Whispers Beyond the Veil (11 page)

T
hat girl was trouble. He should've spotted it from the moment he scooped her off the bricks in front of the train station. Even though he generally loathed gossip, this time he was grateful for the local grapevine. How could Honoria have allowed such a thing?

If Frank hadn't heard about the supposed séance from his mother-in-law, Mrs. Doyle, Yancey was sure his mother and Lucy would have kept it to themselves. Miss Proulx needed to be stopped before she did any more damage to his frail family.

•   •   •

Y
ancey raced past flocks of sightseers in their summer gowns and straw boaters. He felt his pants' garter give way and then his trouser leg tug into the safety bicycle chain. The whole machine ground to a halt with a clank and a tear in his trousers.

He dismounted, more irritated than ever. As he tugged at the shredded bits of fabric entangled in the oily chain he imagined Miss Proulx's parasol similarly shredded. There was just
something about that girl that was entirely maddening. By the time he arrived at the Belden he was ready to spit nails.

Ben stood like a sentinel behind the registration desk. Yancey nodded at the man and marveled again at how he looked the same every time he laid eyes on him. Ben never looked tired, never took sick, never seemed to grow older, fatter, or less silent. Yancey couldn't remember a time when Ben didn't work in some capacity for the Belden family.

“I need to speak to Miss Proulx. Is she in?” Yancey asked. Ben reached under the desk and pulled out an oversize leather ledger. He opened it and turned it round on the countertop to face Yancey. He tapped a long, pale finger on a line with Ruby Proulx's name on it. She was busy with a client, perpetuating the same sort of fraud on another pair of ladies that she had on his mother and sister. Yancey felt his temper, usually held so firmly in check, bubble to the surface.

“Do you expect Miss Proulx to have finished with her victims before long?” he asked. Ben tapped on another line in the timetable. Ben silently shrugged. “Unfortunately, I don't have time to waste. I assume they are in the Blue Room?” Yancey barely waited for a nod from Ben before striding down the hall, the hard heels of his boots muffled by the plush carpet running the full length of the polished corridor.

Whatever qualms Yancey might have had about interrupting Miss Proulx during the course of her work were quashed as he approached the midnight blue portiere at the end of the hallway. Two almost identical elderly ladies pushed their way out through the folds in the curtains and looked up at him. Preying on the elderly was a thing Yancey simply could not stomach. The stories he heard at the police station of women such as these being
targeted by pickpockets made his blood boil. Just because Miss Proulx was robbing them in an elegant parlor did not make what she was doing any less criminal.

“Good afternoon, ladies.” Yancey drew off his hat, made a slight bow. “May I ask if Miss Proulx is in there?”

“Yes, she is.” The tiny women spoke in unison.

“Still recovering,” the slightly plumper of the two hurriedly said, as if trying to beat the other to deliver the message.

“Our father, you see,” said the thinner one.

“A strong personality,” they both said, again in unison.

“He can be quite tiring,” said the thin one. “You may need to allow her to collect herself before she's ready for your session.” The two ladies moved down the hall before he could correct their impression that he was a client. More irritated than ever he pushed through the heavy velvet draperies.

Miss Proulx stood with her back to him at the window facing the sea. Her hand smoothed the drape and light washed over her thin form. She looked like she'd benefit from a year's worth of his mother's rich dinners. She gnawed on her lower lip like she hadn't had a decent meal in months. Perhaps, from the look of her, she hadn't. The candle on the table sputtered and drew her attention. As she turned toward the noise she caught sight of him in the shadows.

“Miss Proulx, I require a word with you,” he said. “I am here on behalf of my mother and sister.”

“Did you wish to schedule another séance for them?” Ruby drew back the curtain and fastened it with a dark blue cord. “If so, there's no need as they've already booked another one themselves.”

“I know that they have. That's the reason I'm here. I must insist that you never conduct a séance with either of them again. In fact, I forbid it.”

“You forbid two grown women, neither of whom are your wife, to make an appointment with me?”

“I do. And I expect you to honor my wishes completely.”

“I have no intention of doing so.” Ruby stepped toward him, leaving the table with its flickering candle between them. “At least not so long as they wish to take advantage of my services.”

“The only one taking advantage here is you, Miss Proulx,” Yancey said, dropping his voice to almost a whisper. “If you do not leave well enough alone I will be forced to take action.”

“What do you intend to do?” Ruby smiled as if the entire exchange amused her enormously. He was surprised at how attractive he found her smiling face even when she exasperated him.

“I shall mount a fraud investigation, forthwith.” Attractive or not, she could not be allowed to toy with his mother's emotions. “My mother has spent countless hours and even more money on charlatans such as yourself. I will not have you playing havoc with her nerves.”

“Your mother is my aunt's dearest friend. Are you telling me you would try to discredit Honoria's livelihood?” Ruby widened her eyes in amazement. “I should think concern for her friend would shatter your mother's nerves as no contact with the dead ever could.”

“There is no contact with the dead to be made. You are simply giving her another reason not to put my family's sordid past behind us.”

“I do not agree. Your mother found a great deal of comfort in what I had to offer. I don't see how you can desire to deny her that small joy.”

“That joy comes at a very high price, Miss Proulx. I cannot believe Honoria would allow her friends to be taken in by someone exploiting common gossip. It's utterly disgraceful.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, while I am impressed by the speed with which you researched your victims, I'm not inclined to credit you with proper morals for having done so. So tell me, how did you come to know so much about the circumstances surrounding Gladys Willard's death? Old newspaper clippings or just idle chatter with the maids in the hotel?”

“I was as surprised as your family when I was contacted by Gladys. I knew nothing whatsoever of her death or your father's alleged involvement in it before their sitting.” Ruby crossed her slim arms across the sprigged bodice of her cotton gown.

“I find that impossible to believe.”

“Lucinda told me about Gladys after your mother left the room. I was honored to have opened a channel to someone with whom your mother so desperately wished to communicate.”

“Open a channel? Is that what you call it?” Yancey paused. “The dead are dead and they stay that way. Have you ever seen a dead body, Miss Proulx? There's nothing there to communicate with.”

“I feel sorry for you, Officer. As it's clear we will not come to an understanding, I suggest you leave before my next appointment arrives.” Ruby lifted her chin and nodded toward the door.

“You'd be better served saving your sympathies. I intend to run a full investigation. When I'm done with you, Miss Proulx, I'll know you better than you know yourself.”

I
stood trying not to tremble as I watched Officer Yancey's retreating back. I felt rattled by all his threats but his question “Have you ever seen a dead body?” rang loudest in my ears. I sank into the wingback chair in the corner of the room and considered my predicament.

On the one hand, the police were not to be trifled with. On the other, I had never worked a medicine show under my real name. Father and I had built long histories for ourselves under many guises but none of them had been aimed at hiding the fact that we worked in a medicine show, just in hiding which ones we had frequented. If Officer Yancey really was intent on finding things out about me he was going to run into a brick wall. I only hoped that wouldn't get me into even more trouble than I was already in.

Honoria was the one who encouraged me to conduct the séance for his family. I felt the need to speak with her to reassure myself I had not done wrong by following her suggestion. I left the séance room and hurried to the front hall, where Ben stood silently behind the heavily carved walnut reception desk. His
silence pulsated, like a living thing. It was as though he were willing me to be aware of him. As I approached I could have sworn he was waiting behind the desk for me rather than waiting to attend to the guests expected to arrive throughout the day.

“Have you any idea where I might find Honoria?” I asked, stopping at the desk. Ben nodded slowly. His fair hair swished silently back and forth against his translucent forehead. He raised a long, slim finger and pointed down the hall, then with his elegant hands pantomimed opening a book. Just to be certain the message was clear, he made as if to carefully turn pages by their upper corners.

Honoria made up for any silence on Ben's part. Her voice barreled down the hall toward me in gusts and peals. I stepped into the library and found Honoria holding court with a gentleman. Their backs were to me and I had the opportunity to observe them briefly without their notice. It was a habit I had picked up whilst on the road. Strangers have much to tell us when they don't know they are saying anything at all.

The gentleman was well into his middle years and his jowls hung slackly against his collar. Unfortunately, his flourishing mustache only served to point at them like a road sign. His jacket strained against his shoulders and spoke of a recent weight gain and the reluctance to admit it. While his hair was gray it was not entirely turned and patches of dark brown hair dappled the back of his head.

He leaned closer toward Honoria and opened up a line of sight, allowing her to spot me.

“Ruby, please say hello to our latest arrival.” Honoria extended a hand and drew me toward her. “Allow me to present my niece, Miss Ruby Proulx. Ruby, this is Mr. Leander Stickney. You may remember you have already met his wife and nephew.” She gave me a pointed look as if to alert me to potential conversational
pitfalls. I appreciated the warning. Mr. Stickney nodded slowly and deeply enough that he seemed to nearly bow. This was a first for me. In the medicine show good manners were not thick upon the ground and certainly gentlemen of this caliber were generally not frequenters of such low forms of entertainment.

“Good day, sir.” I extended my hand. Mr. Stickney's jowls wobbled as he gave my hand a gentle shake and then released it.

“Just the person I was hoping most to meet,” he said with more passion in his voice than seemed warranted. Warning bells clanged in my head.

“Mr. Stickney has heard reports of you from his wife,” Honoria said. “In fact he's already booked a reading with you for tomorrow afternoon.” Honoria looked entirely too pleased about something. Rather than reassure me, her delight turned the warning bells into gongs.

“Mrs. Stickney has nothing but the greatest enthusiasm for your abilities,” he said. “She was disappointed not to find her usual medium, Flora Roberts, here as expected, but said you have done an admirable job replacing her.”

“I'm only too happy to fill in.”

“It was such a fortunate and extraordinary coincidence that you just happen to be a medium when the position suddenly opened.” Mr. Stickney raised one eyebrow at me. My heart fluttered in my chest but my training kicked in.

“I find if one opens oneself to the extraordinary it is likely to happen,” I said, offering what I hoped was an otherworldly smile. “Do you not find that to be so, too?”

“Alas, I am so insistent on proof of such things that even my friends call me Stickler Stickney. My business has taught me that the extraordinary most often has its roots in the mundane.”

“May I be so bold as to ask the nature of your business?”

“I'm astonished that your aunt didn't mention it to you.” He turned back to Honoria.

“I thought it possible you wished to remain anonymous.” Honoria looked unruffled but I felt a wave of fear as icy as the North Atlantic cascade over me from head to toe.

“I make it a point to be forthcoming with all my investigations.” He turned to me once more and his gaze felt challenging rather than friendly. It took every bit of self-control not to squirm and back away. “I am the president of the Northeastern Society for Psychical Research.”

“And what is that, sir?” I asked.

“I should have thought someone in your line of work would have recognized the name of my organization immediately.”

“You must forgive my niece, Mr. Stickney. She is newly arrived from Canada and has only recently come into the open about her gifts. Such a well-known organization as yours would be unfamiliar to her. I, on the other hand, am honored by your attentions.”

“That explains her ignorance. Allow me to enlighten you, Miss Proulx. I am the head of a group that seeks to prove the possibility of all sorts of psychic phenomena from mediums to soothsayers to ghostly apportments,” he said. “Sadly, most of what I do is to unmask frauds.”

•   •   •

A
s soon as Mr. Stickney excused himself I shut the library door and leaned heavily against the frame.

“Are you feeling well, Ruby? Your cheeks are quite flushed and you're trembling.” Honoria placed a plump hand on my
forearm, sending sparkles of light flashing about the room from her many rings. I nodded and swallowed the lump.

“I am simply surprised to find I will be under such scrutiny.”

“But as you have nothing to hide, there can be no cause for distress.”

“But you said yourself that there is so much riding on the success of the medium. If I fail to impress him you could lose the hotel.”

“Please don't fret. I have every confidence in you. Now, I insist we speak of pleasanter things,” Honoria said, handing me a creamy envelope addressed in a firm, rounded hand. “The morning post brought this for you.”

People say life is made up of the little things, and I do believe it's true. Ever since arriving at the Belden I've come to realize how many small pleasures there are in life and how much I wish to continue to enjoy them. I held the letter in my hand and felt a lump rising in my throat. This was the very first letter I had ever received. The only other one I had even touched had been from Honoria to my mother.

“I'll go open this in my mother's room, if you don't mind.”

“It's your room now, Ruby. Please don't forget that I've been keeping it for you.”

“Yes, ma'am,” I said. As soon as I was out of sight down the hallway I began to run. I raced up the back stairs past Millie, giving her a quick smile. She raised a scrub brush in salute and I continued on my way at breakneck speed until I reached the top floor.

Settling myself in the tufted green velvet chair in the turret window I carefully slit the envelope with a hatpin. Inside was a note from Lucinda asking me to call upon her and her mother at
my earliest convenience. She proposed that very afternoon if I was not already engaged. It was signed,
Your friend, Lucy
.

So there it was, my first letter and my first friend all in one delightful package. Despite my pleasure at Lucy's invitation I was uncertain of what I should do. After my disastrous conversation with Officer Yancey I could not expect him to be pleased if I were to call upon his sister. It would, however, be rude to refuse or to ignore her overtures of friendship. Besides, he had warned me to halt any efforts in the séance arena. He had not specified that I could not associate with his family in other ways.

Not to mention, if I called on Lucy it would leave less time in my schedule to conduct a sitting for Mr. Stickney. That settled it. I hurried to the wardrobe and considered which sort of gown would be appropriate for an afternoon call. Something lightweight and simple seemed best. I pulled out a white cotton gown heaving with ruffles and tucks. I held it against the length of me as I stared at my reflection in the mirrored door of the wardrobe. It was not fashionable, but it was clean and of a pleasant weight for a warm day.

On a shelf at the top of the wardrobe sat a row of hatboxes. Gathering them, a few at a time, I carried them to the bed and pried off the lids. Lifting out hat after hat it was clear to me that while they were all lovely, they were even more old-fashioned than the gowns. I tried on a straw bonnet with a bouquet of pink silk roses pinned to the side. I tied the bonnet's pink ribbons into a loopy bow beneath my chin and considered my reflection. It was the best of the lot and would simply have to do. Besides, dated or not, it was by far the prettiest hat I had ever worn.

I descended the back stairs and gathered my courage for a foray into the kitchen in hopes of asking Millie's opinion on my
appearance. Mrs. Doyle stood at the sink with her back to me. Millie was nowhere in sight and I held my breath as I tried to back out of the room without being seen.

“What have you got on your head, child?” Mrs. Doyle asked, squinting at me.

“I need to pay a call on Miss Yancey and this hat was in the wardrobe.” I reached up and gave it an awkward pat. “I realize it's a bit out of date but I thought it was lovely nonetheless.”

“Did you, now?” Mrs. Doyle made an unladylike grunting noise exactly how I imagined a female ogre would sound just before settling in to grind a child's bones into bread.

“I'm no authority on hats but this one struck me as extremely pretty.” I loosened the ribbons and lifted the bonnet from my head. “And more than that, the workmanship is lovely. The silk flowers are a bit faded but you can still see how fine the stitches are on each tiny petal.” I held the hat toward her for her inspection.

“I don't need to see it up close,” Mrs. Doyle said. “After all, I made the silly thing.”

“I wish I had such a skill.”

“You won't do your aunt much credit running around the town in something so behind the times as that is.” Mrs. Doyle scowled and squinted at me again, then wiped her red hands on her long apron. “Follow me and we'll see what can be done.”

I waited while she lifted a pair of shears, a roll of ribbon, and a small tin from a drawer. She motioned for me to follow her out a door at the end of the back hall. Here was a part of the grounds I had not yet visited. A high white picket fence enclosed a neat garden and contained the fragrance of vigorous plants spilling from their beds. The fence served as a windbreak and the sun beat down warmly on my bare head.

“These should do the trick.” Mrs. Doyle stooped over a petite rosebush ablaze with pink roses. With a deft snip she cut three sprigs and held them out to me. “Mind the thorns.”

“Which sort are these?” I asked, holding the delicate bunches to my nose and inhaling deeply.

“Cecile Brunner. They bloom from spring till hard frost and don't ask for a lot of fuss.” She turned to a row of lavender and sheared off a few stems. “And this is lavender. It loves the seaside.” I followed her to a stone bench in a corner of the garden tucked under an arbor mercifully shaded over with broad leaves. “Now, give me that hat.” She held out her hands and I gave her the bonnet. Using only the points of the scissors, she snipped the threads that secured the silk roses to the bonnet's brim.

“Honoria tells me you are giving satisfaction to the guests with your sittings.” Mrs. Doyle kept her eyes riveted on the hat in front of her as she pulled the spool of ribbon from her apron pocket and began to wind it round the floral stems to bunch them together.

“I'm glad to hear she is pleased with what I can contribute.”

“I just hope you know how much is riding on you.”

“She told me about how much the medium matters this season at the hotel.”

“I'm not just talking about the success of the season. I'm talking about Honoria herself.” Mrs. Doyle opened the tin and removed a long pin with a large green glass head. “She was devastated by the loss of her sister and then the deaths of her parents. She's managed to put on a brave face and soldier on, but your arrival means too much to her. I worry you may be a fresh source of sorrow.” Mrs. Doyle jabbed the pin through the cluster of flowers and fastened it firmly to the hat.