.”

As she spoke these words, I felt movement—a sort of churning pressure—in my stomach. At first, I attributed the feeling to indigestion, but the movement continued and became more persistent. It nearly felt as though something was trying to force itself out of my body. I was glad when Mary-Thomas released my hand and opened her eyes.

“It isn’t working,” she said. “I don’t feel anything. The scarf isn’t strong enough to draw him. Do either of you have anything belonging to Nathan—something more dear to him? He loved you girls so. You might carry an object strong enough to draw his attention.”

I told her I had nothing, and then we both turned to Maddy, who seemed unsure whether she should speak. Finally, she said, “I have this.” She pulled on a silver chain that hung around her neck, and from beneath her blouse she produced the silver childhood spoon that I’d asked to experiment with at La Dometa. I wondered if it had ever been locked in her treasure box at all. The shamed looked on her face told me it had likely been hanging around her neck the entire time.

Mary-Thomas stared at the spoon, and tears brimmed in her eyes. “Nathan gave that to you, Madeline?” she asked.

“I cherish it,” Maddy said.

“He must love you so,” Mary-Thomas said. “Hand it to me, Jane. I’ll take it only for a moment.”

Maddy unfastened the clasp and without thinking passed the spoon to me so that I could pass it on to Mary-Thomas. As soon as I touched the metal that had been warmed by Maddy’s skin, I
couldn’t control my reaction. My body was flung back into the chair, and with a thunderclap I was back on the stage in the painted forest, only this time, something was terribly wrong. The whole scene was tilted. Trees, like bony hands, reached up from the stonework of the floor, and the stars stared down like red, rheumatic eyes. I heard inhuman cries, and then a braying scream. In the clearing, the great stag was on its knees. The Red Goddess was on top of the animal, straddling it, and her mouth was fastened on its muscular neck. The stag screamed louder still. Blood ran down its pelt as the Red Goddess drank hungrily. I wanted to run to the creature’s aid, to fight the Red Goddess back. But when I moved, she rose up to look at me, and I saw her face clearly for the first time. Her mouth and chin were soaked in gore. But the face—I knew the face, and I stood awestruck. It was my mother’s own. Her eyes were full of red starlight.

The Mother-Goddess opened her mouth and howled at me in warning.

I cried out in the forest, and I awoke, screaming in Lady Ashe’s parlor. My stomach convulsed again. The smell of Nathan was everywhere; I was drowning in it. Dropping the spoon, I stood up and rushed to the foyer, through the front door, and fell onto the grass of the hill, retching and fearing I would vomit. My stomach calmed just as quickly as it had spasmed, and then Maddy was at my side.

“My God, are you all right, Jane?” she said. “What happened?”

“A vision,” I whispered, breathlessly.

Mary-Thomas appeared at the doorway. “Was it Nathan? Did he contact you?”

Maddy answered for me. “Jane’s ill. She’s not been feeling well all morning.”

“Oh, my dear,” said Mary-Thomas. “You ought to have told me. Should I send for the doctor?”

“I’m fine,” I said feebly, allowing Maddy to help me stand.

“I’m so sorry, Jane,” Mary-Thomas said. “I should have known none of us were ready for this. I’m not feeling myself either. Please come in and rest, at any rate. Take some tea. It will calm you. I’m going to lay down for a bit.”

“Are you strong enough to go back inside?” Maddy whispered.

I nodded, and she helped me back to the parlor.

Before leaving us there, Mary-Thomas paused and said she’d been thinking of Michelangelo’s
Pietà,
which she’d seen during her travels in Rome with Lord Ashe. I could only half-listen to her story. My mind was still filled with the image of the red and screaming woman who wore my mother’s face. I could see the blood of the stag dripping down her chin and neck.

“The sculpture was there in the basilica,” Mary-Thomas said, “as big as life itself—the Virgin with Jesus in her arms. And I cannot help but think that at least the Virgin had a final moment with the body of her son. What happened to him later was a mystery, but at least she was able to hold him when they took him down off the cross. She felt the weight of his body. She looked at his face. But what am I to do? I cannot hold Nathan. We don’t know if he is alive or dead. Everyone tells me I must be strong. But how am I to gather strength if there is never any force that will close this open door?”

“Vidocq will close it,” I assured her.

“Vidocq is my husband’s solution, not mine,” she said, turning to leave. “I’m afraid my headache is getting worse, girls. My thoughts are scraping against the insides of my skull.” She passed down the hall, leaving us alone.

Maddy turned to look at me. “What was the vision that made you so ill?” she asked me.

I shook my head. The mad image of my mother hovered before me, and I realized I had to lie to Maddy. “It wasn’t so much a vision as an ache in my stomach,” I said.

“Provoked by my necklace?”

“Nathan’s possessions have been particularly agitated recently. I thought that meant something initially, but I’ve realized it doesn’t. You know how my talent is, Maddy. It doesn’t make much sense. I saw colors when I touched the spoon and heard a loud thundering, then my stomach tensed.”

“That’s all?” she asked.

“That’s all,” I replied.

She studied my face carefully. I could feel the trust between us breaking.

“You know what we have to do now,” Maddy said, “if you’re feeling well enough.”

“What would that be?”

“We have to investigate Nathan’s room.”

“Maddy,
no,
” I said. “I’m sure Vidocq has already made that investigation.”

“Yes, but he didn’t know what to look for or
where
to look, did he?”

“And apparently we do?”

“Vidocq said it himself. We knew Nathan best,” Maddy replied, “and yet not even
we
know everything. His room might provide a clue about what he was up to before he disappeared. And there is the fact of the secret compartment, Jane. You know the one. I’m sure Vidocq didn’t find it.”