by Devon Glenn
But she would have to wait. Dar realized too late that her bedroom door was still open. If she did not get Rahul out the window in a few seconds, whichever member of her household she could now hear climbing the stairs would be able to see directly into her bedroom by the time he or she hit the last step.
“You should leave before we’re caught,” she whispered. Dar kissed Rahul all the way to the window, where he climbed over the sill and disappeared into the shadows. On the bed, the book that Rahul had taken from his pocket lay closed, revealing nothing but the stem of the velvety red rose pressed inside. Dar picked it up and discovered that he had given her his flower dictionary.
CHAPTER 10
A red rose
Virginia Crossing, just arrived from her trip, took one look at her daughter’s flushed face and the book on her bed and knew before either of them said a word what had happened while she and Mr. Crossing had been in Washington. The tension hung in the air while the two women stared at each other, waiting for the other to say something.
“Lottie…” said Dar, balling her fists in defense. She knew her mother would understand what she was getting at.
Virginia finished her sentence with a sigh. “Is an heiress whose husband has been gone half the summer. She has very little to lose in this scenario but the respect of a man who owes his career to her fortune.”
Taking a seat next to Dar on the bed, Virginia lowered her voice. “You, on the other hand, are still looking for a husband and would be wise to guard your virtue until you find one.”
Dar could not imagine anyone she would find that moved her quite like Rahul, a man who could pull her out of her body in one moment and out of her clothes the next, all to escape the never-ending chatter of the dead grandparents and children of her peers. That winged being certainly could’ve been talking about Dar when it talked about touching many people briefly but with great impact. But it had neglected to mention who would be touching back.
“Maybe I have found one,” Dar said defiantly.
“A man in transit is not looking to provide a stable home for you.”
Dar felt her ears burn, the eyes of another presence at her back as she continued the most awkward conversation she would ever have with her mother.
With a gentle change in atmosphere, a mysterious presence materialized beside Virginia on the bed. It was a woman Dar recognized from family portraits as her grandmother. Dar had only known her grandmother by what she had left behind: a lace tablecloth and a handful of photographs. Virginia rarely spoke of her. Grandmother had died before Dar was born and had never reached out to her from the Other Side, so the medium was taken aback by her sudden appearance. “Roses are for true love,” she told Dar with a wink.
“Will you focus on me for one moment?” Virginia pleaded. “Your relationship with that man will not happen so long as I am here.”
Dar regarded her mother coolly. “It’s not entirely up to you,” she said.
Virginia huffed and left the room, slamming the door behind her. Never in her life had Dar seen her ice-queen of a mother, who was always so hell-bent on propriety, fly off in a hot rage. It was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.
A few moments later, Dar’s mother slipped back into the room with an envelope on which the seal had clearly been broken. “You’re right; it’s not entirely up to me.” Virginia looked squarely at her daughter and tossed the letter on the bed in front of her. Dar retrieved it cautiously.
I had no idea that matchmaking would be this difficult. Anjali looked nothing like her photograph. When I complained to the newspaper, they told me that her parents had resubmitted her more attractive sister’s ad from four years ago. Amrita’s parents said she was “wise beyond her years.” Just because a girl is old enough to be married doesn’t mean she should be. The young girl was so nervous that she cried through our entire meeting. I might as well be doing this blindfolded. Your father and I have decided to amend the ad and run it for another month. Let’s hope there are no more surprises.
Dar’s voice caught in her throat. She swallowed. “Where did you get this?”
“Mr. Fields found this in the rose bushes outside the house. He must have dropped the letter on his way out the other night.”
Or just now, climbing in through my window, Dar thought, but she told her mother, “You had no right to read that. You should have returned the letter to him unopened.”
“Don’t tell me what my rights are,” her mother snapped. “Don’t you see what’s happening? While he’s been wooing you in Cape May, his parents have been arranging a marriage for him in India.”
Dar closed her eyes and drew a long breath, hoping to calm the anxiety that was beating in her chest, desperate to escape the notion that Rahul could betray her like this. “They haven’t found a match for him yet,” she said, clinging to her last and only hope. “It says so right in the letter.”
Virginia snorted. “Do you really think that you’re the type of bride they’re looking for? Look at this ad!” She dug into the envelope and fetched a small newspaper clipping that was clinging to the inside corner.
WANTED: Bride possessing beauty and charm good character. The bridegroom is from a respectable Marwari business family with plans to expand their jute mill. He is in good health and has his bachelor’s degree.
“His parents are just as eager to see their child married well as yours are. The family needs a dowry. I have no intention of sending what’s left of our family fortune to some other family overseas. And he knows it.”
Dar sat, dumbfounded, as her mother placed the ad back in its envelope. Virginia took the book of flowers from Dar’s nightstand and gingerly turned the pages to touch the red rose and the page it had marked. “Red roses signify true love,” she said tenderly. “He may think he loves you now, but he can’t escape reality forever. It would be cruel to toy with his affections only to send him back to India alone. No matter how callous men may seem, their hearts really are as fragile as this rose. So you see, parting ways now is the best and the kindest option for you both.” Virginia paused, her eyes shimmering. “Your Rahul has such beautiful eyes,” she said in a faraway voice. But she quickly brushed her sentiment away as if she were swatting a fly. “Unfortunately for him,” she continued, “your father and I have just spoken to an eligible man who was, surprisingly, impressed by your séance the other night. He’s agreed to come over this evening for cocktails. And don’t worry, we have invited other single gentlemen to the party to create the illusion of competition.”
Dar sucked in her breath as if to bottle her anger.
Virginia smiled smugly. “It’s too late to send them away,” she said before her daughter could argue. “In the meantime, please do something about your hair. It looks like you have a pile of kelp on your head.”
With that, Virginia left her daughter alone with the letter and Rahul’s book. Dar opened the flower dictionary to the pages that sheltered the rose, her gaze resting on a handwritten note in its margins:
“Everything I have is yours, my love,” it read, “in another life.”
CHAPTER 11
A severed head
Dar watched her mother smooth every doily in the séance room for a third time as Mrs. Fields arranged an assortment of spirits, sugar, and bitters on the table that would serve as the bar and set plates full of appetizers on small tables throughout the room. Dar, meanwhile, filled her plate with anger and poured herself a glass of resentment. She had lost her appetite for anything else.
When the clock struck nine, the guests arrived in twos and threes, breaking the awkward tension between Dar and her mother with small talk and laughter while the hostesses poured the rye. At long last, Virginia’s guests of honor began trickling in, the first an admittedly handsome man in a suit that was perfectly tailored to his delicate frame. He appeared to float to where Dar and Virginia stood and did not wait to be introduced.<
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“She’s even lovelier than her picture, Mrs. Crossing,” he said to Virginia. He grabbed Dar’s hand and kissed it. “I’m Clark Cummings.”
Dar forced a smile, silently reminding herself that it was not this poor man’s fault that her heart was already broken from an affair with someone else. The name Cummings also rang a bell, though she couldn’t place it. “So you are a friend of Robert Digges’s, I assume?” she asked. “Are you a politician as well?”
Mr. Cummings let out a dry laugh. “Friend is not quite the way to describe it,” he said. “And no, I am not a politician.”
Dar raised an eyebrow. “Then how do you two know each other?”
“I’m a reporter for Washington Weekly Affairs,” Clark explained. “I’m doing a profile on Senator Digges for an upcoming issue. When I met your wonderful mother the other night,” he said, stretching the compliment toward her mother with his hands, “I thought I might come to Cape May to interview Mrs. Digges…and to meet you, of course.”
Dar looked at her mother darkly. Hadn’t this man humiliated her enough already? Not only was he not here to see her, but whatever he did see would likely not bode well for Mr. Digges. For a shrewd and calculating woman, Virginia’s calculations were astoundingly off the mark.
Virginia ignored her daughter’s cold stare. “It’s a wonderfully entertaining publication,” she said in the tabloid’s defense. “And a profile of Mr. Digges will surely help his cause after that unfortunate misunderstanding with the séance.”
Dar squirmed uncomfortably at her mother’s pleasantries. As much as she wanted to make an excuse to leave the conversation, she knew she would have to keep an eye on the reporter all evening.
Her mother apparently had the same idea. “Lovely to see you, Mr. Cummings,” she said, a little too brightly. “Please excuse me while I greet some of the other guests.”
Dar studied the man’s face, hoping the spirit world would offer clues as to whether he was just here to jot down a few amusing anecdotes from the wife to punch up the story or if he had something more salacious in mind.
Clark shifted nervously under her gaze. “What are you looking at?”
“You may remember that I’m a medium,” Dar said plainly. “I’m reaching out to the spirit world to see if anyone from your past would like to communicate with you this evening.” If men were to grow tired of her parlor tricks, as her mother suggested, she might as well start tiring this one out now.
But she underestimated the reporter’s natural curiosity. “Fascinating,” he said, pulling a small notebook and pen from his pocket. “How long have you been in touch with the…uh…spirit world?”
Dar snatched his notepad and pen from his hands. “Thank you,” she said. “How did you know I was looking for a pen? Automatic writing is one of several methods I use to communicate with spirits. You must be psychic yourself.”
Clark shook his head, but he didn’t take the notebook back.
Dar closed her eyes and let the pen move across the page. Soon a young man dressed for war peered over her shoulder—the very same spirit who had tipped Dar off to the horseshoe crabs earlier that day. Though she couldn’t see him, Dar could feel his cold breath in her ear. “He has a severed head in his pocket,” the man said cheerfully, as though the image he was describing were not in the slightest bit gruesome. Dar put the pen to her side and turned to face the spirit, who merely bowed and tipped the leather brim of his brass helmet. “And although you and my great-grandson are not destined to be together,” he added, “he will find one of your guests very appealing tonight. Unfortunately for him, the feeling will not be mutual. Please do not write that part down.” With that, the spirit put one finger over his lips and disappeared.
“There was a man in a wool coat who said he was your great-grandfather,” Dar told Clark. “He looked too young to be any sort of grandfather. Did he die young?”
“My great-grandfather died shortly after my grandfather was born, yes,” he said. “Which is not unusual for men of that generation who fought in the Revolution.”
Ignoring the blatant skepticism in Clark’s voice, Dar looked down at what she had written in his notebook. “Your great-grandfather said a severed head was in your pocket,” she said. She watched with great satisfaction as Clark’s jaw dropped. “Well, let’s see it,” Dar pressed. “I am dying to know if my mother has invited a murderer into our home.”
“I suppose you’ve earned it,” he said. Reaching into his vest pocket, Clark produced a photograph of President Cleveland addressing a crowd in front of the White House. The president stood with his arm outstretched, and on his palm, he held his own head.
“That’s impossible,” Dar said with a gasp, unable to stop herself from smiling. “Where did you get that?”
“The people said they’d have his head for the state of our economy,” Clark said proudly, “so I went into my darkroom and gave them what they wanted.”
“This is trick photography?” Dar asked, leaning in for a better look at the photograph.
“Precisely,” Clark said excitedly. “This will be in next week’s issue.”
Dar whistled appreciatively. “I wonder what the headline will be,” she said. “Or will that be missing, too?”
The two of them laughed until rye whiskey spilled out of Clark’s glass. “You are quite charming,” he said to her. “I was sincere when I said you were lovely. I just…” He let the sentence trail away.
Dar waved away his apology. “Just out of curiosity,” she said, “what did my mother tell you to lure you out here?”
Clark cleared his throat. “Well, since Digges was out of town, your mother said she’d help me arrange an interview with the wife.”
Something seemed off about that story, but Dar couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Before she could follow up with another question, she saw Lottie walking through the door. Unfortunately, so did Clark. “Is that Mrs. Digges?” he asked, taking in the full spectacle of Lottie’s daring neckline, wild curls, and exaggerated smile. “Will you please introduce us?”
Dar thought quickly. “Of course,” she said. “Why don’t you take a moment to top off your glass? We’ll wait right here for you.”
Lottie, who was still miffed from her argument with Dar this afternoon, breezed right past her friend as though Dar were invisible. Before Lottie could escape, Dar caught her by the bustle and pulled her back.
“You don’t have time to be angry with me right now,” Dar said to Lottie under her breath. “There is a reporter here who, although he is quite pleasant, may very well write something unflattering about your husband in Washington Weekly Affairs if you fail to be anything other than a dignified and devoted politician’s wife. Do you understand my meaning?”
Lottie glanced nervously over her shoulder at the man who was filling his glass with rye. “Thank you for the warning,” she said stiffly.
“And I was hoping we could continue our earlier conversation after the guests leave,” Dar added. “I have much to tell, and you are the only person I trust.”
Lottie’s face softened. “I would like that,” she said. “But make it brief, please. You know I can’t hold my tongue at a party any longer than my corset can hold in my stomach after a meal.”
Clark returned with a full glass. For the next few minutes, Dar supervised Lottie as she discussed the campaign, the charities she and her husband supported, and the state of tourism in Cape May, including as few candid opinions as possible. Just when Dar was convinced that Lottie had bored her companion enough to send him home early, Rahul appeared at the door to the séance room, his golden eyes burning through the crowd to where Dar stood.
“Who is that?” Clark gasped. Although her heart skipped a beat at the sight of her lover, Dar listened to the instinct telling her not to let her mother’s guest out of her sight. To her surprise, Clark looked at Rahul from head to toe, dr
inking him in. “Intriguing fellow,” he said, his voice hushed.
Rahul barely nodded to the other women as he pushed into the room to see Dar. For once, she was glad that her mother had insisted that she dress well for the occasion. Dar had still worn her favorite color—black—but this time her gown was made of luxurious black velvet with a satin bow in the back. It had a sweetheart neckline and (only slightly) puffed sleeves that fell off her shoulders. Her hair was a crown of soft ringlets that framed her face. Here, at her mother’s singles party, she could hide her desperate longing for Rahul in plain sight.
Thankfully, Clark’s reporting instincts failed him in that moment.
He was transfixed. “And who might you be?” he asked, waiting for Rahul to turn away from Dar so he could finish his sentence.
Lottie’s response to Rahul’s arrival was no less subtle than Clark’s. “This is Rahul!” she said too loudly. “He’s come from India to meet with my brother-in-law, but he’s also been teaching us yoga at the inn. It’s very spiritual.”
“I’ll bet it is,” Clark said, adding in his mind, I’d worship any god who gave out that physique! “How many people are participating?”
Lottie was all too eager to inform him. “On his first day here, we had a group meditation with nearly all the guests at the White Cottage. Now it’s just me and a few others.”
As suddenly as he had forgotten the ladies in front of him, Clark seemed to have remembered why he had come to Cape May. “You mean to tell me that you”—he took his pen and notebook back from a reluctant Dar and started scribbling—“and a few others have been alone with this fellow all week? Does your husband approve?”
“He has hands to shake and babies to kiss,” Lottie snapped. “He doesn’t have time to worry about my approval rating.”
“Would it be fair to say that the two of you are having marital troubles?”