When the Walls Fell (18 page)

Simon poured the tea and handed Elizabeth a cup. She held it in both hands and stared into it. “Opium’s addictive, isn’t it? What if I’m an addict now and sell everything I own for my next fix?”

Simon chuckled. “I wouldn’t worry. I doubt we ingested enough smoke for that. Just enough for us to be pretty little marks.”

Elizabeth sipped her tea. “Whatever that was at the end, Simon, her eyes and that sound…” She shivered again at the memory.

“It was impressive.”

“Creepy as hell.”

Simon conceded that point. “But remember, we were plied with food and drink for hours. We were tired and, not to mention, apparently drugged. All of that made us infinitely more susceptible to suggestion. The success of the deception depends on that. The mood, the manipulation, the willingness to suspend common sense. You know from our research that nearly every inexplicable event is eventually explained.”

“
Nearly
every one.”

Simon couldn’t argue with that, but it didn’t change how he felt. He put his teacup down and gazed into the fire.

“I think the real question we should be asking isn’t how she did it, but why? If our Madame Petrovka isn’t what she appears to be, what does she want from Graham and, more importantly, how far will she go to get it?”

***

The next morning, Simon found himself back where he’d started, waiting impatiently. He looked around the parlor for something to occupy himself while Elizabeth dressed. If she felt the same way he did, it might take her some time. He wished she’d let him stay with her. It would have been so much easier if they’d simply give up the pretense and share rooms. But Elizabeth didn’t want to offend Mrs. Eldridge and so he’d gone back to his hotel last night and suffered a fitful night’s sleep.

It had been less than eight hours since he’d seen her and yet, he missed her. It probably wasn’t healthy, but then he was still new to the feeling. New to wanting to be with someone, of wanting to be home. After all, he’d spent most of his life wishing he were anywhere else. And his parents were more than happy to oblige.

As with most boys in his position, he’d been shipped off to boarding school at the first opportunity. Eton was only marginally better than the cold and foreboding Grey Hall. At school his reclusive nature had been honed by a creative cruelty reserved for the entitled English schoolboy. He’d become one of them before long, learning to cut without drawing blood. It was a skill that had served him well through the years and one that had kept him always on the outside looking in.

It was only the summers in Sussex with his grandfather that had saved him. Those few months had somehow planted the seeds of a good man inside the fallow schoolboy he’d been. He hadn’t done much of anything to nurture them. Despite his neglect, they’d somehow managed to take root. What else could explain a woman like Elizabeth being in his life?

Simon reached for the tea the maid Jane had brought him, but it had gone cold. Pushing it away, he rose from the settee and walked over to the fireplace. He stared up at the portrait of Evan Eldridge. The old man’s face reminded him a bit of his grandfather. They didn’t really look anything alike, but there was a spark in the eyes, an understanding and a kindness that Simon envied. Would he ever look in the mirror and see that expression looking back?

“He was a wonderful man,” Mrs. Eldridge said at his shoulder.

He’d been so caught up in his thoughts he hadn’t heard her come in. “I’m sorry. Yes, I’m sure he was.” Simon cleared his throat and turned his back on the portrait, suddenly uncomfortable. “Is Elizabeth ready yet?”

“Waiting’s terribly difficult, isn’t it?” Mrs. Eldridge said before returning her gaze to her husband. “If you are not too long, I will wait here for you all of my life.” She turned back to Simon with a wan smile. “If only my heart knew what too long was.”

Simon clasped his hands behind his back. “The heart has its reasons for which reason knows nothing of.”

“Pascal? Just so.” Mrs. Eldridge gestured for Simon to have a seat. He hesitated, but sat back down on the settee. “If you don’t mind an old woman’s meddling—”

“Please, you’re not—”

“Old or meddling? I’m both, I’m afraid. But, if you’ll indulge me...”

Simon wanted to stop her. He was uncomfortable with conversations like this under the best of circumstances and according to Elizabeth Mrs. Eldridge had a way of seeing right to a person’s heart. He didn’t protest though; he merely inclined his head politely.

Mrs. Eldridge folded her hands in her lap. “Trust her.”

Simon waited for the rest of it. Surely, there was more to it than that. He was a little confused when she didn’t follow up with more. “Yes, thank you. I do.”

She laughed lightly. “It sounds so simple, doesn’t it? But trust doesn’t come easily for some and too easily for others. I suspect you’re the former and she’s the latter.”

Simon nodded. Truer words were never spoken. It was a trait in Elizabeth that he found both maddening and endearing.

“More tea?”

“No, thank you.”

“My mother always felt everything was better with tea. I was never so inclined,” she admitted.

“Your one flaw,” Simon teased.

Mrs. Eldridge smiled and then grew serious again. “I have many I assure you. There was a time when I was terribly selfish.”

Simon started to protest, but her raised hand silenced him. “No, it’s quite true. You see, I thought I could wait, patiently, for Evan to return from whatever mysterious adventure he was on. Usually, he returned almost at the same moment he’d left. But there were times when he was gone for weeks, months. And the lie I’d told myself started to sour my otherwise sweet and charming personality,” she said with a self-deprecating smile.

“Until finally, I asked Evan to stop. I begged him to destroy the watch and stay with me. I told him that if he loved me, he’d do as I asked. Much to my shame, he did. He knew what love was better than I and it took some time for me to realize what I’d done.”

She stood and walked back to the portrait. Simon reflexively stood in response. “He didn’t resent me,” she said turning back to Simon. “He was too fine a man for that. But I’d destroyed something in him. Some crucial part of him. Something that made him the man I loved in the first place.

“Those were very dark times,” she said clasping her hands tightly in front of her. “Love tests us in many ways, Mr. Cross. And each requires a unique kind of courage. Trusting someone, allowing them beyond our grasp, can be the most difficult of all.”

That particular truth was razor sharp and Simon knew the pain of its cut all too well.

The door to the salon opened and Elizabeth breezed in, pinning her hat as she walked. “Simon, I was—” she said and stopped as she noticed he wasn’t alone. “Oh, Good morning, Mrs. Eldridge.”

“Good morning, dear,” Mrs. Eldridge said. She met Elizabeth at the door and fixed an errant curl in Elizabeth’s hair. “There. Now, have a good day and try not to get into too much trouble.” She glanced back at Simon and smiled at him under her pince-nez. “Some of us are rather fond of you.”

***

Elizabeth had a headache that wouldn’t quit. That morning when she’d asked Jane if they had something she could take the little maid’s face had lit up. She’d brought Elizabeth a basket of assorted pills, powders and tonics. The girl was apparently more than a bit of a hypochondriac.

There were nerve and brain pills, blood pills, liver pills and the always disturbing worm cakes. She took a pass on Dr. Rose’s French Arsenic wafers and Sears Roebuck’s Egyptian Pile Cure. Finally, she’d found a bottle of aspirin powder. Happily, it had done the trick.

Bless you, Bayer.

She was sure that without it her brains would have been shriveled enough that they would have bounced right out of her head. The carriage hit another pothole and Elizabeth’s stomach lurched in protest.

“I hope it isn’t too early to call,” she said as they arrived at the Graham’s.

“I don’t think so,” Simon said. “It’s nearly noon.”

They were asked to wait in a small front parlor which was clearly designed for short, here’s your hat what’s your hurry visits.

A few minutes later Mary Graham joined them. She looked much better than she had last night, but was still pallid and nervous. She offered her husband’s apologies. He was feeling a little under the weather this morning.

“I don’t mean to pry, Mrs. Graham,” Simon said, “how did you find Madame Petrovka?”

“Victor suggested we have a séance. I don’t know how he found her. I’ve never been quite sure how I feel about those things, but he thought it would be… entertaining.”

The sadness in her eyes nearly broke Elizabeth’s heart.

“I know how you must feel,” Simon said.

Mary Graham regarded him with surprisingly steely gray eyes. “Do you have any children, Sir Simon?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t think you do know how I feel.”

“No,” Simon said clearing his throat uncomfortably. “You’re quite right. I can only imagine it. I do know, however, that if someone used my child like that, nothing on heaven or earth would stop me from finding out why.”

“Used her? What do you mean?”

Simon frowned and Elizabeth braced herself for the emotional tidal wave that was sure to follow.

“I believe,” Simon said, “that Madame Petrovka is not what she appears to be. As I’m sure you’re aware, many of these so-called spiritualists are no more than con artists.”

Mary fidgeted in her seat. “Yes, I’ve heard that, but—”

“They use someone’s grief to manipulate them,” Simon said.

Mary looked near the verge of tears. Elizabeth laid a hand on Simon’s forearm to stop him. Mary wasn’t ready for this kind of conversation. An uncomfortable silence began.

Elizabeth saw a picture of a young girl on one of the end tables and picked it up. “Is this Violet?”

Mary nodded and dabbed her eyes.

The girl in the photograph looked about four years old. She was a beautiful little thing in a light summer dress squatting down over a tide pool.

“She loved that spot,” Mary said gesturing to the photograph.

Elizabeth handed Simon the photograph and turned back to Mary. “What happened?”

Fighting back the tears, Mary nodded. She started to speak, but faltered. The pain in the woman’s eyes was like a living thing. “If it’s too difficult…”

“She and Victor were off on one of their outings. They used to go off together and have little adventures. They both loved the ocean. I was never too fond of it, so I stayed home.”

She paused and Elizabeth could feel her summon the courage to continue. “They went down by the rocks, not far from where that photograph was taken, near Land’s End. He turned his back less than a minute and…she’d crawled out and he’d…he’d told her so many times not to do that…and a wave must have come and taken…taken her.”

The tears were coming freely now. “It was an accident, a horrible accident, but he blames himself. I don’t think a day goes by that he doesn’t torture himself about what happened that day.”

Elizabeth had no idea what to say. “I can’t imagine how you must be feeling after last night.”

Mary dabbed the corners of her eyes with a kerchief. “It’s harder on Victor, I think.”

“If this was a cruel trick, can you think of anyone who’d want to hurt you or your husband?” Simon asked.

Mary shook her head. “No, not like this.” She pulled at the lace trim of her sleeve. “What if that really was our Violet? Reaching out to us?”

“Then we’ll find a way to help her,” Elizabeth said. “I promise.” It was an absurd promise, but she couldn’t help herself. She didn’t dare look at Simon. She could just imagine the look on his face.