Dangerous Spirits (3 page)

The copper wire bent in his hands as he tightened his grip
on it. He’d failed, then
lied
about it, and now everyone thought
prosperity was right around the corner. What had he been thinking? He had to
confess, but how on earth was he to do so?

There came a knock on the front door, despite the closed
sign. Grateful for the distraction, Henry set aside the wire and went to answer
it. Heavy drapes covered the windows, blotting out the sunlight that would
interfere with a séance and preventing him from seeing who stood on the stoop.

“We’re closed,” he said automatically as he opened the door.

The man outside possessed a plain face, remarkable only for a
luxuriant mustache and mutton chops. His suit and top hat were of excellent
quality, if a bit drab in color. A carriage waited on the street behind him.

Henry straightened automatically. Whoever this fellow was,
he obviously had money to spend.

“Forgive the intrusion,” the man said, extending his hand.
“But I come to you on a matter most urgent. Allow me to introduce myself. John
Emberey, at your service.”

“Henry Strauss,” Henry said automatically. Up close, the lines
of strain framing Emberey’s eyes became visible. “What might I do for you?”

“Your partners.” Emberey glanced at the sign above the door.
“Vincent Night and Elizabeth Devereaux, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, good.” Some of the tension left Emberey’s shoulders. “Another
medium referred Mr. Night and Miss Devereaux to me. We—the company I work
for, that is—are having a problem with a ghost.”

Politeness dictated Henry invite Emberey inside. Possibly even
up to the sitting room, given the quality of his clothing.

The sitting room beside Henry’s bedroom, where Vincent even
now dressed for the day. There was no possible means of explaining such a
thing.

Each back alley encounter with another man had been tainted
with the fear of being caught, or of the other fellow proving to be a police
officer tasked with luring and then arresting men on an indecency charge. Henry
hadn’t realized just how pleasant the last few months truly had been, until
faced once again with the fear of discovery.

“Er, I’m afraid my partners haven’t arrived just yet,” Henry
lied, trying not to fidget. “Rather than force you to await them, perhaps it
would be more convenient for us to come to you?”

If Emberey was disappointed, he didn’t show it. “How very
kind of you to offer. I’ve taken a room at the Altamont Hotel. I must impress
upon you the urgency of the case. A man may already be dead.”

“May?” What did Emberey mean?

“I’ll explain everything at the hotel.”

Did Emberey exaggerate, or was the situation truly dire? “Of
course,” Henry said. “I’ll summon them right away. We’ll join you within two
hour’s time, you have my word.”

As Emberey’s carriage clattered away, Henry shut the door
slowly. There came the soft whisper of shoes against the thick rugs covering
the shop floor. Vincent stood in the doorway, fastening his cufflinks. “Well. I
wonder what the devil that was about?”

The porter who escorted them onto the hotel veranda gave
Vincent a disapproving look, which he ignored. He was well used to receiving
such stares, from men who couldn’t quite decide whether to judge his skin or
his fashionable clothes. Generally they chose the clothes, more worried about
angering someone who might have influence than about keeping out an Indian.

Emberey awaited them at one of the tables. Despite the early
hour, the day had already grown warm, and a pitcher of lemonade sweated on the
table beside him. The humid breeze stirred the feathers on ladies’ hats, and
touched the skin on the back of Vincent’s neck with welcome coolness.

“Mr. Emberey,” Henry said. Emberey’s clothing was
uninspired, but that was to be expected from a man of business. On the other
hand, it was clearly of the highest quality, which suggested there might be
profit to be had. “This is Mr. Vincent Night.”

Emberey’s expression didn’t change—apparently whoever
had recommended them had mentioned Vincent’s race. Emberey’s palm felt soft
against Vincent’s. Whatever work he did, it wasn’t with his hands.

“And Miss Elizabeth Devereaux,” Henry went on.

Emberey bent gallantly over her hand. “Miss Devereaux, a
pleasure. Thank you for coming.”

They took their seats, and Lizzie folded her hands in her
lap. She sat very straight, her face shaded by a Leghorn hat, the shadow
softening her features. “Mr. Strauss said you asked for us by name, sir?” Her
tone was slightly stiff.

“Oh, yes, of course.” Emberey flushed lightly. “Please,
forgive my presumption. Miss Devereaux, Mr. Night, you were recommended to me
by another medium. Mr. Sylvester Ortensi.”

Vincent shifted to the edge of his chair. “Sylvester?”

“I share in your loss,”
Sylvester had written on the
card of condolence he sent on learning of Dunne’s death.

And, years earlier,
“You’ve chosen well, James. Both of
your apprentices have immense talent.”

Sylvester had never been a constant in their lives, not like
Dunne. More like a genial uncle, who appeared on occasion with treats and
jokes, only to vanish a few days later.

“I see,” Lizzie said.

Henry frowned in confusion. “I don’t recognize the name.”

Emberey peered closely at Henry. “The Great Ortensi? Master
of the Spirit World? A medium who has performed before the crowned heads of
Europe?” he said in disbelief. “Surely in your line of work you must have heard
of him.”

Henry flushed. “I-I’ve devoted my time more to the
scientific aspects,” he stammered.

Vincent took pity on Henry. “He was a close friend of
Dunne’s. We’ve known him for quite some time.” Vincent turned to Emberey. “And
you say he recommended us to you?”

“In a way.” The man cleared his throat. “Allow me to start
at the beginning. I represent Mr. Robert Carlisle, who is in the process of
building a steel mill in Devil’s Walk, Pennsylvania.” Emberey laughed weakly.
“Perhaps I should have taken the name as a sign. Mr. Carlisle hired me to
oversee construction—to be his eyes and ears in Devil’s Walk. The area is
quite rural and remote at the moment, but has abundant quantities of coal. A
nearby railroad line and a waterfall to generate electricity made it the
perfect site. Upon my arrival, I heard rumors that the ghost of a woman from
colonial times haunted the woods. Naturally I paid no attention.”

Vincent accepted a glass of lemonade from the porter.
“Naturally.”

Emberey gave him a sharp look. “Let me be frank. I’m not a
superstitious man. I believe most tales of the supernatural are mere fancies.
An odd breeze, the scream of a barn owl, a branch knocking against a
window—these are the sources of the vast majority of ghost stories.”

“Quite right,” Henry said quickly. “I’m sure my colleagues
will agree that genuine hauntings are far more rare than folklore would have us
believe.”

Vincent barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes. “I
take it this case proved to be different.”

“The men began to complain almost immediately.” Emberey
scowled, as if personally insulted by the fears of his workers. “They claimed
tools went missing, only to be found in strange places later—in the high
branches of trees, or sealed inside crates, that sort of thing. Every accident,
from the shifting ground that caused a wall to collapse, to a carpenter taking
off a finger with his saw, was put down to the work of the ghost.” Emberey snorted.
“Of course I put no stock in it. Indeed, I became quite angry at the foolish
superstition interfering with progress.”

Would the man never get to the point? “But something
happened to change your mind,” Vincent prompted.

“I fear so.” Emberey glanced around, as if worried at the
prospect of being overheard. “I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it from my
window, but the apparition of a burning woman appeared in the very main square
of the town. I realized there were indeed otherworldly forces at work.”

Henry’s lips pursed. “I don’t wish to disagree,” he began.

“I very much doubt it,” Vincent murmured.

Henry shot him another annoyed look. “People posing as
spirits have used phosphorescent paint in order to glow in the dark, which
might explain your ‘burning’ woman.”

Emberey frowned. He didn’t strike Vincent as the sort of man
who liked being contradicted. “Had you been in my place, I assure you, you
would be a believer as well, sir,” he said, rather coldly. “Naturally the
townspeople were hysterical. I was forced to threaten to call in strike
breakers in order to get them back to work the next day. This sort of
disruption is terrible for business, so I wrote to Mr. Carlisle. It was he who
hired Mr. Ortensi. As soon as he arrived, Mr. Ortensi assured me there is
indeed a ghost.”

Henry angled his head toward Vincent. “And you two vouch for
him?”

“He’s no fraud,” Vincent replied. “Sylvester—Mr.
Ortensi—is a genuine medium.”

“If you already have Mr. Ortensi assisting you, why come to
us?” Lizzie asked. “What’s happened?”

“There was a close call with a séance,” Emberey said. “The
spirit burned Mr. Ortensi’s hands, though only mildly. And now one of the
workers is missing. If it were a simple laborer I’d assume him lying drunk in a
ditch somewhere, but Mr. Norris is a skilled surveyor. He went into the wood to
look over the sites where the worker housing will be constructed. He hasn’t
returned in two days.”

“Couldn’t he have simply quit? Become frightened by his own
imaginings and run away?” Henry asked.

Emberey shook his head. “He’s a local man, though I hired
him in Pittsburgh. His parents still live in Devil’s Walk, and he stays with
them. They’ve heard nothing from him. Naturally, they’re frantic, and search
parties have beat the woods for him since yesterday morning, when it became
clear he wouldn’t return on his own. Progress on the mill has virtually come to
a standstill. Mr. Ortensi and I agreed something must be done, and he gave me
your names. I came here, while he remained behind in case the ghost tried
anything further. Will you come?”

Lizzie hesitated. “Our shop—”

“Mr. Carlisle is prepared to pay quite handsomely for your
time,” Emberey said. “Every day work fails to progress costs the company a
considerable sum.” He withdrew a sealed envelope from his jacket and passed it
to Vincent. “Inside is a letter from Mr. Ortensi. He asked me to give it to
you, whether or not my plea moved you to give an immediate answer.”

Vincent took the envelope, its fine stationery heavy against
his fingers. Wax sealed the flap. The symbol of the all-seeing eye Sylvester
had adopted long ago stared up at him.

“Very well,” Lizzie said, rising. The men hurried to their
feet as well. “We will confer together, and give you our answer by this
afternoon. Good day, Mr. Emberey.”

~ * ~

Vincent stared down at the letter in his hand, but he didn’t
see the words. Just a small room, utterly different from the back of the shop
where he currently sat. In the room of his memory, a fire crackled to drive
back the cold of the New York winter. He pushed open the door, then froze. An unfamiliar
man sat across from Dunne.

Dunne glanced up and a welcoming smile appeared on his face.
“Ah, there you are, my boy,” he said. “Come in. There’s someone I’d like you to
meet.”

Vincent’s hands trembled, so he tucked them behind him
before they gave away his fear. Dunne hadn’t laid a hand on him the entire four
months Vincent lived in the house. But in his experience, two men waiting in a
room for him was never a good thing. Maybe Dunne just liked to watch.

“This is Sylvester Ortensi,” Dunne said, gesturing to the
other man. “He’s a medium, like us.”

At least Ortensi was handsome enough, his brown hair clean
and his hazel eyes unclouded from drink. Maybe this wouldn’t be too bad.

“I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Ortensi,” Vincent said,
pronouncing the words carefully.

“The world will judge you on two things,”
Dunne liked
to say.
“Your appearance and your speech. The sad truth of the world is that
your skin means you’ll have to work at both much harder than a white man. The
right clothes and the right accents will make the path easier.”

“And I, you, Vincent.” The smile Ortensi gave him was kind,
and not at all lascivious. Vincent allowed himself to relax fractionally. Maybe
Dunne didn’t mean to hand him over to his friend after all. “James tells me
you’re exceptionally gifted. And a very hard worker.”

An unfamiliar pleasure went through Vincent. “Thank you,
sir,” he mumbled.

“Chin up, Vincent,” Dunne said, although his tone remained
gentle. Vincent obeyed, and put his shoulders back a bit, too. A smile from his
mentor was his reward.

“Where is Edward hiding?” Ortensi asked Dunne.

Vincent’s belly clenched, but Dunne only said, “She prefers
to go by Elizabeth now. And she’s hiding because her hair hasn’t grown out yet,
and she’s convinced she looks wretched.”

Ortensi laughed. “Ah, the young. I should go and
regale…Elizabeth, you said?…of my time in Siberia, collecting legends from the
mediums there. Among the Yakut, spirit workers are expected to live in a manner
opposite of the sex they were born.”

“Anything you can say to help will be welcome,” Dunne said
fervently. “It hasn’t been an easy time for her. Not that society will ever
make it easy, but, well. I fear for her.”

“Then I shall speak to her at once.”

Ortensi left. Dunne beckoned Vincent closer. “Sylvester is
an old friend of mine,” he said. “We apprenticed together.”

“Like me and Lizzie?” Vincent asked. “I
mean—sorry—like Lizzie and me?”

“Exactly,” Dunne replied, with another of those rewarding
smiles. “Should anything happen to me while you’re still in my care, Sylvester
will see to your welfare. You can trust him.”

“Vincent?” Lizzie asked softly.

Vincent blinked back to the here and now. Henry, Jo, and
Lizzie all stared at him. Henry and Jo seemed puzzled, but Lizzie wore a
sympathetic expression on her face.

“Old memories,” Vincent said.

Henry’s lips parted in concern. “Bad ones?”

“Actually, no. Quite the opposite.” He cleared his throat
and turned his attention to the crisp stationery he’d drawn from within the
envelope. Like the seal, the letterhead bore an all-seeing eye and “The Great
Ortensi” in huge letters.

Sylvester understood showmanship, just as Dunne had. The
difference was Sylvester parlayed it into fame and fortune, while Dunne chose a
quieter life, away from the limelight.

My dearest Vincent and Elizabeth,
he read aloud.

I hope this letter finds you both well. It grieves me not
to have been free to visit you before you left New York. Word of your move
surprised me, I’ll admit, but perhaps there is more to Baltimore than I’m aware
of.

“Hmph,” Henry muttered, folding his arms across his chest.
“Baltimore is hardly some backwater.”

Vincent hid a smile. “I’m sure he meant nothing by it. Shall
I continue?”

“Please,” Lizzie said, shooting a quelling look at Henry.

I’m sure Mr. Emberey has already told you of the
situation in Devil’s Walk. I’d heard the legend before, of course—

Vincent broke off. “Sylvester collects folklore about
hauntings and the like,” he explained to Henry and Jo. “And not just here in
America—he’s traveled the world, talking to anyone who would answer his
questions.”

“If there’s a story Sylvester hasn’t heard, it isn’t worth
hearing,” Lizzie agreed.

“Devil’s Walk is in Pennsylvania.” Henry turned to Jo. “Have
you heard of it, Jo?”

Jo’s brow furrowed beneath her scarf. “I think I might
have,” she said slowly. “We visited Pittsburgh once or twice, when Daddy had
business there, and I saw it on a map. But I don’t really know a lot about the
western side of the state. And I didn’t hear any legends.” She shrugged.
“Sorry, Henry.”

“No need to be. It was only a thought.”

Vincent cleared his throat. “If I may continue?”

—but never had the opportunity to explore the area
and verify its truth. I can now say with confidence there is a haunting, as
attested to by the bandages on my fingers.

The spirit is powerful and the sad truth is I’m not as
young as I once was. I would be very grateful to have your assistance in this
matter. The owner of the land and mill, Mr. Carlisle, is no happier over the
situation than Mr. Emberey, and wishes it taken care of as quickly as possible.
As for myself, I fear innocents may be injured, should this ghost not be
dismissed soon. My sense is this haunting could very easily turn
dangerous—even fatal. Assuming it hasn’t already.

I would be deeply in your debt if the two of you would
consent to travel to Devil’s Walk and aid me in this undertaking. And if it
isn’t possible, please at least send a letter back via Mr. Emberey, so I might
know you’re thriving in your new surroundings. Even though you’re grown, I
can’t break the habit of worrying for you both as if you were children.