The Twisted Tragedy of Miss Natalie Stewart (15 page)

“What sort of battles?” Blessing asked calmly, as if they two had dealt with supernatural goings-on before.

“Well, we’ve seen a strange manner of possession by dark rituals and séances gone wrong. I’ve a sinking suspicion we haven’t seen the end of it. So while I’ll be leaving Natalie here in charge, I don’t want her to be without recourse.”

My mouth fell open. “Who said anything about my being in charge? I don’t want to be in charge!” I sputtered awkwardly. Blue turned then to stare at Mrs. Northe, as if she was following the conversation and expected a retort.

“I just want to be prepared,” Mrs. Northe said honestly.

“I am at your service, Miss Stewart, in whatever ways you need.” As if to prove his point, Blue put her head on my knee. My anxiety vanished in the face of this lovely creature. I thought of Jonathon having hidden stray, starving dogs in his room. My heart ached for him.

“Thank you, Reverend Blessing. If nothing else, I think it might do my…suitor’s heart good just to see these ladies,” I said, smiling at the dogs. “I hope we won’t need to call on any of your other talents. No offense, but I hope this all doesn’t come to an exorcism.”

“You and me both.”

“I confess, I’m surprised. I thought only Catholics did exorcisms. As a Lutheran, I’ve never heard the rite spoken of.”

Blessing shrugged. “Well, when someone gets asked to banish spirits, appease ancestors, cleanse houses, and perform exorcisms and all manner of spiritual interventions from up in Harlem to down in the Five Points, the church has found it useful to have a man like me around. And I come from New Orleans. Now talk about a haunted city and a lot of different beliefs.” He whistled. “It was a good training ground for this mess of a city. Of course, here I need my wits about me for
every
sort of battle, spiritual or social. You never know what you’ll encounter. My family down in New Orleans is all Catholic, but while I knew I was called to be a man of the cloth, I just couldn’t manage the idea of a life without a wife and children. I always saw that in my future.”

“And how is that coming along, Reverend?” Mrs. Northe queried with a smile. “Any prospective leading ladies?”

He shook his head. “Haven’t found the right blessing to make a Blessing out of. And you? Shall you always remain a widow?”

Mrs. Northe shrugged nonchalantly while I knew better. But she didn’t put either of us on the spot about her potential place in our family, and for that I was thankful. She rose. I followed suit. “Well, Natalie, let’s allow the reverend his hours for others. Thank you as always for your time.”

“Always. And Miss Stewart,” Blessing stared me down. “Keep your faith. It seems to have gotten you this far.”

“Yes, sir, it has,” I said earnestly.

“Promise you’ll call on me if you or yours are in distress,” he said.

“I promise,” I said, feeling my anxiety calm. I needed to feel I had blessings on my side. Now I did, literally.

The dogs escorted us out, and I felt a small lick on my hand at the door. Blue was looking up at me, and it almost seemed as though she smiled, her mouth hanging open slightly from her long snout.

“Girls, no.” Blessing steadied them, long fingers looped around their collars as they saw the great racetrack of a New York City street and their long legs strained to leap forward. “I promise you a long run in the park. After my calling hours,” he said. With a chuckle, we waved good-bye.

Mrs. Northe and I walked in silence for a long while.

“Why didn’t you ever meet my mother?” I asked finally. “You’re a philanthropist, fond of
causes
. Wouldn’t your paths have crossed?”

Mrs. Northe set her jaw and offered an apologetic grimace. “Wealth segregates, too, my dear. I once moved in an exclusive, limited echelon. After Peter died, I gladly changed that routine but too late to have met your mother. We’d surely have been dear friends in life. Not just acquaintances in death.”

The reminder that Mrs. Northe heard more directly from my mother than I did drove a knife’s point further. And here she stood poised to take Mother’s place…

“It isn’t that I wouldn’t trust or enlist Reverend Blessing’s help,” I began, suddenly eager to change the subject. “But you can’t leave town. You have to hear what Jonathon has to report, and I’m very worried about Rachel.”

“One day at a time, my dear. It’s all we can do.” She took my hand. “If I must go, you’ll be fine. You, Denbury, Rachel, and Blessing, that’s a team I’d trust with whatever may come.”

“What do we do next?”

“Preston. It all hinges on Preston.”

“In St. Paul, he mentioned other doctors in other cities. What if what he’s up to is being replicated elsewhere?”

“All the more reason for me to check in with my associates in Chicago.”

I sighed. Without Jonathon or Rachel to help navigate the lay of the land, I felt helpless.

I met Father at the Metropolitan and we all dined together pleasantly, but the small and meaningless talk of the day’s events passed around my head like birds flitting about, with nothing really landing. Mrs. Northe mentioned she’d taken me to visit a man of the cloth, one of her spiritual confidantes, but left out any talk of exorcisms.

While trying to solve the mystery of Jonathon’s curse, I remembered how much I disliked the waiting between finding the pieces of the puzzle.

***

My dream that night was hazy, with few details. All I recall is that a collected, chanting whisper grew in volume, a common theme in my dreams since we’d banished Jonathon’s demon.

I was again in the darkened hallway of my mind, and this time the corridor was lit by red candles dripping scarlet wax, like the kind used in state seals and other rites. The corridor was blackened, as if entirely burned. Wax pooled into misshapen heaps below the iron holders that kept the tallow in place, like mineral deposits that grew into spikes in caves over time. The other end of the corridor was in shadow, but I could vaguely make out a silhouette whispering to me seductively—a low, rich male voice set apart from the monotone chorus of chants in Latin or some other ancient tongue.

It was beckoning for me, the silhouette in a suit. That was Jonathon calling for me, wasn’t it?

Waking, I reassured myself with that fact until I found a letter on our entryway table downstairs. Concern for my dreams was supplanted by news about Jonathon’s confrontation with those who had attempted his murder.

Chapter 14

My dear Natalie,

As promised, I tell the tale of a terrible Society. The only fact that can comfort us both is that by the time you read this, I’ll be on a ship back to see you.

I wasted no time in confronting my enemies. I was up at first light, pacing the flat. I nearly seized the hot water out of the maid’s hands. Bolstered by my favorite brew of Earl Grey, I waited until a reasonable hour before entering Knowles’s office.

“Tell me about ‘the Society,’ whatever you know.”

Knowles sighed. “I inquired after your estate to the family now living there. The merchant family appears quite separate from the affairs that displaced you. They paid a mad sum of money for the property, and I believe that was the Society’s sole intent: a fundraiser of sorts. The agent, by the family’s admission, was a bit odd, and they were uncomfortable about the run of bad luck that surrounded your family name. I’m sorry, Lord Denbury. I’m about to tell you things that will enrage you.”

He lifted the snifter of bourbon, but I took more tea instead. “Go on.”

“Your crest was removed everywhere from the estate, replaced with monograms. The family has no coat of arms with which to replace it. What I found in perusing the sale papers was the occasional seal.”

He pointed to the paper, to the “crest” of the Society.

“The exact agent brokering the sale was never referred to by name, only the Society, with this seal. I had to appear entirely casual and not give a whiff of Scotland Yard, so that’s as far as I could take things. I wonder if you shouldn’t pay a visit to the one address you see there, Earl’s Court.”

I knew I would have to go as the demon, of course. Would they sense that some distant arm across the Atlantic had been severed? As long as I didn’t look them directly in the eye, they couldn’t
see
any difference, so long as I was a good actor…But would they sense it?

But not only demons were at work. The Society would have to be made mostly of mere mortals, so how could they know? Mrs. Northe promised that the demise of the painting would not be broadcast even to those who worked in the Metropolitan Museum. It was our secret victory. And couldn’t I explain any inconsistencies away, at least enough to glean some insight?

I could’ve used your presence to bolster me as you used to do in the painting, brightening my day and restoring my sanity. I wasn’t eager to take on that beast’s manner, but I couldn’t say no.

“The play’s the thing,” I muttered, and we were off. Much as Hamlet set a trap with his little play to draw out Claudius, I hoped to do the same with mortals who served demons. “Let’s go. I don’t think the demon is the sort to leave a calling card. If no one is home, I’ll leave a message with whatever staff I might find.”

If I didn’t try immediately, I’d lose momentum, nerve, and anger. Anger at all that had been taken from me. I could care less about the property; it was my loved ones I missed. Anger would keep me sharp and smart.

I’m not sure what I expected, but the bustling heart of a new Earl’s Court development was not the outpost of the insidious that I had anticipated. Perhaps it was better to hide nefarious activities here rather than in a darkened mansion on a howling moorland. Instead, evil had offices. A corporation. I got a chill up my spine walking up the stoop.

As I rang for the uppermost floor, a beady-eyed man in a footman’s uniform opened the door. He looked me up and down, scowling.

“Society business,” I said casually. Still scowling, he pointed up a sweeping staircase. I suppose that was a welcome in. He strode on ahead of me, boots loud on the wooden stairs. The dark, expensive, and elaborately carved wood everywhere made the place look like a rococo cave.

“Majesty’s busy, though. You know, all his
transactions
,” the doorman said in a rough cockney voice that sounded like his throat had been cut and sewn back together. “I’ll have to announce you. And you are?”

“Denbury,” I said. A dim flicker of recognition passed over the man’s face. He nodded and knocked on an unmarked door with a particular rap—four knocks, a pause, and then one more. Soon the door swung open as if on its own and the doorman slipped in, closing it in my face.

The Society seemed to exclusively maintain the top floor of this fine, three-story edifice. The windows bore crests and proud British symbols in stained glass, and I noticed that Society members would be able to see everything around and below them. I guess they liked looking down on things.

The door swung open again, and with a grunt from the doorman, I was motioned into a dim flat with high ceilings and exquisite furnishings fit for a king. Perhaps “Majesty” was one himself from some time or another. Everything smelled musty and old, even though the building was of the very finest new row construction.

Across the vast room, drapery cascaded down from the ceiling, making a sort of ceremonial corner steeped in shadow, and from this shadow came a voice—thin, reedy, and disapproving: “Why are you back? You were to remain in New York as we prepare the colonial offices!”

“Your Majesty.” I genuflected. “My apologies. Crenfall went batty. They locked him up for my deeds, which is just as well. I must let the rabble in the press die down.”

“Your deeds?”

Did this man not know? Wasn’t the demon who’d overtaken my identity the type to have bragged about his bloody conquests? I decided to chuckle and give one of those looks that had made us both shudder when we’d seen the demon use it. I edged half into one of the shadows.

“I got a little…carried away with local women, you know. But I don’t want it to detract from our greater goals. So I’m on holiday.”

“Ah, yes. Well…you are a creature of your own nature. And we did tell you to seek to increase your powers by any means necessary. I expect a full report. We need to learn from your rituals and institutionalize them among the Majesties, the three of us.”

I waved a noncommittal hand. “If your kind can understand them…”

“We are
disciples
of your rituals,” the Majesty said, wounded the demon should think otherwise.

The last thing on Earth I wanted to do was recount what had been done in my visage. I thought of the carving of flesh, of all the terrible things we had seen, and I held back a shudder.