The Illusion of Murder (38 page)

“Really…” This gets him thinking. “Well, if the Queen can contact the dead, then I see no reason why we can’t give it a go. Besides it’s all for fun. Right?”

“Quite!”

58

Madame Xi Shi must have commanded all the spirits of the sea to haunt our ship tonight as the séance I arranged will unfold. A fog, heavy with gloom and swirling wisps, shrouds the ship, making it impossible to see everything but easy to imagine anything.

Nights like this remind me of a time as a young girl when I stayed too late playing with other children and had to walk home alone through dark woods. I broke into a run, flying breathless into the house, sure
something
in the darkness was chasing me. My mother shook her head and said, “What the eyes can’t see, the mind will.”

“Oh well,” I tell the sea, pushing back from where I have been standing at the rail, gathering my courage for the drama I have schemed—a
denouement
, a fancy French word for revealing the killer in a play or a book. I just hope Madame Xi Shi’s Chinese spirits are up to a bit of mystery-solving.

Shivering as I carry a little of the chill night back inside with me, I conclude that no one could have asked for a better setting to summon a spirit.

*   *   *

M
IDNIGHT
,
AND THE LIVING
I have summoned are arriving to meet the dead.

The rendezvous is an empty stateroom the captain has donated for the evening and that Madame Xi Shi’s assistants have turned into a—

“Crypt!” Sarah declares, stepping into the room that is completely draped in black—walls, floor, ceiling. “Even the air looks black.”

“Like the inside of a coffin,” I suggest. “With the lid down.”

She shudders. “That happened once.”

Amazing. Sarah is frumpy tonight, a middle-aged woman with some parts needing support. And she does it with little makeup, mostly it’s just an attitude, though drab clothes add to the dowdiness. She has a central European accent tonight.

The only furniture sits in the center of the room: the round wooden table and bare wooden chairs have deep groves in them from years of use. As I requested, one thin, church like, white candle is in the center of the table, held by a plain silver candlestick.

Sarah pats the table. “Reminds me of a set piece in one of my plays. A table in a medieval castle. When the candle went out, the spirits of people tortured in the dungeon came to life.”

“Perfect.” Except for the candle going out.

The Wartons enter; a lip-pressing look of annoyance from his lordship, an ominous frown from her ladyship that reminds me of the Queen of Hearts’s command of “Off with her head!” in Alice’s adventure.

Oh well. I can always throw myself overboard if everything goes to hell tonight.

They come in, most dressed in black, men and women alike, as has Sarah. Why, I don’t know; I had considered it myself, but didn’t have a black dress. Perhaps it is a show of respect since black is the color of death. Cenza doesn’t bother with respect; her choice of color is red. The little tart has chosen
harlot red
, and she has clutched onto Von Reich, much to the annoyance of the widow Murdock.

“Isn’t she the prima donna?” Sarah whispers.

No matchmaker would team Von Reich and Cenza, and unless the attraction is to the Viennese’s money, I have to wonder why the public display of affection.

Chee Ling seats the nine of us: Sarah, the Wartons, Von Reich, the harlot in red, the widow wearing a whiskey flush, Frederick who doesn’t recognize Sarah, the captain looking handsome in a dark navy blue uniform, and one scared rabbit.

“There must be no talking during the performance,” Chee Ling instructs us with the tone of a disciplinarian schoolmaster. “Complete silence is required for Madame Xi Shi in order to contact the spirits.”

The candle is lit, the door is shut, and the lights go out. It’s quickly evident why the spiritualist had little objection to the candle—with nothing to reflect the light, it hardly takes the edge off of the complete darkness in the room. All the faces are in dark shadows and I can barely make them out.

Von Reich tells us, “The purpose of the candle is to create a light for the spirits to find us. Isn’t that so … uh, where are you?”

Chee Ling has vanished in the darkness.

I didn’t volunteer that the real purpose of the candle is to let me spot the living guilty.

Everyone, everything is in position, except the outcome. I start a little prayer and stop, seriously doubting that I should bring to the attention of the Almighty that I am orchestrating black magic.

Regrets that I have devised this scheme are welling up in my throat as Madame Xi Shi appears, floating in the air, coming to the table. A tiny light from the front of her clothes gives light and shadow to her frail features.

There are murmurs, a gasp I think from the widow Murdock, and a whisper to me from Sarah: “Nicely done.” She’s talking about the showmanship.

The small candle I insisted upon gives away the trick, at least to me, closest to the spiritualist. I can make out that she is sitting on a pillow placed on a small platform painted black, the tubular shape conveying an impression of bamboo. The assistants carrying her are covered completely in black, appearing as just the slightest hint of movement in the darkness.

Very clever. Without the candle, I would not have seen anything except the glow of her features from her own light. That tiny light takes another shade off the darkness, enough for me to make out that people at the table are all focused on the spiritualist.

When I had first seen her, she reminded me of a ceramic doll, one of those beautiful China dolls craftspeople in Hong Kong make so cleverly. Tonight she strikes me as a goddess of the exotic and mysterious East, a deity of the shadow world.

Madame Xi Shi lowers her head and puts her hands in a prayer form, and we hear the whisper of wind, a cold stirring that causes the candle to flicker and which gives me a shiver.

Wind?
The portholes are covered; the entire room is cloaked in heavy black drapes. I don’t know and don’t want to think about it.

A sound comes from Madame Xi Shi. Not words, at least not any that I can understand or even distinguish as words of another language, but more of a hum, a chant, and Chee Ling’s voice finds us in the darkness.

“Madame Xi Shi’s spirit contact is a Tibetan monk whose physical body passed beyond sorrow three hundred years ago but whose spirit is strong. He is her guide into the world beyond.”

A childhood memory flashes in my mind: After my father died, my mother stood in front of my father’s casket, looking down at him. The minister stood beside her. She asked him, “How long does it take for a soul to leave its body?”

His answer never left me. “It depends if the person died peacefully.”

Mr. Cleveland died violently. Does this mean his spirit is still here waiting for justice? Maybe she really will summon John Cleveland’s spirit.

The hum slowly rises, until it fills the room with its powerful tone.

A ghostly image flashes across the room and everyone gives a start.

Cenza giggles and that releases the tension in the room.

“Probably a light trick—” Von Reich says, but is silenced by a loud hiss from somewhere in the room. Chee Ling, no doubt.

Another voice is heard, a deep rumble, and I sense someone is behind me. I want to look, but in truth, I’m afraid to. This is all getting too real for me.

A dark mass materializes behind Madame Xi Shi, more a shadowy darkness that doesn’t seem to have any definite shape to it.

It
floats
closer to her and an animated conversation erupts between the dark mass and Madame Xi Shi, words that sound like the gibberish I once heard in a holy roller church; “speaking in tongues” some call it.

A gong sounds and then complete silence as the dark form vanishes into the night air.

A strange guttural noise emits from Madame Xi Shi and she sits upright, and
stares right at me
.

She opens her mouth and an eerie male voice comes out. “Amelia—”

“You poor man!”
Lady Warton shouts.
“You were murdered! God help you! You were murdered!”

She stands up and grabs her chest and starts gasping for air. Her breathing becomes labored and she falls back into the chair.
“My heart! My heart!”

Frederick quickly throws open the door to the corridor to let in light and jerks the covering off the electric light next to the door.

“Someone get the doctor!” the captain shouts.

*   *   *

I’
M IN A FOG
. Imprisoned by stunned arms and legs to my chair, unable to move, unable to talk, as the drama around Lady Warton unfolds. A prisoner to my own sense of shame and doom, I don’t even turn my head as she is taken out of the room in a wheelchair.

The ship’s doctor hovers over her as Von Reich wheels her out. Lord Warton comes at me and Frederick is suddenly there, restraining him.

“You’re a devil!” Lord Warton spits at me. “If this ridiculous trick of yours kills my wife, it will be on your head and I’ll make sure you are prosecuted!”

“Leave her alone!”
Sarah yells at him as she puts her arms around my shoulders.

I can’t say anything; all I can do is shake my head as Frederick guides the irate husband out of the room.

The captain is suddenly in my face. “What is Lord Warton talking about?”

Frederick comes up to the captain and answers his question for me as I sit paralyzed.

“Nellie, the Wartons, and Herr Von Reich witnessed the murder of a man, John Cleveland, at a Port Said marketplace. She also feels I had some part to play in it.”

I cringe when he says the words.

“The moment the name Amelia was uttered, it became obvious that she had concocted this farce to smoke out the killer. She only had the best of intentions.”

“Nonsense!” The captain glows with anger. “That makes no difference. What in heaven’s name were you thinking?”

I have no answer. I am lost.

“The poor woman has had a heart attack!” Now he’s yelling. “You may have killed the wife of a British peer with a cruel and tasteless joke. Everything I have heard about you is true. You are a troublemaker!”

The first officer has arrived and the captain turns to him.

“Officer, escort this woman to her cabin. You are not to leave without my permission,” he snaps at me. “You will not cause any more trouble on my ship. If you do, I will have you put in chains.”

The first officer reaches for my arm and Frederick is suddenly there again. “I’ll escort her for you.”

Frederick offers me his arm and I slowly rise and take it, my knees so weak I must walk stiffly to keep from collapsing.

Ahead of us in the hallway, Cenza, walking with the Murdock woman, turns and laughs. “Everyone has a price,” she shouts.

I have no idea what she is talking about. Suppressing the urge to vomit, I keep up with Frederick, walking stiffly, like a zombie.

When we get to the cabin, the first officer pardons himself. “Sorry, Miss Bly. You know the whole crew is rooting for you.”

I just shake my head. I have let them down, too.

Frederick puts his arms around me and gives me a hug. I let him pull me into him, but I don’t squeeze back. I am completely drained of emotion.

He holds my head in his hands. “I know your motives were pure.”

I bend my head down, unable to meet his gaze. “I’m an idiot. I should be shot.”

“The captain won’t go that far. I hope.” He smiles. “Just joking.”

“Thank you for protecting me. You are truly a gentleman. And more than I deserve.”

Escaping into my cabin, I shut the door behind me and stagger to my bed.

I’m still sitting on the edge of the bed, my life passing before my eyes, when Sarah opens the door. “Bread and water for the prisoner,” she says.

She has a bottle of champagne and a small cake.

“You’ll be happy to know that Lady Warton has not slipped off to the spirit world. In fact, she never went to the ship’s infirmary, but had them take her to their stateroom.”

“To her room? After shouting ‘heart attack’? Now I know what she meant when she said everyone has a price.”

Sarah sets down the “prison food” and gives me a look. “Lady Warton said that?”

“No, Cenza, the one in red. She laughed at me and said everyone has a price.”

“Meaning?”

“Chee Ling the Eunuch, the spiritualist’s mouthpiece, henchman, whatever. He sold my scheme to other people.”

“Ah, well, that explains that.”

“Explains what?”

“Why Lady Warton’s heart attack sounded so contrived. I’ve died from a broken heart on stage much more realistically than her pathetic moans and groans.”