Asher sighed. “My father calls it thought-transference.”
“Yes, that’s it,” she said. “The action of one mind on another, but not just between living people. It also meant communication between a living person and one who is about to die or has already passed on.”
Elsie’s face was pale. “Our fathers believed this?”
“That’s what I don’t understand,” Kate said. “Are the members of the Metaphysical Society skeptics? Or believers?”
Asher stood abruptly and moved to the window. “My father is a Harvard scholar. He is renowned for his psychological research. But yes, he is a believer. In fact, he’s trying to prove that some people have the ability to communicate with the dead. Personally I rather despise his methods of collecting data.”
An awkward silence followed. Kate stared at the back of Asher’s head, wondering at the anger that sharpened his tone. What exactly was behind this falling-out with his father? It had to be more than disdain for the man’s beliefs.
“There are men of learning who believe in communication with the dead?” Elsie’s voice was unsteady. “And my very own father may be one of them?”
Kate studied the girl as she clutched at the high neck of her blouse. “Elsie, are you all right?”
Elsie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “What did your friend Billy look like?”
Kate flinched. “Pardon me?”
Elsie lifted her hand. “Wait, don’t answer that. Let me ask it in a different way. Did Billy wear a handsome jacket—well cut for a child of his size—and a trilby hat?”
A hot dizziness came over Kate, and she nearly swayed in her seat. “How did you know? Had you met him before?”
Elsie shook her head. “I’d never even heard of him until now. And yet I think I’ve seen him.”
Asher turned from the window. “How?”
Elsie looked from him to Kate, her face pale and pinched.
“Wait here,” she finally replied. “I’ll show you.”
Chapter 15
Elsie paused on the staircase, the photograph clutched in one hand. How much was she willing to tell them? She’d known them a mere four days. And clearly, neither of them held much faith in visions of the afterlife.
But she had to show Kate this photograph. Once the girl saw it, she might believe.
The need to unburden herself was powerful. Secrets weighed heavily upon her, clinging to her like a second skin that itched to be sloughed away. And if the telling might actually help rather than harm, wouldn’t that make the risk worthwhile?
What was the worst that could happen? Kate had no station, no power to expose Elsie, let alone have her sent to an institution. Asher came from a prominent family, but he was young. He was smitten, too—even she could see that. He wouldn’t wish to hurt her. Neither of them had any connection to her family, so they shouldn’t feel threatened by her revelation. In fact, they might help her to better understand it. They were both clever and clearheaded, and Elsie had been wandering alone in a fog for too long.
Thus reassured, she continued down the stairs. She would show them the photograph. Then she would decide how far she wished to take matters.
They were both seated when she entered the room. Their silence unsettled her.
“I printed the photographs from this morning,” Elsie said quietly. “They’re in my bedroom—I’ll show them to you later, if you like. But I also developed the photograph I took near the outbuilding. Do you remember? It was the day we first met.”
“You wanted a photograph of me and Asher,” said Kate.
“Yes,” Asher said, “and afterwards you fell and …”
“I had a seizure,” Elsie finished for him. “Keep that in mind—it is important.” She handed the photograph to Kate. “Look at this and tell me if you notice anything odd.”
She watched as Kate studied the print. After a moment the girl’s eyes widened. “My God, I see it.” Her hand trembled as she passed it to Asher.
He held the photograph near the lamplight, squinting. “I see a blur next to Kate, that’s all.”
Elsie held her breath, praying Asher would open his mind.
“But that blur has eyes, a mouth,” Kate whispered. “It’s wearing a hat.”
Asher shook his head. “You see that because you’re looking for it. Elsie already told you what to expect. I see a blur, or at most a double exposure.”
“But I’ve taken no photographs of young children,” Elsie said.
Kate frowned. “You said something about your seizure—that it was important. Why?”
Elsie sat down, panic tightening her throat. Was she really about to put this into words? She could barely breathe.
Kate lightly touched her arm. “Tell us, Elsie. Don’t be afraid.”
This is it. Now or never.
“Other than my mother, I’ve told no one of this.” Elsie clasped her hands to keep them from shaking. “Mother could not accept it. In fact, I fear she despises me for it. I can’t make you accept it, but I do ask that you keep what I tell you in confidence.”
“Good Lord, this sounds dire,” muttered Asher, but he looked uncomfortable rather than dismissive. She gave him a pleading glance and was reassured when his expression softened.
“Go on,” said Kate.
Elsie took a breath and looked toward the window. “When I was twelve, I died.”
She waited for that to sink in, not daring to look at their faces.
“I’m sorry,” Kate said after a moment, “but what do you mean?”
“I was walking outdoors on a spring day.” Elsie kept her eyes trained on the window. “The clouds were dark and heavy, and there were gorgeous rumbles of thunder. It seemed likely to storm, and in those days I enjoyed a walk in the rain, much to my mother’s dismay.” She paused, pained by the simple memories of childhood. “To make a long story short, I was struck by lightning.”
“Oh, Elsie!”
Elsie turned, grateful for the concern in Kate’s eyes. “I remember nothing of it, but I learned later that a stable boy saw it happen. He ran to me, thinking to help, but I wasn’t breathing. So he picked me up and threw me over his shoulder. That’s when I began to cough and cry. He carried me back to the house, practically running the whole way. My mother sent for the village doctor.”
“What did the doctor say?” asked Kate.
“He hardly knew how to explain it. There certainly wasn’t a treatment for such a thing. The lightning left no marks on my body—there were no wounds to heal—but I was very sluggish. My memory was cloudy. The doctor directed me to stay in bed until my strength and memories returned. It took weeks, but I did recover.”
“A miracle,” said Asher, his expression neutral.
“A miracle that I was alive, perhaps, but it soon became clear I wasn’t the same girl. My mother chided me for turning inward when I used to be so lively. I had heart-pounding nightmares that I couldn’t quite remember the next morning.” Elsie paused to take a breath, unaccustomed to speaking so long without interruption. “One day, when I finally was allowed outdoors on my own, I had my first seizure. It was a mild one, but I didn’t have any medication at that time, so the episode ran its course. And during the seizure … I had a strange vision.”
Both Kate and Asher leaned in slightly.
“I saw a girl.” She recounted her vision of the girl whose words billowed like fog, how she spoke of her mother’s anger at her wet dress. “It seemed like a dream, but I assure you I was wide awake. It was as if I’d fallen into another world for a moment, and while there I encountered an inhabitant of that world.”
“Do you think you suffered a brain injury?” The skepticism had returned to Asher’s expression. “It may have been a hallucination.”
“I considered that.” Elsie related the housemaid’s tale of the vicar’s niece and her fall into the well. “She drowned when I was confined to my bed, so I knew nothing about it. Mother strictly forbade me knowing because she felt I was too vul
nerable to hear such news.”
“Were you terribly frightened when you saw the dead girl?” asked Kate.
Elsie thought for a moment. “No. The girl—the spirit, perhaps I should say—was merely confused. She didn’t seem to know she was dead.”
Asher’s mouth tightened. “I’m sorry, but that sounds like typical Spiritualist claptrap—spirits who are trapped on this earthly plane, who must be guided toward the light. That sort of thing makes me ill.”
Elsie met his gaze directly. She’d prepared herself for disbelief, skepticism, but not for this trace of venom in his voice. Something had set him dead against anything otherworldly—against anything that defied his notion of what was logical. Was it his father who’d so colored his perceptions? Or someone else? Whoever was responsible, she sensed pain behind his anger.
She took a breath and spoke gently. “Asher, I know next to nothing about Spiritualist beliefs. My father may have been—perhaps still is—a member of this Metaphysical Society, but I have lived a very sheltered life.” She looked down. “I can only tell you what I saw. Do you wish me to continue? I’m trying to give you the background for what happened yesterday at the British Museum.”
“The British?” Kate’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “I thought you were at the Fitzwilliam and then Coe Fen.”
Elsie glanced at Asher, who lifted a hand as though prompting her to continue.
“I will tell you about the British Museum, Kate. But first I want to explain … that is to say, I want you to understand why I take Chlorodyne.” An image of her grandmother flashed in Elsie’s mind, and she fought to still the trembling in her hands. “Not long after my encounter with the vicar’s dead niece, my own grandmother died. She’d been living with us for at least a year and had battled illness the entire time. When my mother and I were packing her things, it happened again. One moment I was folding clothes, and the next I was convulsing. But this time my mother witnessed the episode … and the vision was much darker.” She explained her grandmother’s blackened mouth, the accusations of poisoning. “When I regained consciousness, I told Mother what I saw. She called me a liar. She … struck me. After that she sought to control my episodes with Chlorodyne.”
“Good Lord,” whispered Kate.
Asher’s eyes were wide. “You accused your mother of poisoning your grandmother?”
“Of course not! I merely told her what Grandmama said. She said I’d poisoned her. I didn’t know what she was talking about.”
“Maybe your mother did,” Asher said after a moment. “And that’s why she was so angry. Maybe her next act was to silence you, like most guilty people do to those who have information on them.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t mean anything, Elsie. I’m certainly not accusing your mother of murder. It’s ridiculous to even talk about it. I’m only saying that an imaginative sort of person might interpret your dream to mean that your grandmother’s death wasn’t natural.”
Elsie bit her lip, wondering why men so often paired logic with condescension. “My dream? How can you call it that? Why would I dream something so specific … so horrible?”
He shrugged. “Maybe when your grandmother was living you saw something that you didn’t understand. Later on, your dream worked it out for you in the form of a nightmare.”
“It wasn’t a nightmare,” Elsie said, her voice shaking. “I know the difference between a dream and this sort of vision.”
Asher looked pained. “Believe me, I’ve heard that before.”
“Asher, please.” Kate glared at him before turning back to Elsie. “Why do you think this image on your photograph is Billy? I mean, it certainly reminds me of him, but … what does it mean?”
“I don’t know,” Elsie said after a moment. “It’s never happened before.”
Asher narrowed his eyes. “And yet … forgive me if this sounds rude, but you want us to believe that your camera somehow captured the image of a ghost?”
Elsie looked away, wishing she’d burned the photo and left well enough alone.
“Don’t worry about the photograph for now,” Kate said quickly. “Why were you at the British Museum?”
Elsie hesitated. “It’s difficult to explain.”
Asher opened his mouth, but then closed it again. After a moment he nodded, and to Elsie his expression seemed vaguely contrite.
“The important thing is that I forgot my Chlorodyne and had another vision. I saw a young woman. She may have been beautiful when she was alive. She wasn’t hostile like my grandmother—she didn’t terrify me—but she was terribly sad. She said again and again that she was sorry.” She tried to picture the woman’s face. “I didn’t recognize her, but she seemed to know the man who held me.”
Kate’s eyebrows shot upward. “A man held you?”
“This gentleman happened to be near when she had her episode,” said Asher.
“No, I don’t think it’s that simple.” Elsie paused to find the right words. “I believe he caused the seizure.”
Asher leaned forward. “What do you mean, he caused it?”
“It was almost as though he were the haunted one, and I just happened to be in the way.”
“So you’re saying your seizures are triggered by proximity to spirits of the dead?” Asher looked thoughtful. “If that’s possible, and I’m not saying such things are, it means Billy was dead on Monday.”
Elsie nodded. “I suppose so.…”
Asher turned to Kate. “When did you last see him alive?”
“Saturday night.”
“But how could Elsie see him—or photograph him, actually—on the grounds of Summerfield?” asked Asher. “I thought he lived and worked in Castle End.”
Kate cleared her throat. “Billy had been gathering information on Mr. Thompson and my father for the Saturday séance. He’d been inside the college, trying to get details from the staff.” She glanced at Elsie. “Does this mean he was murdered within the grounds of Summerfield?”
“Possibly,” said Elsie slowly, shivering at the thought. “Though I hardly know how to make sense of it myself.”
Asher lifted his hand. “I know Kate suspects it was murder, but there were no marks of deadly violence on the body. For all we know he may have died of exposure.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s summer,” said Kate.
Asher shrugged. “The nights have been cool. It’s easier to believe that than to believe in the existence of spirit visions.”
Elsie stared at him. “What if I could prove it to you?”
“And how would you do that?”
“What if I try to reach out to this boy?” A knot formed in her stomach at the very thought of it. She’d never once initiated an episode—she didn’t know if it was possible. “That way you’d have your proof, and Kate might gain more information about what happened to Billy.”
Asher turned to Kate. “You think we’re actually going to learn anything from this? You should know better after what you’ve seen … and done.”
“I’m not proud of what I’ve done,” said Kate. “And there’s no doubt Martineau was a cheat. But why would Elsie lie? What’s the harm in letting her try?”
Asher sighed. “I’m not saying she’s lying. I’m skeptical because …”
“Because you think I’m delusional,” Elsie finished for him, gratified to see him flinch at her words.
“All right, then,” he said. “We’ll try it as a scientific experiment in which you prove you’re not delusional. I’ll even take a photograph, with your permission.”
Elsie frowned at the thought of Asher’s broad hands fumbling with her camera. “No, I don’t think so.”
“You don’t trust me with it?”
“I want you watching the entire time. You’re the skeptic, after all. Kate can work the camera.”
“Really?” Kate beamed at her.
“Fine,” Asher said. “But where should we conduct this experiment?”
“We shou
ld go back to that outbuilding on the edge of the garden where Elsie had her seizure,” Kate said. “It may be that Billy … that something lingers there.”
“That sounds like as good a place as any,” said Asher. “When do we begin?”
“Tomorrow,” said Elsie, her gut pitting with dread.
Asher awoke the next morning with a headache.
He’d lain awake half the night, harassed by memories and doubts. Was he falling for the same swindle that had made a fool of his father? One that had made a fool of Asher, too, for that matter. A beautiful lady, educated and refined, who happened to have spirit visions. A young lady setting a trap for the next gullible Spiritualist … or the next young idiot with delusions of chivalry.
When would he finally erase Letty from his memory? He could hear her soft laugh, feel the pressure of her hand on his arm. But he also remembered the cunning curve of her mouth as Father whispered in her ear. These persistent memories made Asher hate himself all the more for not yet deadening his heart to the viper.
After nightmares of Father and his beautiful muse—whispering together, embracing—he’d woken in a sweat. Once his breathing finally calmed, he shook his head. It was old territory and he was weary of returning to it.
Nothing would come from their experiment today. No doubt Elsie would feel betrayed—a thoroughly illogical reaction, but just what he’d expect from a sensitive girl like her. It was best for her to face the truth. If she could put this nonsense behind her, perhaps she could be happy.
But Kate’s words echoed in his mind. Why would Elsie lie?
He groaned. If Elsie was telling the truth and something did happen, if she saw a spirit and communicated with it, in a way that left no doubt of what she’d seen …
But that wouldn’t happen. Not one shred of science proved the existence of an afterlife or of man’s ability to communicate with the dead. For years he had watched his father attempt to collect such data, and the old fool had failed to gather anything more conclusive than anecdotal evidence—and that from a load of self-serving liars, no doubt.
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