Alice’s father isn’t “Commissioner Roosevelt” anymore and hasn’t been for a couple of years. But these men still feel loyal to the former head of the city police force.
“You mean these are his children?” one of the other young officers asks in a whisper. “The ghost’s progenitor was his…” He gives a low whistle.
The entire police force will know by nightfall. If they don’t already. How did Alice’s father manage to keep this scandal a secret during his term on the Police Commission? Theodore Roosevelt’s first wife produced a powerful Vengeful ghost in the heart of Manhattan. It should have made headlines, but the powers that be suppressed it.
The ranking officer addresses Alice: “Where does he live now?”
Alice, behind her glass wall, declines to answer. The officer turns to Teddy. “Where does your father live now, son?”
“Washington, D.C.,” Teddy replies, blinking nearsightedly.
“Alice and Teddy have been staying with Uncle Theodore’s sister.” Eleanor intervenes. “Mrs. William Cowles, on East Twenty-First Street.”
“And the rest of this crowd?” The officer waves a hand at the Roosevelt cousins in the next room.
“The same.”
The officer looks pointedly at an underling. “Send someone to warn Mrs. Cowles to expect a passel of frost-burned youngsters arriving on her doorstep in the next half hour.”
“Please, sir.” Eleanor pops up like a jack-in-the-box to catch the officer’s attention before he moves on to other matters. “There’s a lady living in Number Four, Miss Barnstable. I visited her last week, and she didn’t seem in her right mind. Her house is next to Number Six…”
The officer addresses the residents of this house. “Are you familiar with Miss Barnstable?”
The gray-haired gentleman frowns. “Only vaguely. We keep to ourselves on this street.”
The SWAT officer gives the man a disparaging look. “We’ll check on her, miss,” he tells Eleanor, indicating with his tone that the neighbors should have done so before now.
They’re unhinged. Alice stares at the carpet. My mother’s ghost turned the inhabitants of this street into madwomen and hermits.
She shudders violently, and Eleanor puts an arm around her. “Won’t you speak to me?” Eleanor asks quietly. “Please say something, Alice.”
Alice shrugs. What is there to say?
When the police escort them to carriages, Alice has a chance to see the damage done to her cousins. Corinne has bruises around her neck that correspond to Alice’s. Franklin has several frost burns. As far as Alice can see, Helen has come away unscathed, except that she can’t get rid of George, who seems to think he saved her life.
The confusion in the entryway to Aunt Bye’s house—SWAT officers, the cousins, a doctor who was summoned—allows Alice to slip upstairs without speaking to her aunt. Just as her feet disappear from sight below, she hears Aunt Bye call out. “Alice!”
She doesn’t stop.
Footsteps follow her. Not Aunt Bye’s but Eleanor’s recognizable clomps. Alice slips into her room without looking back but leaves the door slightly ajar. Eleanor’s presence is…acceptable. Crossing the room, Alice lays the photograph facedown on her bedside table with a snap.
Golden curls. Blue-gray eyes. A little bow mouth.
Alice’s skin crawls as if it’s trying to shrug its way off her bones.
Eleanor closes the door and, without saying anything, goes straight to Alice’s dresser. She pulls out the thickest, heaviest undergarments she can find, then turns her attention to Alice’s wardrobe. Alice almost speaks at that point. That shirtwaist doesn’t match that skirt! But her cousin’s choices do look warm, and speaking is too much effort. It’s all she can do to start unfastening the clothes she has on.
When Alice is dressed in dry, warm clothes, Eleanor unpins her cousin’s hair and brushes it out. “I want my snake,” Alice says abruptly, and Eleanor fetches Emily Spinach. Or rather, she fetches the box and lets Alice pick up the snake. Eleanor goes back to brushing hair while Alice strokes her pet.
Blue-gray eyes. A little bow mouth. Ice-cold hands—squeezing.
A gentle knock precedes Aunt Bye’s entrance by only a second. “Eleanor, give us a moment.” Eleanor nods and walks out, and Aunt Bye stands over Alice, her hands folded across her rounded stomach. “What I told you about your family before was mostly truth. But it wasn’t all of the truth.”
Alice doesn’t acknowledge this outrageous understatement.
“Your mother died unexpectedly. My mother was ill with typhoid fever, your father was as distraught as I’ve ever seen him, and you were a tiny infant.” Aunt Bye pauses, then continues as if the words have to be forced from her mouth. “Two days after your mother’s death, that ghost erupted. Two days of dormancy is extremely rare—almost unheard of. It smothered my mother in her sleep.” Her voice breaks, becomes gravel in her throat. “It tried to smother you. Theodore and I surely would’ve been next, but we awoke in time, rescued you, and fled the house.”
Alice manages to say with only a slight tremor, “That house should be demolished. I heard the SWAT squadron saying so.”
“Your father wouldn’t allow it. But after this…When he hears how it attacked you and Teddy and Corinne—believe me, the house will come down.”
Will it? Alice isn’t convinced. The ghost killed his mother and tried to kill his infant daughter, and Father did nothing but close up the house.
“Will you forgive me, Alice? For not telling you before?”
Alice answers immediately. “Of course. This wasn’t your secret to tell. It was his.” Her aunt opens her mouth, probably to defend her brother—as she always does—but Alice briskly changes the subject. “Now, will you leave this house? Please? Until the baby is born? After what happened today…”
“That has nothing to do with this house. As I told you, I feel more comfortable giving birth here.” Aunt Bye glances left and right, as if Alice might be hiding listeners in her wardrobe or behind her dresser. “He says it’s more important than ever that I stay.”
Alice’s heart thumps. They’ve almost completely emptied the attic and Davy is still whispering to her aunt?
Another knock, and the door opens wide enough for Ida’s face. “Mrs. Cowles, there are reporters here.”
“I’ll be right there, Ida.” Aunt Bye runs an affectionate hand over Alice’s head, smoothing her hair. “Take the time you need, darling, then please join us downstairs.”
Alice nods, although she doesn’t intend to go downstairs. Aunt Bye leaves, but the door is caught by a slim hand before it closes. Teddy peeks in. “Are you all right, Sissy?”
She nods.
Teddy takes that as permission to enter and walks over to her. He squints at the overturned photograph and then at Alice. “I wanted to say—that thing at the house today, it wasn’t your mother.”
It was.
“I know I said that to the police…” He gulps. “I shouldn’t have. I’m really sorry. That ghost is just a thing that got left behind from her death. You shouldn’t blame your mother.”
“Why not? Everyone else does.” Alice swallows but can’t dislodge the bitterness coating her tongue. “No one even calls me by my name because it was hers. Not Father, not you, not Mother Edith…”
Teddy’s mouth drops open. “We do. Of course we call you Alice, but not when you’re around. We use Sissy because we thought hearing your mother’s name made you sad.”
“Alice is my name.” She means to state it as a matter of fact, but it comes out as a wail.
Teddy cringes, then lifts his chin and stiffens his spine in a way that evokes their father’s image. “That’s true. Consider it noted.” And—daft and impulsive as her brother is—Alice knows he will never call her Sissy again. “Now, about this.” He turns the photograph of her mother upright.
/> “I can’t look at that!” Alice turns her face away.
Burning fingers. Cutting off her air.
“Then I’ll take it and put it by my bed. Because this is how you should remember your mother. That thing…It’s unfair that it stole her face, but you know it’s not your mother. Your mother loved you, and if you can’t look at her right now, then I will. I’ll remember her for you until you’re ready.”
Teddy picks up the photograph and takes a few steps toward the door before peering nearsightedly back at her.
If he’s expecting her to ask for the portrait back, he’s mistaken. Alice says nothing.
You Are Cordially Invited
to a Soirée
with Music, Billiards, Charades,
and Other Amusements and Refreshments
at the Home of Mrs. William Cowles
Hosted by Helen Roosevelt
February 24, 1898
at Seven O’Clock
132 East 21st Street,
New York, New York
22
ELEANOR AT THE PARTY
IF anyone were to ask me, I’d say the last thing we need is a party at Aunt Bye’s house. But according to Franklin, Helen becomes distraught when anyone suggests that she cancel it.
“It’s unlike Helen. She acts as if her entire social”—Franklin gropes for a word—“queendom will collapse if she doesn’t host this party. Aunt Bye is willing as long as Alice is comfortable with it. And Alice says she’s perfectly fine.”
Perfectly fine. That’s what Alice tells everyone who asks how she is. I’m worried for her. Alice has put up a wall to prevent us from seeing how badly hurt she really is.
Corinne, by contrast, behaves the way one would expect. She cried and hugged me and thanked me for coming to her rescue. She has told the story of her encounter with the ghost over and over, to everyone who will listen, as if each retelling puts her further from the horror of the actual event until it is simply something scary that once happened to her. Perhaps even something to brag about. I survived a Vengeful! Teddy is much the same, although he talks less about his adventure, probably out of deference to his sister.
When I try with Alice, however, she refuses to discuss it. The one time I pressed her on the subject, she pulled that snake from her pocket and dangled it in my face. “Do you want to hold Emily Spinach?”
I recoiled, although not as much as I once would have. “Not really.”
Alice nodded with satisfaction. “That’s how much I feel like talking about it.” She put her snake back in her pocket, and I stopped asking questions.
I regret that I ever wished to see my father and brother as ghosts. For the first time I understand why Grandmother Hall hides in her room to avoid Uncle Valentine on the stairs—and why, if she had any inkling about the ghost that drove the Roosevelts from their house on Fifty-Seventh Street, it was something she chose never to gossip about. I understand why Uncle Will was worried that the presence of both Alice and a ghost in the house would bring back horrifying memories for his expectant wife.
And I think of Gracie, who was so young when the rest of our family died that he has only photographs instead of memories. I would not want those images tarnished by what Alice saw in her old nursery.
The portrait of Alice’s mother, I notice, is no longer on her bedside table.
Two days before her party, Helen arrives on my doorstep. “I’m here to take you dress shopping.”
Like a spider hidden in a web that only reveals itself when the fly gets tangled, Grandmother sails into the hallway. “Good day, Nancy,” she says coldly.
“Helen,” I correct her.
“Thank you for your invitation,” Grandmother continues, not caring what her name is. “But Eleanor does not have the funds to procure a new dress for every occasion, nor do I, with an entire house to maintain, have it within my means to provide it.”
“It’s my pleasure, Mrs. Hall,” Helen says. “I’ll buy the dress.”
Grandmother shakes her head. “That’s charity.”
“Then please,” Helen persists, “may Eleanor come to help me choose my dress?”
Grandmother’s eyes light up at the cruelty of that suggestion. “She may. If only to comprehend the frivolity of such an expenditure.”
Helen seizes my arm before I can beg off. Only after we are on our way does she explain. “The money for your dress comes from Alice.”
“What?”
“Her stepmother sent the money as a dress allowance for Alice, but she gave it to me to use for you.” Helen eyes me slyly. “Come now, Eleanor. Don’t you want to look nice for…”
“For whom?” I demand.
Helen shrugs innocently. “Don’t turn this down. You know how Alice has been since the incident. If it makes her feel better to buy you a gift, won’t you allow it?”
And that is how I end up with the scarlet dress. I choose something pale blue. Helen overrules me. The dressmaker takes my measurements for alteration, and we order that the dress be delivered to Aunt Bye’s house so Grandmother won’t know.
On the evening of the party, I leave home in something she considers suitable and change into my new ensemble at Aunt Bye’s. Helen supervises my transformation, Corinne obeys her commands, and Alice watches. I’d thank her for the dress if she would acknowledge the gift, but Alice keeps up her pretense that it is nothing to do with her. When Helen declares me “finished,” they finally let me look in a mirror to see the whole effect, and I gasp out loud.
The skirt and sleeves are made of scarlet velvet, and the bodice is black silk embroidered with white and gold roses. Helen and Corinne have loosely piled most of my hair on top of my head, but they left some hanging down my back, curled into ringlets.
“Eleanor, you could pass for sixteen,” Helen says, admiring her handiwork.
Corinne hugs me, very gently so as not to rumple the dress. “You’re beautiful!”
I look at her beaming face—and then at Helen—and I know with one hundred percent certainty that the cruel conversation I overheard on the day of their arrival never happened. It was an auditory hallucination, courtesy of the rotten, mischievous Davy. I turn back to the mirror and smile.
“Eleanor,” snaps Alice, “for goodness’ sake, take your hand away from your mouth!”
I drop my hand, flushing in embarrassment, but Alice is right. I don’t need to cover my mouth to look pretty. Not tonight.
Having finished with me, the other girls get dressed. I help with their hair, wielding the curling tongs and only burning myself once. Corinne wears an extra-large bow for the occasion, and Helen chooses her best jewelry. Alice puts her snake in her pocket. After we have bedecked and becurled everyone to our satisfaction, we head downstairs.
Helen has spent the whole day decorating with party streamers and paper snowflakes. Ida’s two younger sisters, who aren’t much older than I am, have been hired as extra help, and the three of them are busily laying out the food in the dining room. Immediately, Helen rushes in to interfere, rearranging the placement of the dishes and criticizing their choice of serving platters.
“Hello, Eleanor. That dress is very pretty.” I turn around to find Franklin smiling at me.
“Helen picked it out,” I say, automatically deflecting the compliment.
He raises his eyebrows. “Do you not like it?”
I smile. Raise my hand. Lower it. “No. I do like it.”
“Have you heard from Miss Bly?”
My smile fades. “No.”
I wrote Nellie Bly after I found the insurance policies, explaining my suspicions. I thought I would hear back…“I know she is busy, and it seems as if the ghost has faded since you cleared the attic. I suppose it’s not urgent anymore.”
“Do you think you might be wrong? I can see a wife poisoning her husband—although I don’t
commend it in general practice—but a mother murdering her children? For insurance money?”
Franklin wants to believe it is a coincidence, the policies and the deaths, but it’s not. “You saw the dates,” I say. Every policy was purchased between one and two years before the person’s death and in the exact order in which they would die.
I’ve been to the library since I discovered the horrible truth. I read about Mary Ann Cotton, an English woman who poisoned multiple husbands and children for their life insurance, and Lydia Sherman, who did the same thing in Connecticut. In both cases, it seemed to be a murderous compulsion, because neither woman needed the money. They simply wanted it. I look Franklin in the eyes. “There are things that can grip a person even more strongly than love of family. For my father, it was alcohol. For Mrs. Drummond, it must have been money.”
Franklin drops his eyes and looks ashamed that he broached this subject, which was not my intention. Luckily, the doorbell rings, rescuing us from an awkward moment.
The house fills with guests. They’re Helen’s age, and I don’t know any of them except for George, who drove the motorcar. A few boys try to talk to me, but mostly I flee from them before they discover I’m hardly older than Corinne. She and Teddy, so much younger than the guests, slink around the outskirts of the party, watching and giggling and acting as if this is another adventure, far less harrowing than their last.
Alice has no trouble fitting in. She plays billiards with the boys and talks fashion with the girls. There’s no sign of the girl who was carried four days ago, limp and sobbing, out of the house haunted by her mother.
Several guests ask about Aunt Bye, who has sent apologies for being indisposed and promises to make an appearance later.
Eventually, the guests settle into various amusements. Some play billiards. Others divide into teams for charades. Helen, however, does not seem satisfied. She flits around, rearranging the food, nudging guests here or there. I follow her with my eyes, wondering what, exactly, is preventing her from enjoying her own party.
Eleanor, Alice, and the Roosevelt Ghosts Page 13
