Whispers Beyond the Veil (7 page)

As I made my way down the plushly carpeted hall I happened upon a section of wall covered in paintings. I wondered if amongst them was the one Dovie mentioned. An artful arrangement of portraits painted in dark, thick oils hung in carved wooden frames. At the top of the wall hung a portrait of an old man with an extraordinary display of whiskers. His muttonchops obscured the lower half of his face but his eyes glared out at me so fiercely he made Mrs. Doyle's scrutiny seem welcoming.

Next to him, a small woman, if the birdcage behind her was to scale, sat serenely in a dark green chair, her hair pulled so severely back from her head my own scalp ached just from looking at it. A pair of pearl drops adorned her ears and a matching necklace filled the space between her neck and the low bustline on her dress. Her eyes were softer than those of the man, and a slight upturn to the corner of her mouth made me think she enjoyed having her likeness painted.

Below the older couple hung two more pictures, one of a younger, slightly slimmer Honoria. Her wavy hair fell loosely around her shoulders and her face had the roundness of youth, but it was easy to see that it was she. Unlike the older people, Honoria's face wore a bold, forceful smile, as if she would lean out of the portrait and tell the viewer an amusing story. Her zest for life was nearly as palpable in the portrait as I had found her to be in the flesh.

The final frame held a more subdued portrait. The subject sat demurely, almost shyly. Instead of Honoria's bold look, she held her head tilted, as if she were listening to something far away. Her eyes were the same dark shade as the woman in the top row and her hair curled as rambunctiously as Honoria's. She looked exactly like the woman in the photograph I had held on to for so
many years. At her throat was the same necklace that now adorned mine. My mother.

I leaned forward to absorb every detail of the painting, every line, every shadow. The dress she wore for the portrait was the very same one I had chosen to wear the night before. That explained Mrs. Doyle's comment about me sneaking around and ingratiating myself. There were so many things I would likely never know about my mother. I felt a lump rising in my throat and backed away from the picture.

There was no reason to be anything but sensible. If I was going to earn my keep I couldn't spend the day standing about in hallways making myself miserable. I decided to descend via the back stairs to ask Honoria how I could further assist. After I had regained mastery of my emotions.

M
iss Flora Roberts?” Honoria asked the turbaned woman. A person looking less like a Flora Roberts I could not have imagined. This woman stood in the foyer swathed in three shawls and a bead-encrusted turban. How she had not fainted dead away from the heat was beyond me. Or from the cloud of her own perfume, wafting violently about the room.

“No. I am Madame Fidelia. You have heard of me, of course.” The turbaned woman projected her voice as clearly as she projected scent. Honoria glanced in my direction as if to ask me to prompt her memory but I had nothing to offer.

“I regret to say that I have not.”

“Surely the letter of introduction from my dear friend Miss Flora Roberts has reached you?” The woman squinted as if she were confused.

“I am afraid no such letter has reached me,” Honoria said as the door behind her opened and Ben, assisted by a second man, rolled in a pair of brass luggage racks laden with three steamer trunks and a mound of valises. “And I regret to inform you all of
our rooms have been reserved for weeks. We simply have no accommodations available.”

“But surely I can have Miss Roberts's room as was mentioned in the letter?” Madame Fidelia widened her dark-rimmed eyes and looked from Honoria's face to mine. “Since she will not be requiring it.”

“Not requiring it? I expect her at any moment.” Honoria's face paled and she reached out a hand and gripped my arm so firmly I stifled a yelp.

“No. She no longer comes to this hotel. She sends her dear friend Madame Fidelia in her place.” The bejeweled visitor unleashed a dazzling smile.

“Miss Roberts sent you to replace her as the medium at the Belden for the season.” Honoria's voice cracked and her grip tightened.

“No, of course not,” Madame Fidelia said. The ferocity of Honoria's sigh of relief ruffled the hair at the nape of my neck. “She sent me in her place, but everyone knows Madame Fidelia is not a medium.”

Honoria gripped me even tighter and a little squeak escaped her throat, but as no words seemed inclined to follow I launched myself into the conversational breach.

“What is it that you do exactly?” I asked.

“I read the future.” Madame Fidelia turned to the top valise on the mound behind her, opened it, and plunged her hand inside. “With this.” She held a crystal ball cupped in her palm. I felt Honoria stiffen her spine and find her voice.

“Did Miss Roberts give a reason as to her cancellation of our agreement?” Honoria said.

“She only say to me that the spirits advised her not to come to this place and that she never ignores the counsel of her guides on the other side.” Madame Fidelia glanced up and down the hall. I wondered if Miss Roberts's guides on the other side were anything like the voice I heard. Then I wondered if they had mentioned any particular reason not to come. “If you leave me standing here with all of my things I think it will look strange for your guests when they arrive, no?”

“We certainly cannot leave a friend of Miss Roberts's with nowhere to stay. I'm sure this will all be easily sorted out.” Honoria turned to me. “Ruby, please show Madame Fidelia to the Piping Plover Room on the third floor.” She lowered her voice into my ear. “Take her up the back stairs. I fear the force of her perfume might peel the new wallpaper in the front hall.”

•   •   •

M
adame Fidelia expressed delight at the provided accommodations, and I left her to rest after her journey. As I approached the back stairs Honoria's voice came toward me in a whisper. It sounded as if her voice were coming from a long way away. I crept along the hallway and followed the sound. She was nowhere to be seen but her voice seemed to be coming from a recess tucked into the corridor. It was then I realized I could hear her from the chute used for the dumbwaiter. Someone had left it open and it was possible to overhear the voices in the kitchen below.

“I cannot believe Flora Roberts canceled at the last possible minute,” Honoria said. “I don't know what on earth I will do. Absolutely everything is riding on that woman,” Honoria said.

“It can't be as bad as all that. You have a season's worth of bookings,” Mrs. Doyle said in a louder voice than my aunt's.

“Yes, and every last one of them said in their letters that they chose to stay at the Belden because of the medium.”

“Too bad the girl is proving to be about as much good as her father,” Mrs. Doyle said.

“She can't help it if she doesn't share her mother's gift,” Honoria said. “It seems she is only a card reader. A good one, but that shan't be enough to save the hotel.”

“If only your sister hadn't run off with that good-for-nothing tramp you would have had a gifted practitioner permanently on site.”

“That can hardly be helped now. I do confess I had high hopes for Ruby and the possibility that she could pick up where Delphinia left off. After all, I can read cards for the guests myself.”

“You have plenty of other amusements for them, though.” Mrs. Doyle must have been at her baking. Her words were punctuated by the slapping sound of yeast dough being kneaded on the wooden worktable.

“They will enjoy the other practitioners, to be sure, but you know as well as I the real reason for them coming to the Belden is the medium. If they are not provided with one they will likely leave and then we will be ruined.”

“You mustn't get yourself all dithered up, child. Surely it isn't as bad as you are making it out to be.” Another slap, this time even louder than the last.

“Mrs. Doyle, I tell you truly, it is. I sank every last penny I had into remodeling this place and advertising the new services we would provide. What's more, I secured a mortgage against the
hotel itself to complete the project.” I heard a final slap of dough, then a gasp.

“You never did such a foolish thing.”

“I didn't know what else to do, Mrs. Doyle. All the other hotels around us are so much larger and more glamorous. They have ballrooms and ice cream parlors and bowling alleys right on site. We have fifteen rooms to let and a view of the sea. This was my final attempt to remain in business.”

“But to mortgage the hotel. What would your parents say?”

“If the medium hadn't canceled we could have asked them. But as she did, I shall just have to figure something out on my own.”

“What if you can't?”

“If I can't replace Flora Roberts with another medium I expect we'll all be out on the street. I've already received dunning letters from the bank. I thought we'd be open a month ago but was willing to wait at the medium's request, because she was so important. Every week we are falling further behind,” Honoria said. Cold pulsed through my stomach and I leaned against the wall for support. The hotel looked so luxurious. It had simply not occurred to me that Honoria could be in any sort of financial trouble.

I felt irrationally tricked, as though I had fallen for a swindle that was obviously too good to be true. Hot tears filled my eyes as I considered that a new life had seemed within my grasp, but was actually out of reach.

“But what will you do if you lose the hotel?” I heard Mrs. Doyle ask. “My daughter is always pestering me to move in with her and spend my old age bouncing my grandchildren on my knees. But what about you? You've never been anywhere but here.”

“As much as it distresses me to say it, I shall have to marry someone.” Honoria's voice sounded as though it wavered even through the muffling of the chute.

“You never wanted to marry. You've always been so determined to chart your own course. It'll break your heart to head to the altar, especially if it isn't for love.”

“If it were just on account of myself I'd take a job as a companion or even try my hand at a modern occupation like becoming a typist but now I also have Ruby to consider. I've offered her a home and I can't go back on my word.”

“But you don't even know her.”

“I know she is my niece and I've waited all her life to meet her. I'd rather make a practical marriage than to lose the opportunity to get to know her.”

“You'll do as you're a mind to, of course. Just like you always have. I just hope it all ends up being worth it.”

I took a deep breath and tried to pull myself together. I needed to think, and nothing cleared the mind like a walk. I ran up the back stairs to my room, passing Millie on the way.

“Is there anything the matter, miss?” she asked.

“I'm going out for a walk and remembered my parasol was all the way on the third floor. If anyone asks for me, please tell them I've gone to see the beach.” I gathered what I needed and slipped back down the servants' stairs without being seen.

D
espite the troubles of the day, it was impossible not to be distracted from them by the sights and sounds of the sea. Sunlight bounced off the waves and the gulls swooped down from above as if they wished to steal the flowers from the ladies' hats. Small boys raced up and down the boardwalk, weaving between the adults, garnering scoldings for their unruliness.

Up ahead, the pier, still under construction, stretched out like a steel leviathan whose tail had been anchored to the beach. Yesterday, I had only had a hurried glimpse of it as Officer Yancey escorted me to the Belden. I was eager to take a closer look. Indeed, all along the beach, strollers were drawn to the imposing structure. A large crowd had assembled as close as was safe, and I was as curious as the rest. Clanging and hammering echoed from where men stood atop the pier, fastening bolts and attaching beams.

I watched the work for a few moments before continuing on. I slowed as I passed a sign advertising tintypes and souvenir photographs. The scent of hot roasted peanuts and buttered popcorn
wafted toward me from a cart, its metal wheels half buried in the sand near the foot of the Sea Shore House.

As I moved along the hard-packed sand my mind returned to the problem of Flora Roberts. The obvious solution was to tell my aunt I, too, was a medium. Since Honoria had hoped that I had inherited some sort of mediumistic ability from my mother she would be easy enough to convince. The real test would be with the clients. Surely most of them would have far greater experience with such matters than I.

All my life I had known people who were believers in the possibility of communication with the dead. Spiritualism was a popular movement in Canada and abroad. Even Arthur Conan Doyle, whose latest works I devoured as soon as they were released, made no secret of being an ardent believer in such things.

But even more troubling than whether or not I could pull off the deception was if I should even attempt it. Was deceiving spiritual seekers any different from deceiving people who looked for miraculous cures for their physical ailments? Was it even more reprehensible to prey on grief than on faint hopes for the future? Would it be best to ignore the voice and leave the Belden and Honoria's problems far behind? After all, it would be selfish of me to stay with Honoria if she lost the hotel. I would only be a burden to her, and over time I felt sure she would grow to resent me.

Carnival people are a superstitious lot whether they work the sideshows, the fairs, or the snake oil circuit.
Please
, I pleaded silently,
just give me a sign
.
A symbol, something to tell me if I should cast my fate in with Honoria and stay or if I should cut my losses and run.
And then, just as if something otherworldly had heard me, as I approached the Fiske Hotel, a bit of bright red material,
propelled by a gust of wind, careened down the beach toward me. I bent to pick it up and realized it was a kerchief. A sturdy woman hurried up to me, a look of relief upon her face.

“Is this yours?” I asked, extending the scarf to her.

“Yes. Thank you for stopping it.” The woman's voice came in pants. “I've chased it halfway down the beach.” She paused and dragged a deep breath into her lungs. I was intrigued by her appearance.

Her shirtwaist was white but around her shoulders she wore a vividly violet shawl trimmed with brass-colored disks that tinkled and jingled as the sea breeze tickled them. Her skin was darker by far than mine and her hair was black with a few streaks of silver. Fastened to a sash tied at her waist hung a pouch that looked like the money bags most women in the medicine show secreted into their skirts. She looked so much like an aunt of Johnny's I thought I had been followed from the medicine show. But then she smiled at me and revealed a full set of teeth, something not possessed by Johnny's aunt.

“It was nothing,” I said. “It would have been a shame for you to lose such a pretty thing as this.” The woman took the kerchief from my hand and tied it over her hair with a deft motion. Then she reached for my left hand and tugged me to sit beside her on the warm sand.

Flipping my palm up, she lowered her head over it and began to trace the lines etched there. Then she picked up my right hand and did the same. Holding the two side by side in front of her, she spoke.

“You are at a crossroads. You are torn between two possibilities but you are not happy with either choice.”

“You can see that in my palm?” I asked. Part of me was offended to be taken as the sort of person who would fall for such drivel. But another part of me felt like she was just the sign I was looking for.

“That and much more. You've suffered heartache and loss. This is not the palm of a person accustomed to a soft life. I see a strong fate line in both palms but they differ from each other.”

“What does that mean?” I surprised myself by asking.

“It means your fate is entirely up to you. You have the ability to stand your ground and make the life you want if you have the courage to try.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because I have a gift. You have one, too. See this raised place on your hand?” I nodded as she traced the outside edge of my palm. “It indicates knowledge of the unseen, an ability to communicate with the beyond.”

“You truly believe such abilities to be real?” I had no sense the woman was working a con. She radiated a peaceful sincerity.

“Why would I not when the experiences of my lifetime prove it to me?” She raised her hand and gestured at the beach. “Not only are these sorts of abilities real, this place enhances their strength.”

“You think the beach makes people more able to see the future or contact the world of spirit?” Even though the thought seemed unlikely I found it intriguing.

“I am certain of it. If you wish to build a life around your abilities, you could not have found a better place to do so.”

And in a flash, I felt sure of what I had to do. I could not have asked for a clearer omen that I should stay and take on the role of
medium. I could hardly wait to get back to the hotel. As if sensing my eagerness, the woman rose and pulled me to my feet.

As she did so she backed into a pinched-faced woman in a dusty black dress.

“Look where you are going, you filthy beggar.” The woman's raised voice was loud enough to carry across the sand and draw looks from others strolling the beach. The palm reader dropped my hand and turned to the dowdy woman.

“My apologies, madam,” the palm reader said. “May I make it up to you by reading your future?”

“Don't you dare touch me.” The woman brandished her parasol like a weapon. Unless I was very much mistaken she was preparing to assault my new acquaintance in the very same manner I had the pickpocket the day before. “Police.”

“Please accept my apology,” the palm reader said.

“Police!” The woman raised her shrill voice even louder a second time.

“I only meant to help by offering to read your palm.”

“More like you wanted to help yourself to my property.” The gray-haired woman looked up and down the beach. “You there, police officer. Come here.” Officer Yancey hurried to her side and cocked his head as she spoke rapidly.

“I assume you know how to enforce the vagrancy laws in this town, do you not?” the woman asked.

“What seems to be the trouble, Mrs. Jellison?”

“This heathen is soiling the atmosphere with her presence,” the angry woman said, raising her voice even more as a fresh round of clanging and banging rang out from the pier. “She is a filthy tramp and I demand that you arrest her immediately.”

There had been a wide variety of people who had visited the
shows Father and I worked. There were the poor, the ignorant, the listless, the truly ill. In every segment of society there were people who were kind and interested in others who were different from them, and then there were those who looked for ways to feel superior to their fellow man. It never seemed to be a matter of money or of background. It was more a disease of the soul. It never failed to incense me.

“How can she be a tramp if she is gainfully employed?” I asked. I found myself speaking before I gave the consequences of my words any thought whatsoever. I gave the palm reader a pointed look and hoped she could read minds as well as palms. Not that I believed either was truly possible.

“Nell works for you?” Officer Yancey asked.

“She most certainly does. We were discussing her schedule at the hotel when this woman took a notion to harangue us.”

“She has no right to be accosting decent people in public spaces.” The woman brandished her parasol once more.

“And you have no right to assault citizens in public spaces,” I said, stepping between the angry woman and the palm reader. “Officer Yancey, you are a witness to this woman's assault upon my person.”

“Ridiculous,” the woman sputtered. “You placed yourself in front of me and put yourself in harm's way.”

“So you admit your actions would cause harm,” I said. “Officer Yancey, perhaps you should consider escorting this person to the police station and allow us to be on our way.”

“How dare you suggest such a thing? Do you know who I am?” The woman drew herself up even more erectly.

“I know more about you than I wish to already. Your actions have convinced me I have no interest in furthering our acquaintance,” I
said. It pleased me to note the woman's face turned the color of a ripe plum.

“Who do you think you are to disrespect a woman like myself in such a way?”

“I think of myself as someone who treats everyone with the same respect they accord others,” I said. My heart was hammering in my chest but it was unthinkable to back down in the face of such bigotry.

“What is your name? It is my intention to alert your family to your inexcusable behavior.”

“My name is Ruby Proulx. My aunt is Honoria Belden. I am certain she would receive you with more civility than you have this lady.”

“Honoria Belden? That would make you Delphinia's daughter.” The woman stepped closer and pursed her thin lips as she looked me up and down. “Your pedigree explains your behavior.”

“And a shocking lack of character explains yours.”

“Nell, do you wish to press charges against this woman?” Officer Yancey asked.

“No, I do not,” the palm reader, apparently named Nell, said. “What I wish is to continue my walk. Shall we?” She directed the question at me.

“Nothing would please me more.” I tucked my arm under the crook of Nell's and turned my back on the angry woman. We walked together in silence until we were well out of earshot, and then Nell stopped.

“What is this job you have for me?”

“My aunt owns the Hotel Belden. Have you heard of it?”

“Of course. Honoria Belden is a well-known figure in this town, as is her hotel.”

“Have you also heard she has transformed the hotel into a center of learning for spiritual seekers?”

“I know she has employed spiritual practitioners from many disciplines for the season,” Nell said.

“Exactly. And the one type of practitioner she does not yet have is a palm reader. If you come to the hotel tomorrow I hope to have convinced her to add one to her staff.”