“What about me?”
“Let’s discuss your problems.”
“I don’t have any, either—except for you refusing to believe me.” And the fact that she hadn’t found the pistol yet. It hadn’t been in the Rutledges’ room—she and Rupert had checked when Drake had backed out on her.
“Well, now that we’ve done the obligatory accusations, can we talk about something else?” Amusement again.
“Okay,” she said grumpily. “Like what?”
“Like you—I’d like to know more about you. Your childhood, your interests, that sort of thing.”
Flattered by his obvious sincerity, she opened up as they ate dinner. Drake was a good listener, and she found herself telling him about the father she had adored and the mother who was never satisfied with what she had—especially not with her daughter. Her father had served as a buffer between them until he died, then nothing Gina did was ever right.
“I think that’s why I agreed to marry Jerry,” she said. “Mother wanted it so badly, and he was the first guy I dated who she actually approved of. Besides, she liked the idea of being mother-in-law to one of the most successful men in Richmond.” She grimaced. “His family’s money didn’t hurt, either.”
“That’s not a very good basis for marriage.”
“I know—and it would have been a horrible one. Thank heavens I realized that before we walked down the aisle together. Jerry actually did me a favor, though Mother wouldn’t understand that.”
“Perhaps your mother—”
He broke off as Chloe and Letty approached their table and rose to greet them warmly. Though the two girls had originally been set upon them as chaperones, their increased confidence under Drake’s tutelage had turned the four of them into friends.
Drake invited the girls to join them, and Chloe said, “Just for a few minutes. Did you hear the news?”
“What news?” Gina asked.
“The Chesterfield is having a Halloween ball,” Letty said.
“That’s right, I’d heard about that,” Gina said, though she didn’t expect to attend.
“Even better, they’re bringing in Madame Rulanka at midnight,” Chloe whispered in thrilling accents. “She just arrived today.”
“Who’s she?” The name sounded vaguely familiar. . . .
“You’ve never heard of her?” Letty exclaimed. “She’s one of the most renowned spiritualists in the world.”
Gina wasn’t any wiser, but didn’t want to display her ignorance by asking what a spiritualist did.
But Letty must have caught her incomprehension, for she added, “You know—a medium. She communes with spirits, people who have passed on to the other side.”
“Oh, a psychic.”
“You don’t really believe in that, do you?” Drake scoffed.
Chloe’s eyes widened. “Why, yes. Don’t you? After all, you showed us there’s a lot more to the human mind than we know. Why shouldn’t we be able to speak to those who have passed on?”
Thus appealed to in his own specialty, Drake said, “I have to admit the possibility is intriguing, but how do you know this Madame Rulanka isn’t a fake?”
Naive Letty said, “Oh, Major Payne wouldn’t bring a fake to the resort.”
“Not if he was aware of it, but what if she has him fooled?”
“Well, Mama took me to see her last year,” Chloe said, “and Madame Rulanka convinced me. She’ll convince you, too. See if she doesn’t.”
“She has a point,” Gina said. She hadn’t believed either until Drake’s ghost snuggled up to her. “How do you know until you’ve experienced it yourself?”
Drake raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I have no intention of attending such an event.”
“Oh, but you have to,” Letty exclaimed. “You have to tell us what happens.”
“Aren’t you going?”
Letty’s face fell. “No, we’re leaving tomorrow. That’s why we really came—to say good-bye.”
“Both of you?” Gina asked in surprise.
“Yes.” Chloe giggled. “Mama finally figured out that Mr. Manton isn’t looking for a wife, so we’re leaving. We’ve been here a lot longer than we planned, anyway.”
“We, too,” Letty said sadly. “And since Mrs. Harrington is leaving . . .”
Ah, that made sense. Mrs. Biddle no longer felt the need to stay and compete. “I’ll be sorry to see you go.” She had enjoyed their company, once they were away from their mothers. “But what shall we do without our chaperones?”
The girls exchanged glances, and Chloe spoke. “I asked the Major about that.” She giggled. “He said you’ve been very circumspect and since our mamas are leaving, too, you won’t need chaperones anymore.”
Drake smiled. “So it was merely to appease them. I thought as much.”
“Yes,” Letty said, “but we aren’t complaining. If it hadn’t been for chaperoning you, we would never have learned the benefits of mesmerism.”
“And what shall I do without my best subjects?” Drake asked in mock horror. “I’ll be ruined.”
“Nonsense,” Chloe said. “You’ll find others. Or just use members of the audience—that’s worked very well for you.”
Gina grinned. How far they had come. Two months ago, they wouldn’t have dreamed of contradicting him. Now they did it freely.
She exchanged hugs with the girls, and they hurried away to finish packing.
“So,” Drake said with a smile. “Are you going to the ball?”
“No,” she said, trying not to let her wistfulness show. Though it was open to the public and they expected quite a few townspeople to be present, as an employee, Gina couldn’t attend without being invited by a guest. But she didn’t want to seem as if she was hinting, so she hedged. “I don’t have anything to wear—it’s a costume ball.”
“If I could arrange for a costume, would you attend with me?” he asked.
She stared at him in surprise. “You want to attend?”
He had avoided people and social events the entire time he’d been here.
He shrugged. “I think it is time I rejoined society. Will you go with me?”
She really wanted to, but. . . “It might look odd if you take me. Shouldn’t you go with someone else?”
“But I want to take you,” he said softly.
Her heart pirouetted with pleasure.
“Besides,” he added, “no one will think it odd if I reward my trusted employee with one night of merriment . . . especially since our two greatest critics will be gone by then. So, will you come?”
“Yes,” she said and couldn’t help but beam at him.
“Good—I’ll arrange costumes for both of us.” He smiled. “But it will seem very odd without our chaperones.”
“Yes, it will.” To tell the truth, she’d been wondering if they were even needed. Not that she wanted him groping her on the sly or anything, but she couldn’t help but remember the night they had made love. She had yearned for that closeness ever since—the warm touch of his hand, the cleverness of his mouth, and the marvelous feeling of being thoroughly cherished.
Wondering if he felt the same, Gina glanced at him from under her lashes. “The Major thinks we don’t need chaperones anymore.”
A small smile played around Drake’s mouth. “The Major is wrong.”
“Is he?” she asked, knowing she was playing with fire.
“You know he is,” Drake said. “Did you think I had forgotten the night you spent in my arms, the night we were as one?”
Her senses spiked cold with pleased surprise then went warm with longing. “No,” she said in a small voice. In fact, the memory was playing havoc with her body as moisture began pooling within her. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to have this conversation here. “I haven’t forgotten either.”
“Would you like to share my bed again?” he asked softly.
Gina stared at him in shock. Somehow, it felt very wicked talking about this in public, in broad view of all thes
e very proper ladies and gentlemen. And she certainly hadn’t expected the gentlemanly Drake to come right out and ask. “Yes,” she breathed.
“Then marry me.”
The mood evaporated. So, he was on that kick again, was he? Angry, she glanced away. “You know I can’t do that.”
“Because you think you’re going back to the future?” he asked wryly.
“Yes, because I know I am . . . and the fact that you won’t live long enough to marry anyone.”
He sighed. “It’s too bad your delusion is keeping us apart.”
“You’re the one with the delusion,” she snapped. And one of these days, she’d prove it to him.
But how? Letting him hypnotize her was out. And though he’d said he might believe her if his own ghost crawled into bed with him, she couldn’t arrange that.
Then it struck her. She couldn’t . . . but maybe Madame Rulanka could. Or something similar, anyway. And Gina just remembered where she’d seen the woman’s name before—on the same page as the article about Drake’s demise.
Brilliant—it was the perfect way to convince him. And he’d given her the idea himself.
Since Rupert was being difficult about helping her again, it took Gina a couple of days to track down the room where Madame Rulanka was staying. Because the spiritualist had insisted she needed privacy, the Major had hastily converted one of the nearly completed tower suites for her use, and the woman had the entire tower to herself.
Just as well—that way Gina would be less likely to be seen. Leaving Scruffy in her room, she slipped off to the tower.
When she reached the room, she heard raised voices beyond the door. She raised her hand to knock, but the door opened and a tearful young woman burst out of the room and ran off.
A tall, cadaverous-looking man came to the door and shouted, “Imbecile!” after her, then glared down at Gina. “What do you want?”
“I want to see Madame Rulanka.”
He sniffed. “I’m sorry, but the world’s greatest spiritualist does not give private séances to . . .” his gaze flickered in disdain over her uniform “. . . servants.”
He tried to shut the door, but she wedged her sturdy shoe inside. “I don’t want a séance. I want to talk to her on a different matter.”
From inside the suite, a woman called out, “Who is it, Rath?”
“Nobody,” Rath said with a scornful look at Gina. “Merely a servant.”
“A servant?” A middle-aged woman came to the door, peering out at Gina.
Was this the famed Madame Rulanka? She appeared altogether ordinary—the very picture of a respectable matron, though her gaze was shrewd as she looked Gina up and down. “I might have need of a servant. Come in, child.”
Gina wasn’t sure what the woman had in mind, but if it would get her past the spectral Rath, she was all for it. Sliding past the man, she seated herself on the settee at the woman’s invitation.
“Now, why did you come to see me?”
So this was Madame Rulanka. Gina slid an apprehensive glance toward Rath, but it was obvious the man wasn’t going to budge.
“Don’t mind Rath,” Madame said. “He’s just a little overprotective. There are so many who need my help, you see. It has become necessary to sort the idly curious from the true seekers.”
“I see.”
“What was it you wanted of me?”
Gina paused, not sure how to put this without insulting the woman. “Well, I understand you are to give a performance here on Halloween night?”
“I shall commune with the spirits, that is correct”
“Well, I was wondering if you could see your way clear to communing with one particular spirit.” Madame’s eyebrow rose.
“I do not command them, I merely open myself to the cosmic vibrations and hope they appear.”
Yeah, right. She was going to get nowhere if Madame Rulanka persisted in this act. “May I speak frankly?” Madame’s expression was wary, but she said, “Please do.”
“Well, I happen to know that you’re a fake.”
Rath rose to tower over her menacingly and Madame’s expression turned frosty.
“No, it’s okay,” Gina assured them. “I don’t care if you’re a fake or not. And the fact that you are just makes it easier for me.”
“You have insulted Madame,” Rath said. “You must leave.”
“No, wait, I can prove it. I know your entire schedule . . . and I know exactly where and when your methods are going to be unmasked within the next few months.”
“You are calling me a fraud, yet claim to know the future?” Madame said in a disbelieving tone.
“Just this one small part of it. You see, I have proof.”
“What proof?”
“A newspaper article, written on the date you are exposed.” Quickly, Gina explained how she had come in possession of the article and the whole time travel bit.
“Shall I throw her out now, Madame?” Rath asked.
“It is an absurd tale, yet she seems altogether rational . . . and her aura sparkles with truth.” Madame paused, regarding Gina thoughtfully. “Messages come to us in many and mysterious ways. I cannot disregard this one. Tell me, child. What are the cities in which I am to appear?”
Gina had memorized them from the article, so she named off the rest of their stops through the end of the year.
“Quite right,” Madame said. “And I don’t make my schedule public, so this lends veracity to your claims. Now, which engagement is to be my downfall?”
“Oh, no, I’m not telling you that until you agree to what I want.”
“And that is?”
“I need to convince a man that I really am from the future and that he is going to die when and how I predicted.” She grinned. “I figure he’ll believe it if he sees his own ghost.” Quickly, Gina explained what she wanted her to do.
“I believe I can arrange that,” the spiritualist said. “Sometimes the spirits are not accommodating, and need a little . . . assistance. This may be just such a time. Now, may I see this newspaper article you spoke of?”
“No, I think I’ll hold on to that until after the séance,” Gina said.
Madame scowled. “Without proof, why should I help you?”
“Until you help me, why should I show you the proof?”
They regarded each other stonily for a few moments as Gina searched for a way to break the impasse.
Finally, Madame Rulanka said, “I have a proposition for you. One of my staff has just left, and I find myself temporarily in need of help.” She paused, then added, “Discreet help.”
Gina could be discreet when she wanted. “What do you need?”
“The spirits do not always come when I call. To make it more . . . enticing for them to appear, it is necessary to glean certain information about the hotel guests and members of the town.”
The woman wanted her to tell everyone’s deep, dark secrets so she could divulge it onstage? The idea made Gina feel slimy. But instead of refusing outright, she said, “I can’t help you there—I don’t know anything.”
When the woman looked doubtful, Gina added, “I don’t get out much.”
“Then you shall make it your business to find out,” Madame insisted. “Having good information will allow the spirits to be more accurate . . . and make the ghost of your mesmerist that much more believable.” She had a point, but Gina wasn’t about to divulge the secrets she’d heard in Drake’s office. She couldn’t betray his trust—or the patients’—that way.
But maybe she could give the woman a few tidbits about other people . . . things that were already common knowledge. “Okay,” Gina said. “I’ll see what I can do. Then, afterward, I’ll tell you which town you’ll be unmasked in. Is it a deal?”
“Yes, we are agreed.”
They shook hands, and Gina went off to figure out what she could tell Madame Rulanka without hurting anyone or compromising her own integrity.
Chapter 12
Halloween daw
ned crisp and cold, and the entire resort held an air of excitement as people rushed to and fro, getting last-minute trimmings for their costumes and consulting with each other on the intricacies of keeping their identities secret until the right moment.
Gina became caught up in it, too, as the patients seemed to talk of nothing else. When the fourth one in a row asked her what her costume was for that evening, Gina said, “That would be telling, Mr. Feeney. You’ll just have to wait and see.”
Then, after he left, she turned to Drake and asked, “Just what are we wearing tonight?”
He smiled. “As you so aptly put it, that would be telling.”
It wasn’t like Drake to be so coy. Then it struck her. “You don’t know, do you?”
His expression turned rueful. “Not exactly, no. But we will have costumes, I promise you. Jack O’Riley is arranging it.”
Uh-oh. What would a tipsy porter consider appropriate costuming? “When will we find out what they are?” If he’d chosen something hideous, she wanted the opportunity to come up with something else, quick.
“They should be in our rooms now, “ Drake assured her. “Just one more patient and we can go see the worst.”
When Gina returned to her room and the costume, she was pleasantly surprised to see it wasn’t bad at all—some sort of filmy violet dress.
She heard a knock at the door and Bridget poked her head in. “Isn’t it grand?” she asked in her lovely Irish lilt.
“It’s lovely,” Gina agreed. “Your father did a wonderful job. But . . . who am I supposed to be?”
“Here’s the rest of it,” Bridget said and brought in a tall cone-shaped hat about three-and-a-half feet tall, the same color as the dress. It had a long wisp of violet silk attached to both ends in a long arc.
“I’m a dunce?” Or a Conehead. . . .
Bridget grinned. “No, you’re Juliet . . . and Mr. Manton is Romeo.”
Juliet? Obviously, she and Bridget hadn’t seen the same movies if this is what she thought Juliet would wear. I wonder what silly thing Drake is looking at now?
Bridget sighed. “Isn’t it romantic?”
So Jack O’Riley and his daughter were playing matchmaker now, were they? “Not really,” Gina said dampingly. “I’ll be too worried about whether this hat is going to fit through the doors, catch on the chandeliers, or knock me off-balance onto my bu—backside. Maybe I’ll just leave it off.” It would certainly be safer.
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