A Haunting Reprise

by Amanda DeWees

  “Sally Ingersoll,” Mother said, shocked. “Don’t say such blasphemous things. Your dear father is in heaven.”

  I shook my head and bent down to pick up a fragment of porcelain. “He is in this parlor, or was a minute ago.”

  Light dawned on Polly’s face. “He doesn’t want me to become an actress. It’s only when I am talking about having a theatrical career that he begins to—to—”

  “Manifest,” I supplied.

  “To chuck things about,” Ada said, shaking her head as she looked at the mess. “Bless me, Miss Sybil, but between you and your sister he’s good and riled up. Is it safe to go back inside?”

  “It’s possible that such a violent display drained all of his energy. It may take him some time before he is able to do this again.”

  “How can you be certain?” Polly asked. None of the three showed any eagerness to go back inside, and I couldn’t blame them.

  “I’ll see if I can find out,” I said. “Wait here.”

  My mother caught my arm. “Be careful.”

  “I know what I’m doing,” I said, and if I was just a tiny bit smug, I didn’t think I could be blamed. It would be satisfying to be able to show off a little to my family, especially when my success in other spheres had failed to impress them.

  Stepping carefully over the broken glass and splintered wood that lay in my path, I moved to the center of the room. The bright Turkish carpet was rucked up in folds. “Father, is it you?” I asked the room generally. “Please answer me.”

  A strange slithering, shushing sound made me look around. To my great unease, one of the curtains that had been dumped on the floor was writhing as if endowed with life. I had to force myself to hold my ground as it slowly reared up on end, a column of blue and green acanthus-print fabric, like some giant floral snake about to strike. What it did was almost as unnerving. It molded itself against an invisible form, taking on the shape of a tall, gaunt man. It stayed thus just for a few moments, and then the fabric fell to the floor with a whoosh of released air as if exhausted.

  “I shall assume that’s an affirmative answer,” I said, resisting the urge to walk over and place my foot firmly on the curtain to prevent further tendencies toward mobility. “Father, it’s very important that you listen to me. You don’t belong here anymore. This is the world of the living, and your soul needs to depart. This world is not your spiritual home any longer.”

  The chatter of metal against the floorboards alerted me, and I ducked just in time to avoid being struck by one of Linden’s toy soldiers. It struck the wall behind me.

  “I realize that you’re angry,” I said, with some indignation, “and probably confused as well, and that isn’t your fault. But that does not excuse your attempting to overrule me with physical violence and—”

  Two more soldiers followed in rapid succession, and one struck me on the shoulder. Biting back a snappish response, I reminded myself that this was partly my fault, and I owed it to my family to try to conciliate him.

  “I apologize for lying about your wishes for Polly,” I said. “That was wrong, and I shouldn’t have done it. You have every right to be angry at me, but please don’t take it out on the others.”

  A jarring sound from the piano made me jump. It sounded like fists being brought down on the keys. Clearly an apology was not sufficient.

  “I don’t know what you expect to achieve through these displays of temper,” I snapped, as my own temper rose. “Polly isn’t going to stop having a mind of her own just because you want her to. Nor should she! Every human being has a right to live life on her own terms, regardless of—”

  I broke off as a massive china bowl filled with potpourri began to vibrate and rise into the air. If that were to hit me in the head, I might join my father in the hereafter. Backing toward the door, I called hastily, “Very well, I’m leaving now, but this discussion is not over!” and darted back into the hallway before the bowl could hurl itself at me. I shut the door hastily, expecting at any moment to hear the bowl shatter against it.

  When moments passed and that did not happen, I realized that the gesture had only been for show. He must not have the strength to throw such a heavy object so soon after wreaking complete havoc in the parlor.

  “That didn’t go quite as I’d planned,” I admitted to my audience, who were watching with wide eyes. “Don’t worry, I’m not done with him. I’ve routed nastier ghosts than Father.”

  Mother stared at me in horror. “How can you be so irreverent?” she whispered. “It’s as if a curse has come upon us! I’ve always been a God-fearing woman, and heaven knows I tried to raise my children to be the same.”

  I squeezed her hand to comfort her. “I’m sorry if I don’t seem properly awed, Mother. But this isn’t the first time, nor even the second or third, that I have encountered the supernatural. So if I seem not to show proper awe, it’s because I know this kind of visitation is neither holy nor infernal. It’s simply a human soul that is clinging stubbornly to the world that he ought to have left behind once he was divorced from his body. And I refuse to let him bully you like this.” Rubbing my shoulder where the lead soldier had struck it, I added, “It may just take me a little time to find the best way to approach him.”

  “He doesn’t seem like he wants to talk to you,” Ada observed. “P’raps someone else might do better.”

  Of course! She was right. I was the last person that my father’s spirit would heed. There was no point in my trying to make him see reason when he had had so little regard for anything I had said in life.

  “Ada, you are a treasure,” I said. “I’ll find someone who can make things right, I promise.” I started toward the stairs, but she placed herself in my way.

  “Not so fast, missy.” She thrust a broom into my hands. “First you’ll help set the parlor to rights.”

  Though I hated housework as some women hate spiders and snakes, I felt I owed it to Mother to help restore order to the parlor. When Ada had declared herself satisfied, I managed to draw Polly out of the house for a quick strategy session on the stoop of the shop next door.

  Neither of us wanted to lose the understudying opportunity I had contrived to bring about for her, so we arranged that I would come in a cab and fetch her away to the theater that night.

  “And if Father starts throwing things again in the meantime,” I told her, “you leave the house right away, all of you. Come to the Langham if you’ve no neighbors who will take you in.”

  “We’ll need cab fare,” said Polly, ever practical, and would not let me depart until I had handed over a sum sufficient to convey the entire family all the way to Wales and back.

  By the time I had hailed a cab of my own to take me back to the hotel, I had formed a plan. In life my father had proven obdurate in the face of women’s arguments, so perhaps even now he would more readily be swayed by a man. Fortunately I had a male medium ready to hand.

  So it was with the intention of writing to Martin at once that I entered our sitting room, where Roderick, in his shirtsleeves, was working at the piano.

  “Such a determined expression!” he greeted me. “And what schemes are being hatched behind those seemingly innocent blue eyes?”

  “I need a man,” I announced.

  A look of surprised pleasure leaped into his eyes. Immediately he stood and began unbuttoning his shirt. “I am at your service, as ever,” he said, and pulled the shirt off over his head.

  “That isn’t what—”

  But the sight of his bared chest silenced my objection. When one’s husband was being so delightfully obliging, it would have been churlish to correct his misapprehension.

  “Just let me dash off a letter first to give to the porter,” I said.

  Roderick advanced and untied the ribbons securing my hat. “A very short letter,” he said huskily.

  SOME TIME LATER, AS we lay in each other’s arms on the oriental rug beneath the piano, Roderick stroked his fingertips along my arm and murmured, “What a
re you thinking?”

  “I’m wondering who the witness is who implicated Treherne,” I said.

  The pleasant motion of his hand stopped. “I hope you weren’t thinking about that while we...”

  “Believe me, you had my complete attention. But now that I feel so wonderfully contented and relaxed—”

  “—your mind naturally goes to murder. I shouldn’t be surprised, I suppose.” His voice was indulgent. “I knew you were an unconventional woman when I married you.”

  I reached up to rumple his hair. “As if you would be contented with any other kind.”

  “Minx,” he said fondly, and folded his arms behind his head. “So what was this letter that was so urgent?”

  “Now, I hope you weren’t thinking about that all this time.” I raised myself on one elbow to give him a mock-severe look.

  He favored me with a lazy grin. “Did I seem preoccupied?”

  I couldn’t help but smile in recollection. “Far from it, you wicked reprobate.” Then I sobered. “The fact is, rather a delicate situation has arisen with my family.”

  “Money troubles? Feud with the neighbors?”

  “If only it were that simple. No, my father’s ghost seems to be haunting them.”

  “Haunting them?” He sat up so abruptly that I was unable to warn him before he whacked his head on the underside of the piano. “In the literal sense?” he asked, after he had muttered an oath and glowered at the offending instrument.

  “I’m afraid so. Father doesn’t seem to want to leave this plane as long as Polly pursues a theatrical career, and he’s making himself most unpleasant.”

  “But how—” He groped for words. “Can that really happen? Sheer, spiteful force of will can produce a haunting?”

  “Believe me, it isn’t unheard of. My letter asked Martin if he would be willing to make an attempt to dislodge the spirit.” I sighed. “Naturally Father wouldn’t heed me, a mere female.”

  Realization dawned on his face. “Is that what you meant when you came in and said—”

  Putting a finger to his lips, I stopped the words. “Not at all, darling. I meant exactly what you thought I did.” Then the clock began to strike the hour, and I realized how much time had passed. “Why don’t you ring for a maid and order us some tea,” I suggested, “and I’ll tell you all about my day before I go back to the theater.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “I presume one of the things you plan to tell me is why you’re going back to the theater.”

  “Of course. But right now I’d better change my dress. This one has become extremely rumpled, I can’t think how.”

  Before I could rise he had hooked a finger under the top of my corset and drawn me close enough for a lingering kiss that melted my bones. “Not to mention that you seem to have lost the bodice,” he said in his silkiest voice, “which I consider an improvement.”

  “You say that about all my dresses.”

  “It’s true about all your dresses. It would be true of anything you wore. The less of it there is, the better, as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Incorrigible man,” I said, pushing at his chest. “If the world followed your idea of fashion the entire textile industry would be put out of business.”

  “Ah, economics,” he said, pulling a doleful face as he finally released me. “There’s a subject to cool a man’s blood. I suppose that means our tryst has indeed come to a close.”

  Already I was halfway to my dressing room, but I turned and winked at him. “Only this one,” I promised.

  Chapter Eleven

  Polly and I were the first to arrive in the theater’s green room that evening, for she insisted on being early. I told her in vain that theater folk were never early, but she would evidently have to learn that for herself.

  In addition to Narcissa, we awaited Gertrude Fox and the actor playing Macduff, who was named Anthony Fairbrother. He had joined the troupe since my time, and I had never seen him before the ill-fated dress rehearsal. His performance had been competent for someone so young and, I supposed, inexperienced.

  Suddenly the door flew open and Narcissa stalked across the threshold, her face a mask of fury above a fox fur boa. Her rose-pink satin gown rustled as she strode into the room, and gems glittered at her ears and fingers. She was an entirely different creature from the subdued woman I had spoken with just that morning. Now she seemed invigorated by anger, and so forceful was her presence that I would not have been entirely surprised to see lightning bolts shoot from her fingers.

  “I have lost my patience with Inspector Strack,” she announced. “That odious, despicable detective!”

  “Whatever is the matter, Miss Holm?” Polly ventured.

  Narcissa did not even look at her. Indeed, she might not even have heard her, so absorbed was she in her grievance. “How dare he keep this supposed witness’s identity a secret? Surely I above all people am entitled to know whose testimony is damning Ivor. Even if this person is telling the truth, which I doubt—”

  She stopped herself as, belatedly, she realized we were there. “Miss Ingram,” she said in a quieter voice. “I don’t suppose you happen to know the name of the person who is claiming to have seen Ivor leave the reception with Atherton.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t,” I said. “The inspector said the witness desired confidentiality.”

  “A cowardly demand!”

  I shrugged. “It may be that the witness fears repercussions for those close to him.”

  “Or her,” said Narcissa. I didn’t like the way she was regarding me. “Might you be the witness, Miss Ingram?”

  “Good heavens, no.”

  “You needn’t sound as though it’s so farfetched a notion. It would make perfect sense if you wanted to get Ivor out of the picture so that you could insert yourself back into the troupe and run things to suit yourself.”

  Just this morning the young woman had said she felt she could trust me. Why the change of attitude? Perhaps now that she had had time to recover somewhat from the shock of her lover being arrested for murder she was beginning to scrutinize the morning’s events with more suspicion. How aggravating.

  I said firmly, “I have no desire to step into Treherne’s place, Miss Holm. Frankly, that would be an exhausting burden, and I’ve many better things to do. Such as spending time with my husband.” I smiled. “If you’ve ever seen my husband, you’ll understand why I don’t wish to take on duties here that would keep me away from him for long.”

  The sincerity of my words must have made itself felt, for Narcissa was now regarding me with less hostility. “Is that really true?”

  “On the grave of Sarah Siddons, I swear that all I want is to help this production find its feet—and help my sister take her first steps in the theater.”

  “Your sister?” she repeated as if she had forgotten—and perhaps she had, with so much else on her mind. But Polly could recognize a cue, stage neophyte though she was, and she stepped forward.

  “Miss Holm,” she exclaimed, gazing at her with eyes full of awe. “This is such an honor. I’m a tremendous admirer of yours!”

  “After one performance,” I muttered, but she ignored me.

  “You were splendid last night,” she rushed on. “Thank you so much for letting me be your understudy. If I can become even one tenth the actress you are—one hundredth—I shall consider myself a smashing success.”

  Being but a mortal woman, Narcissa could hardly help but be pleased by such admiration. She favored Polly with a beatific smile and took her hand. “You’re very sweet, my dear,” she said, with the loftiness of her advanced age of eighteen. “What is your name again?”

  “Polly Ingersoll.”

  Narcissa patted her hand consolingly. “Never mind, we can always change it.” She seemed to be playing a gracious Lady Bountiful type now. “I’m sure we shall get along splendidly together. And you are to be my dresser, as you know.”

  Polly nodded eagerly. She had never looked remotely this impressed by
me, but then, I did not go about draped in furs and satin during the day. “It’s so kind of you to place such trust in me,” she gushed. “I can’t imagine anything more wonderful than helping you!”

  Narcissa fixed her eyes on her and spoke with hushed solemnity. “It is a great responsibility, you understand. You must see that everything is pristine and in good repair before every performance. It would never do for the leading lady to go onstage in a gown with a broken fastening or a dragging hem.”

  “Oh, no indeed, ma’am!” Polly looked as shocked as though Narcissa had suggested performing in a butcher’s apron... though in fact that might have been fitting for the Scottish Lady. “I’m a fine seamstress. I’ll see that everything is perfect for you.”

  Soon Polly was hanging on Narcissa’s every word as the leading lady spoke of such weighty subjects as the importance of removing cold cream from brocade before it had the chance to stain. It was curious seeing the two of them together, as they were so close in age and were not even dramatically different physically, despite one’s being fair and one brunette. Their vocal range was not dissimilar. They might almost have been sisters. Indeed, it was possible that their temperaments were more similar to each other than my own sister’s was to mine.

  My thoughts were following this surprising path when an alto voice exclaimed, “Sybil!” and I was seized by the shoulders and turned about.

  I found myself facing Gertrude Fox. Our last communication had been a bitterly reproachful letter she had written when she had learned of the fictitious story of my embezzlement, but I was left in no doubt that she had since repented of her words, for she seized me in a mighty embrace.

  “My dear, how good it is to see you! I wanted so much to apologize to you after that unpleasant scene last night, but by the time I changed out of my costume you and your husband had left the reception—and I could hardly blame you. And then after what happened to poor Atherton I confess it went quite out of my mind. I’m so glad you’re here.” Holding me at arm’s length, she searched my face as if expecting me to be changed.