“But that is not all you do,” Serafina corrected. “You are... you are... What is the English word for this?” She paused a moment. “Ah yes, you are what they call a detective.”
Freddie laughed out loud.
“No, I am not,” Evangeline retorted gently.
In an even softer voice, Serafina insisted, “You think you are not, but you are, or will be soon. That is your destiny. You are a detective.”
“I’ll call the Pinkertons for you in the morning, shall I?” Freddie’s comment was only half-derisive since he was well aware of his friend’s abilities in that line of endeavor.
“I see around you a statue of justice. With a sword in one hand and the scales in the other. But she is not as in the statues we always see.”
Evangeline raised an eyebrow quizzically.
“She has not the blindfold. She sees the truth. You are like her. You see things as they are. You are one of us.”
“One of you?” Evangeline repeated, uncomprehending.
“Like me, a sensitive. You have the same gift. But you use your thinking too much. You must learn to listen to your heart—your inner voice—more often. It will not lead you in the wrong path. You have considered this matter often.”
Freddie was amazed when he looked at his friend’s expression. He expected her to make some witty reply and laugh off the advice. Instead, her face bore a look of serious concentration. “Yes, you are right,” she said.
Serafina turned her attention to her next subject. “You come from an illustrious family.”
Martin sat straighter in his chair and acknowledged the truth of her observation with a nod.
“They go back this way for many generations. Row upon row of distinguished ones preceding you.”
In the dim light, Freddie fancied he saw Martin almost smile.
Serafina continued. “I see each one clasping hands. Like links in a chain. A strong chain, but it is a chain that binds you.”
“What?”
“Yes, it is so. A strong chain but a heavy one. I see you carry the weight of it all. You stumble. I see you falling because the weight is too heavy.”
Martin waved his hand, dismissing her words. “Absurd. I don’t know what you mean!”
Serafina gave a small shrug. “Sometimes, I do not know what these pictures mean either. You must forgive me if I have offended.”
“Of course you haven’t offended, my dear.” Euphemia glared at her husband. “Please continue. We are all attention.”
“Now you, my kind hostess,” the medium forged on. She closed her eyes for a moment and her brows knit in concentration. “This I do not understand.” She opened her eyes. “I see you are a good woman. A woman of strong character. You are much distressed by something that has happened in the past few days, but you will set things to rights.”
“Most assuredly,” Euphemia interjected with determination.
“But that is not all. I see you holding a glass. But the glass falls from your hand and it shatters. I have a bad feeling. You must be careful in the weeks to come. Be very, very careful.” Serafina’s voice had taken on an urgent tone.
Euphemia seemed disturbed by the medium’s prediction but tried to hide it. “Oh, perhaps a household accident and nothing more.”
“Perhaps,” Serafina echoed uncertainly.
Euphemia attempted to distract her guest from distressing thoughts. “You must give us your impressions of Roland next.”
“Yes, yes, I will try.” Serafina sighed and closed her eyes. She breathed deeply a few times, apparently trying to clear away the dark image she had just seen. A smile formed on her lips as she opened her eyes to gaze at the youth across the table from her. “You have many interests in life, and it is hard for you to settle on any one thing. You have an eye for the ladies, do you not?”
Roland laughed without a trace of self-consciousness. “You’ve caught me there, Miss Serafina. And may I say you’re quite a pleasing prospect to contemplate.”
Serafina ignored the comment. “Yes, yes, it is romance that you live for. The thrill of the chase. The conquest, and then always you begin again. It is what makes the sun rise and set for you.” She fixed her attention on some invisible object behind Roland’s left shoulder. Freddie followed her gaze, peering off into the shadows beyond the range of the candlelight. He could see nothing.
“There is a figure. A young woman, I think, standing behind you.”
“What?” Roland turned in disbelief.
“Yes, she is there, but you will not see her with your eyes. It is with the second sight that I see her. She is flitting back and forth behind you.”
Serafina squinted a moment in the half-light, trying to make out some detail of the apparition. “But this is strange. Her hair is wet. So are her clothes.”
Freddie felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.
Roland evidently felt no such reaction. He merely exclaimed, “Really! How odd.”
At that moment, Freddie noticed that Martin had begun to tap his fingers nervously on the tabletop.
The reporter jumped in to ask a question. The urgency of his tone must have surprised everyone. “Her hair, what color is it?”
Serafina replied without hesitation. “It is dark brown. There are damp curls all around her face. Her lips are blue from the cold. She is so very, very cold.”
“And her gown. What color is that?”
Serafina squinted again. She hesitated. “I think it is gray. A very light gray. Not white. Maybe the gown is silk.”
Freddie became distracted by Martin. The host had taken out a handkerchief and was dabbing at his forehead, even though the room was a trifle drafty. His breathing had become rapid and shallow.
Roland was exhibiting no signs of concern, only curiosity. “How odd. I’m sorry to say I can’t place this bathing beauty you describe. Is she pretty? I’d like to meet her if she is!”
Serafina raised her hand to silence him. “Wait,” she commanded tensely. “She is saying something and I cannot hear her.” The medium began to silently mouth the words. “I cannot... I cannot... sw... swi...”
“It’s suffocating in here. The air is too close!” Martin sprang from his chair. He tore impatiently at his collar. “Garrison, the lights. I must have light!”
The butler hastened to turn up the gas jets.
“I... I’m sorry. The room is too stuffy. Cursed dizziness. I must go outside for a breath of air.” With that, Allworthy hastily departed the room, leaving the other guests stunned and disoriented.
Serafina looked dazed, her concentration broken.
Euphemia flew to her side. “Are you all right, my dear? Garrison, a glass of water!”
“No, please do not concern yourself, madame. When I am concentrating, it is like a trance, and to have it broken so abruptly...”
“You must forgive my husband.” The hostess appeared mortified.
“Of course, it was not his fault. Please do not worry.”
Garrison rushed forward with a glass of brandy instead of water. Serafina drank it without protest.
Euphemia hovered solicitously. “Do you feel well enough to continue?”
The medium gave a helpless little shrug. “I am afraid I cannot. She is gone. I do not think she will return tonight. I am so sorry, Mrs. Allworthy. I do not believe I can do any more this evening. I am very tired now.”
“My dear, you must not fret. I understand that such matters cannot be regulated like winding a clock. You must go to your room and get some rest.”
Serafina patted the older woman’s hand comfortingly. “We will speak again tomorrow.”
***
Martin was pacing back and forth under the porch light. He took in huge gulps of air, but his lungs never seemed to stretch enough despite his efforts to fill them.
“How could that young ass sit there without blinking! ’I’m sorry but I don’t recall this particular bathing beauty.’ The witless fool!”
Martin shakily tri
ed to light a cigar. The smoke didn’t calm him. It made him cough and further irritated his shortness of breath. It was too impossible to believe. He leaned his head against one of the columns on the front porch. The stone felt cool to the touch. Soothing. His heart was still hammering away, and it took several more moments before he could regulate its pounding by a sheer act of will.
“This can’t be. Someone must have told her. The alternative is unthinkable!” Martin began to grow anxious about what the others would say. He was about to re-enter the house when the door opened and Evangeline and Freddie emerged.
“What, are the festivities over so soon?” His hands were still shaking.
Evangeline gave him a searching look. “Yes, I’m afraid so. Serafina seems rather done in for the evening.”
“Well, another time perhaps.”
“Yes, another time,” Evangeline said evenly. “Thank you for a most interesting evening.”
“Most interesting.” Freddie took Evangeline’s arm to help her down the front stairs. The street lamps were no more than feeble pinpoints of light that afforded little assistance under the cloudy night sky.
Martin watched the couple recede into the shadows beyond the reach of the porch lamps. Taking his first full breath, he straightened his tie, ground out his cigar and re-entered the house.
***
“Well, that was a unique experience,” Freddie said wryly once they were out of earshot of the villa.
“I thought Serafina was quite gifted.”
“Oh, rubbish, Engie! How can you believe such nonsense?”
“She was accurate, wasn’t she?”
“Accurate!” Freddie cried in disbelief. “Everything she said could have been information fed to her beforehand. I’ve no doubt her friend Creech is a confidence trickster as well. My profession, Allworthy’s background, even your dabbling as a detective are all facts that are common knowledge to any of our acquaintances!”
“Why do you find it so difficult to credit an honest medium?” Evangeline sounded nettled.
“Because it’s a contradiction in terms. There is no such thing as an honest medium. All this mumbo jumbo can’t be proven. It’s all smoke and mirrors. The idea of ghosts is utterly absurd!”
“Freddie, are you a Christian?”
“What?” The young man was taken aback by the abrupt change in topic. He stopped dead in his tracks and peered down at his companion in the shadowy glow of a street lamp.
“I asked if you are a Christian or not.”
“Of course I am! What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Then you believe in the existence of God?”
Beginning to sense a philosophical trap, the young man answered cautiously. “That is the most basic principle of the Christian faith. Yes, of course I do.”
“How do you know He, if indeed He is a He, exists?”
Freddie groaned in exasperation. “I have it upon the good authority of generations of holy men that He does. Some of them have even testified that they saw Him.”
“Indeed. And I have it upon the good authority of generations of witnesses who testify that they have seen ghosts. Why is your belief more worthy than mine?”
“Because yours is ridiculous, that’s why! Disembodied forms floating around in the air frightening people into having fits!”
Evangeline maintained her composure. “As a Christian, you believe that a virgin gave birth to a man who walked on water and rose from the dead, do you not?”
Freddie refused to admit that her reductive description made this fundamental religious tenet sound as ridiculous as his own portrayal of ghosts. Instead, he chose to take the moral high ground. “Have a care, Engie. You’re implying heresy to say you don’t believe in it, too.”
His companion laughed at his pompous defensive strategy. “I’m not spouting heresy, Freddie. You’d be surprised how conventional some of my beliefs are, but I merely wish to point out an inconsistency in your thought process.”
Freddie calculated the further verbal humiliation he faced if he opposed her. Rather than argue the point, he sighed and asked, “What might that be?”
“Since the existence of God or the existence of ghosts are matters that ultimately come down to a question of belief, I hardly think you can prove anything one way or another. What is it your Saint Paul says? ‘We walk by faith and not by sight.’”
The young man crossed his arms truculently. “Hmmph!” He made a great show of offended dignity.
“Furthermore, the belief in one type of disembodied form, namely God, opens the door to the belief in another type of disembodied form, namely ghosts. Logic demands it. If you are willing to countenance the one, you must countenance the other.” She paused for effect. “Unless, of course, you’d rather be thought irrational—just like all those silly people who believe in ghosts.”
Freddie made one last attempt. “But what about all the charlatans out there who practice spiritualism to line their own pockets, capitalizing on credulousness as their stock in trade? Can you deny they exist?”
Evangeline shook her head gravely. “I do not deny they exist. And may I remind you that priests sold false relics during the Middle Ages. The Christian church has had its share of charlatans, too. I’m merely saying that each practitioner must be judged on his or her own merits. I am equally as opposed to blind credulity as I am to blind skepticism.”
“What is the lesson I am to infer from all this?” the young man inquired stiffly.
Evangeline shrugged. “Nothing more than the need to keep an open mind. All that we know is not all there is to know. To think otherwise is the grossest kind of intellectual arrogance.”
Freddie escorted her the rest of the way to her front door in silence, still not wishing to admit defeat in the face of her relentless logic. He secretly cursed Evangeline’s advanced education and harbored a suspicion that a Jesuit lurked somewhere in her academic background.
Just as she turned to enter, she offered one parting salvo.
“Oh, Freddie, by the way...”
“Yes?”
“Did any of the newspapers provide a physical description of that girl who drowned at Hyperion? Her hair color or the dress she was wearing?”
“No, not that I know of.”
“But you saw her, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” The young man sighed. Knowing the inevitable question to follow, he braced himself.
“Just out of curiosity. What was her hair color?”
“Brown. Dark brown.”
“And her dress?”
“It was a light gray silk.” He could barely force the words out through tightly clenched teeth.
In the shadowy light, Freddie could see Evangeline’s triumphant smile as she turned to enter the house.
“Good night, dear boy. I trust you will draw the appropriate conclusion.”
Chapter 9—Fired With Conviction
By midnight, tranquility reigned once more over the Allworthy villa. Serafina had been escorted to her room, attended by Mrs. Allworthy’s personal maid, as well as her own, to see to her comfort. Theophilus had been pressed to remain as a house guest until the following morning, at which time he would take the train back to the city. On somewhat less cordial terms, Roland was suffered to stay the night on the understanding that he, too, would return to the city in the morning and thereafter apply himself to business.
After she had seen to the accommodation of her guests, Euphemia retired to her bedroom and sighed with relief as one of the maids unlaced her corset. Donning a dressing gown, she sat down at her vanity table. By the time the maid finished brushing out her hair, she felt herself slipping into a comfortable state of relaxation
Her restful mood was abruptly snapped when she chanced to look into her vanity mirror and caught the reflection of Martin quietly closing the door between their adjoining bedrooms. She had purposely left it open.
She attempted to keep the tone of her voice calm for the sake of the servant. “Martin,
a word, if you please.”
She could imagine that Martin was silently damning himself for not escaping her notice before he had bolted the door.
In an equally civil voice, he assented. “Of course, my dear. Of course. I am at your disposal. I’ll just tell my man to go and be right with you.” Martin stuck his head back into his own bedroom and waved his valet to retire.
Euphemia dismissed her maid. Still seated at the vanity table, she turned to stare at her husband. “Shut the door, please.” She knew that the tone of her voice was a signal to him of rough weather ahead.
Martin swallowed hard and did as she instructed. He returned, albeit unwillingly, to the middle of the room and stood before her. A single boudoir lamp burned on the vanity, throwing his shadow against the opposite wall. The shadow dominated the room—something the man who cast it could hardly be said to do.
Folding her hands in her lap, Euphemia didn’t mince words. “Martin, ever since that ugly business at the factory, I’ve been in a quandary about what to do. Tonight has settled the matter for me.”
Her husband laughed nervously. “Why, whatever do you mean, my dear? The matter is already settled. The men have been replaced. Order has been restored. There’s no need for you to concern yourself further about it. Do you mind if I smoke?” Martin drew a gold cigarette case out of his pocket.
His wife inclined her head and waited while he struck a match. She knew he only smoked cigarettes when he was excessively nervous.
“Martin, I have always trusted your judgment to run my concerns in a profitable manner.”
“Of course.” Martin exhaled a puff of smoke in what he must have hoped was a casual manner.
“I’m sorry to say, the time has come when I seriously question your judgment.”
“Please explain what I have done to lose your confidence.” Euphemia could tell from the expression on his face that he dreaded the answer.
“I do not agree with the wage cuts you ordered nor with the way you subsequently dealt with your workers.”
Using the approach of an indulgent parent speaking to a slow-witted child, Martin knelt before Euphemia’s vanity bench and took her hands in his. “My darling, as I’ve already explained to you, our orders were down. What other course of action could I take? You didn’t want to see your profits destroyed, did you?”
Shrouded In Thought (Gilded Age Mysteries Book 2) Page 10