Whispers of Warning

by Jessica Estevao

  “For young women like Lucy the vote matters even more than for women my age. They have their whole lives in front of them. I would not deny your sister the opportunity to make history.”

  “That’s exactly what I am afraid of. Lucy making history is a terrifying prospect.” The image of Lucy tied to a stake with a gaggle of men with torches circling her feet flitted through his mind.

  “I’ve promised to be one of the organizers. I intend to fulfill that commitment whatever the risk to myself,” Lucy said.

  “So you admit there is risk involved?”

  “Only because you insist that it is so. I have no worries as to my safety and neither does Ruby.” Lucy delicately sliced a sliver of meat from the larger piece and brought the morsel to her mouth. “If there were anything to worry about I am sure her spirit guide would have warned her.”

  Yancey shifted in his chair. Of course Miss Proulx was involved. Somehow she was always involved when there was trouble afoot. While he was glad his sister had made a friend he did wish that it had been someone less likely to encourage her to give her adventurous side its head.

  “Somehow I am quite certain that will only make things worse. You and Miss Proulx act as a tinderbox whenever you are in each other’s company.”

  “I think Miss Proulx is an entirely wonderful influence upon your sister.” Mother gave him a pointed look. “In fact, she seems to have worked a bit of magic on us all.”

  “Speak for yourself, Mother.” Yancey felt himself growing warm beneath the collar. His mother’s matchmaking was legendary. He had no intention of encouraging her. Best to change the subject. “It isn’t just Miss Proulx who I am afraid will encourage Lucy to be reckless. I understand trouble follows Miss Foster Eldridge wherever she goes.”

  “Worse things have been said about us.”

  “Were you aware that this woman that you both seem to admire so much has been arrested? Repeatedly.” Yancey knew he was fighting a losing battle but he just couldn’t seem to concede.

  “I’ve never been one to brand someone a criminal simply because the police seize upon the notion to arrest her.” Orazelia let out a deep sigh and slowly shook her head as if disappointed in him. “Before the week is out you may be forced to arrest Lucy and me, too. You can think of it as a sort of family tradition.”

  Yancey thought of his father’s disastrous run-in with the law. In fact, the family scandal and the mistreatment his father had received from the police, headed by Chief Hurley, was the primary reason Yancey had joined the force in the first place. Still, he was going to have to let his boss know what was in store for Old Orchard even if his family found it hard to forgive him. A suffrage march would require police presence, and the chief was the only one who could authorize the extra manpower.

  “I’ve said my peace.” Yancey stood, then bent over his mother and deposited a kiss on the top of her graying head. “If things go as badly as I fear they will, just know I’ll be there if you need me.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Clanging from the fire alarms had roused the entire hotel. Sadly, fire is a constant worry in the town and on more than one occasion flames had consumed whole blocks of buildings in mere moments. I had retired to my room only long enough to exchange my evening dress for a nightgown. In fact, I was seated on the tufted stool in front of my vanity table still working the pins from my hair when the sound first rang out.

  I hurried to the turret window and stuck my head out. Under the glimmering light of the moon I could see dark waves lapping against the shore and shadowy figures hurrying along the sand but I could not see the source of the alarm. I heard doors banging closed all along the corridor and voices of guests hurrying past. I felt a panic rise within me. Was the fire within the Belden or without? I sniffed the air and believed I smelled the acrid tang of smoke mixing with the salt breeze.

  I reached for my dressing gown, slid my arms in the sleeves, and tied the sash on my way to the door. The rules of society would have to give way to common sense. I only hoped most guests would agree that safety was more important than dying of smoke whilst demurely struggling into a gown deemed worthy of public viewing.

  By the time I made it from my third-floor room to the lobby it was clear that most of the other Belden inhabitants were willing to risk a similar state of dishabille. Except for Honoria, who stood in the center of a large group of staff and guests, still wearing her gown from dinner. I would have been concerned by my own appearance except that Mrs. Doyle had appeared with her hair tucked inside a frilly nightcap. It was shocking to see her without her apron and stays. She almost looked like an approachable grandmother. Almost.

  “Please, everyone, return to your rooms. I have it on good authority that the source of the fire is up near the amphitheater. One of the homes near there has caught fire but I have been assured the blaze is contained and we will not be impacted in any way.” Honoria smiled wearily at the guests filing past her and up the stairs. Mrs. Doyle let loose a tonsil-baring yawn she hadn’t the will to stifle then turned on her heel and trudged back toward her personal quarters at the back of the hotel, leaving me alone with my aunt.

  “Aren’t you heading back to bed yourself?” I asked, surprised to see Honoria standing motionless near the front door.

  “I have the feeling I should wait up a little longer. But you go on, Ruby dear. There’s no need for both of us to be tired come morning.” Honoria peered into the darkness at Seaside Avenue. Her back turned toward me and her shoulders slumped a bit now that there was no one to keep up appearances for but me. There was something in the familiarity that gesture implied that made me feel at home in a way nothing up to that point had done.

  Honoria had welcomed me with open arms when I had first arrived as the only child of her long-lost sister. She had claimed me as her family, sheltered me beneath her roof, and even imperiled herself with the law when she thought I was at risk of being arrested. But none of those things spoke as eloquently of her feelings for me as the simple act of releasing her role as hostess. I moved to the door and tucked my hand into the crook of her arm.

  “I couldn’t possibly go back to sleep if I were wondering what you were waiting for down here all by yourself,” I said. “Does this have anything to do with your dream?”

  “I don’t believe so but I expect we shan’t have to wait any longer to find out. Look.” Honoria pointed out the door. A carriage clattered to a stop right in front of the hotel. A shrill woman’s voice and a harsh-sounding man’s cut through the night air, and two figures hurried up the steps to the Belden, followed reluctantly by a third person. Honoria slid aside the bolt and pulled open the door.

  A matronly woman wrapped in a wet dressing gown stepped inside and stood dripping on the hall carpet. Smears of soot adorned both her cheeks. She put me startlingly in mind of a disgruntled eagle. A miserable-looking man of middle age stood beside her shaking his head. George brought up the rear. He slunk into the lobby looking even more like a walrus with dyspepsia than usual. His luxuriant mustache drooped at the ends and, unless I missed my guess, appeared shortened.

  He turned his sad eyes on my aunt and slowly shook his head.

  “We are here to throw ourselves upon your mercy, Honoria.” George reached up and touched the end of his mustache, and a queer expression passed over his face. Indeed, the mustache did appear abbreviated.

  “Because of my imbecilic brother’s latest ill-considered exploits none of us has a place to hang our hats,” the man said.

  “Or even a hat left to require hanging,” the woman said. That explained it. This was George’s brother, Osmond Cheswick, and his wife, Phyllis. Even without being introduced it was clear to me why George had not been eagerly awaiting his brother’s arrival. I took a moment to evaluate the couple from afar.

  The man had likely been slim in his youth but was now running to the sort of soft physique that spoke of a life spent indoors i
ndulging his appetite for rich foods and strong drink. A prominent nose and a sparse mustache that would have been better off being put out of its misery by a sharp razor dominated his face.

  “George,” Honoria said, turning her back to the other two and giving him her full attention, “what exactly has transpired that I find you in my hotel lobby in the middle of the night?”

  “I’ve had a misadventure.” George’s voice rose barely above a whisper. Honoria nodded at him like he was a small boy who needed encouragement. “You know how I have been looking to develop my spiritual gifts beyond the practice of automatic writing?” Given that George’s messages from beyond often read like unspoken desires of his own heart, it did not surprise me that he continued to seek new forms of connection with the other side.

  “You’ve mentioned it to the Divination Circle from time to time.”

  “I recently read an article in the Golden Beacon concerning the practice of smoke painting. Have you heard of it?”

  Honoria looked at me and we both shook our heads. “I cannot say that I have,” Honoria said.

  “It is a technique for delivering messages that involves a flame and blank sheet of paper.”

  “How does it work?” I asked. Mr. and Mrs. Cheswick snorted simultaneously in a show of marital harmony.

  “The querent chooses a sheet of paper and inspects it to be sure no mark is upon it.” George paused as if to allow us to keep up. “He presses the paper to his solar plexus while he brings to mind an image or a message he would like to receive.”

  “How is the flame involved?” I asked.

  “The querent waits for spirit to urge him to approach the flame. He then holds the paper over the flame and moves it slowly in a circle until he feels the image has appeared,” George said.

  “Some people would realize it would be best to practice the technique out of doors until you have a feel for how quickly the paper can catch fire,” Mr. Cheswick said.

  “Oh dear. You don’t mean you tried this inside your house?” Honoria asked.

  “Of course he did. The man is an utter simpleton,” Mrs. Cheswick said.

  “Did the house burn to the ground?” I asked.

  “It was gone in the blink of an eye. I can only rejoice that no one was hurt and that no other structures were damaged.” George shook his head woefully. “I haven’t even a change of clothes left to my name.”

  “As my brother no longer has the ability to offer us his hospitality, we shall require rooms for the duration of our stay,” Osmond said. His wife nodded. Although from the pursing of her mouth as she looked around the lobby I could not help but feel the Belden was not up to her usual standard.

  It was true that the Belden was not the largest hotel along the beach. In fact, its limited size and a total inability to increase the size of the building had led Honoria to reimagine her business as a sanctuary for spiritual seekers. She decided in what I could only consider a flash of genius that while she could not hope to compete with her neighbors in terms of size or amenities she could offer guests a thoroughly unique experience.

  While the Sea Spray next door or the Old Orchard House up on the ridge impressed with on-site ballrooms, bowling alleys, and bathhouses, Honoria had refurbished the hotel and had hired a full faculty of metaphysical practitioners. The guests could book appointments with Nell, the palm reader, Ned, the numerologist, or Cecelia, the astrologer. Amanda could divulge a person’s secrets if she wrapped her small hand around an object they owned. Everett MacPherson could find water or even gold with a pendulum or a pair of rods. It would not be modest, but it would be the truth to say mine was the most requested service. If the guests wanted to develop their own ability to read tea leaves or tarot cards they could sign up for lessons. It had proved extremely popular and if we could avoid any reason for guests to cancel their reservations we should be well on the way to repaying our creditors in a couple of years’ time.

  The pleading look on George’s face gave my heart a squeeze. Because of the opening of the pier all rooms had been sold out. Considering the magnitude of the occasion, even if the weather turned unfavorable there was little likelihood there would be cancellations.

  “That is quite impossible, Osmond. I believe all our rooms are filled for the entire summer and have been for months.”

  “No vacancies? You’ve done well for yourself with this psychic nonsense, haven’t you, Honoria?” Osmond waggled his finger in Honoria’s face. “You always were clever. For a woman.”

  “It isn’t nonsense at all,” George said.

  “I haven’t found it to be so,” Honoria said as she stiffened her posture and added a chill to her tone I had yet to hear her use with guests.

  “How can either of you possibly believe any of it? After all, aren’t we standing here with nothing but the clothes on our backs?” the man asked. “If spirits could be called upon to predict the future my brother would have known not to play around with that smoke painting foolishness. He would have been warned that he was about to burn his house down.” He smiled and looked around as if hopeful his words were being heeded. This man reminded me of my father and his constant desire for an audience.

  My stomach tightened and I was glad Honoria said we had no space for him or his wife. That was until I noticed the pleading look in George’s eyes. Honoria must have noticed it, too.

  Without warning Ben appeared from the room behind the reception desk. Honoria acknowledged him with a slight nod. I was not sure I would ever grow used to the way Ben simply arrived without warning, indeed without a sound, wherever he seemed needed.

  “Ruby, was it my imagination or did I notice two empty seats at your table this evening at dinner?” Honoria asked.

  “There were two. They belonged to a couple by the name of Clemens, if I recall correctly,” I said. Honoria turned to Ben, who ran a white finger down a column on the large leather-bound guest register. He confirmed my memory with a nod at Honoria. He beckoned her to his side and pointed at an entry in the ledger.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Clemens canceled at the very last minute. We can offer you their room for the week. If your stay in Old Orchard will be longer than that I trust you will make other arrangements before that time is up,” Honoria said.

  “And what if there are no other accommodations to be had?” Mrs. Cheswick asked. “Would you throw us out on the street?”

  “Osmond has always been such a worldly man. I would be very much surprised if he couldn’t find a way to come out on top of whatever sort of difficulties he would manage to place himself in,” Honoria said. “Wouldn’t you agree, George?” Honoria and George exchanged meaningful looks. Mr. Cheswick cleared his throat loudly. Unless I missed my guess he was hoping to keep his wife from hearing any more of the conversation passing between George and Honoria. Mrs. Cheswick appeared to have heard them anyway.

  “He is a very resourceful man but any troubles that enter his life are entirely of someone else’s making,” Mrs. Cheswick said. “Tonight’s situation is a perfect example of this sort of a thing.” Mrs. Cheswick scowled at George. I had the feeling Mrs. Cheswick was a woman who was used to getting her way.

  “If you will just follow Ben, he will take you up directly.” Ben glided up as silently as ever and motioned for the Cheswicks to follow him. Honoria waited for them to pass the first landing on the wide front stairs before speaking to George again. “Oh, my dear friend, what a thing to have happened.” Honoria tucked her arm in his and made warm noises. “As soon as Ben returns from installing your odious family in their room we shall rearrange the furniture in the family parlor and put you in there. I am afraid it will have to suffice. We really are completely full at present.”

  “I am most grateful for whatever you can provide. I feel such an utter fool.”

  “Nonsense. This was meant to be.” Honoria reached up and touched the end of his mustache. “You singed your mustac
he, too, didn’t you?”

  “That was the worst thing of all.” George shook his head again.

  “But there is an upside to everything, you know,” Honoria said.

  “I can’t imagine what that might be.”

  “Now you have nowhere for Osmond and Phyllis to stay,” Honoria said. “With any luck they will both have to return home at the end of the week.” George broke out into a beaming smile. His back straightened and the set of his shoulders squared.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Every morning my first sitters of the day are the Velmont sisters. The two of them had invested in the hotel at the beginning of the season, much to Honoria’s great relief. As part of the return on that investment they were assured daily readings with me.

  Each time, Elva arrived for the daily sitting two minutes early. Invariably, Dovie arrived ten minutes late. How it happened that way every day was a constant source of irritation for Elva and bafflement for me. They shared a room only one floor above the séance room and neither had mobility problems that would preclude them from arriving simultaneously. But today, they arrived together and were accompanied by Sophronia. It would seem the three of them had gotten along at dinner the night before exceedingly well.

  “Good morning, Ruby. I hope you don’t mind that we have invited Sophronia to sit with us this morning,” Dovie said.

  “I am delighted to include whomever you would like in one of your readings.” Strictly speaking, that was not the truth. I felt a surprisingly fierce case of nerves. It wasn’t every day that I conducted a reading with someone famous. It was even less usual for me to do so for a famous medium. After all, if she believed me to be a fraud there would be dire consequences for the hotel.