by Kate Danley
"That he is," said Clara, finding her cheeks strangely warm. "I care for him a great deal."
"I always liked him," said Mrs. Nan. "Ever since Minnie came to work for us, he would drop by to say hello. Such a caring young man, looking out for her with such kindness." Pointedly, she added, "I see him looking out for you with such kindness, too."
"Indeed," replied Clara tenderly. "It is strange that after Thomas's death, I thought I would never love again. And yet, somehow, Wesley was able to break through all of that darkness."
Mrs. Nan sat down on the bed. "That's the thing about love, my dear. It comes when you least expect it, when you least want it, and when you have sworn to yourself you're done with such foolish dealings, POOF! There is Mr. Wonderful standing right in front of you, stealing your heart away."
"Affection is such a strange thing."
"How you can sit here seeing ghosts and hunting down curses, and yet find yourself having a hard time believing you could be struck by love again? I'd say that you have seen stranger things."
Clara laughed. "Well, if you put it in that light..."
"Enjoy it, dear," Mrs. Nan encouraged. "These things soon fade to comfort and we think back upon the heady days of infatuation with such fondness. Eat it up."
"I shall," promised Clara, Mrs. Nan's words settling truthfully in her heart.
"And speaking of eating up, let me get your breakfast!" said Mrs. Nan rising quickly. "You must be starving and here I'm talking your ear off."
Clara stopped her. "It is wonderful to have someone to talk to," said Clara.
"For me, too, dear," said Mrs. Nan. "The years have been so quiet with just Mr. Willard, Minnie, and me, and no one else paying us mind."
"I am sorry that Minnie has not been back," said Clara. "I know she was your friend. I hope she is not lost."
"Oh! Perhaps she has just moved on and doesn’t have to haunt this old house anymore,” Mrs. Nan said in half-jest.
"I shall try my best to figure out how to give you rest,” Clara promised, earnestly.
Mrs. Nan shook her head. "There is no rush. Now that we have a family to take care of again, the hours pass quickly and I feel like I have purpose. And no creaking bones or joint pain when doing the washing now! Funny how when you're dead, you feel the exact opposite of dead tired."
Clara laughed.
"Speaking of, you close your eyes. Don't want to push you so hard you cross before your time. Rest! I'll be back with breakfast before you even notice I'm gone."
"Thank you, Mrs. Nan," said Clara. "Thank you for taking such good care of me."
"It is my pleasure," she replied as she shut the door.
Clara leaned her head back against the pillow. The room began spinning.
Suddenly, she clutched the bedclothes. There was a force. A great force. It felt as if someone had grabbed her ankles and was trying to drag her out of the bed and onto the floor. She opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. She grabbed the bedpost as her legs stretched towards the window. Her hand slipped.
The scarab strained against her neck in the opposite direction. It felt as if the thong might cut through her neck. She grabbed it to release the pressure… and everything dropped and was still once more.
Clara looked around the room, terrified. All appeared exactly as it should be. She lay back, her hand wrapped around the turquoise necklace, feeling clear headed for the first time all morning. Was it a dream? Was she imagining things? She felt her forehead, wondering if she had a fever. An unnatural wave of exhaustion washed over her like she had been drugged, and she could not fight it. She fell immediately asleep.
18
She awoke and it was morning again. She did not know how long she had been asleep. The door opened and Mrs. Nan entered. "You're awake! You slept all day yesterday!"
Clara stretched. "I must have needed it," she said. "I feel extremely refreshed. One hundred percent better."
"Oh, that is so good to hear. You had me so worried," said Mrs. Nan, coming in and placing a breakfast tray on the table beside Clara. The poached eggs and toast smelled delicious this morning. Clara reached over for her tea, feeling like she could take on the world.
"There is a message from Phineas Stokeman," said Mrs. Nan, taking an envelope out of her apron pocket. "I was going to write back and let him know you were not feeling well, but you seem to have survived the worst."
She handed it over, and Clara opened up the letter. After giving it a quick read, she said to Mrs. Nan, "It says he would like to meet this afternoon."
"Are you sure you are up for it?" asked Mrs. Nan, worried. "You shouldn't push yourself. You had quite a spell there."
On the tray was a newspaper featuring a headline that another person had been killed. Clara paused, finding her fingers gently playing with the cool scarab around her neck, tracing the hieroglyphs on the back. Whatever was killing these people would not stop, she thought. Every day she lay in bed put people at risk.
"I think I shall go to see him," said Clara, feeling the rightness of it all growing. "I really do feel like myself. He may have more information and I would hate to think a single life was lost because of delay."
"Very well," said Mrs. Nan. "I shall send reply that you will join him."
Clara thought for a moment. There was an urge, a compulsion, a thought which almost seemed not her own, but it was as welcome and warm as a spring day. "And would you get something lovely for me to wear to my appointment?" she asked. "Nothing in black. Something fresh and light. I feel so alive today, it seems wrong to swathe myself in death. Something to reflect this wonderful mood."
Mrs. Nan gave her a smile. "I'm glad to see you are coming out of mourning. A woman as young as you shouldn't be hiding herself away from the world in sadness. Will you be seeing Mr. Lowenherz this afternoon, too, then?"
"I… I don't know…" said Clara, her hand tight around the scarab, her mind suddenly having a very difficult time trying to remember why she might want to spend any more time in Wesley's company. "Perhaps… I shall… surprise him…" she finished lamely. It was like wading her way through mud to even remember Wesley's face. Her mind kept turning to Phineas, kind Phineas, who she absolutely must see today.
Mrs. Nan looked at her strangely. "Are you sure you're feeling well?"
"I am sure some fresh air will do me good," she tried to reassure. She knew it was important for her to get out to see Phineas. She must not let Mrs. Nan's concern delay her from seeing him. Another thought popped into her head. "Perhaps you could find something that might match this," she said, showing off the scarab. "It is so lovely and new, and such a generous gift from Phineas. I would like to show it off."
"Oh, we are on a first name basis, are we?" teased Mrs. Nan, bemused. "Well, I'll see what I can find. I'm afraid I didn't see anything colorful in your things."
"Then send away for it!" said Clara, the need for the perfect dress suddenly the most important thing she could imagine. "Purchase something from a store, whatever the cost!"
"My!" exclaimed Mrs. Nan, pleasantly taken aback. "You are serious about this, aren't you?"
"It is a glorious new day, a new chapter in my life," said Clara. Yes, that made sense, the voice in her head whispered. A new day. A new chapter. The reasoning fell from her lips, surprising even her. "A new frock is the perfect mark of this new step," she declared.
"Very well," said Mrs. Nan before she left. "Let me know when you would like me to send your note to Mr. Lowenherz." She gave Clara a happy wink before she closed the door.
Clara rolled over onto her side, her mind telling her how pleasant it would be to see Phineas. She would stroll over to his house to show off her new gown. What a joy it would be to see him again. He had been so kind to come and visit her before.
Clara clutched the scarab.
The necklace was such a comfort.
Phineas was such a comfort.
She relaxed into the rightness that her entire world would be so much better if she ju
st did all she could to make Phineas happy.
Her fingers traced the hieroglyphs.
19
"My dear!" said Phineas welcoming her in. "A joy to see you! I am so glad you could come."
She smiled at him and looked around his house as if she had never seen it before. Really, she thought, it was so elegant in its dark colors and muted tones. There was such a regal sense to it, something deep and rich.
"I do not know if I have complimented you on your home before," said Clara. "It is lovely."
"Thank you my dear," he said. "And might I say, what a lovely gown of blue you are wearing."
Clara gave the skirts a happy swish, pleased that he noticed.
Phineas motioned that she should sit down upon the couch. A tea service sat waiting for them with dark tea and cookies. He lifted up the plate. "Care for a refreshment?"
She held up her hand in polite refusal. "I am quite fine."
"Are you sure you don't want a nibble?" he encouraged. "It would please me so to hear what you think of them."
She looked at the plate and her mouth began to water. Their shortbread shapes were so cunningly decorated. A little cookie and a cup of tea. What could be more pleasant?
"You have seen right through me," she replied, unable to resist. "I confess… I confess I would like one very much."
He nodded. "I thought you might change your mind. Help yourself."
"Thank you," she said, taking one and putting it upon her plate. She took a small bite. There was a bitter taste. But then she decided it was one of the most delicious things she had ever tasted. "My! Who is your baker? This is divine."
"Oh, just something we put together here in the kitchen," said Phineas, not taking a cookie for himself, but settling back with a cup of tea. "So, my dear Mrs. O'Hare… may I call you Clara?"
Her voice stuck in her throat. Her head felt strangely fuzzy. She put down the cookie. It seemed a bit forward to let him use her first name. But she found herself saying, "Of course! I thought you would never ask. We have been through so much, it seems strange that we are not on a first name basis."
"Clara," he said. "What a lovely name to go with such a lovely woman. I have been thinking about the possibility of photographing you unending since we last parted. Please, do me the favor today and let me take your picture?"
She knew, instinctively, that something was not right about his request, but her mind could not muddle through a good argument against his suggestion. She could only manage a polite, "Oh, I am so unprepared."
"But you look so lovely in that dress. Black was never your color. How pleased I am to see you have shed your widow weeds for something so airy and light. It shows off your necklace to such advantage. I am flattered you would wear it."
"It pleases me greatly," she said, touching the scarab. "I cannot remember a piece of jewelry I have liked so much as it. In fact, the other night I thought I had taken it off before bed, yet found it around my neck the next morning. I even dreamed some force tried to steal it, but I would not let it go."
Phineas laughed. "You have made me very happy to hear that." He placed his cup and saucer back down on the table and held his hand out to her to help her stand. "Please, my dear, my photography room is set up and it will take less than a minute. Won't you do me the honor? A minute of your time is all I ask!"
She found herself rising and following him out of the room. Her limbs seemed not her own. A smile was frozen on her face which she could not shed. Phineas’ butler opened the door to another room and she found herself in a portrait studio. On one side was a backdrop of velvet curtains. A chair sat before it. A large camera on a tripod mount was focused upon the sitting area.
Phineas directed her to the chair expectantly. It felt so right to do exactly what Phineas told her to do, Clara thought.
She watched as he walked over to the camera, gazing upon her affectionately. He began to disappear under the camera blanket, but stopped himself. "Could you turn that lovely scarab necklace that I brought you around so that the hieroglyphs are showing? It is a unifying theme in all of my photographs. "
Clara reached up and turned it, casually asking, "What do these symbols mean?"
Phineas smiled. "This particular one is the name of a queen. The ancient Egyptians felt that the writing on a scarab was a binding force that united energy across space and time."
Clara looked at the lens of the camera as Phineas ducked under the cloth.
"And who have you photographed with your scarabs?" she asked.
"Only two others," he said. "Violet… and Pauline…"
A strange thought popped into Clara's head. Something about what Dr. Van Flemming said. The ancient artists never finished a painting or statue of someone because they believed a complete picture would bind the soul of a person to that object. The only other people who had been photographed, who had a complete picture taken of their faces and bodies were Violet and Pauline. Wearing a scarab with an inscription which would bind them to a queen. Could it be the queen? Was Phineas binding her to this circle?
"Wait!" she cried, standing up as the flash powder went off.
Phineas came out from beneath the blanket. "My dear Mrs. O'Hare, I am afraid that you must remain utterly still in order for the picture to be taken properly."
Clara raised the scarab up. "Tell me again what the symbols on this necklace represent."
"Only a name. Now please, sit down."
"No!" Clara said, fighting the cloud in her mind which threatened to rob her of all will. "No! All the girls who we believe were possessed had one of these necklaces! They were all photographed by you! You are at the center of everything!"
Phineas paused, and then smiled. "I was wondering if you would figure it out before I had a chance to bind your soul."
"What?" said Clara, her eyes widening in fear.
"You are ever so much cleverer than Violet and that actress Pauline."
"You were trying to turn me into another slave of the heart?"
"This is merely in the pursuit of science, my dear Mrs. O'Hare! When Violet was possessed, it seemed quite the accident. But then when Pauline became possessed, it seemed quite the coincidence. I needed you in order to see if it was a pattern. I needed you to see if the possession was only for the weak-minded. And now you have disrupted the blind in my experiment. I am afraid that you are no longer a worthy subject. You must be disposed of."
Phineas took the pan which held the flash powder and began slowly making his way towards Clara, holding it like a shovel as if to strike her.
"No!" she cried as he took a swing.
He missed her by a fraction. But dodging him caused the dizziness to return and with it, the desire to submit. But she fought, knowing in her heart her survival depended upon it. With a force of will she did not even know she possessed, she ripped the scarab from her neck. She was not yet strong enough to throw it away entirely, but thrust it into a pocket, and felt the compulsions ease.
She looked around frantically. There seemed to be no windows to the room. But she had seen windows occurring at regular intervals from the exterior. Could they be hidden?
She yanked back the velvet curtains of the backdrop and there was nothing. She dodged as Phineas came at her again with the flash powder pan. She picked up a chair and swung it at him as she yanked back the other side of the backdrop.
The door to the room opened and there was Phineas’ servant, silent and waiting.
"Hold her!" Phineas cried as she tried to make her escape.
There. In the wall. The glass was painted dark, but it was a window. She flung the chair against it and the glass crashed and broke. The light caused Phineas to cringe and jump backward.
Ignoring the glass and trying not to let its jagged edges deter her, she climbed onto the ledge. She felt the shards cut the fabric of her dress, but the fabric's thickness seemed to protect her from the worst. She was on the second story, at least twelve feet up, and there was no easy escape—no trellises or tree
limbs to climb down.
Guarding his face with his arm, Phineas forced his head out of the window and shouted, "She is getting away!"
Desperate, Clara decided to make the leap. She stepped out into thin air. For a split second, the ground was rushing towards her, and then she felt the painful impact. Her ankle twisted beneath her, and she could not help but cry out. But she was alive and nothing seemed broken. She began limping quickly towards the gate.
Hands wrapped around her waist and picked her up. A meaty paw went over her mouth to keep her from making a noise. She bit hard and he faltered. It was Phineas’ servant. She clawed and kicked, landing her heeled shoe in his shin. But that didn't stop him. He dragged her back into the house, and shut the door behind them with his foot. She screamed, but no one came to help. He threw her, silently, dispassionately, down upon the floor of the hallway.
She pulled herself up to her hands and knees. Phineas was in front of her. The servant was behind. But there was a door to the side. It was her only hope of escape. She leapt to her feet and opened it. It was a set of stairs going down into some sort of a basement. She prayed that perhaps it led to the kitchen and there would be a delivery entrance. She raced in, slamming the door behind her. There was a sliding lock and she threw it. Immediately, she heard Phineas command his servant to throw his body against the door.
Down the stairs she ran and was deposited in a large room. Sure enough, the basement held the kitchen, laundry, and servants' quarters. It looked like it had not been used in decades. Cobwebs and dirt covered every surface.
In the center of the kitchen, where downstairs staff should have taken their daily meals, was a candlelit table. Three picture frames sat in a circle facing in. Two were of Violet and Pauline. The third was empty. Between each of the frames was a scarab matching the one she wore. In the center was a piece of ancient meat which looked like something left in the sun.
And then she realized what it was. It was the queen's heart.