The Spiritualist (41 page)

I forced myself up. I went to the washbasin and splashed water into it and bathed my face, sprinkled tooth powder on my finger and rubbed it over my teeth, rinsed my mouth. I felt better then, but still I didn’t know what it was Adele wanted from me, or what she meant to show me—except that Michel would kill to protect himself, that he had killed, and those things I knew already.

I needed desperately for someone to help me make sense of things. But Benjamin thought it was all an illusion bred of strain, and Michel… Michel was the guide I needed, but he was the one guide I could not use.

No, I must figure this out on my own. Adele was the key; I felt it now more than ever. I remembered what Michel had said, about her leaving some of her things, about how he’d kept them for the police that never came. I thought of the notebooks in his drawer—was she in those? Had he researched her as well as he’d researched me before he seduced her, before he made her his partner, before he sent her away? I felt the cool steadiness of deliberation come over me.
“You can do whatever you please
, chère
. Don’t you know it yet?”
Yes, I did know it. I had managed Dorothy well enough, hadn’t I? I opened my bedroom door and stood there for a moment, looking down the hallway. Dorothy’s door was closed. The library was open. As was Michel’s door. Which meant he must still be there.

I took a deep breath, and then I crossed the hall. If I must discover his plans for the day, the easiest thing to do would be to ask him.

He was inside. He was dressed but for his necktie, which he was twining about his neck, a great swath of a silver blue silk that matched the stripes in his vest. He glanced up when I appeared in his doorway, and then gestured impatiently for me to come in.

I stepped inside.

“Close the door,” he said.

“I’d rather not. There’s help everywhere.”

He shrugged. “Then come closer. I don’t wish to yell.”

Obediently, I did as he asked, but I stayed near the desk as he watched himself in the bureau mirror.

“I heard Dorothy called for you,” he said. “How was she?”

“Your dosage was perfect this morning. She seemed quite well.”

He gave me a sideways glance as he looped his tie. “Charley said she sent him to the schoolroom to find the scarf. It’s quite a breakthrough,
chère
. Congratulations. That room’s been locked nearly twenty years.”

“Yes. She was very happy.”

“What did she say?”

“She said thank you.”

“Ah.” He finished the knot and turned to his bedside table, opening the drawer to search for a handkerchief. “She didn’t offer you a gift?”

“She did. I refused it.”

He looked at me in surprise. “Did you?”

“Yes, I’ve no need of such things.” I glanced down at the inlay on the desk, tracing it with my finger.

“I’d say you had more need than most.”

“I believe, after the trial, I’ll have what I deserve.”

“No doubt,” he said quietly. Then, “Would you hand me that pin there? The sapphire.”

I twisted around. The cloisonné box was open, his jewels spilled out as if he’d been going through them. The sapphire pin was there, tangled with rings and the watch chain—Peter’s watch chain. My throat tightened when I saw it, and I could not help myself; I pulled it loose so the little fish dangled and sparkled, and the tears came suddenly to my eyes. I blinked them away and let the chain fall again from my fingers, and that was when I saw it:

A single gold cuff link with an opal.

The cuff links Ben had bought Peter. I hadn’t remembered seeing them on Peter’s wrist, but now I realized I
had
seen one before. I’d seen it here, on Michel’s desk, in the cloisonné box, where it had no mate.

“Once we find that cuff link, or the gun, we’ll know the truth of Peter’s murder.”

I felt queasy as I picked it up.

“Didn’t you find it? It’s right there.” Michel was suddenly beside me. He reached past me for the sapphire pin. “These are the kinds of gifts Dorothy favors, eh? And she doesn’t take no for an answer.”

The opal sparkled against my palm. I couldn’t take my eyes from it. “Not that you would ever say no.”

“Non.”
I felt him pause. He plucked the jewel from my hand. “Where did that come from?”

I forced myself to say, “How would I know? It’s yours.”

“I must’ve picked it up somewhere. I don’t remember it.” He dropped it onto the desk. How nonchalant he was, what a consummate liar. Had I not known the truth, I would have believed him.

“It’s quite beautiful.”

“You’re partial to opals?” He put one hand on my waist, drawing me close while the other swept my skirt, pressing. Against my lips, he whispered, “They aren’t to my taste, but if you like, I’ll wear them for you.”

I tried to smile. “You’ve only one. I wonder where the mate is?”

“Perhaps you can persuade Dorothy to buy me its match,” he said. Then he stepped back—barely a step, and twisted his palm so that I saw what rested within it. The emerald brooch that had been in my pocket. “If she’ll give you this, she’ll give you whatever you ask.”

I struggled for composure. “She didn’t give me that. I brought it with me.”

“You weren’t allowed. You were to take nothing.”

“No one knew I took it. It was my mother’s.”

His gaze swept my face; I forced myself not to look away. I saw the anger in his expression, and I knew it was because of the cuff link. I’d found it, and he knew I realized what it meant.

“Your mother? How did she afford such a piece?”

“I don’t know. I was surprised myself.”

Amazingly, I saw the anger pass from his eyes. “What a good liar you’ve turned out to be,
chère
,” he said with what sounded like genuine pride. The turnaround surprised me so much that I didn’t move as he reached for me again. “Let me save us both from your guilty conscience, Evie. You earned it, and you deserve it. I would’ve told her to gift you had she not thought of it herself.” He found again the slit of the pocket in my skirt and dropped the jewel back inside. Then he cupped my chin in his palm. His fingers pressed hard into my skin. “You’ve no need to lie to me,
chère
. I’m on your side—don’t you know it yet?”

I
returned hastily to my room. The proof I’d found that Michel was a murderer, incontrovertible at last, shook me in a way I could not explain. I’d known it already, hadn’t I? Why then should this disturb me so?

My room felt too small to contain the mix of my anxiety and fear. There was a heaviness behind my eyes, the press of tears, which I kept back through sheer will. Finally I went downstairs and grabbed my cloak, resolving to go out into the garden, even as chilly as it was. I wanted clean air, something bracing to clear my head.

The day smelled of mud. The budless, bare tree branches bounced in a light breeze that was still sharp enough to cut through the heaviness of my cloak.

I glanced over my shoulder to the windows that winked unseeingly back at me—impossible to see through the glare of the world that they reflected. I could not tell if someone watched me from those windows, and the thought made me shudder and pull my hood closer about my face. I went to sit on one of the stone benches that dotted the yard, beneath the outstretched arm of Apollo, which was blackened and mottled with mildew and dirt. The freezing cold of the stone seeped through my cloak and my skirts and my petticoats. A rose planted in the flower bed trailed its thorny canes to snag on the soft kid of my glove, its few brown-yellow leaves and withered hips a poor decoration.

I closed my eyes and let the smells and the feel of the breeze and the cold lull me. But I felt
her
there too, just beyond the world, waiting for me.
No, not now
, I told her.
I don’t want to know any more. Not today.
I pushed her aside and rose from the bench; I made a promenade about the yard.

And then, though it seemed much too soon, I saw someone—a man—come from the side of the house into the backyard. His coat flapped with the hurry of his stride. His top hat glimmered.

Benjamin.

I nearly ran across the muddied grass to meet him and threw myself into his arms. He grasped me as if he didn’t quite know what to do, and then he held me close. I smelled tobacco in the fur of his collar. I hadn’t known he smoked. How odd not to know it.

“Dear God, I’m glad you’ve come,” I said.

After a moment, he held me away. “Evelyn? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

The inadvertent aptness of his statement made me flinch. I led him back to the bench, where we sat down, and I glanced involuntarily up at the library window. Did I imagine it, or was there a flash of light there, like the sun glancing off a jewel—perhaps a sapphire?

I turned quickly back to Benjamin. “I found the cuff link. It’s in his room, as you said it would be.”

His face broke into a smile. “Excellent! You see, my dear, I told you! Oh, this is very good news. Where is it now?”

I felt a stab of uncertainty. “Should I have taken it?”

“No. No. You must leave it there for the police. They’ll need to find it. Why do you look that way?”

“I was just so surprised to see it. I wasn’t even looking for it—”

He went very still. “I don’t know if I take your meaning.”

“Michel was there when I found it,” I said. “He asked me to get him a pin, and it was just there. As if he never meant to hide it at all.”

“Why were you in his room, Evie, when he was there as well?”

I looked at him quickly. “He asked me to come in. He wanted to speak with me a moment.”

“You were alone with him?”

“The door was open. And Dorothy’s an invalid, Benjamin. We’re often alone.”

“But not in his bedchamber, I’ll warrant. Or are you?” His cheeks were flushed.

“No. No, of course not.”

He made a sound of exasperation. “Has he tried to seduce you, Evelyn?”

“You yourself warned me he would do so. It’s in his nature.”

“And has he succeeded?”

I took a deep breath.
Bodies don’t lie
, Michel had said, and now I used that to my advantage. I looked at Benjamin directly, though it took great effort not to glance away, not to hesitate. “No, Benjamin. He has not.”

I knew a profound relief when he sighed, when he said, “Forgive me. He’s succeeded so often… .”

I touched his arm to reassure. “I understand.”

“I am embarrassed,” he said with a shamefaced smile. “It’s only that I care a great deal for you. Do you mind?”

“Not at all. In fact, I’m glad to hear you say it.”

He looked down at his gloved hands, his fingers clenching and unclenching. “I could not bear it if he…” He shook his head, letting the words remain unspoken. Then, grimly, he said, “I must admit to some disappointment that Jourdain knows you found the cuff link. No doubt he’ll move it now, and, of course, it puts you in greater danger. I managed to speak with Hall today, but as you can imagine, he’s quite against your leaving here, even if we could find another patron. He’s insistent upon the Tombs. But never fear. Once I speak to Denham—”

“Have you told them what we’ve found so far?”

“We don’t have enough to convince them, I’m afraid. And surely not enough to dismiss your case. We’ve only Dorothy to testify to the adoption and the commitment, and she will hardly agree to incriminate Jourdain. You haven’t found the gun. You’re living in the house—they might believe you put the cuff link there yourself. Unfortunately, there’s no sign of the commitment papers at the office. Peter’s assistant doesn’t remember them at all. Peter must have done them alone and kept them secret.”

I nodded, and then I summoned my courage. “There’s one other thing, Benjamin. I think… I think Michel may have killed someone else. Someone besides Peter.”

He looked surprised. “Who?”

“The spirit that came to me the other night. Adele.”

Ben went very still. “Adele?”

“He said he’d known her. That they were together for a while, but then he sent her away. He said she was killed.”

“Evie.” Benjamin’s voice was dangerously soft. “Don’t tell me you’re putting credence into a ‘spirit visitation.’ Not after our talk last night?”

“I know you think it’s an illusion, Benjamin. But I know things I couldn’t know—”

“Are you certain you haven’t overheard these things somehow? The mind plays tricks all the time. Until I can talk to Denham, I’ve no choice but to leave you here. I’d be less concerned about it if you would do what I ask now and leave this all alone.”

Doggedly, I persisted. “It doesn’t feel like a hallucination.”

“Are you still having nightmares? Are you sleeping?”

I looked away.

“You see, all this is easy to explain. You’re not getting enough rest; you must deal with pretense every moment of the day. You must get some sleep or you truly will go mad.”

“Sometimes I feel as if I already am.”

“This is how such things work,” he said gently. “One delusion grows upon another. Think of your father: would he be so quick to accept this? Or would he investigate until he found the reasons?”

His words lent me courage. “He would find the reasons.”

“And that is what you must do as well. You’re in a household that believes in spirit guidance. Jourdain is doing everything he can to convince Dorothy and the others of its truth. You’re working tirelessly to save yourself. Doesn’t it occur to you that these things may be feeding the hallucinations? That these visions have no outward cause, but are simply your own imagination? Don’t you think Jourdain is doing what he can to cause them as well?”

“How would he do so?”

“Your lessons, for one thing. He’s part mesmerist, Evie. Have you any doubt of his ability to use others? Look at the slave he’s made of Dorothy.” He sighed. “I’ll get you out of this house as soon as I can, but in the meantime, stay away from him. These visions of yours will disappear when the strain does, I promise it.”