by Teri Brown
I tentatively raise my hand again and he nods. “You mentioned clairvoyance. Have you known anyone who has visions of the future? And if so, are the visions set in stone or have you seen people actually alter the events foretold in the visions?” I’m skating on thin ice with such a specific question, but I see no other way to get answers.
He raises a brow. “From what I have learned, the clairvoyant is actually seeing what will happen, not what might happen. I’ve been told that seeing the future is much like seeing the past; it’s unchangeable.” He smiles and looks around the room. “Next question?”
My heart races and I clench my hands together in my lap. Unchangeable. I take a shaky breath, trying not to attract attention. Focus.
Mr. Huber raises his hand. “So you are trying to start a North American branch of the Society for Psychical Research?”
Dr. Bennett’s face wrinkles into a deep frown. “That was my mission when I first arrived in the States, but I have to be honest and tell you that the Society for Psychical Research and I have had, how shall I say it, a parting of the ways? Yes, that is a good way to put it.”
His voice is leading and an older woman in a feather boa asks, “May I ask what happened?”
Dr. Bennett heaves a sigh. “I do not wish to malign an organization I used to have so much respect for. I had issues with their methodologies and I reverently believe that all humans should be treated as equals. Unfortunately, I feel that the scientists in the Society for Psychical Research lost sight of that and treated their valuable subjects no better than mice in a laboratory. But enough of that. Suffice it to say that I plan on forming my own organization, where science is valued, but not more than the people it serves.”
He stands as he delivers that last line and one nice lady claps. Oh, he is a showman.
“Now, let’s get right down to the tests, shall we? Though some of them may seem strange, rest assured they are all very scientific. Think of it! Some of you may have actual psychical abilities!”
I wipe my hands on my dress nervously. Will he really be able to tell? I suddenly don’t want him to know. Not yet. So far he hasn’t given me any reason to trust him.
He runs us through a series of quizzes that include guessing the picture on a number of cards with symbols on them, and though the answers float into my mind, I give him the wrong response every time. I’ve never been able to read people’s thoughts before and wonder if this is more of Cole’s effect on my abilities or if I’ve always been able to do things like this and just never tried it.
After he finishes, he announces that he wishes to interview everyone privately. “I have a sign-up sheet I would like you all to fill out. Please put your name and address on the sheet and I can send you more information on meetings and such. There are also cookies and coffee. Chat amongst yourselves while I talk to each of you. Miss Van Housen?” He nods his head toward a couple of chairs set up in the corner of the room.
We have a seat, but before we get started, Mr. Huber walks over. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I can’t seem to find a pen.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Dr. Bennett takes one out of his vest pocket and hands it to him.
The pen has a fancy engraved silver barrel and jet black top. Mr. Huber looks at it and frowns. “Where did you find this? Mr. Parker lost one the other day that’s similar to this one.”
Dr. Bennett smiles easily. “I actually bought that at Harrods before I left London. It’s a beauty, isn’t it?”
Mr. Huber nods his assent and walks back to the desk where the others are eating cookies and talking.
Dr. Bennett’s dishonesty hits me in the chest like a brick. “You’re lying,” I blurt out, then cover my mouth with my hand.
Dr. Bennett narrows his eyes and sits back in his chair. “And you know that how?”
I swallow, my mind scrambling. “I’m sorry, I don’t, of course.”
“Oh, I think you do, Miss Van Housen. Don’t try to cover it up. You are a very gifted young woman.”
I stiffen in my chair, but inside I’m trembling.
He knows.
I don’t trust him at all, and yet part of me desperately wants to. Wants to be able to just spill everything out to someone who obviously knows a lot more about extrasensory perception than I do. But unlike my mother, I am not a risk taker and it’s far too soon to put my trust in a man who is clearly a scientific con man.
He waits for me to answer, his face practically bursting with suppressed excitement.
No. I do not trust him yet. I try to look confused. “I have no idea what you mean. Are you talking about my magic show?”
He laughs. “Actually, no. I’m talking about your psychical abilities. You’re the only person I’ve ever tested who got every single answer wrong. The laws of chance alone are against that happening. So you see, your slipup over the pen didn’t give you away, my dear. I already knew. My question is, Why are you hiding it?”
I curse my own stupidity and am completely at a loss as to what to do or say that won’t give me away further. I finally shake my head. “I think this interview is over for now, Dr. Bennett, but I am very interested in your research and organization.”
He stands as well. “Very well, Miss Van Housen, I understand your position. You’re not the first person who has wanted to hide their abilities. I will keep you informed. I do hope you will at some point be able to trust me. There are further tests I would like to do, and I believe I can help you immensely.”
His gray eyes are clear and completely candid, but they don’t mesh with the mixed messages I feel coming off him.
“Are you ready to go?” I ask Cynthia when she’s finished her interview. I want to get out of here and mull over what I’ve learned.
His eyes track me as I leave, and I have a hunch that Dr. Bennett will be getting in touch with me very soon.
Seventeen
Several days later, I’m surprised to find Mother up and dressed after my morning’s shopping is done. She’s been on her best behavior the past few days—our shows have gone off seamlessly and she’s made no more references to our last séance. It makes me wonder what she’s up to.
So far, I’ve managed to avoid Cole, but perhaps he’s been avoiding me, too. Truthfully, I’m a bit miffed he hasn’t sought me out to see how I’ve been. Maybe he’s waiting for me to come to him. I probably will eventually, but I’m in no hurry.
I haven’t had the vision again and I am praying it was just some sort of strange anomaly, but Dr. Bennett’s words keep going around and around in my brain. What if he’s right? What if I can’t stop it?
“Where have you been, darling?”
I shake my basket at her. “Shopping.”
“All you ever shop for is food. I want to go buy you some new clothes. You have nothing to wear tomorrow night.”
My mind blanks. “Tomorrow night? I thought I’d just wear what I always wear for the show.”
“No, I meant with Owen, afterward. You want to look smart, don’t you?”
I let out a breath. “Oh. I forgot.” What’s wrong with me? Here I am a mere day before going out dancing with a handsome young man and I’ve completely forgotten about it. Sometimes I despair of ever being normal.
She throws up her hands in mock hopelessness. “What am I going to do with you? Come on. I’ll call Jacques and he can send a car over for us. Let’s go to Bonwit Teller and find something.”
I shake my head. “No, I have plenty of clothes. Or I can borrow something of yours.”
“But don’t you want something new?”
“Mother, I don’t need it. And what’s more, we can’t afford it.”
She sits at the table, her mouth pursed with disappointment. “Sometimes it’s hard for me to believe you’re my daughter.”
“That makes two of us,” I say dryly.
“Now, none of your sass. And what do you mean, we can’t afford it? We’re making good money, aren’t we? The apartment is practically rent free and electricity is cheap
. I don’t know why you’re so worried all the time.”
Because someone needs to be, I think. “We’re almost the same size, and you have lots of clothes. I might as well take advantage of it. Come on; let’s go see what you have.”
The thought of looking through her clothes mollifies Mother and I spend the next hour choosing what I’ll wear. We decide on a short-sleeved beige shift with silver beads dressing up the front. It has a daring handkerchief hemline and I’ll wear it with a long silk scarf tied about my neck. It’s fussier than I want and half as fussy as my mother would prefer.
After picking out my clothes, a knock on the door sounds and I answer, hoping it’s not Jacques again. He’s taken to coming over almost every day now.
To my surprise it’s Cole, holding a huge bouquet of flowers. Two blotches of color stain his cheeks and he looks so uncomfortable and boyish, I immediately forgive him.
Wordlessly, he holds out the flowers. It’s a mix of lilies, roses, daisies, and orchids.
“For me?” I ask, thrilled to my very toes.
He nods. “I didn’t know which flowers were your favorites so I had her put several different types in. I hope you like them.”
“They’re beautiful,” I say, burying my face in the flowers and breathing in their sweet fragrance.
“I just wanted to apologize . . .” He clears his throat and looks over my shoulder.
I get his meaning and step out into the hall, quietly shutting the door behind me. I look up into his handsome face. His dark eyes are pensive, as if he’s unsure of what his reception will be. I get the strongest urge to touch his cheek and reassure him. I resist. I want to hear what he has to say.
He tries again, his voice stiff. “I just wanted to apologize for making such a mess out of our talk the other day. I was going to wait until I knew exactly how much I could tell you, but I had an urgent sense that you needed to know right away.”
He pauses and the vision of my mother pops into my head. He has no idea just how urgent it is.
He continues, “If it were up to me, I would tell you everything, but there is a lot more at stake here than just you and me, and they’re not really my secrets to tell freely.”
His jaw is working and his uncertainty and self-doubt transmit themselves to me as if he’d whispered them in my ear. I stare transfixed by the apprehension in his dark eyes. My heart swells with such an aching tenderness for him that I impulsively stand on my tiptoes and brush his cheek with my lips. “I understand,” I tell him softly. I’m not sure which one of us is more surprised, but I can tell he’s pleased by the smile in his eyes.
“Thank you,” he says simply.
We stare at each other for a moment before I clear my throat. “I should get these into water. Do you want to come in?”
He looks at the door, his cheeks still faintly flushed. “No, I actually have an appointment, but maybe later?”
“Sure,” I tell him, opening the door to my apartment as he moves toward the stairs. “Later. And Cole?” He turns. “I need to talk to you about something that’s been happening with my . . .” I hesitate, knowing Mother is somewhere in the flat. I need to tell him about the visions. Maybe he can at least give me some insight into those. “My abilities,” I whisper.
He gives me a nod and heads down the stairs while I go into the apartment with my flowers, practically dancing.
When I awake the next morning, I receive a note from Dr. Bennett asking if I can meet with him at a little café a few blocks from my home. With the memory of my last vision still pirouetting in my head, I agree, but as I watch the minutes tick away on the big clock over the lunch counter, I’m starting to second-guess myself. The lunch crowd has descended upon the café and the noise is giving me a headache. Or maybe it’s my nerves.
The waitress refills my cup. Her black and white uniform hangs limp, as if she’s at the end of a long shift, and there are stains on her white apron. “Are you sure you don’t want to see a menu?” she asks.
I shake my head. “I’m still waiting for someone.”
She gives me a weary smile and I almost smell the anxiety coming off her in exhausted waves. She must have trouble at home, I think miserably. This has to stop. Maybe it’s time to be honest with Dr. Bennett. He said he could help me, and I’m tired of having to deal with everything alone. And in spite of the flowers, I’m not sure I can count on Cole.
As if I’d conjured him, Dr. Bennett comes through the doorway, at his charming, English-squire best, wearing a dapper houndstooth suit and gray overcoat. Though he’s late, he takes his time, smiling and chatting with the waitresses and nodding to the other diners. He beams when he sees me and saunters back to the corner table I’d chosen for its privacy.
“Good afternoon, Miss Van Housen. Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice. I trust you had a good morning.” He removes his bowler and takes a seat in the chair across from me.
“Very good,” I tell him stiffly. I can’t seem to help it. One moment, I’m telling myself to accept his offer of help and the next I’m in full-blown retreat. I try again. “I hope yours was, as well?”
“It was interesting. Very interesting.”
I’m about to ask him what made it so very interesting when the waitress returns with a bit more spring in her step. Dr. Bennett orders coffee and the waitress practically simpers over his jovial manner and crisp English accent.
I’m already on edge and his theatrics annoy me. “So why did you want to meet with me, Dr. Bennett?” I ask as soon as the waitress leaves.
He smiles. “The direct approach. I would expect nothing less from a young lady of your caliber.”
I frown. “And yet you refuse to give me the same courtesy.”
His smile slips a bit and he inclines his head in agreement. “Very well put, Miss Van Housen. I am here because I know you’re interested in my new organization and I would like you to be a part of it.” He holds up his hand to stop me from speaking. “No, I’m being honest. I did a little checking on you. I know you and your mother are doing very well with your show, but I also know you can’t be making a potful of money doing it. I don’t want any money from you. It’s your psychical talents I’m interested in.”
My chest tightens, as much from the fact that he checked up on me as from his words. I look down at our table, following the grain of the wood with my finger. The itch to run is strong, but my desire for help is stronger. I have to know if he can actually do that. I raise my eyes. “Why?”
“The group I have in mind is very special. I need smart, talented people to help me get it started. My objectives are twofold: I wish to study psychical phenomena and bring their gifts to the world, and I wish to help those who are being crushed by the responsibility of those very gifts.”
Uneasiness prickles down my neck and arms. Am I supposed to believe that his motivations are purely noble? There has to be a way to find out what he really wants from me. Then an idea pops into my head. Just how honest is he willing to be with me? I set both my hands on the table and lean forward. “Did you mesmerize the crowd into giving you money?”
Our eyes lock. Right now, he has no idea what kind of talent I possess, except that it’s some kind of extrasensory perception. I see the struggle on his face. Should he lie and risk getting caught or settle for the truth?
He decides. “Yes.”
We stop talking when the waitress brings his coffee. Then I face him again, my heart beating in my throat. “So you’re a con man?”
“I’m a scientist.”
I glare. “Wrong answer.”
One side of his mouth creeps up. “I’m a scientific con man,” he concedes. “When a scientist needs money to further his research, he does what he can. What I can do just happens to be a little unorthodox.”
“Why did you really leave the Society for Psychical Research?”
He shakes his head. “My turn. What you and your mother do . . . it’s a sham, isn’t it?”
I maintain eye contact,
even though my first impulse is to look away. I swallow. “Wrong question,” I say faintly. There’s no way I’m giving him ammunition to use against me or my mother.
He nods, a smile playing around his lips. My stomach sinks. Why do I get the feeling I just showed him a chink in my armor?
“Protecting your mother, I see. Very commendable. So what kind of abilities do you have?”
I cross my arms. “You couldn’t tell from your tests?”
His face stills and he leans forward. “My time is very valuable, Miss Van Housen. Don’t waste it.” His voice is quiet, but the meaning is clear.
I lean away in spite of myself and he relaxes, knowing he made his point. I understand. He will give me nothing else until I give him something. “I can talk to spirits.”
His eyes narrow. “A claim made by many. How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” I counter. Then I take a deep breath. “Everything is a risk. The trick is to figure out whether that risk is worth it or not. Channeling the dead is only one of my abilities, and unfortunately, it is very, very real. What I’d like to know is what I get in return for allowing you to study me?”
He considers me for a long moment and I sense that he mistrusts me as much as I do him. Oddly, the thought comforts me. At least we both know where we stand.
“The opportunity to work with others like yourself, for one,” he finally says. Then he leans across the table, his eyes gleaming. “And the power to control your own abilities.”
I stare at him, scarcely breathing. If I didn’t know better I’d give in right then and there, but at the core of every successful con is the appearance of giving the marks what they want. In my mother’s case, she appears to give her clients a chance to talk to their deceased loved ones. Here, Dr. Bennett seems to be offering me what I most desire. Which only tells me that he is very, very good.
Before I can react, he glances at his watch. “Now, Miss Van Housen, I have a meeting I must attend. Please consider what I’ve said. I would love for you to be a part of my organization.”