The Spiritualist (2 page)

Despite all this decoration, my eye was caught by a large round table in the middle of the room. It was pedestaled and heavy, and in its center, two large hands of candles were already burning, sending smoke into the glowing jets of the gasolier above—a huge thing itself, styled as a many-leaved vine, its sconces lilyshaped glass.

“There you are,” said a voice, and I turned to see our hostess reclining on a sofa of mahogany and gilt, its arms carved to look like the tail of a great leaping fish, while the legs finished the body, ending in a mouth open and gasping for breath. It was a great, ugly thing, and upon it Dorothy Bennett was a mound of pillows and silk and ribbons and lace, her plump face peering out from it all like that of a wizened china doll. She was surrounded by a cadre of young men. I realized they were her nurses when I saw how they fussed with her pillows and tried to urge her to sip at a bright green liqueur. She waved them all away and motioned us over, saying, “Come, come! My dear Evelyn, how glad I am that Peter’s brought you at last, though I must admit I’m surprised.”

I reached her and took her fat little hands, decked as they were with rings that had long since grown too small, so her fingers puffed around them like unevenly stuffed sausages. “Surprised? Why is that?”

She shot a glance at my husband. “I’d thought Peter had grown a bit disenchanted with us lately.”

“Not disenchanted, no,” Peter said quietly.

I laughed. “Oh, hardly. He’s talked of nothing but your Mr. Jourdain.”

“Well now… that’s good. That’s very good to hear.”

“I’ve never said I don’t admire him,” Peter said.

I said, “There were never truer words spoken. The way Peter talks, one would think the sun rises and sets upon this medium of yours. I confess I’m a bit nervous to meet such a personage.”

Dorothy smiled. “But you mustn’t be nervous, child. Michel will put you at ease.”

“He’s quite a charmer,” Ben said as he stepped up beside us. His thick and impeccably macassared hair gleamed darkly in the reflected gaslight. “God knows I’ve not yet met anyone who wasn’t taken with him.”

I could not help myself; Ben’s comment made me want to be contrary, to be the one person not impressed by this Mr. Jourdain. I had to remind myself that I was here to be persuaded by him, that Peter wanted to share this with me, and for him I had promised to be—what had he said?—
open to the possibilities.

“You’ve told Evelyn of our philosophy, I imagine?” Dorothy asked my husband.

Peter looked shamefaced. I supposed he had no wish to tell her that he’d refused to tell me much at all since he confessed that he’d been speaking to the spirit of his dead mother. It chagrined me still to think of how I’d laughed, how certain I’d been that he was teasing me. What I knew of spirit circles came from the articles in the newspaper about the New York Conference’s Sunday meetings in Dodsworth Hall, where spirit rappings and table tiltings were all the fashion; and the summaries given of lectures by the infamous Fox sisters, who had brought spiritualism to the world’s attention. I had no patience for such things, and I don’t suppose I could be blamed for mocking him, but I’d spent the weeks since trying to apologize. I was thankful Peter had forgiven me enough to bring me here tonight, though I was still uncertain why.

He said, “As busy as I’ve been, I haven’t had the time. She’s a heathen still, I’m afraid.”

“I see.” Dorothy’s gaze was uncomfortably piercing as she looked at me. “You think you can be open to the spirits, child?”

“Evelyn’s promised to put aside any doubts she might have, haven’t you, my dear?” Peter turned to me with a stiff smile.

I nodded obediently. “I’m fascinated by what Peter’s told me. I look forward to seeing it for myself.”

“I’ve faith Michel can convert you. Some say I’m too besotted to see, but I swear my dear boy does work miracles.” Dorothy motioned to one of her nurses, a man with dark, curling hair, and said, “Charley, go fetch them, will you? Now that the Athertons and Mr. Rampling are here, we can begin.” As the nurse hurried off, she turned back to us and said, “They’re in the library. They’ll be here directly.”

The other attendants leaned in on cue, two offering Dorothy an arm, the other reaching behind to help her rise, which she did, wincing in pain, and I looked politely away, and it was then I heard the voices in the hall—high, excited voices—and the flurry of footfalls. Peter took my arm and jerked to attention; I felt the strain in him when a group of people—four men and two women—came into the parlor, and I found myself immediately drawn to one of the most arresting men I had ever seen.

He was both delicately feminine and blatantly masculine—translucent skin, long eyes, high cheekbones, and the fullest, most perfectly formed mouth I’d ever seen on a man. He wore his thick, chestnut-colored hair tied back with a riband that matched his obviously expensive deep brown frock coat. His vest was ostentatious and beautiful, embroidered with gold threads, and the extravagantly looped bow of his silk necktie was a blue that exactly matched his eyes; among its folds nestled a rather large sapphire and diamond pin.

He was not what I’d expected. I’d thought he would be more effete, or oilier, something like the wretched quacks who had lined the side streets of lower Broadway, hawking their cure-all elixirs and pawing at me as I walked past them to my father’s office. But he was nothing like that, and I could only stand stupidly as Peter called, “Jourdain!” and Michel Jourdain came away from the others with a smile. As he approached, his gaze swept me with a frank and direct interest that startled me.

“My wife, Evelyn,” Peter said.

Michel Jourdain reached for my hand with beringed fingers.

“
Madame
Atherton,” he said—a smooth, melodious voice made hard to understand by his accent, which I couldn’t place. “I see your husband didn’t exaggerate when he spoke of you, though he failed to mention you had such remarkable eyes. I hope he’s bought you emeralds to match them.”

I wanted to laugh at such obvious flattery. I doubted Peter had spared a single word about me. But Michel Jourdain’s charm and the way he looked at me, as if I were the most fascinating thing in the room, worked as he no doubt knew they would, and I was disarmed, though I knew better than to be so. I understood Ben’s words immediately—it would be very difficult not to like this man, though I knew his kind well enough. He reminded me of some of the pickpockets and street boys who had paraded through my father’s office, promising valuable information in return for a dollar, each able to turn a situation to his advantage with a handsome smile and abundant charisma. I saw why Peter was so taken with him—Michel Jourdain meant him to be.

“Peter’s spoken of you a good deal,” I said.

“Has he?”

“Yes. He believes you’re a miracle worker.”

Michel Jourdain laughed. The laugh turned quickly into a cough, and he muttered an apology and reached for a handkerchief, pressing it to his mouth, and I realized that the delicacy of his face was frailty, the translucence I’d seen that of illness, though there was something in his manner that put the lie to that impression as well. Some odd vitality—I thought perhaps it was of a kind I’d seen in consumptives before, that ceaseless anxiety to live a brief life fully, no matter the cost.

“You should rest,” Peter said anxiously.

Michel only shrugged and tucked the handkerchief away. As if Peter had said nothing, he smiled at me and said, “A miracle worker, eh? Ah,
Madame
, I hope I can live up to such a reputation. But in spite of what my good friend says”—a smiling glance at Peter—“I’m not a miracle worker. It’s only the truth you’ll find here.”

Benjamin said, “Peter has her well in hand, isn’t that so, Evelyn? Like any good wife, she’s vowed to see whatever truth her husband wishes her to see.”

“Ah. This is your first time at a circle,
Madame
? Are you a skeptic?”

I glanced at Peter. “It’s as Mr. Rampling says. Tonight I’ve promised my husband not to be.”

“How you must love him then, to do as he bids you. But I shouldn’t expect too much, eh? First sittings rarely produce manifestations. Of course the rest of us have met several times before, so perhaps the spirits will overlook a newcomer.”

“How disappointing,” I said, though his words hardly surprised me. I’d expected some excuse as to why there might be no spirit visit tonight. I expected to see through his “miracles” easily, but for Peter’s benefit—and my own—I intended to say nothing of my suspicions. I would feign awe if for no other reason than my husband’s wish that I be impressed.

“Do you know the rest of our party?” Michel asked me, and when I shook my head, he offered his arm and said, “Then you must allow me to introduce you.”

Peter nodded his acquiescence and let Michel Jourdain lead me toward the table, where the others were gathering.

“You have a strange accent, Mr. Jourdain,” I ventured. “I can’t place it—”

“I’m from New Orleans,” he said.

“You’re a Creole?”

He smiled. “How clever of you to have guessed my secret. Now you must tell me one of your own.”

“I have no secrets, Mr. Jourdain.”

“
Non?
Ah, but everyone has secrets,
Madame
, hmmm? I would think it especially true of women who find themselves so quickly in a better world.”

I was startled—his words were so honeyed, said with a smile, a flirtatious glance, that I wasn’t certain I’d heard the intimation within them. I was suddenly off balance. I realized with discomfort that my dismissal of him had been too quick. He was more clever than I had first thought.

But then we were at the table, and he was introducing me to the rest of the party, and I noticed that they were all from the higher levels of society, all of them dressed in the best clothes and jewels, all monied. Of course they were; this was Dorothy Bennett’s home, after all, and the Bennetts were one of the best families in New York City. To capture Dorothy Bennett had been quite a coup for a man like Michel Jourdain. I wondered how he had accomplished it and found myself reluctantly impressed at the feat. No one knew better than I how difficult it was to seize the interest of society—or to maintain it.

“Mr. and Mrs. Robert Dudley,” he was saying as he gestured to a sandy-haired man with a sallow-faced, rather disapproving-looking wife. “Dudley’s searching for his brother, who was lost in Mexico during the war. We’ve achieved some success in finding his spirit.”

“Under Michel’s expert tutelage, of course,” Robert Dudley said, taking my hand. “How pleased we are to meet you at last.”

His wife smiled, though it scarcely improved her dour face. But her voice was kind. “You must call me Grace, my dear. We’ve so looked forward to your visit. Peter is such a favorite of ours.”

“Jacob Colville,” a tall, darkly mustachioed man introduced himself. “Welcome, Mrs. Atherton.”

“Colville lost his wife this past spring,” Michel told me.

“How terrible.”

“I miss her,” Jacob said. “But how can I complain when she experiences such peace now?”

“You’ve contacted her, then?”

“Oh yes. Quite often.”

I smiled. “How reassuring that must be for you, Mr. Colville.”

“Very,” he said. “I must say, Mrs. Atherton, I’m surprised to see you here. I’d thought you must be a doubter. I’m happy to see I’m wrong. Atherton is a lucky man indeed to have a wife with such an open mind.”

I felt a twinge of guilt, but still I kept my smile. “I hope any doubts I have might be proved away.”

“You’ve come to the right place for it,” said a small, dark-haired woman with a demure prettiness whose name I learned was Sarah Grimm. The diamonds in her dangling earrings twinkled to match the light that shone in her eyes when she looked at Michel Jourdain. “Michel is the preeminent medium in the city.”

Michel inclined his head humbly. “You place me too high.”

“Not at all,” she said, and I heard the echo of Peter’s reverence in her voice. She fingered the heavy ruby brooch at the bertha of her deep rose-colored gown as if she wanted to tear it off and press it into his hands, and I had the distinct impression that it wouldn’t have been unusual for her to do such a thing. “Mrs. Hardinge and Mrs. Fox cannot come close to matching you, and I’ve seen them both. I know.”

“Sarah’s right about that.” A man with curling red hair set his arm around her shoulders and gave her an intimate smile. “You’re in for a treat, Mrs. Atherton. The world that communicates with us through Jourdain is a remarkable one.”

“It has nearly made Maull put aside his Fourierist tendencies, hasn’t it?” Robert Dudley teased.

The redheaded man flushed and then raised his chin proudly. “On the contrary, Dudley. Rather it has inflamed them. To know there is a chance at a world where love is the supreme ruler—”

“Wilson,” Sarah admonished quietly.

He flushed again and looked at me. “My pardon, Mrs. Atherton. Sometimes my… passions… run away with me.”

“You must all call me Evelyn,” I said. “And please, don’t apologize. I’m exhausted with the fashion of boredom. It’s refreshing to see enthusiasm, whatever the reason.”

“I’m Wilson Maull,” he said with a smile. “And you are indeed as charming as Atherton has always said you were.”

Another surprising statement. My husband came up beside me, Benjamin in tow. Peter settled his hand rather possessively at my waist and said, “I confess it was her charm that captured me. You must watch out for Maull, my dear. He has quite a reputation for pretty women. I would hate for him to steal you away.”

“Consider me on notice.” Maull smiled at Peter’s gentle teasing.

My husband’s words were so unexpected, and the way he pulled me close so out of character, that I could only gape at him. He had ignored me for months. The Peter I was looking at now reminded me of the man I’d married, a man I’d nearly forgotten existed. My hope for this night returned with an almost painful acuity.

“Let’s begin,” Dorothy called out breathlessly as her attendants settled her in the large armchair that had been pushed up to the table, along with an embroidered footstool for her feet. When they hovered around her, tucking and clucking, she waved them away. Her eyes were sparkling now. The pain I’d seen in her face earlier was gone.