The Spiritualist (31 page)

“Not everything,” I protested.

“
Non.
Not love. Some would say love is enslavement, yet you—”

“Love is not unkindness, or… or selfishness.”

He laughed. “You can’t be so naive.”

“The love Dorothy feels for you is based on lies. She doesn’t know you.”

His gaze seemed to go right through me. “And you do.”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

His one hand was still on mine, still clasped to the doorknob, but he raised his other. He touched my lips with his finger, and then he touched his own, and it made me shiver; it was like a kiss, like a promise, and he said, “We’re the same. I’m right, eh? You feel it too. We could conquer the world, Evie.”

“I don’t want to conquer the world,” I said desperately. “I only want my old life back. I want my house. I want a good husband. I don’t care about money or anything else, as long as we’re happy.”

“You sound as if you’ve someone in mind.”

“Don’t be absurd—”

“It isn’t me, it seems, so perhaps… Dudley’s got Grace. Maull’s a Free Lover, and that doesn’t seem your style. Colville’s still mourning his wife, so that leaves… Rampling. Ah, is that who you’ve set your sights on,
chère
? Rampling? Or am I wrong?”

“It’s none of your business,” I said tightly.

He smiled, and it was mean and knowing at the same time. “Such a common choice. I’d thought you’d more ambition than that. But I guess better the devil you know.”

“I don’t take your meaning.”

“
Non
. More’s the pity.” He released the doorknob and my hand and stepped back. “My offer’s still open. ‘Come live with me, and be my love, and we will all the pleasures prove… .’ Ah, but you want less than that.”

“I want honesty.”

“Is that so? I’d never have thought it, given your past. But people change, eh?” He gestured to the doorknob. “Now, if you don’t mind, Dorothy’s waiting for me.”

And then he was gone, slipping out, sauntering down the hallway toward Dorothy’s room. Almost as if by magic, the door opened; Charley came anxiously into the hall. The moment he saw Michel, his expression sagged into relief. The two of them disappeared into the room. The door closed.

I was left standing alone, feeling oddly battered and undone, as if I’d been caught in an inexorable tide, swept onto the shore of my own life, which was suddenly a foreign land where I didn’t speak the language. How did Michel do that? How did he so effortlessly make me feel a stranger to myself?

I stepped inside and saw the notebooks where he’d left them, on the bed. Michel Jourdain was a master of illusion, a man who knew how to bend words, who had lived his life manipulating others. I should not be surprised that he understood how to manipulate me.

He was a liar. That was all I had to remember.

D
orothy’s jealousy and Michel’s denial that he had anything to do with the spirit writing only unnerved me more. It was time to speak with Ben about it, I knew, and so I had penned a note to him and given it to Kitty to deliver. The next day I waited in the library for him to arrive. Michel had gone to Dorothy, and I had no fear I would encounter him in the next hour or so. I chose a book at random from the shelves—I could hardly have said what it was—and then I found myself drawn to the huge window.

It was Valentine’s Day, but there would be no heavily embossed card from Peter this year, nothing to raise the false hopes that every other February had brought. I felt a sad relief over that now as I stared out at the backyard. Statuary and urns and stone benches dotted the narrow expanse, overlooking flower beds made invisible by the snow. A cast-iron gate marked the boundary and kept out whatever riffraff traveled the alley behind, and beyond that were the brownstone and brick walls of other houses, their windows glinting dim and empty in the overcast light, their chimneys belching smoke that grayed the snow crusting their windowsills.

My own yard on Irving Street—the Atherton yard, I should have said—was smaller than this. Elizabeth Atherton had cared little for gardens and had preferred to take her children to Union Square Park to play, though by the time they’d built the house, her youngest son had already been moving quickly into adulthood. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have such a luxury as a yard to play in as a child. My yard had been the busy streets, my games dodging traffic, tripping through the mounds of garbage and splashing through sewage, chasing the pigs and cows on their way to the slaughterhouse while their drovers hollered curses. But this—to climb the benches and race through the grass, to play hide-and-seek among the statuary, darting from Apollo and Mercury, to build snowmen to match Michelangelo’s
David
—here clad discreetly in a fig leaf so as not to offend decency. Or had he a fig leaf in Italy too? I tried to remember the drawings I’d seen, because I’d never seen it for myself, as much as I’d wanted to… .

“You mean to tell me you haven’t been there? Dear God, Peter, never tell me you didn’t take a wedding tour?”

The words came from a not-so-distant memory, and I was flung back in time, remembering how Duncan Granger had looked up from his nesselrode pudding with an expression of exaggerated shock, and how I tried not to show the disappointment that still felt too sharp.

Peter had paused, his own spoon poised halfway to his mouth. “I couldn’t take the time.”

Duncan laughed. He’d been one of Peter’s latest fast friends, a young man with dark hair and hazel eyes that were so heavily lashed they should have been a woman’s, though his laugh was at odds with all that—it was blustery and deep. “You couldn’t take the time? For a
wedding
tour?”

Across the table, Peter’s mother dabbed a napkin to her mouth. “It truly would have been a waste, I’m afraid. Evelyn hasn’t the eye to appreciate such things. Not to offend you, dear—you know I think only the best of you, but it’s the rare person indeed who can rise above one’s upbringing.”

Though Elizabeth Atherton smiled—a habit of hers, to cloak a cutting remark with what seemed to be sympathy—the remark still burned. I could not keep myself from responding in kind. “Oh yes, indeed. I see it myself every day.”

Peter’s mother frowned.

Peter explained to Duncan, “Evelyn received an uncommon education.”

“Her father tutored her in philosophy and science, among other things.” Elizabeth Atherton shuddered. “Why, I continue to be appalled at what he exposed her to! I know he meant well, Evelyn, and I suppose I’m old-fashioned, but I do think girls should be brought up learning French and the finer arts. What use has a woman for Latin, after all?”

“None at all,” I agreed. “If one doesn’t read.”

“Well, I believe everyone can benefit from experiencing beauty,” Duncan said. “To not take the opportunity to see it first-hand—why, I should say it was criminal!”

His enthusiasm was contagious, and I opened my mouth to agree when I saw he wasn’t looking at me. He was smiling at my husband, who met his gaze and said almost wistfully, “What use have I for European beauty, when there’s so much to be had here?” Peter hesitated only a moment before he turned to me and raised his glass, but I felt the perfunctoriness of his flattery. One complimented one’s wife; it meant nothing more than that.

Peter’s mother cleared her throat. “Have you a wife yourself, Mr. Granger?”

“Oh no, I’m afraid not,” Duncan said, turning to her. “Though I expect it’s my duty to find one someday.”

Elizabeth Atherton frowned. “I see.”

Peter set aside his spoon with a declarative clank. “Well, Duncan and I must be off.”

“Oh, not so soon,” I protested.

“Unfortunately so.”

“You’ve been out every night this week,” his mother said pointedly. “I’m certain Mr. Granger would excuse you to spend a quiet evening with your wife.”

“Of course, I would hate to take you from such a pleasant diversion,” Duncan said quickly and too politely. “If you’d rather—”

“Not tonight,” Peter said firmly, though he, like his mother, softened his words with a smile.

Elizabeth wasn’t cowed. To Duncan, she said, “Forgive my plain speaking, Mr. Granger, but my son has obligations to his family.”

“Of course I understand,” Duncan said gamely.

She turned back to Peter. “How you expect to get a child on your wife when you’re never home is beyond me—”

“Mother Atherton, please,” I said quickly. My face was burning.

“I’m only stating the obvious.” Elizabeth’s blue eyes were guileless as she looked at her son. I saw Duncan’s pale skin turning ruddier by the moment, and I was embarrassed both for myself and for him, though I should have been used to such comments. God knew I heard them often enough. “You can’t blame me for wanting to see the Atherton name passed on.”

“We’ll talk of this later.” Peter sounded strangled.

“I hope so,” she said. “I’m not getting younger, you know. I doubt I’ll survive another winter—”

“Shall we go, Duncan?” Peter buttoned his frock coat. He bent to kiss his mother, then stepped over to me, brushing his lips hastily over my cheek. “I’ll see you in the morning. Duncan may be here for breakfast.”

“Has Mr. Granger no home of his own to tend to?”

“He’s serving as my assistant, Mama. Until I find a law partner, I’ve need of him.” Peter waved his hand at Duncan, and the two of them nearly ran from the dining room, leaving me alone at the table with Peter’s mother.

“Would you care to retire to your room, Mother Atherton?” I asked, rising to help her to her feet, but she only gave me a look so full of bitterness and scorn that I stopped cold.

“Don’t you care that your husband keeps no hours at his own home?” she asked sharply. “What happened to your voice, girl?”

“Apparently I’ve no need of it,” I said. “You say quite enough for the both of us.”

She turned away abruptly, as if she could not bear to look at me, and her voice was low and sorrowful as she said, “I had hoped for more from you, Evelyn. I had hoped… well, what can one expect from such an uneven match, I suppose?”

Her question had stung then, and the memory of it did still. Elizabeth Atherton was dead, but the words she’d spoken haunted me, and with them returned the things Michel had said to me upon the stair, about Peter’s resentment of me.

Perhaps it was true what Michel had said, that Peter meant to punish me from beyond the grave, but I hoped not. It seemed impossible that he had hated me that much.

But I’d been wrong about other things. I’d been wrong about the Athertons. I supposed I could be wrong about Peter too—but that would mean everything in my life had been a lie. Could I have been that blind?

“I’m wondering… when will you open your eyes?”

“Mrs. Atherton?”

The voice intruded into my thoughts so completely that I was confused—was I hearing things now too? Then I realized it was Kitty, hovering in the doorway.

“Mr. Rampling is here to see you, ma’am.”

Benjamin. My troubled thoughts eased, and I said, “Tell him I’ll be right down.”

When Kitty left, I hurried to my bedroom, grabbing the two notebooks to show him, and then I went downstairs to the parlor, where Ben waited, still wearing his fur-trimmed coat and his top hat.

“I’ve only a little more than an hour,” he said apologetically as I came into the room. “I’m afraid I have appointments this afternoon that couldn’t be changed.”

I clutched the notebooks tightly. “I only need a few minutes of your time.”

He glanced beyond me to the doorway. “Perhaps another walk, then?”

I nodded. “I’ll get my cloak.”

Lambert retrieved it quickly, along with my gloves and my hat, and I fetched a bag and slid the notebooks inside to carry with me. Ben and I had just gone to the door when Michel came down the stairs.

“What a fine couple you make,” he said, though I caught the glint of mockery in his eyes. “A bit cold for a promenade, isn’t it?”

Benjamin said, “I’ve things to discuss with Evelyn, and I’m afraid she’s feeling a bit cooped up.”

“No doubt, without her soirees and her opera to distract her.” Michel leaned against the railing. “
Madame
Atherton, I find myself unexpectedly free this afternoon. Shall we plan another lesson when you return?”

I was in a hurry to leave, and I didn’t like the way he watched me, how predatory his gaze was, and so I said quickly, “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”

“I’ll wait,” he said with a smile.

“Come along, Evelyn.” Benjamin took my arm, and Lambert opened the door to see us out. The moment the door was closed behind us, I could breathe again. I shivered in relief.

Benjamin looked at me curiously. “Cold, my dear?”

“Just glad to be away,” I said.

He glanced across the street to the police watchman, who’d gone suddenly attentive at our presence. He patted my hand where it lay upon his arm. “This will soon be over, and you can go back to your old life.”

“Can I? I wonder.”

“We’ve reason to be more hopeful now, I think. With the discoveries you’ve made—well, it’s just a matter of time until we have what we need, isn’t it? Though I wouldn’t expect to jump back into society quickly. A slow and circumspect return would be best; perhaps a short tour of the Continent would be in order first.”

It was an uncomfortable reminder of my earlier thoughts. “I had always hoped to see it with Peter. He couldn’t take the time away for a wedding tour. I think I’ll always regret that I didn’t insist upon it, though I wonder now if he would have taken me even if I had.” Across the street, the watchman fell into step with us, not bothering to hide that he followed.