by Michelle Cox
“Well, I can see there’s no use arguing with you on this score, Mother, so I’ll just say you’re right.”
“This is hardly an argument, Clive!”
“Just put it down to a hobby,” he said, standing now and Henrietta following suit. “It gives us something to do, you see.”
“Something to do! I could suggest any number of things if that’s the issue. You might take a more active role at the firm, for one thing, instead of leaving it all to poor Sidney to shoulder. And you,” she said to Henrietta, “you could be helping Julia and me with the garden party.”
“Perhaps the garden party isn’t such a good idea this year, Mother,” Clive said seriously. “Surely you’d be excused from it this year because of father’s death. No one expects it.”
“Nonsense!” she exclaimed. “Of course, they do! And Alcott would want it to go on.”
“Well, we really must go, or we’ll be late,” Clive said, taking a final sip of wine. “Good-night, Mother,” he said, coming around to kiss her on the cheek, wondering why the living always claimed to know the wishes of the dead.
Chapter 16
After their somewhat abrupt exit from the dinner table, Clive and Henrietta hurried upstairs to change into something more practical, though Henrietta wasn’t sure what to wear to a séance and dared not ask Edna, lest she frighten her. In the end, she chose a simple tweed skirt and hat and her sturdy Oxfords. If they had to run, heels would never do, she reasoned. But why would they have to run? she nervously chided herself. She slipped them on anyway.
As anxious as she was to attend the séance, Henrietta could not help but feel a little guilty for abandoning Antonia, who so obviously wanted their company tonight, despite her ill humor. While it was true that Antonia could be sharp at times, especially of late, Henrietta was used to far worse from Ma over the years, and she was able to feel some little sympathy for the obviously still-grieving woman. She felt sure that Antonia would come through this sad chapter of her life eventually, unlike Ma, on the other hand, who had been stuck in her depression for years now with no hope, at least that Henrietta could see, of ever coming out of it. It struck Henrietta as odd, not for the first time, that Ma seemed the older of the two women, though in reality she was at least ten years Antonia’s junior and still had small children at home. Henrietta could only put it down to the terrible conditions that her mother lived under all these years, though perhaps it was also her sour mental state that had likewise contributed to prematurely aging her. With a sigh, Henrietta put the final pin in her hat and resolved to try to be a better daughter to Ma as well as more interested in Antonia’s garden party, a project which, at the very least, had as a happy consolation more frequent conversations with Julia, if nothing else.
“You needn’t wait up, Edna,” Henrietta said as the young maid handed over her gloves.
“Oh, but I don’t mind at all, madame,” Edna said.
“Well, it might be late.”
“Oh, Miss,” Edna implored, slipping back into the use of Henrietta’s old title. “Shouldn’t you be resting more?”
“Nonsense! I’m perfectly fine,” Henrietta responded, slightly irritated that even Edna should treat her as an invalid. “We’re only going for a drive,” she fibbed.
“At this time of night? Whatever is Mr. Clive—I mean, Mr. Howard—thinking? Anyway,” she hurried on, “I don’t mind. I’ll sit up with my darning. Several of your dresses have tears, and I daresay I’ve hardly had time to mend them, what with you trying to learn me these days.”
Henrietta sighed and again contemplated whether or not her grand scheme in regards to Edna’s conversion was really going to work. Well, she couldn’t think about that now. She gave Edna a small smile. “Yes, you’ve certainly earned your pay today, Edna. Sit up if you wish, but please go to bed when you’re tired. I’m quite sure I can undress myself.”
Rather than looking grateful for this emancipation, Edna’s face was one of hurt. “I’m sure you can, miss, but then you might not need me at all before long.”
Henrietta recognized the fear of unemployment in Edna’s voice. After all, hadn’t she felt it often enough in her old life? “I wouldn’t worry about that,” she said brightly, patting Edna’s arm. “I’ll always need you. Now, I really must be going before Clive scolds me.” Henrietta knew she should refer to Clive as “Mr. Howard” when addressing the staff, but Edna, she felt, should be an exception to this.
As expected, she found Clive waiting for her at the bottom of the steps, his hat and coat already on, and his pipe in hand.
“What took you?” he asked, his eyes bright as he looked her up and down. “Going for the Sherlock Holmes look again, are you?” he said with a grin.
“Clive!” she said, not being able to hold back her own smile. “You’re the one with the pipe!”
Clive let out a deep laugh. “So I am. Come, then, the game’s afoot. How’s that?”
Together they stepped out into the darkness, Henrietta surprised by how warm the night air was. She took a long, deep breath and filled her lungs with the rich, earthy smell she could almost taste. It filled her with a delicious sort of hope; for what, she knew not, but it didn’t matter. It was nearly spring! The only snow left was a few dirty, stubborn clumps here and there, lying in the shade of the garden wall. She removed her scarf as she slid into the Alfa and wished she would have worn a lighter coat.
As they sped down Willow toward Crow Island, Clive instructed her to play the role of the believer, which, he commented wryly, shouldn’t require much acting, while he would look for evidence of foul play.
“Are you sure we can just turn up?” Clive asked seriously before she could respond to his direction. “That doesn’t give her any time to research us ahead of time, the key to this malarkey, I’m sure. Surely one needs some sort of invitation, for obvious reasons.”
“Since when are you the expert on séances?” Henrietta countered lightly, noting that his previous almost jovial mood was evaporating the closer they got to the abandoned schoolhouse.
“I’m an expert on recognizing a fraud when I see one,” Clive said, shifting the car into a lower gear.
“Well,” Henrietta reasoned, “I doubt Mrs. Tobin would have told me to come if it were invitation only. Anyway, what does it matter at this point? We’re nearly there.”
They had indeed arrived. From the outside, the schoolhouse looked dark and abandoned still, though several cars were haphazardly parked on the muddy ground surrounding it. Clive slowly drove the Alfa across the rutted field and parked it some distance away. Silently, he got out and went around to open the car door for Henrietta, and tightly held her arm as they picked their way across the dark, rough terrain. Despite her determination to be every bit Clive’s partner, Henrietta was glad of Clive’s arm as they went. There were no streetlamps out here in this remote locale, of course, and it was so dark, they could barely see in front of them, except for what light the stars and moon afforded. She continued to hold his arm, however, even as they mounted the few wooden steps and then stood on the little porch, as she suddenly felt a little wave of dizziness. No doubt it was nerves, she suspected, and tried to shake it off.
Above the doorway was an exposed lightbulb hanging from a short brown, fraying cord, but it was either burned out or simply not switched on—perhaps by design? Before Clive could actually knock, however, the door mysteriously opened to them, revealing not Madame Pavlovsky, as they had expected, but a small little man that Henrietta mistook at first glance for a child until she noticed his mustache and a faint shadow of whiskers on his cheeks. He was wearing a stained purple waistcoat with a dusty black suitcoat, several sizes too big, so that it hung from his shoulders, and baggy trousers.
“Enter,” he said with an oddly squeaky voice, as if a child were indeed somehow trapped within him. After they had obediently stepped into the little antechamber, he stiffly held out his arms, which Henrietta realized, after a moment’s confusion, meant that he wanted t
heir coats. Quickly they shrugged out of them, and Henrietta placed both thick garments gently across his arms, fearing that they might be too heavy for his little limbs. He was apparently stronger than he appeared, however, for he promptly turned and disappeared with the load.
Henrietta smoothed down her blouse as she nervously looked around the room. The interior was dim as well, though the many candles of varying sizes on any available shelf, bookcase, or table gave off at least a glow of light compared to the inky blackness outside. Henrietta blinked several times, allowing her eyes to adjust, and was surprised that the whole room had changed since they had last been here. Gone were the sagging sofa and the ram-shackle chairs. Even Madame Pavlovsky’s throne seemed to have disappeared, until Henrietta spotted it at the head of the very large round table that had somehow made its way to the center of the room, around which sat several people. They were ten in number, Henrietta quickly counted, besides Madame Pavlovsky, who was the eleventh. The walls were now draped with what looked like thick velvet material, giving the guests, or Henrietta, at least, the feel of being on the inside of a soft toy or perhaps a cocoon. The only indication that an outside world existed at all was a circular hole cut into the ceiling. Henrietta wondered how she had not noticed the little opening the other day and, upon closer inspection, observed that there was a small, circular hinged door attached to it, laying open, flat against the roof to reveal the starry night sky beyond. She saw Clive looking at it, too.
“So, you have finally come,” Madame Pavlovsky called from where she sat on her throne. “Come in, come in. We have been waiting for you before we begin,” she said, waving a heavily beringed hand at two empty chairs at the far end of the table, directly across from herself. Henrietta felt her stomach roil a little. Had Madame Pavlovsky really been expecting them? How could she have known? She remembered Mrs. Tobin, then, and wondered if perhaps she might have told her. Her eyes darted around the table, and, sure enough, she saw Mrs. Tobin’s nervous smile, and put Madame Pavlovsky’s apparent fore-knowledge down to her. But still, Henrietta countered with herself, she hadn’t said for sure that they were coming . . .
“The spirits are anxious to speak to us,” Madame Pavlovsky pronounced in a husky voice laden with mystery. “They are the travelers. And many of them are gathered around us tonight.” She gestured dramatically at nothing in particular. Henrietta gave Clive a quick sideways glance, and when she saw him give her a barely perceptible nod, she approached the table and pulled out a chair. Clive followed. The massive table was covered with a thick, black cloth that had veins of what looked like gold thread woven through it in no particular pattern. Also covering it was what must have been hundreds of tiny candles, which gave this part of the room a warm glow and likewise cast eerie, distorted shadows on the faces of the people sitting around it.
As she looked around the table, she noted that their number was now thirteen and wondered, uncomfortably, if this had been on purpose. She wasn’t sure who she had thought might attend such an event, but everyone, with the exception of one young woman who was oddly dressed in a black Victorian gown and whose long, stringy black hair was partially hidden behind an old-fashioned widow’s cap, looked remarkably ordinary. A few returned her stare, but most of them had their eyes trained on Madame Pavlovsky, who had similarly dressed for the occasion. She was enshrined in long black robes and had a deep purple turban on her head, upon which was affixed a large silver brooch in the shape of a crescent moon. In front of her was the large crystal ball set on an ivory stand with clawed feet, the very same one Henrietta had noticed upon their last visit. She stared at it, but it was a murky, dull green and seemed only a lifeless ornament.
“The dead speak to us from other side!” Madame Pavlovsky repeated in the same deep voice. If she was ruffled by Clive and Henrietta’s late entrance, it did not show. “The travelers’ energy is very strong tonight. There is much power surging on this day. It is one of the high days of energy, the spring equinox, when veil between living and dead grows thin. In some places, gone!” she said, her voice thick and raspy, as she gave another wide gesture.
Clive cleared his throat, then, causing Henrietta to want to pinch him. Honestly!
“There are unbelievers among us,” Madame Pavlovsky said, looking at Clive as she said it. “But this is not problem. We who know the truth . . . we will send our energy to those beyond and overpower this disbelief in our midst.” She placed her fingertips on the crystal ball. “And now!” she said dramatically, “we can delay no longer. We threaten to anger travelers if we do. If you have brought loved one’s treasure, place it on table in front of you now.”
Henrietta watched as people began placing small trinkets on the table and tried to catalog them in her mind, though she was sure Clive was doing the same. Mostly, they all seemed to actually be just that—trinkets. A watch, a ring, a locket, a letter . . . Henrietta looked to the Victorian woman to see what she would place, and thought she saw what looked like a rabbit’s foot. There was nothing she could see of any value, and Henrietta was surprised to feel a trickle of pleasant relief. So far so good, she thought. As much as it would be exciting to “crack the case,” and reveal Madame Pavlovsky to be a fraud, there was a part of her that desperately wanted her to be real, no matter what Clive said.
“We must begin soon,” Madame Pavlovsky was saying. “The zenith is nearly here, and I will not be able to hold them at bay much longer.”
Henrietta’s heart began to beat a little faster; she reminded herself to breathe.
“Take hands,” Madame Pavlovsky instructed. “We must form unbroken circle. This is for our protection. Do not break circle,” she warned.
Henrietta took Clive’s warm strong hand, on her right, and held out her other hand to an older woman next to her. She looked to be about in her fifties and had a faux fox stole wrapped tightly around her neck. She gave Henrietta a quick, false smile and only loosely held Henrietta’s hand.
“Close eyes,” Madame Pavlovsky instructed. “We are beginning now!”
Henrietta looked at Clive, who gave her a wink and closed his eyes, so she did the same.
Nothing could be heard for several moments except the wind outside, which had oddly picked up, letting off a shrill moan as if encouraging them—or was it perhaps a warning? Henrietta was tempted to peek at what was happening in the room, when an actual moaning began. It was coming from Madame Pavlovsky. It grew louder, and Henrietta could not help but slightly open her eyes. She gasped when she saw Madame Pavlovsky’s eyes rolling back and the crystal ball in front of her glowing! Clive squeezed her hand, and she returned his grip tightly.
Madame Pavlovsky began speaking in a deep, guttural voice that sent a chill up Henrietta’s spine. “A traveler has come forward. We hear you. Speak!” she said, opening her eyes now and looking at the empty air above the table. Henrietta looked around the table and saw that almost everyone had opened their eyes, too. “He is brother, he says. Of woman here . . . I think he means you,” Madame Pavlovsky said, looking directly at a woman two seats from Henrietta.
“You mean Randy?” the woman gurgled. “Is it really him?”
“Do not break circle!” Madame Pavlovsky said sternly when she saw the woman put her hand to her mouth. Quickly the woman obeyed and snatched back the hand of her neighbor.
“Oh! What does he say?” the woman asked anxiously.
Madame Pavlovsky closed her eyes for a moment and then spoke. “He says there is dark stranger that has come into your life. You should avoid this man.”
“Oh!” The woman tittered. “A dark stranger?” she asked fearfully. “Who could that be?” she asked of the table in front of her, until a thought seemed to occur to her. “Does he mean the new mechanic at the garage where my Butch works? Randy, is that who you mean? The one Butch doesn’t like?”
The crystal ball suddenly began to glow, causing the whole table to gasp in surprise.
“Did you see that?” the woman asked no one in particular, as sh
e eagerly looked around the table. “It’s him! Oh, thank you, Randy!” she said, looking up at the air above Madame Pavlovsky. “Thank you for telling me!”
As much as Henrietta wanted to believe this, even she could see, given Clive’s previous example of debunking, that Madame Pavlovsky had offered very little and the woman herself had filled in the blanks. Still, she held out hope.
Madame Pavlovsky began groaning again, and when she opened her eyes, she was staring at a man not far from her throne. “You have wife that died?” Madame asked him.
The man looked at her incredulously, his eyes wide, and nodded barely an inch. It was hard to tell in the candlelight if his face was flushed or if it was merely the effect of the flickering candles. “Yes,” he said hoarsely, his mouth open slightly as if astounded.
“She wishes you to know she is at peace and forgives you for cheating on her.” A small gasp again went around the room. “She says you should marry this woman, that you will be happier with her.”
The man simply stared at Madame Pavlovsky, shocked, and then suddenly moved to put his hand over his eyes.
“Do not break circle!” Madame Pavlovsky exclaimed, and the man hastily grabbed back the hand of the woman next to him. Henrietta continued to observe him, staring down at the table now, his shoulders hunched forward.
The crystal ball glowed again, and Madame Pavlovsky’s attention perked up. She stared at something beyond the table. “Ah!” she said mysteriously. “You have come back, have you? I thought you would,” she said, apparently speaking to some invisible presence. “It is man.” She looked around the group until her gaze settled on Henrietta. “It is your father,” she said simply, causing Henrietta to let out a tiny mewing sound. Her father?! Surely not . . . ! Her stomach was churning as she tried to force herself to remember Clive’s words, that this woman was a charlatan and nothing more. Miraculously, she felt Clive’s hand squeeze hers, and oddly, as he did so, Madame Pavlovsky continued. “The unbeliever cannot stop your father’s speech tonight,” she said, “as he did the other day.” Henrietta wanted to look at Clive, but she didn’t dare.