“I can’t do this,” she wailed. “I can’t. I can’t.”
Curling up into a little ball, she held her hand on her cheek where Haley’s palm had landed. She lay there a long time, rolling gently from side to side as if she were a little baby being rocked to sleep. Finally she stood and went to the pay phone on the stairway landing.
Her fingers pressed the buttons, and she didn’t breathe while the phone rang on the other end. She only exhaled once her mother answered the phone.
“Mom?”
“What?”
“I mean, Melanie, it’s me.”
“Lindz? Oh my God, is that you? I can’t believe it. Lindsay. Oh my God.”
Lindsay’s muscles tightened and she shut her eyes. She could hear the alcohol, practically smell it over the phone.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“Are you okay? You had us all so scared. I was so worried!”
“I’m…well, I’m not so good.”
“Oh, sweetie pie. Of course not. You should never have left the hospital. You weren’t ready. Not ready at all.”
Lindsay felt the tears coming, willed them to halt. “That’s not it. I didn’t belong there.”
“I felt terrible. I know I haven’t been the greatest—but they can look after you.”
“I told you, I don’t belong in the hospital.”
“The hospital is what’s best. You go back there. I’ll come see you every day, I promise.”
“I can’t.”
“Where are you? Should I come get you?”
“No, that’s okay.”
“Carl’s coming in. Tell me where you are, and we’ll come get you.”
Lindsay hung up and stared at the phone. She pressed her hand against her stomach. She never knew you could be nauseous without any food in your stomach.
She kept one hand on the wall, feeling like she’d fall over if she didn’t as she made her way down the hallway. Once in her room, she wrapped herself in the blanket and stared out the window.
She watched the traffic lights change, then change back again. She didn’t know how much more of this she could take.
Twenty-seven
Lucy rushed to Mr. Smithton’s office in a panic. When she’d gone to the boardinghouse to see if the money transfer worked, Lindsay had alternated between monosyllabic and weeping.
“Hello, my dear. Why, whatever is the matter?” Mr. Smithton stood behind his desk. “Have you a dire message for me?” He lowered himself, his hands clutching the arms of his chair. Then he stood up again. Sat again. Stood. He looked like a jack-in-the-box.
“No, nothing like that,” Lucy assured him. “But I do have something very serious to discuss with you.”
“Is there a problem among the spirits? I’ve heard they can sometimes squabble among themselves. Am I to have a visitation?”
“It’s me. It’s for me.”
Mr. Smithton’s face wrinkled into an enormous smile. “Ah, well, then.” He waved a hand at her. “Tell. Do tell.”
“I want to…to help. Girls. Young women.”
“You want to help them do what?”
“To live. Survive. I want them to have a place to go where they will be safe. So that bad things don’t happen to them.”
“You mean like an orphanage?”
“Yes, well, not exactly. For older girls. Like me. My age. Where they can eat and stay warm and if evil people are looking for them, they can’t find them.” Lucy paced the room. “If they want to learn a skill, so that they can have proper employment. Where they can learn to be respectable. And…” The vision was formulating, becoming clear.
“A building. Any of the money you would pay me or that I would earn in the investments, I want you to use it for this place. Where they can just…be.” She shook her head, then faced him. “Does that make any sense?”
Mr. Smithton came around his desk and kissed her forehead. “I see why the spirits speak to you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your generous soul. To use all of your substantial earnings for such a goal.” He kissed both her cheeks this time, then clapped in delight. “Oh, I know just how to set it up. We’ll create a trust. That way all your earnings can earn even more.”
“It needs to last into the future,” Lucy said. “That’s a must. It has to be around in more than one hundred years.”
“The first step is to form the trust; the next step will be to purchase the building.”
“I need to start right away. It can’t wait.”
Mr. Smithton gave her a searching, sympathetic look. “This is personal. You know a girl who needs this, don’t you?”
Tears sprang into Lucy’s eyes. “I know many,” she whispered.
Mr. Smithton picked up a pen and began to scribble notes. When forced to operate on the earthly plane, he could be quite businesslike. “Have no fear, dear child, all will be well.” He looked up at her again. “Yes, the spirits chose you well as their representative.”
“Thank you, Mr. Smithton.”
“By the end of business today, you shall have a foundation, and I will begin inquiries to purchase an appropriate location for your…What do you want to call this enterprise?”
Lucy thought a moment. “The Phillips Girls Center.”
Mr. Smithton nodded as he wrote. “We will ensure that it will be so carefully managed, it can continue to do its good work for future generations.”
“I hope so,” Lucy murmured. “It has to.”
“Your spirit seems to have gotten a bit confused,” Colonel Phillips said. He tossed strange-looking copies of newspapers onto the vanity in Lucy’s suite at Mrs. Van Wyck’s.
“What do you mean?” Lucy asked.
“Those dates are too far ahead. For the show this Friday, we need to predict things that will come true in time for the next show. And then the next one. See what I’m saying?” He waved at the copies. “Those are papers for six months from now. The public won’t wait that long to see if you’re right about the future.”
No, but Mr. Smithton will. Lucy picked up the paper and checked the date. Lindsay must have left the papers she was reading for Mr. Smithton’s investments instead. “I’m sure we can get others,” Lucy said.
Colonel Phillips sprawled on one of the dainty chairs, looking absurdly out of place. “At least the world is still spinning in six months.”
“I’m not sure how much longer we’ll be able to keep getting messages from Lindsay,” Lucy said.
“Why? We’re paying her now, aren’t we?”
“The money—she couldn’t use it. And she’s having a terribly difficult time. I don’t think we have any idea of how hard this has been on her. It’s so odd,” Lucy said, frowning. “My ability to hear her has benefited me—us—enormously. But hearing me seems to have destroyed her life.”
“That’s not your fault,” her father said. “Times must have changed.”
“I suppose. But I wouldn’t count on this lasting much longer.”
“Are you telling me something or are you merely speculating?”
Lucy shrugged. “It’s just a feeling.”
Colonel Phillips grinned. “And we all know what special powers you have.”
Lucy laughed. “I’m serious. I think we need to start thinking of alternatives.”
“Don’t worry, dearie dear. I always land on my feet. And don’t think I haven’t taken full advantage of what I’ve been reading in those papers. And now—” He stood and picked up his hat. “There is a lovely lady waiting for me to take her to Tony Pastor’s Variety.” He kissed Lucy on the top of the head and left.
Lucy looked at the paper. Using her finger to guide her along the lines, she sounded out the letters. Some words were easy now. They just popped into meaning in her mind. Others still took a little work.
A headline grabbed her attention because there were several words that looked familiar. “Stocks” she got instantly. “Fr-au-d” she sounded out. “Carmichael” she remembered because
Lindsay had her write it down so she could advise Mr. Smithton not to invest. This must be the story that revealed the scheme.
Another set of letters sang out to her. “Bryce Cavanagh.” She read the paragraph. She read it again and then once more. She couldn’t make out every single word, but one thing was clear: Bryce Cavanagh was one of the organizers of the stock fraud! According to the article, the primary financiers earned their money and anyone else lost everything. Although there was an outcry, it didn’t seem that there was to be any sort of investigation.
She dropped the paper. This had to be what Alan was going to invest in—on Bryce’s advice.
She grabbed her coat and raced outside. Flagging a carriage, she hurled herself inside. “Riverview Hospital,” she ordered the driver.
The carriage began making its way uptown. Now that she was sitting still, reality, the enormity of what she was about to do slowly crept into her consciousness. At the intersection of Fourteenth Street and Fifth Avenue, she started to panic.
If I warn Alan, he won’t invest. He might even tell Bryce the reason he’s decided to pull out is because of me.
That’s when what truly nagged at her became crystal clear: if she breathed a word of this knowledge to anyone, it was over forever with Bryce. There would not be even the slightest whisper of a hope that she would ever become Mrs. Bryce Cavanagh.
She had no idea what to do. She went around and around: Tell. Don’t tell. Tell. Don’t tell.
The carriage driver pulled to a stop. Lucy peered out the window at the redbrick buildings of Riverview Hospital.
The horse neighed and stomped the cobblestones. The driver climbed down from his perch and opened her door. “Are you getting out?” he asked.
She stared at him, frozen. She twisted her purse strings.
“Well?” the driver demanded.
“I’ve changed my mind,” she told the driver. “Please, take me to the Thorton boardinghouse at Fourteenth Street and Third Avenue.”
She leaned back against the seat. I can talk it all out with Lindsay. She’ll help me know what I should do.
Lindsay huddled on the floor of her room. She was hungry, and she hadn’t showered—she was afraid to leave her room because she didn’t want to run into the manager. Besides, all she could do was cry, so staying put seemed like the right thing to do.
She wished Lucy would come and talk to her. Lucy was the only person in the whole world who truly understood what was happening, the only one who made her feel like she wasn’t all alone.
“Lindsay! Are you there?” Lucy’s voice called.
Lindsay’s head popped up. Had their connection grown so strong that Lucy could sense Lindsay wishing? “I’m here,” she replied.
“I’m so glad. I need someone to talk to. A friend.”
“Really? Me too.” Lindsay wiped her face on her sleeve. “What’s going on? You sound upset.”
“Oh, Lindsay, I just don’t know what to do. I see now why you have been concerned about my knowing the future.”
Lindsay sat up straight. “What happened?”
“That stock fraud—the one you warned me about. Well, I’ve discovered that Bryce is involved. And my friend Alan plans to invest—maybe has already! It’s all due to come out in about six months.”
“Ooh, that’s bad,” Lindsay said. “I hope Alan can afford to lose the money.”
“He can’t! He’s struggling as it is. And worse—he trusts Bryce.”
“Wait a sec—this is the same Bryce who’s ‘courting’ you?”
“Yes.” Lucy’s voice sounded very weak, as if admitting this was difficult. “If I warn Alan, I’m sure Bryce will find out I was the one who told him. Which means it will be over forever between us.”
Lindsay frowned. “Lucy, you can’t actually want to stick with Bryce after knowing he’s willing to cheat his friend!”
There was a pause. “Well, they’re not friends. Not exactly.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Don’t be angry, Lindsay,” Lucy pleaded. “You, of all people, you should understand how hard I’ve worked to secure financial means. If I could marry Bryce, well…Bryce isn’t just rich, he’s one of the wealthiest young men in New York! His family is prominent, connected. I’d never have to worry about being poor ever again!”
Lindsay shut her eyes. Lucy was right; she did understand. Being without money, without options—it changed everything.
“Lindsay? Are you there?”
“Well, what do you want to do?” Lindsay asked.
“That’s just it; I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
“When you first read the news, what was your very first reaction?”
“To warn Alan.”
“Then I think that’s what you’ve got to do. That was your instinct—and that’s what’s usually right.”
“Then it’s over forever with Bryce.”
“I guess so.”
“I—I just don’t know….” Lucy’s voice trailed off.
“What happens if you don’t tell?” Lindsay asked.
“Alan invests and loses his money, and Bryce and I can go on as if this never happened.”
“Can you do that? Go on like you never knew? I think I wouldn’t be able to hang out with Alan anymore.”
“That’s probably true. It would be too difficult to be around Alan and not say something. Or to watch him as his investment fails.”
“I guess you have to decide which would be worse: giving up Bryce or giving up Alan.”
“Yes,” Lucy said, an odd sound in her voice. “I guess it all does come down to that.”
Lucy walked along the river. The wind from the water made the already-cool evening quite cold, but she welcomed its bracing effect: she needed it to clear her head.
She had just left Riverview Hospital. Without telling Alan how she knew, she’d warned him to not invest in Bryce’s Carmichael plan.
She turned away from the river; the wind was making her eyes tear. What should she do about Bryce? Turn him in? Try to stop him? Her pace picked up, and she rubbed her arms, trying to get warm. Her face felt frozen. Maybe he has no idea. Maybe Bryce is just as much a victim as everyone else.
Astonishing. Neither she nor Lindsay had ever entertained the idea that Bryce was innocent.
The sight of the impressive Cavanagh mansion, looming ominously in the dark, made Lucy nervous. Always intimidating, it now seemed positively malevolent.
The houseman had her wait in the hallway, then finally led her to a parlor.
“Lucy, you seem to be developing a rather inconvenient habit of simply turning up,” Bryce complained. “I’m due to meet some of my college chums.”
“I won’t take long. I’m here to tell you that I have information—crucial information—about the Carmichael stock deal.”
“Oh, really?” He smirked. “Don’t tell me—your spirits have forecast a windfall. Well, I could have predicted that!”
“No, Bryce, the prediction is that it is all a fraud.”
His expression shifted from smug to wary. “Take care what you say.”
“I know all about it.” She tried to remember details from the article. “A Mr. Von Clare is involved. Why do I know that name?”
“He was at your séance. He’s how I came to be there.”
Of course, Lucy thought, that superior little man who mocked me. “It was Von Clare’s idea and he brought you into it,” she said. “Have you gone in with him yet?”
Bryce smiled. “Certainly. It’s a delicious plan.”
That told her all she needed to know. Bryce understood every element of this scheme: every angle, every heartbreaking theft of hard-earned funds.
“You and your cronies inflated the value,” Lucy said, dredging up every sentence of the article. “But your little group sold out just before it came to light that—”
“How do you know all this?” Bryce demanded. “And why are you talking about it as if it’s already happened?”
“You’re ridiculous. You know nothing about business.” He laughed. “Besides, only suckers get taken.”
“I know about cheats,” Lucy fumed. “You are no better than any of the con artists I’ve known—and I’ve known plenty. You just have nicer clothes, are well fed, and have pretty manners. At least the cons have a reason to cheat—they need some way to survive. But you! You’re already richer than most people. And you’re cheating people just because you can.”
Bryce grabbed her arm and flung her out of the parlor, slamming the door on her. She stood and stared at the mahogany, so highly polished she could see her blurred reflection, knowing the door was closed to her forever.
Twenty-eight
Shouldn’t I be upset? Lucy examined her face in her vanity mirror. Yesterday she’d ruined her chances with Bryce Cavanagh and at a life in high society. Yet for the first time in two days, she had a powerful appetite. No, she wasn’t upset at all. Far from it.
Tossing down a handkerchief, she stood and gazed out the window onto Washington Square. Would Mrs. Van Wyck ask her to leave now that Lucy had fallen out of favor with the Cavanaghs? Lucy traced the fog on the window with her finger, drawing a snaking pattern. Unlikely. Mrs. Van Wyck enjoyed Lucy’s company and was convinced it was her presence that kept any ghosts or poltergeists at bay.
Lucy rang the bell for Bridget.
“Yes?” Bridget asked as she entered. “Ready for your lacing?”
Lucy nodded and turned so that Bridget could tie the laces for her corset. “Gentleman was here to see you,” Bridget said, tugging the cords.
Lucy felt a tightening in her stomach that had nothing to do with the whalebone-and-cotton corset. Bryce? she worried. Had he come here to berate her? To beg her forgiveness? She had no idea what she would say to him.
“A queer old fellow,” Bridget continued, giving another yank. “Little round man.”
“Oh,” Lucy said. “Mr. Smithton.” Bridget patted her on the hip, and Lucy turned around and raised her arms. Bridget lowered the dress onto Lucy. “Is he still here?” Lucy asked from within the fabric folds. She pushed her head through the opening.
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