There was a roar in the theater, and just as Lucy had hoped, a woman fainted in the front row.
“More!” someone shouted. “What else do you see?”
Lucy pushed the air in front of her face as if she were parting curtains or pushing aside tall grasses. “What’s this? The city of Boston may steal something from the worthy citizens of New York? They hope to capture a lady. A French lady? All because the lady has nothing to stand on.”
This was perhaps a bit too cryptic, but when the story appeared in tomorrow’s newspaper—that there was a committee of Bostonians appealing to the French to move Bartholdi’s statue of Liberty Enlightening the World to that city because of the long delay in raising the funds for a pedestal in New York—then all would become clear.
“Embezzler!” she suddenly shouted. She had to stifle her laughter when she saw how badly she startled her father. She had revealed this prediction far more dramatically than she had in rehearsal. “Thief!” She raised her arm and pointed at the audience. Slowly she moved her arm from one side of the theater to the other as if she were going to accuse the blackmailer right then and there. “Mr. William Morton has vanished, taking with him ten thousand dollars of the firm’s money!” There was a gasp in the theater. She lowered her arm. “Have no fear, the company is still solvent.”
She then lowered herself into the chair as if she no longer had the strength to stand.
Colonel Phillips stood beside her. “Are there departed spirits who have messages to convey?” Peabody worked the harp; from the wings, a stagehand released a bit of fog to the stage.
“Yes…” Lucy said faintly. “Oh yes…” Now she went into the usual routine of using the information her father had picked up in the Blue Book and gossip to give messages to several of the people he had been assured would be in attendance. Judging from the reactions in the audience, she knew he’d been perfectly on the mark.
Finally the performance came to a close. Lucy had kept the audience enthralled for over an hour.
At Mr. Grasser’s signal, the stagehand covered the fog-making device so that it would stop.
Colonel Phillips stood beside Lucy. “It’s time to release the spirits,” he said gently.
“Goodbye, my friends,” Lucy said a little sadly. “Thank you for coming. We will meet again.”
Peabody plucked the harp again, the light effects man brought the lamps back up, and Lucy slumped in the chair. After a moment, she opened her eyes. “Were they here?” she asked in an alert, clear voice.
“Yes, my dear.” Her father helped her stand, then helped her off the platform. “And I believe everyone here would agree that the spirit world was well represented by you this evening.”
The room burst into raucous applause, along with shouts and hoots. People were calling out questions, yelling her name, demanding to know how she knew such things. Colonel Phillips pulled her backward a few steps and raised his arm to make an exaggerated bow—this was the signal to lower the curtains.
“They’re as rowdy as any Bowery audience,” he commented with a laugh. “Oh, dearie dear, this is one rum show! In fact, we’d better make our getaway before they storm the stage.”
Throwing his arm around her, he hurried her into the wings as Mr. Grasser crossed in front of the curtain to address the still-cheering audience. “Colonel Phillips and his remarkable daughter, Lucy, will be appearing on this stage every Friday evening.”
“Hear that?” Colonel Phillips gloated. “You’ve settled in for a long run. In a much finer venue than Mrs. Van Wyck’s stuffy salon.”
The stagehands stared at Lucy with awe, stepping aside to allow her father to guide her through the tangles of ropes and stored scenery. Lucy sank into a chair in the dressing room, and Colonel Phillips checked his reflection, straightening his cravat. A moment later, a beaming Mr. Grasser entered, followed by Peabody. Mr. Grasser counted out bills, then handed a stack to Colonel Philips and a few to Peabody. When he returned the money roll to his pocket, Lucy stood.
“What about me?” she asked.
“What do you need money for, little lady?” Mr. Grasser asked. “Aren’t all your needs provided for by your daddy? And Mrs. Van Wyck?”
“I earned it,” Lucy said, indignant. “It’s me they come to see.”
Mr. Grasser, Peabody, and Colonel Phillips exchanged bemused looks, as if Lucy were behaving like a petulant child. Colonel Phillips peeled a bill from his wad and held it out to Lucy. “You do deserve a treat.”
Lucy put her hands on her hips. “I deserve far more. Peabody barely did a thing, and he earned more than this.”
“Now, Lucy,” Colonel Phillips said.
She ignored the warning in his voice. “It’s not fair. I’m the one who brings them in. You couldn’t do any of this if it wasn’t for me.” She picked up her cloak and draped it over her arm. She grabbed her hat and evening bag. “So I guess you’ll just have to see how well you do next week when I’m not here.”
She made for the door. Her father stopped her, gripping her arm so hard she winced. “Don’t get high and mighty,” he growled in a low, guttural voice. “If you recall, this couldn’t come off without me either.”
“But—”
“This is not the way,” Colonel Phillips said. “Not like this.”
Lucy’s heart pounded, and her corset felt tight and constricting, as if it were cutting off all her air. “All right,” she mumbled. “I’m sorry.”
He released her, and she stumbled backward. She rubbed her arm, trying to get the blood flowing again. Her eyes darted among the three men. Peabody’s rodent-like face showed concern, but Mr. Grasser simply glared at her.
A knock interrupted the tense moment. “Come in!” Mr. Grasser said.
A small boy stepped in. He held out a card. “Gentleman wants to see Miss Lucy,” he said. “Mr. Alan Wordsworth.”
“Ah, the young doctor!” Colonel Phillips said, taking the card. “Send him in, lad, send him in.” He rubbed his hands together. “I believe we’ve concluded our business,” he told Mr. Grasser and Peabody. Mr. Grasser touched the rim of his derby, and Lucy watched with a sinking sensation as he and her father exchanged some kind of silent message between them. Peabody avoided looking at her as he followed Mr. Grasser out the door.
“Hello again, Miss Phillips, Colonel Phillips,” Alan said as he entered the room. “I was quite impressed with this evening’s…events.”
Lucy peered over his shoulder. “Did Bryce come with you?”
“Well, no, actually,” Alan said. “I didn’t see him.”
“Young Cavanagh is not a believer, Lucy,” her father said. “You know that.” He put out his hand to shake Alan’s. “Can I take your presence here tonight as indicating that you are among the believers?”
“I’d have to say I have questions. But I do find it intriguing.”
“An open mind,” Colonel Phillips said. “That’s all we ask.”
“Well, I was certainly raised to have that,” Alan replied with an odd laugh. He looked down at the hat in his hands. “I was wondering if Lucy would join me for dinner,” he said. “And you too, of course.” He gave Colonel Phillips a little nod.
“I’m expected elsewhere,” Colonel Phillips said. “But Lucy has my permission, if she’d like to go.”
Was this her father’s attempt to placate her after their altercation? Or, she thought, her eyes narrowing, is this how he intends to avoid me?
Lucy welcomed the admiring look Alan gave her. I put on a good show. I deserve to celebrate.
“I’d be delighted,” Lucy said, and was rewarded with Alan’s warm, happy smile. At least he appreciated her.
Lucy walked along the narrow backstage corridor flanked by her father and Alan. “Thank you again for your help with Katie, Doctor,” Colonel Phillips said. “She looks as fit as ever.”
“You’ve seen her?” Alan asked as they stepped outside into the brisk night air, welcome after the stuffy fog-and-dust-filled theater.
&n
bsp; “Oh, I’ve seen her about in the neighborhood,” Colonel Phillips explained with a casual wave of his hand. “We only cross paths now that I am no longer lodging with Mrs. Van Wyck.”
They stopped at the curb, and Colonel Phillips turned to face Alan squarely. “Where do you plan to take my daughter?” he asked.
“I thought we’d return to Greenwich Village so that she’d be closer to home. There is a pleasant café not far from Mrs. Van Wyck’s that I think Miss Phillips will enjoy.”
“And you’ll not keep her out too late,” Colonel Phillips instructed. “She has had a very full day.”
“Of course, sir,” Alan said gravely.
Lucy rolled her eyes. Her father’s concern was such a well-played performance, she fought the urge to applaud.
“Well, then, all to the good.” Colonel Phillips stepped away and hailed a passing carriage.
He’s feeling flush, Lucy observed resentfully as the carriage clip-clopped away. Thanks to my earnings.
“I, er, I hope you don’t mind taking the stage to the café, Miss Phillips,” Alan stammered. “A student physician’s wages don’t stretch very far, I’m afraid.”
“Fine,” Lucy responded.
They walked the few blocks to the spot where they could board one of the many horse-drawn omnibuses. Alan dropped their fares into the coin box, and they settled onto lumpy seats running along the sides of the stage car. There were many other passengers, and the air in the stage was thick. Lucy feared the straw covering her feet was harboring mice, but it was better than walking, she supposed.
It wasn’t long before Alan was helping her off the stage. If Bryce had been here, they would have alighted from his elegant private carriage; she would have been handed up into the coach by his smartly uniformed livery driver. But Bryce wasn’t here—he had not attended her performance. What did that mean? She knew he didn’t take her mediumistic skills seriously, but this absence felt more like a condemnation than mere skepticism.
“Here we are,” Alan said, ushering her into a cheerful café. It was crowded, probably with people just coming out of nearby theaters.
“Hello, my doctor friend,” called a short, dark man with an extravagant mustache. He pumped Alan’s hand hard and enthusiastically. “You must be here for my Cecelia’s torte!”
Alan smiled. “You read my mind.”
“Come, my friend, and your charming companion.” The little man led them to a small, round table near the fireplace in the back. “I shall provide the very best slices for the excellent doctor and his friend.” He rushed away with an urgent air.
“I heard you stopped by Riverview twice,” Alan said.
“Oh yes,” Lucy said. She had nearly forgotten that she’d gone back to the hospital to speak with Lindsay and that she had pretended to be there to see Alan. “I wanted to check on Katie. And to thank you for your kindness.”
Lucy squeezed her eyes shut in frustration. She had forgotten. She’d promised Lindsay to tell her what happened at the Lyceum tonight.
“Is something wrong?” Alan asked.
Lucy opened her eyes. “No, no, it’s nothing. I just remembered something I was supposed to do.” She didn’t really want to think about the future for the moment. Besides, there was no way she wanted to go back to the boardinghouse with her father after that scene in the dressing room. “It’s fine. I can take care of it tomorrow.”
“You know, that girl’s life was saved because you brought her to the hospital. Others might have turned a blind eye to a girl of her…profession.”
“She needed help,” Lucy said. She hoped, however, she wouldn’t come to regret giving Katie aid. Nellie’s threat was all too real.
A waiter came to the table with a tray of beautiful desserts and a pot of steaming tea. He placed them with great ceremony on the table.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Alan said. “I never order. Antonio just sends over what he thinks is best. He’s never wrong.”
“You come here frequently?” Lucy asked, lifting the heavy teapot. Mrs. Van Wyck always poured the tea if there were gentlemen present, never allowing them to touch the pot.
“It’s a favorite of mine,” Alan admitted. “Antonio is very kind to me.”
Lucy looked around the cheerful room. It wasn’t elegant, like the places Bryce took her, but it was far homier. The other patrons were a range of ages, and though none wore the expensive finery of those in Bryce’s circle, they were an attractive crowd, engaged in lively debates and sparkling conversations. Frequent laughter punctuated the deep rumble of the many voices—and many accents—in the café.
As if he had heard his name mentioned, Antonio appeared at their table. He clapped Alan heartily on the back. “This is an excellent fellow,” he declared in his thick Italian accent. “Most kind! Most brilliant!”
Alan looked down at his teacup and blushed to his reddish hairline. Antonio laughed. “I embarrass the young doctor, I see.” He ruffled Alan’s hair as if he were a small boy. “I leave you alone now.”
“He’s rather fond of you,” Lucy observed after Antonio had vanished again into the crowd.
“I helped his family. His daughter had some…troubles. He has been treating me like a son ever since. I suppose I enjoy his attention so much because my own family is far away.”
“Where do your parents live?” She took a delicate bite of the dark chocolate cake.
Alan studied her with a guarded expression on his face. “Bryce never told you about my parents?”
“No,” Lucy said. “Why would he?” She did recall Bryce’s condescension about Alan, but that was all. She had come to understand that Alan and Bryce weren’t true friends, just two young men who’d attended the same university and had some kind of competition between them.
“Oh. Well, my parents live north, upstate. Near Oneida.” He kept his eyes on her.
He was looking for some reaction, but since she’d never heard of Oneida, she wasn’t sure what he was expecting. “Oh,” Lucy said.
Alan smiled with relief. “Is the cake good?” he asked.
“Delicious.”
“Your father said he’d seen Katie,” Alan said. “Have you seen her too?”
“In passing,” Lucy said. She concentrated on the cake. He would rather discuss a fallen woman with her than his own parents. How strange.
“I assume she’s gone back to the trade,” he said with a sigh. “I think she’d be willing to find a different line of work to improve herself, but Nellie keeps her under her thumb.”
“Nellie is a hard one, all right,” Lucy said. “If she wants to keep Katie with her, I’m sure she will.”
“And truthfully,” Alan said, stirring his tea, “these girls don’t have a lot of incentive to change.”
Lucy leaned back against her chair and stared at him. Was he really suggesting that the women should stay prostitutes?
“That’s what infuriates me about the purity reformers,” Alan went on, still contemplating his tea. “They think it’s all about sin or animal appetites. They don’t look at the reality. At the economics. There are many who turn to the trade as a sideline, supplementing their meager wages simply to put food on their tables. Until there is true labor reform, there can be no so-called purity reform.”
He picked up his teacup and looked at Lucy, and once again his face flushed.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I hope I didn’t offend you.”
“N-no.” Lucy wasn’t sure exactly what she felt. She sensed an impropriety in discussing such subjects with a gentleman, but something about his ideas intrigued her. “What do you mean, ‘labor reform’?”
He leaned his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his hands. “Careful. You’ll get me up on my soapbox.”
“I’m interested.”
He gave her a funny look, as if he were trying to decide if she were joking or baiting him.
“Truly. I’d like to know,” she said.
“In my studies and my work as a docto
r, I’ve dealt with a large number of women with certain kinds of problems.” He seemed to be watching her to see when he’d gone too far. “And it seems to me we’re going about things all wrong. Girls work, but they aren’t being paid a living wage. So what must they do? Find additional ways to earn. If that’s not degrading enough, simply due to economic inequities, they find themselves in even worse trouble because society insists on keeping girls—and boys, for that matter—ignorant on…certain subjects.” He gave her another one of his odd glances, waiting for a response.
“If a girl earns money,” Lucy asked, “does her father have the right to keep it?”
Alan shrugged. “I don’t know the law on that, but most fathers do. I do know that when a woman marries, at least in most states, her husband gains control of her property. That’s beginning to change, however.”
Lucy stared at Alan. What was the point of working if she didn’t get to keep her own money?
“This doesn’t sit well with you,” Alan commented.
“No. I don’t see how anyone can think this is fair!”
“There are people fighting against these laws,” Alan said. “My parents, for starters. Actually, some of the spiritualists are working to change marriage and property laws.”
“What would you do for Katie?” she asked. She wasn’t afraid of these topics, though she knew Bryce would be stunned if he knew she was discussing such things. Particularly with a man.
He cocked his head. “What would I do for Katie if I ran things and the world were an entirely different place?” There was an angry edge to his voice, as if he took this problem very personally. “Or what would I do tomorrow with things as they are? If she let me.”
“Both,” Lucy said.
“Let’s assume that the trade is never going away,” he said. “It’s been here long before we were and will undoubtedly continue long after we’re gone. Why that’s so is a debate for another time. But if I were running things, I’d make it less…necessary from the girl’s standpoint. I’d pay her a wage that would enable her to survive without having to sell herself. Then, for those who have ‘fallen,’ I’d provide a way to pick themselves up but without forcing religion down their throats. A place to train girls, educate them, give them clothing if they need it. A place to shelter them from…influences.”
Silent Echoes Page 17