Whispers Beyond the Veil

by Jessica Estevao

  “Likewise,” I replied.

  “George encourages me concerning my psychic pursuits, even going so far as to join the Divination Circle. He has become quite adept at the practice of automatic writing,” Honoria said. George blushed a deep red where the swirling points of his mustache touched his round cheeks.

  “And seated next to the window are Everett and Cecelia MacPherson. He’s the resident radiesthesist and she’s our astrologer.” Honoria smiled at an older man whose most noticeable feature was his skeletal slimness and an Adam’s apple larger than his nose. Seated next to him was a pale woman dressed all in black and holding a small fat dog in her lap. Cecelia flashed me a welcoming smile. Her dog gave an excited yip, then sprawled, panting, across her lap.

  “I’m naught but a dowser, young lady,” Everett said, his voice rolling with a heavy Scots accent. There was a cook in the medicine show from Nova Scotia with the same sort of voice. I felt a momentary tug of homesickness. “But if you need something found, I’m the man for the job. My wife, however, has much more impressive skills to demonstrate. Show her, my dear.” Everett patted his wife’s shoulder with a bony hand.

  “When were you born, my dear?”

  “February fifteenth.” I wondered if she always started conversations that way.

  “An Aquarius. You are experiencing important transits.”

  “I am?” I had no idea what she was describing. My unease before arriving in the dining room had centered on my appearance and how to comport myself. I had not imagined I’d be conversationally disadvantaged as well.

  “Yes, you are. For an Aquarius today I would predict a slight head injury, an attempted robbery, and a rescue by a handsome policeman.” Cecelia gave me another sparkling smile.

  “You can tell that from just hearing my birthday?” I hoped my voice did not betray my skepticism.

  “Not from your birthday alone. For all that I’d need to look at a complete natal chart.”

  “Do stop teasing the girl,” Honoria said. “Everett and Cecelia ran into Officer Yancey as he was leaving the hotel this afternoon. He told them you had a run-in with a pickpocket. Something you might have mentioned to me, I would add.” Honoria shook her head at me, then led me to the last occupied table. “This young man, Ned Larkin, is our numerologist, and seated next to him is Amanda Howell, a gifted psychometrist.” Ned hopped to his feet and offered a slight bow. He clasped my hand between his two damp palms and pumped it up and down with enthusiasm.

  “Do let me know what I can do to make you feel welcome here at the Belden,” he said.

  “You already have,” I said, hoping he didn’t see me wincing as my shoulder made a popping noise.

  “Please join us,” Ned said, pulling out a chair right next to his.

  “Yes, do,” added Amanda from across the table. She let her gaze wander up and down the length of my gown as if trying to memorize the details in order to forbid her dressmaker from creating something remotely similar. I looked to my aunt, hoping she would require my presence at her own table but she just waved me into the offered seat and turned her attention to a woman carrying a steaming tray of food. “Honoria did not tell us your discipline. Is it by any chance the ability to time travel?” Amanda looked pointedly at my dress once more and I felt determined not to let the pleasure of wearing it dim. I called upon my years of showmanship and gave her the brightest smile I could muster as Ned pushed my chair up to the table.

  “If only such a thing were possible. Have you read The Time Machine?” For all his faults Father believed in education. Since formal schooling did not exist on the road he made an effort to provide me with a constant supply of books in a wide range of topics. While I wished I could boast of a love of poetry and classics, the truth was my taste ran decidedly to the far more sensational works of H. G. Wells and Arthur Conan Doyle.

  “As serious students of the higher realms Ned and I have no time or inclination for such frivolities.” I looked over at Ned, who shifted in his chair and pleated his napkin with long fingers. He met my eyes and gave the slightest of shrugs, which I took as an apology.

  “I am sure my aunt is glad to have such devoted members of her ensemble. What exactly does each of you do? I am unfamiliar with the terms numerologist and psychometrist.” I directed my question to Ned, who cut Amanda off as she began to reply.

  “I study the relationships between numbers and events, personalities, and life paths. It is an ancient science with predictive capabilities. Perhaps tomorrow I could conduct a reading for you?” Before I could answer I felt a sharp blow to my shin. Assuming the kick was intended for Ned, I ignored it and answered as I wished.

  “How generous. Have you time right after breakfast?” I asked.

  “He does not. Ned helps me in the mornings with my token reading practice,” Amanda said. “Isn’t that right?” She turned to Ned.

  “I cannot see why you insist on me putting you through practice readings every day. You’re more than prepared for the guests to arrive.” From Amanda’s behavior and the scorching scowl she gave me it was clear to me why she insisted on Ned’s attentions. I wondered if he was being deliberately dimwitted.

  “I shouldn’t like to disturb a psychometry routine, whatever it may be,” I said. After all, Amanda may not have seemed interested in befriending me but there was no reason to antagonize her unnecessarily. The young woman with the heavy tray arrived at our table and sat a plate in front of each of us. As I looked at the offering of tender greens, a heaping mound of mashed potatoes, and a portion of fish in a creamy sauce I realized I was famished.

  “Psychometry is the challenging art of reading the energy of objects by touching them,” she said.

  “What sort of objects?” I asked.

  “Personal possessions held close to the body like jewelry or even spectacles conduct information the most readily. But under the right circumstances I could read just about anything.”

  “Why do people ask for this service?” I asked.

  “Because the people who appear in our lives aren’t always exactly who or what they claim to be. Clients rely on me to help them to uncover harmful secrets. I’d be happy to do a reading for you if you’d like.” Amanda gave me the first genuine smile I had seen from her, then snapped her large white teeth down on a forkful of beet greens. “That is, unless you have something to hide.”

  • • •

  She’s the spitting image of her mother,” Orazelia said.

  “People always say things like that about long-lost relatives,” Lucinda said.

  “She looks more like Delphinia than you do me,” Orazelia said.

  “That’s because I favor Father’s side.” A noticeable hush descended on the room as all three paused their clanking and scraping of cutlery on china. Yancey rushed to fill the silence and distract his mother from painful memories and his sister from her gaffe.

  “She made an impression everywhere today. The scene at the train station caused quite a stir.”

  “Is it true that she bashed a pickpocket over the head with her parasol?” Lucinda completely abandoned any pretense of interest in her meal and leaned so far forward the lace on her bodice loomed perilously close to her soup plate.

  “Lucinda, I’m sure that isn’t true in the least. People do so love to exaggerate.” Orazelia’s tone was stern but she laid her own fork down and gave her son her full attention.

  “I’m afraid the witnesses all concurred with what Lucy has heard.” Yancey paused to enjoy a sip of soup. No sense wasting a perfectly good meal just because his family had more appetite for gossip than for food.

  “See, Mother. I told you.” Lucinda stretched even farther forward, and this time managed to wet her ruffles with the tomato bisque. She was so engrossed she didn’t seem to notice. “Did you catch the thief?”

  “No, but I’ve given word to the men to be on the lookout for s
omeone skulking about with a parasol-shaped dent in the side of his head. We should have him before long, I expect.”

  “Such high spirits. So unorthodox. It will do Honoria a world of good to have her visit. I hope she intends to stay for a while,” Orazelia said.

  “I wonder what people will say about her arriving so unexpectedly. There’s sure to be a great deal of talk.” Lucinda waved her hands about wildly. Even in the low light of the candles Yancey could see the high color on her cheeks.

  “There’s always talk surrounding the Belden women. At least this time Honoria will enjoy the subject,” Orazelia said.

  “I wonder if she’s here to help Honoria with the business,” Lucy said. “Perhaps she received a message from the beyond, letting her know her aunt needed her.”

  “I certainly hope she shows more sense than to claim a thing like that. The last thing we need is someone else bringing that séance nonsense in your lives again.” Yancey felt his hand clench around his spoon. He fixed his eyes on his mother. “You’ve barely recovered from the last go-round with it.” Something in his sister’s manner gave him pause. He wasn’t at all happy with the way she was chewing on her lower lip. As a child that always had meant she was hiding something. “You do remember you promised not to hire any of the practitioners at the hotel, don’t you?”

  “I have no plans to do so, despite my feelings on the subject.” Orazelia sniffed and reached for a dinner roll.

  “It’s for your own good, Mother. If you’d kept on the way you were going you would have shelled out every penny you had and still not heard an answer which satisfied you.”

  Yancey loathed this particular conversation. When Honoria announced her plans to renovate the Belden and create a haven for gullible souls with money to burn he worried Orazelia would not be able not resist the temptation to participate in all her friend had to offer. The dire state of his mother’s finances was not his only worry on the subject. Orazelia’s nerves had been shattered by the emotional highs and lows each new encounter with a self-proclaimed medium had wrought. If he’d had his way every last one of those charlatans would be rotting in a cell until they were nothing but spirits themselves.

  “Well, whatever Miss Proulx’s reasons are for appearing out of the blue, I’m delighted that she’s here. I’ve always felt sorry for Honoria, rattling around in that hotel with nobody but paying guests and the Dragon.”

  “You know I dislike it when you call Mrs. Doyle names,” Orazelia said. “She may be fiercely protective of Honoria but that doesn’t make her a dragon.”

  “We all know how important allies are in time of trouble, Lucy,” Yancey said. “If I had to guess, I’d say Miss Proulx is exactly what Honoria needs to put the past behind her.”

  “What makes you the authority on this particular young lady?” Lucinda asked.

  “I’m no authority. I only walked her from the police station to the Hotel Belden. It was my duty to see that she was entertained on our way.”

  “I can’t see that it was your duty to take her there at all. If she had been a grubby fifteen-year-old boy you would have left him to make his own way,” Lucy said.

  “But she was not grubby, nor was she a boy. Your brother has done his best to make her feel welcomed. Tomorrow, Lucinda, we must do the same.”

  “What a good idea. Honoria hustled her out of there so quickly I didn’t even have a chance to say hello.”

  “We shall pay a call tomorrow afternoon. Even if she is not in we will leave our cards and an invitation to something or other. We could arrange a dinner party.” Orazelia clasped her hands together excitedly and winked at Yancey in a way that left the palms of his hands clammy. If there was one thing he didn’t like about his mother it was her insistent matchmaking. But at least she appeared to have forgotten to be angry at him.

  “If you two will excuse me, I’m heading back out to keep my eye on the area around the station. Apparently there are pickpockets about.” With that he kissed both his mother and sister on the tops of their heads and left them to their plans.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Honoria caught my eye at the end of the meal and beckoned me to her with the flash of a heavily ringed finger. As the other diners filed out of the room in a buzz of conversation I made my way to her table.

  “My dear, if you are not too tired there’s someone who insists on meeting you this evening.” A flicker of concern crossed Honoria’s face and I thought of my conversation with Millie.

  “Mrs. Doyle, perhaps?” I asked, hoping I wasn’t going to get Millie into any trouble.

  “Millie’s been helping put you in the picture, I see. She is a bright girl.” Honoria exhaled forcibly, her impressive bustline deflating with the effort. “Mrs. Doyle won’t go to bed tonight unless she gets her own eyes on you, and I need her at her best tomorrow with so many guests set to arrive in the morning.”

  “I’d be delighted to meet her.” I said. “Would now be a good time?” I would have expected to be overwhelmed with exhaustion after such a long journey but instead I felt alert and curious.

  “Are you sure it won’t be too much for you? How is your head feeling?”

  “It’s only a little sore.” I reached up and gently pressed my fingers against the lump that had formed right below the spot where Millie had affixed the hair comb.

  “Mrs. Doyle is the nurse here at the Belden along with all her other areas of expertise. If she wasn’t so proud of the table she provides she would have canceled dinner and taken a tray up to your room and forced you to lie there while she spooned broth down your throat.”

  “But why is she so interested in me?”

  “Let’s just say she’s devoted to the family.” Honoria patted her hair and then tucked her arm in mine. “We’ll find her in the kitchen.”

  Honoria ushered me through a long hallway leading away from the dining room and library. From the end of it came banging and clattering. Honoria paused at the doorway and drew a deep breath before giving me a wink and crossing the threshold.

  “I hope you’ve got her with you, missy. It’s bad enough I’ve waited twenty years too long to see Delphinia’s child.” The words were sharp but the voice was musical.

  “She’s here, Mrs. Doyle, all in one piece and ready for inspection.” I squared my shoulders as Honoria stepped aside. Across the room, held at bay by a long wooden worktable covered in pie pans and carving knives, stood a tiny woman with an enormous scowl on her face. I felt my throat constrict. If Mrs. Doyle didn’t like me being here would Honoria ask me to leave?

  Mrs. Doyle made her way around the table and drew closer. She tipped her head back to look up at me and scowled some more.

  “I’ll speak to the child alone, young lady.” Mrs. Doyle addressed herself to Honoria and then pointed at the door.

  “I shall leave you to get acquainted,” Honoria said. “Don’t keep Mrs. Doyle up too late, Ruby. I trust you can find your way back to your room when you are finished here?”

  “I’m certain I can,” I said, hoping I was right.

  “Then I will wish you a good night. I’ll see you at the breakfast table.” Honoria gave a tight smile and left us alone, closing the door behind her.

  “I see there’s no hope you aren’t who you say you are.” Mrs. Doyle squinted at me as she grasped my chin with a calloused hand, turning my face this way and that. “You’re the spitting image of her, especially in that gown. No wonder you gave Honoria such a turn this afternoon, thinking Delphinia had come back to us.”

  “Upsetting her was not my intention in coming here.”

  “And just what was your purpose?” Mrs. Doyle turned the full power of her blue eyes on me. Cold tugged at my stomach and I regretted eating my dinner. Honoria had said Mrs. Doyle was devoted to the family. Perhaps that was the angle to take.

  “I’ve always wanted to be in touch with my mother’s side of the
family. Now seemed a perfect time to do so.”

  “More than likely you needed a warm bed and a free meal. You may look just like your mother but you were raised by your father. With an influence like that I’ll be more surprised than not if both you and the silver are here in the morning. Running off in the night with family treasures in tow is in your blood.”

  “I assure you, I’m here for as long as Honoria is willing to have me. I just want to get to know about my family.”

  “All you need to know is that so far your father has been the worst thing to ever happen to the Beldens. I’m making it my mission to be certain you don’t pick up where he left off and destroy what little remains of the family.”

  “Then I expect there is nothing I can say to reassure you of my intentions.” I stepped out of her reach and felt the weakness in my trembling knees as I did so.

  “No, there is not. You may be a sweet talker just like your father. I expect that you’ll slide into Honoria’s good graces just as easily as you’ve slipped into your mother’s dress. But you shan’t wriggle your way into mine.” She squinted at me even harder.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way.” I held my breath as I stood, hoping my quaking legs would support me and that Mrs. Doyle would not see the effect she had on my nerves. “I’ll take myself out of your way.”

  “See that you do and remember, I’m watching you.” Mrs. Doyle gripped the edge of the table between her two hands.

  • • •

  No one but Ben, silently manning the front desk, was about as I hurried through the lobby and along the stairs to the refuge of my mother’s third-floor bedroom. Floors creaked and voices murmured through solid doors as I passed but no one slowed my progress. I pushed open the door and was struck once more by the opulence of the room and my good fortune at arriving in such a place.

  I struggled out of the unfamiliar gown and sat in front of the mirror to brush out my hair and to affix it in a braid for the night. Mrs. Doyle’s words echoed in my ears with every stroke, and my hand trembled. I was convinced Mrs. Doyle would turn me over to the police if she had the least cause to do so. And what better cause could there be than murder?