The Spiritualist (11 page)

“I doubt a child would be more scintillating,” he said wryly. “Don’t you find enough conversation to satisfy you at your soirees and dinners? You seem to like Tom Post enough. The two of you are always together in some corner somewhere.”

“It’s nothing but a game for him,” I said. “A silly flirtation. It’s not honest talk. None of them cares what I really think about anything.”

“How your father spoiled you, Evie. It’s him you want, not a child.”

“I want not to be lonely,” I said sharply. “If you were home more often, perhaps I wouldn’t be.”

He sighed, and it was long and exhausted. He put his drink aside. “Not this again.”

His words stung enough that I drew back.

He must have seen that he hurt me, because he gave me a soft and rather shamefaced smile and said, “Ah, Evie, don’t look so sad! Haven’t you everything I promised you?” He gestured around the room. “A fine house, and a closet full of fine gowns, and your evenings as full as you’d wish them to be?”

I said deliberately, “I wish my nights were fuller.”

He stiffened, and I cursed myself beneath my breath when he stepped back from me. “I’m a very busy man,” he said in a stilted tone. “I’m sorry you aren’t satisfied.”

“That’s not what I meant,” I said, though it had been, and we both knew it, and my words now did nothing to soothe him.

He pulled at his cuffs and buttoned his coat. “Take up a hobby if you like, or go shopping. There’s enough money that you don’t have to be bored—don’t give me that look. I never promised you companionship, and you know it.”

He strode away from me. “Good night. Don’t wait up for me.”

As he went from the room, the sob that lodged in my throat turned into a bitter laugh.
“Don’t wait up for me.”
I’d long since learned better than to do that. I heard the close of the front door. From upstairs came his mother’s voice:

“Peter? Is that you? Peter?”

I thought to let her call out forever, but then I relented, and I went into the hall. “He’s gone out again, Mother Atherton,” I said, and stood there waiting for her inevitable response.

“What have you done to upset him this time?”

“I took away his hobby horses,” I said dryly, and then I went up to tend her, taking what solace I could from a woman who thought me a failure in every way.

Now I looked at the altars we’d erected and—suddenly—they held no comfort. How sad it was that only handkerchiefs and childhood toys remained as proof that he had lived.

I was exhausted with my thoughts, with grief and sleeplessness. I had spent the last day sending letters to Peter’s friends, and I’d instructed Peter’s assistant to telegraph Ben in Albany. I’d heard nothing from him as yet, and I found myself wishing for his steadying and comforting presence. The headache was quickly now becoming debilitating. I wanted nothing more than to go to bed and sleep, though I was afraid the nightmare would come again if I tried.

I heard the sound of a carriage in the street outside, the rattle of wheels over the frozen road, the screech of the brake, and I moved away from the door, not wanting any more visitors. Let Kitty take care of the well-wishers; I would look over their cards tomorrow.

But then I heard the opening of the carriage door, and a shouted voice, and I pushed aside the black draping at the small window to peek out. It was Robert and Grace Dudley coming from the carriage, and Jacob Colville, and the sight of Peter’s friends surprised me. I was even more surprised when Michel Jourdain stepped from the carriage behind them, and I felt a great surge of anger. I thought of turning away, refusing their call. No one would blame me in the least if I did so, but my questions were still there. This was an opportunity to discover more of what they knew. Without giving myself time to reconsider, I opened the door, as improper as it was, to greet them.

Grace wore a heavy cloak, and she was swaddled in shawls. Her breath rose in clouds from what little showed of her face. “Oh, Evelyn!” she cried, and then she tried to hurry toward me, slipping and clumsy on the icy walk.

“Careful, darling!” Robert called out, grabbing her elbow just as it looked as if she might fall. “You’ll be no help if you break a limb.”

Jacob strode past them. “We came the moment we heard. Or at least, the first moment we could.” He took the two steps up to the door and put his hand on my shoulder. “My dear, have you slept at all?”

Despite my suspicions, his sincere kindness and Grace’s worry brought tears to my eyes. I could not help myself, and I was embarrassed. I didn’t know them at all well enough for such emotion. I reminded myself of what I believed about them, composing myself as I stood back to welcome them inside.

“Don’t bother with tea or anything else,” Grace instructed as I helped her remove her voluminous wraps. “We haven’t come to make things harder, but to pray with you.”

“Yes, indeed,” Jacob said, laying his top hat aside. “To help speed Peter’s spirit on its way.”

Michel Jourdain came inside and closed the door behind him. He took off his top hat. “
Madame
Atherton, how good it is to see you. I only regret the reason.”

“It was kind of you to come,” I said stiffly.

“I bring a message from Dorothy. She would’ve been here with us today, but she’s taken poorly.”

“Not too bad, I hope?”

His smile was small. “As she ever is.”

When they’d divested themselves of their outer clothing, I led them into the parlor. I saw how Michel Jourdain looked about the room, and I thought his eye seemed caught by the black draping, the veiled mirrors.

He stepped to the shrine Penny had erected, and I followed him. He lifted the handkerchief there with careful fingers, bringing it to his nose. “His mother’s, I take it?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“Her perfume,” he said. He laid it down again. “Her spirit often brings her scent.”

I chose not to address that. “Peter always had one with him.”

Michel glanced at me. “Are you sleeping,
Madame
?”

“Very little,” I found myself admitting.

“Grief? Or nightmares?”

Again his question was too intimate. It reminded me of the things Peter had told him, and I couldn’t answer. Instead, I said, “I find I miss him greatly. There’s not much comfort in sleep, or in anything else I’ve found, Mr. Jourdain.”

“Perhaps you’re searching for comfort in the wrong places,” he said quietly. He gestured to the shrine. “The world’s contaminated with material things. Want more for yourself,
chère
.”

When I looked at him in surprise, he began to cough. He turned away, and I was grateful for that, because I had no idea how to respond to his words, or to the guilt and sadness they raised within me, as if I’d missed some essential thing when Peter and I had married, something I should have thought to want. To my surprise, I again felt the prick of tears—I was so tender now, it seemed anything pierced.

Grace had seated herself on the settee, and now she called out, “Dear Michel, are you all right?” When he nodded, she called, “Come, Evelyn,” and I blinked away my tears and went to sit beside her. She patted my arm reassuringly. “I know it doesn’t seem so now, but Peter’s spirit is on his way to a better life.”

“Well said, Grace,” Jacob said as he sat.

Michel’s coughing had ceased; he made his way to the nearest chair, which happened to be beside me.

Grace said, “The paper said the police were questioning suspects. Can you make any guess as to who?”

I met her gaze steadily, trying to divine any hint of dishonesty. “I’m afraid not. Peter’s family has kept them at a distance, thankfully.”

“Hopefully, they’ll soon arrest the culprit.”

“Not likely,” Michel said. “Whoever murdered Peter has police incompetence on his side.”

Dudley frowned. “Well yes, of course, but one can always hope they stumble upon something.”

“They believed he’d been missing for at least ten days before his death.”

We went silent. I turned to him, startled. “That’s what the coroner said: that he thought he’d been in the river more than a week. But… that wasn’t in the paper, was it?”

“I didn’t read it. I spoke to the police this morning.”

Jacob straightened. “What? You’ve been keeping secrets, man. You said nothing of this to us!”

“What was there to say?”

“Well… any of it,” Dudley said. “What happened? Did they call on you?”

“
Non
. I went down myself. I thought I should tell them what I knew.”

I said in surprise, “I didn’t think you knew anything!”

“I only told them when I’d last seen your husband,
Madame
, which you knew as well. Peter couldn’t have been missing for ten days when they found him, as we all saw him Thursday night.”

“But I told them that already.”

“Then I’ve only corroborated it,” he said. “Whatever you said, they still believed it had been ten days when I spoke to them. You see? Incompetence. Or stupidity.”

“Or perhaps both,” Jacob said.

“Did you tell them what happened at the circle that night?” I asked.

Grace said, “Nothing happened but that incident with the discharge. What has that to do with Peter’s death?”

“Peter believed it was important,” I said. “The shooting was why he went out again that night.”

“A foolish endeavor,” Jacob said with a sigh.

“Why do you say that?” I asked sharply.

“Because we all know it was nothing but a misfire. I can’t help but think that if Peter hadn’t been so misguided, he would still be with us today.”

“I wish I knew why he believed so,” Grace said in distress. “To think that any of us might have… well, it doesn’t bear thinking about. We could have reassured him if he’d only asked. Oh, I wish he
had
come back to Dorothy’s instead of going into that part of town.”

Robert touched her hand. “Yes. It’s hard to imagine what questions he might have had that would lead him there.”

“To think of him set upon that way breaks my heart.” Grace gripped her husband’s fingers.

They fell into silence. It seemed I heard them all thinking through the scenarios, each contemplating a different ending for my husband. For a moment I studied them. Grace’s grief and dismay were real; I saw no insincerity there. Nor did I see it in Robert’s tender gaze.

Grace said to me, “We mean to try to contact Peter’s spirit at the next circle. Perhaps he can tell us what happened.”

Michel said, “He may not remember.”

Another deft excuse. I could not help myself. “How could one forget one’s own murder?”

Michel shrugged—a movement as gracefully nonchalant as the rest of him. “In the great expanse of eternity, it doesn’t seem so important, eh?”

“It seems very important,” I disagreed. “To have one’s life so callously taken away—”

“Ah, but you see it as one who’s left behind, not one with paradise before him.”

“I know he’ll come to us,” Grace reassured me.

Michel said, “Perhaps. Patience is necessary. In the beginning, when they’re getting used to their changed world, the spirits are so enraptured listening to the music of their new life they forget to answer our calls.”

“But eventually, he will, don’t you think?” Jacob Colville asked.

“Eventually,” Michel agreed. “We’ll do our best, eh? But he may be lost or confused at the start. In the end, it’s up to Peter to find us.” He turned attentively to me, as if what I thought mattered greatly. “What do you say,
Madame
? Shall we try to find his spirit? Would it ease your grief?”

“Oh, you must take part, Evelyn,” Grace said. She took my hand. “It would help you, I know, to hear the answers.”

“Let her decide,” Michel said softly. “Come—will you let us comfort you?”

How good he was! He almost made me forget that I didn’t believe in any of this, that I thought him to be a charlatan. Again, I felt that wary appreciation for his talent. I almost forgave my husband in that moment for revealing my confidences. Peter’s nature was no match for this man.

I said, “I doubt I can find comfort in a spirit circle.”

If I disappointed him, he gave no sign. “Perhaps you can find it in your eulogies and your Reverend Potter, then. Once he’s finished deciding who gets into your Episcopalian heaven.”

Grace said, “Oh, Evelyn, I do wish you would reconsider.”

“We’re here for you if you change your mind,” Robert said. “We hold the circles every Tuesday and Thursday—sometimes more often. You will let us know?”

I gave him a stiff smile. I had no intention of stopping my inquiries. “Yes. Of course I’ll let you know.”

“We’ll tell you if we learn anything important,” Grace said.

“And to that end, we should pray that Peter reaches the proper sphere quickly,” Dudley said firmly. “Come, let’s do what we came here to do.”

We bowed our heads, and Robert led us in prayer. When it was over, and they took their leave, reassuring me of their constancy, I did not miss the fact that Michel was silent. Nor did I miss how thoughtfully he watched me. I wondered what it was he saw.

Less than an hour later, I received a note from Robert Callahan, asking me to come to the Mulberry Street police headquarters.

W
hen I arrived, it was late in the afternoon; the sun was falling, beaten into submission by the cold, and the whole city was gray and huddled into itself.

I had gone alone, leaving a note for Penny because I hadn’t been able to find her, and when Cullen helped me from the carriage, he looked doubtfully at the massive stone and windowed building that extended back a block to Mott Street and said, “Should I come with you, ma’am?”

“This is police headquarters. I think I’ll be safe enough.”

I said the words as much to reassure myself as him. Those old habits again. I had to tell myself I should be annoyed as I went up the stone steps and into the station. Callahan’s note had given me no hint as to what this meeting was about, and it was odd and presumptuous that he’d summoned me to the station instead of coming to the house as he had before. No doubt Penny would have forbidden me to come.
“An Atherton in the police station? Good Lord, Evelyn, you can’t be serious.”
But I was still Evelyn Graff in my heart, and I hoped they had news of Peter’s killer, and for that I would have excused anything.