by Megan Chance
She led the way into the parlor, angling her wide skirts through the doorway with that effortless Atherton confidence.
“Now tell me,” she said the moment the parlor door shut behind us, “what did the police say?”
“They don’t know where he is. They’ve asked me to check through the bills, to see if there are any strange purchases. Gifts and the like.”
Her eyes lit with understanding. “They believe Peter’s run off with some mistress? Good heavens, Evelyn, I can’t imagine him doing such a thing. I would have heard, I assure you, or John would have.” Her conviction brooked no opposition.
I was comforted that she felt as I did. “That’s what I’d thought.”
“What did you tell the police?”
Before I could answer, there was another knock on the door. Pamela said, “No doubt that’s Penny or Paul. I’ve sent notes to both of them.”
She went to the window. “Yes, it’s Penny.”
Of all of Peter’s brothers and sisters, Penny was my least favorite. I tried to be charitable, but Penelope Atherton had none of the legendary Atherton charm. She was twenty-five and an avowed spinster, and the least attractive of the Athertons, having inherited all the worst qualities and none of the best. Her face had carried the long, thin nose to extremes, and her eyes were so deep set as to be almost cavernous, and were such a muddy blue they were nearly brown. Her hair, while blond, was so white, thin, and wispy that it seemed nonexistent, especially when pulled into the tight chignon she favored, so it looked like a skullcap, with thready curls framing a face that was too gaunt to take well to the girlish fashion.
She had the extra burden of a contentious personality, and one so determined to do right by her fellow man and so ill-suited for the cause that she was easily drawn into unwinnable fights and just as easily abandoned them when her naturally quarrelsome temperament offended her leaders—her latest cause being abolitionism, though I’d heard Pam remark acidly that Penny had also lent her considerable financial assets to the “woman question.”
But she was no doubt here to provide support, and I was grateful for it, and so when Kitty announced her, and she swept imperiously into the room, I welcomed her with a sisterly kiss, which she barely tolerated.
“Well, I’m here,” she said, taking a seat on the nearest settee. “What exactly do you intend us to do, Pam? No doubt Peter’s simply been gambling and is too embarrassed to come home.”
“Gambling?” Pamela had little patience for Penny as well. “Peter’s far too parsimonious for that, as you well know. He’s never showed the slightest inclination.”
“Well, he certainly didn’t just disappear into thin air.”
The maid brought tea, and the two of them waited while I poured and handed them each a well-sugared cup. Pamela took a sip and said, “It’s not like Peter to miss a trial. He’s so dedicated to his profession.” She said it as if it were obscene. Peter’s family had never truly understood or supported his passion for criminal law. His mother had scolded him constantly for his devotion. “Now, the kind of law John practices! That’s the kind of law for a gentleman, darling. Not this hobnobbing with undesirables… .”
“What have the police said?” Penny asked.
“They think he might have a mistress somewhere,” Pamela answered before I could.
Penny laughed. “A mistress? I can’t imagine him taking the time now he’s married. Why, he’s such a slave to his work it was all we could do to get him to show any interest in courting.”
Pam nodded in agreement.
Penny gave me a direct look. “Evelyn? Where do you think he is?”
Peter’s family didn’t know of his penchant for spiritualism. Peter had felt they wouldn’t approve, and he was afraid of their ridicule. Given the reaction of the police, I knew he’d been right to be afraid. But if I wanted their help, I had no choice but to tell them the truth. “Peter was going to spirit circles,” I said.
Had I hit them both over the head with the teapot, I doubt their expressions would have been more surprised.
Finally, Pamela sputtered. “Spirit circles?”
“Whatever for?” Penny added.
“He wished to speak to your mother’s spirit.”
Penny snorted disapprovingly. “If there were such a thing as speaking to spirits, I can’t imagine Mama condescending to make an appearance. Can you, Pamela?”
“Hardly,” Pamela said. She set her teacup into her saucer with a definitive clink. “It’s not dignified.”
“Whatever you may think, he believed he was speaking to her.” I remembered Michel Jourdain’s voice, how like Peter’s mother he’d sounded. I felt again a grudging admiration for his ability.
“The medium he went to was very convincing.”
Pamela said, “You mean you went to these circles with him?”
“I went to one.”
“Where?”
“At Dorothy Bennett’s house.”
“Dorothy Bennett?” Penny looked horror-struck.
“She wanted to speak to her sons—”
“I’d heard she was addled,” Penny said to Pamela.
“She doesn’t seem so,” I said. “But this medium she brought from Boston—”
“I cannot understand why you allowed Peter to do this,” Penny snapped. “Of all the ridiculous things—”
“Half of your friends indulge in it, Penny,” I said impatiently. “That trance lecturer you like so much, the one who speaks on women’s rights—what was her name? Achsa Sprague? She’s a spiritualist.”
Penny lifted her chin. “I’ve never put any credence in such a thing. It’s charlatanism.”
Pamela said sharply, “You told the police this, Evelyn?”
“I’m afraid I did.”
Pamela’s forehead creased; she pursed her lips. “You think this circle might know something of where Peter’s gone?”
I hadn’t thought of that and wondered that I hadn’t. What if he’d gone back to Dorothy’s that night? What if someone in the circle knew where he was now?
“I don’t know,” I answered Pam thoughtfully. “There was an accident that night. A gun went off. Peter thought it was suspicious. I suppose he might have gone back to ask questions.”
“A gun went off? Did you tell the police that as well, Evelyn?”
“Yes. I told them everything.”
Pamela exhaled audibly. “Well, we must put an end to that.”
Penny nodded. “Yes indeed.”
“End what?” I asked in confusion.
Penny said, “I don’t expect you to understand, of course, Evelyn. You can’t help your upbringing. But it would be most unwise for the police to continue to pursue this.”
“Peter’s an Atherton, after all,” Pamela added. “Why, the talk, imagine it! Peter a member of a rapping cult! Talking to Mama through a medium!”
“But shouldn’t someone speak with the circle? What if they know something of Peter’s whereabouts? And Dorothy Bennett—”
“People have talked about Dorothy for years. She’s never been the same since her sons died. Everyone knew she was seeing rappers in Boston.”
“There’s certainly no need to sully the Atherton name with Dorothy’s peculiarities,” Penny interjected quickly. “No doubt Peter will return by tonight or tomorrow. We can keep this between us.”
“There’s no need to worry, now that John and Paul are involved—where is Paul? I sent that note an hour ago.” Pamela rose again, moving quickly to the window. “In fact, Evelyn, you must let us handle everything. Please don’t mention this rapper nonsense again. If the police call on you, send them to John. There’s no need to upset yourself over this. We’ve the means to find Peter without their help.”
“Of course, but—perhaps I should go to Dorothy Bennett’s and make inquiries?”
“Good Lord, Evelyn, what a dreadful idea!” Penny said. “It would be best if you stayed home. That way, if Peter returns or sends word, you’ll be the first to hear.�
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“You should stay here too, Penny.” Pamela turned from the window. “It would help to have someone near, wouldn’t it, Evelyn? Some family to help you through this trying time?”
“I’d be grateful for it,” I said, though I didn’t like how quickly they dismissed the one bit of information I had.
“And Evelyn,” Pamela went on thoughtfully, “do go through his things, as the police suggested, won’t you? I doubt anything will surface, but it does seem that Peter kept secrets from us after all, and I wonder”—she looked up at me, and I had the startling thought that there was smugness in her gaze—“if perhaps he kept secrets from you too.”
Her words sent a frisson of unease through me. But then I banished the feeling as uncharitable. The Athertons had embraced me as family; what could I possibly have to fear from them?
4
_
A PRETTY THEORY
THE FOLLOWING DAY
Penny brought her trunks with her the next morning. “The roads are impassable! It took us nearly an hour to move two blocks!”
“It’s not surprising, after such a storm.” I stood back to allow her servants—a chambermaid and driver, and one other—entry. Penny came bustling in behind them.
“You could use more help, Evelyn. Mama always had at least an upstairs and downstairs maid.”
She also brought the news that Peter’s disappearance had pushed the difficulties of the snowstorm to the back of everyone’s mind, and that the speculation about where he was and what might have happened to him abounded. Someone had even suggested he’d been drugged in a local opium den and abducted by white slavers—to this, the New York Times had responded tartly, “It appears there are those to whom Peter Atherton’s disappearance gives the opportunity to indulge in childhood flights of fancy.”
“Has Paul talked to the police?” I asked her. “Has John?”
Penny nodded as she directed her maid in the unpacking of her trunk. “Both of them were with the commissioners last night. The police have been told to leave Dorothy Bennett alone. They were quite relieved, I gather. I doubt they would have intruded upon her in any case, but one never knows when the police will suddenly get it into their heads to actually do something.”
I found myself wishing Ben was in town, and that I could turn to him for advice. Though I understood the Atherton concerns, I wanted answers, and I’d spent the night sleepless and asking myself how it could possibly hurt to talk to Dorothy personally. Was there some reason I hadn’t considered? Some little known society rule or breech of etiquette that would make everything worse? Ben would know the answer. It would relieve my mind to at least discover if Dorothy had seen my husband after Thursday night, and to ask the same question of Michel Jourdain. If no one knew of the visit, what could be the harm?
I had myself talked into it within the hour. After that, it was only a matter of waiting, of looking for an excuse to go out. When Penny told me she planned to cancel a dinner engagement with one of her abolitionist friends, I told her not to worry about me, and to go.
She frowned at me. “Are you certain, Evelyn? You’ll be fine here by yourself?”
“I’m almost always here by myself.”
“Very well.” She wrapped a muted scarf about her throat—only Penny would have managed to find such a colorless paisley. “If the police come, you’ll send for me right away, won’t you? Don’t speak to them yourself, Evelyn.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
She went out into the night reassured, but the moment she was gone, I bade Kitty follow me to my room and dress me for a social call.
As I was still in half mourning for Peter’s mother, I wore a deep lilac silk with a high collar and long sleeves and black lace flounces. I directed Kitty to do my hair in a simple chignon, and I wore no jewelry but for the locket around my neck that held some of Peter’s hair.
In the street, Cullen was moving from foot to foot against the frigid breeze, which blew the snow about in blinding clouds, rearranging it for its pleasure. Tiny, icy flakes pricked against my cheeks. The bare-limbed trees lining the street creaked and cracked their branches against one another, and the snow crunched and squeaked beneath my boots.
“It’ll be a hard journey, ma’am,” Cullen warned me as he opened the door and helped me inside. “The roads’re froze.”
“We aren’t going far. Only to Mrs. Bennett’s house.”
“I lit the brazier a half hour ago. You keep warm, Mrs. Atherton.” Then he closed the door and mounted the driver’s seat, and we were off.
We were only going a few blocks, but the roads were as impossible as Penny had warned, and it took us forty-five minutes to reach the familiar Bennett brownstone only a short distance away. Even with the brazier, I was stiff with cold when we finally arrived. The lights of the Bennett house were burning, and there were carriages lining the frozen, snowy street in front. Dorothy must be holding a circle.
I hesitated. I’d intended to speak only to Dorothy and Michel Jourdain. I had no interest in voices from beyond or eerie parlor tricks, especially now. Penny or Pamela would be horrified to discover I’d gone to another. I could turn around now, go home, and no one would be the wiser. The Athertons would find Peter without my help.
But I wanted answers. And now that I’d taken the trouble to come, I didn’t want to go home with nothing. What could be the harm in asking them all my questions?
My booted feet slipped and slid on the ice-slick walk as Cullen escorted me to the stoop. I rapped sharply on the door.
It was opened by the butler. I held out my card. “I know I’m not expected, but—”
“Come in, Mrs. Atherton,” he said, though he didn’t take my card, nor seemingly glance at it. I was surprised that he recognized me, but I didn’t question it. I stepped inside.
“They’re upstairs, ma’am,” he explained as he took my cloak. “They’ve only just arrived.”
“They haven’t started yet?”
“No, ma’am.”
I went upstairs. The door to the second-floor parlor was open; I heard the voices beyond it. I remembered the conviction on my husband’s face the last time I’d been here, and it was that memory that shored my determination. I stepped into the parlor.
Michel Jourdain stood in the middle of a group composed of Robert Dudley and Sarah Grimm, and he was talking animatedly; with every gesture, strands of his hair came loose from its riband to fall into his face. He was wearing gray today, an exquisitely tailored frock coat, and trousers of a silvery hue. As if he felt me there, he stopped speaking and turned, and looked directly at me, and I felt the full and compelling force of his gaze.
“Evelyn!” Robert Dudley had followed Michel’s glance, and now he came toward me with his hands outstretched. “How wonderful that you’ve come! We were just speaking of you.”
Sarah came hurrying over. “We’ve heard the news about Peter. Is there any word? Any word at all?”
I shook my head. “None at all, I’m afraid.”
“I’m certain there’s nothing to worry about.”
I said, “I hope not. His family is looking into everything. But I thought perhaps—”
“Ah! Well, the Athertons will find him soon enough.” Jacob Colville stepped from the corner, where he’d been with Grace Dudley. “You mustn’t fret, Evelyn, truly. You’re with friends. We can help ease your mind.”
I heard a flurry behind me. I was still standing in the doorway, and down the hall now came Dorothy’s nurses, two of them supporting her as she made her wheezing and difficult way toward us. She was trembling, and the green she wore today only accented the sallowness of her skin, the dark circles beneath her eyes. Ribbons from her hat dangled beside her face like loose and unruly hair, and her neck disappeared into the voluminous folds of a beribboned lace bertha.
She squinted up at me as they reached the doorway. “Evelyn? Evelyn, is that you?”
“Yes, it’s me. I’m afraid I’ve come unforgivably uninvited.”
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“Nonsense. There’s no such thing.” As she spoke, Michel Jourdain moved past, brushing against me as he went to her. Dorothy straightened, smiling, and slapped at one of the nurses so he released her arm, and the others let her go into Michel’s keeping. “There you are, my boy. Did you see our Evelyn has returned to us?”
“Oui, ma chère. I’ve barely had time to greet her myself.” The moment he touched her, I witnessed a remarkable transformation. Dorothy’s trembling stopped, and the pain I’d seen in her eyes disappeared. Michel again gave me his charming smile. “Did you find us irresistible after all, Madame?”
“I’ve come because of Peter,” I said. “He was troubled the night we were at the circle, and—”
“Troubled?” Dorothy asked sharply. “About what?”
They were all staring at me as if they had no idea why Peter might have been disturbed. Uncomfortably, Ben’s words to leave it be returned. I forced myself to forge ahead.
“Over the incident with the gun. I thought perhaps he’d come back here to ask questions.”
Dorothy shook her head. The ribbons around her face shook with her. “My dear child, we’ve heard nothing. I’d expected him last night, but he never showed. And it seems he isn’t here tonight.”
I’d put more hope into this meeting than I’d realized. Still, I persisted. “Are you certain? Have none of you heard from him at all?”
“Not a word,” said Dudley.
“I’m afraid not, my dear,” Jacob told me.
Wilson Maull shook his head, and Sarah Grimm fingered the ruby at her throat—a little nervously, I thought—and said, “Not since that circle.”
Michel Jourdain was noticeably silent.
“What about you, Mr. Jourdain?” I asked pointedly. “Did my husband visit you again that night?”
“I’ve not seen him, Madame,” he said. “It seems none of us has.”
I didn’t disbelieve them, but I didn’t quite believe them, either. “I was so certain he had returned here.”
“Oh, child, I wish he had,” Dorothy said with a troubled expression. “Perhaps we could have dissuaded him from pursuing this any further. Such bother over a silly misfire.”