Boston Metaphysical Society
Page 26
Jonathan glanced back over his shoulder at the house manager. The older man’s unshaven face looked haggard. “I thought I was perfectly clear. You can leave now.”
“Yes, sir.” Sampson turned, but stopped. “Mr. Weldsmore, please accept my sincere condolences on the loss of Miss Elizabeth. She was very dear to me and the rest of the staff. I loved her like she was my own.”
“I know, Sampson.”
The house manager hesitated before a slew of words poured out of him. “Sir, did this have anything to do with her being a medium?”
Jonathan stopped breathing for a moment then inhaled sharply. Hatred and fear radiated from him like an over stoked furnace. “You have no right to interfere in family affairs.”
“There is little that happens in this house that I don’t know about, sir.”
“How dare you! You have no right!”
“I loved her.” Sampson held on to whatever control he had left. “I saw something strange a few days ago. Miss Elizabeth’s eyes changed. They seemed almost otherworldly. My eyes must have been playing tricks on me,” Sampson said as doubt creeped into his voice. “They were, weren’t they?”
A fury rose through Jonathan that he could not stop. “How could you say nothing and claim to love her? What kind of man are you?”
Sampson stepped back, grief and horror running across his face. “It . . . I . . . was ashamed.”
“What are you talking about?”
“She was . . . It was uncomfortable,” Sampson stammered.
Jonathan stood up as if a giant hand pressed down on his back. “My daughter is dead because you felt uncomfortable. Get out!” he screamed. “Get out! You’re done. Pack your bags and go!”
Sampson’s face went ashen. “Mr. Weldsmore . . . Jonathan, please. This is my home.”
“Not anymore.” Jonathan’s voice edged toward a violence he’d never felt before.
Sampson fled.
Jonathan picked up the whiskey bottle and threw it against the wall so hard it shattered. “Damn you to hell!”
He collapsed into his chair and wept.
***
An obsidian banner hung down the roof of the Weldsmore house. Samuel watched it wave and twist in the wind as undulating clouds moved in over the city.
A storm was coming.
He entered the house with little fanfare. No one greeted him, and the lone footman made an excuse to scurry off. The joy Elizabeth had brought had vanished as if it had never existed.
Samuel trudged up the staircase and down the hall toward the bedroom he and Elizabeth had shared. There were only a few things he wanted to pick up, and then he would leave. He couldn’t live here without his wife, and he was sure Jonathan didn’t want him around. Samuel would leave Elizabeth’s jewelry behind in case Jonathan ever remarried. The man was still young enough, but Samuel doubted he would do it.
As he walked into the bedroom, Samuel saw Sampson standing motionless in front of Elizabeth’s vanity mirror. If that wasn’t odd enough, he was not wearing the livery of House Weldsmore.
“Sampson? Is something wrong?”
“What happened here, Mr. Hunter? What really happened?” Sampson’s melancholy tone almost convinced Samuel to tell him what he’d seen.
“None of it was your fault.”
Sampson turned, tears running down his face. “I saw something, but I didn’t say anything.”
“Even if you did, the outcome wouldn’t have been any different,” Samuel tried to explain. “None of us really understand what happened.”
“But you’ll find whoever killed her, won’t you, Mr. Hunter?”
Samuel gripped the house manager’s arm. “I will not rest until I do.” He released it and backed away. “Why are you out of uniform?”
Sampson wiped the tears from his face. “I am no longer in the employ of House Weldsmore.”
“What? But Jonathan needs you.”
“Not anymore. He made that abundantly clear.” Sampson walked toward the door.
“Let me talk to him?”
Sampson shook his head. “No. It’s done.”
“Where will you go?”
“I have a niece in Philadelphia, and with the money I’ve saved over the years we can open a boarding house. She’s been at me to retire and go in with her.”
Samuel extended his hand. “Best of luck to you.”
They shook and without another word, Sampson left.
A silence fell over the room after he was gone. The whole house was stone quiet, no movement or the soft laughter of the maids going about their choirs or footmen obeying the kind yet firm orders of Mrs. Owen. The qualities that had made House Weldsmore a home had disappeared without a trace.
Samuel spent a half hour picking out a few things to take with him: photographs of him and Elizabeth on their honeymoon in Europe, a scarf he had given her, and some of his clothes. He left the better clothing here as he would not need it where he was going. At the last minute, however, he packed one good suit. Elizabeth would have chided him for not having at least a spare. The memory made him smile.
As he stepped into the foyer with his suitcase, Samuel noticed that the door to Jonathan’s study was open. He put his bag down and walked in. Jonathan sat with his back toward him in his chair with his feet up on the windowsill. The remains of a whiskey bottle glistened against the wall and floorboards.
“You didn’t have to fire Sampson,” he called out. “None of us would have understood if he’d tried to tell us. At least not until after what we saw in her bedroom.”
“I saw my daughter die.” Jonathan spat the words out of his mouth like a bitter aftertaste.
“Jonathan, he’s been a loyal servant to you for how many years? Why would you do this?”
“It doesn’t matter. He failed me. Now, what did the medium say?” Jonathan demanded.
Samuel shook his head. “Not much. The incident caused her to lose her psychic ability, but she thinks whatever attacked Elizabeth may have been from a place other than the spirit realm.”
“So you’ve failed me and Elizabeth. None of this would have happened if you hadn’t taken her to that medium.”
“Jonathan, the visions returned and were even stronger than before. She had to learn how to deal with them. You agreed.”
The head of House Weldsmore stood up and put his hand on the window, inspecting it like a bug. “As per Elizabeth’s request, you will receive a small stipend from her estate. Now, I want you gone.”
Samuel glared at Jonathan, debating whether or not to let his own grief make him lash out at this man who had lost everything he had ever loved. “I will find out what killed her, Jonathan. And you can keep the money.”
He marched out of the room without looking back.
***
Samuel watched as the last of the furniture Elizabeth had selected for their new office was carted away. He’d use the money from their sale to purchase the food and clothing she had promised Rachel. Jonathan’s animosity toward mediums and Rachel had made him cancel the orders of foodstuffs that Elizabeth had made prior to her death. It angered Samuel that the man could be so petty, but he’d also heard House Weldsmore had taken a financial beating over some secret projects and the Abyssinian contracts. Perhaps Jonathan just needed the cash.
What was left in Samuel’s office was a desk, two plain wooden chairs, a table, stove, a cot, and a fancy newfangled ice box Elizabeth had insisted he have to keep foodstuffs cold. She knew they might be spending long nights on a case and had wanted to make sure they both had enough to eat. The fact that she was no longer here to share in these small things infuriated him. He would find out what killed his wife no matter what it took, but in the meantime he had to earn a living.
Samuel wandered through the rest of the warehouse and considered renting it out to one of the local fisherman. It still stank a bit of mildew and dust, so it would have to be someone who wasn’t too picky. However, it was large and had plenty of storage space. He would ask aroun
d.
“Laddie! You be here?” A familiar Irishman’s voice bellowed from the front of the warehouse.
Samuel walked back to his makeshift office to be greeted by a much healthier looking Andrew.
“I see you be making yourself right at home.” Andrew remarked. “It suits you.”
“I could never imagine living in that house without Elizabeth.” Samuel heard the grief echoing in his own voice.
“Laddie, not all of us are made to live like that, though you and the missus were happy there.” He assessed the room with a practiced eye. “I hear you still be opening up shop. That be true?”
Samuel nodded. “Besides needing to make a living, I thought being closer to people like you and Rachel could help me find out what killed Elizabeth. And why.”
“Aye. That we could. Remember me telling you about how I used to work for a detective right here in Boston. We managed to solve a fair amount of cases together.”
“Andrew, are you asking for a job?”
“Aye, laddie. I think I am.”
Samuel’s face etched out a half smile. “When can you start?”
24
Epilogue
Alexander Graham Bell hunkered over his new barometric pressure device. Smaller than most barometric devices, he hoped to sell this to the average family and not only scientists like himself. It was designed using two copper aneroid cells to act through a gear or lever train, which drove a recording arm with a pen attached at the end. The recording material was mounted on a cylindrical drum that rotated by clockwork. It was a side project that he liked to tinker with on occasion.
He heard a door slam and the sharp click of expensive men’s shoes walking across the hardwood floor. Since his staff was gone for the night, it could be only one person: Thomas Edison.
“Alex! Why couldn’t you come to my office to sign the contracts? You know how busy I am.” Edison did not bother to hide his annoyance.
“I’m as busy as you are, Thomas. Now come over here and look at this.”
Bell heard a sigh then felt the man leaning over his shoulder.
“It’s a barometer. Why do I care?” he asked.
“See how small it is. Don’t you think every family in the Great States of America would want to be able to know the day’s weather before they head out to work?”
Thomas opened his mouth to say something obnoxious, but stopped. “Does it work? I’m sure I can market it. Have you thought of a price yet?”
“Slow down, Thomas, and let’s turn it on.”
Bell connected the final wire. It took a few minutes, but the cells began to rotate and the current pressure was recorded on the drum.
“Well done, Alex.”
As the men studied it, the lever train spiked up off the drum, held for a minute, then plummeted downward. The sudden pressure change was so great that both men yawned to pop their ears. Even the air thinned, causing both to gasp for oxygen for a moment before the pressure normalized again.
They frowned, concerned that something occurred that they did not understand and could not explain.
“What the hell just happened?”
“I don’t know Thomas, but I think we may have to find out.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Madeleine Holly-Rosing is a graduate of the UCLA MFA
Program in Screenwriting where she won the Sloan Fellowship
for screenwriting as well as other awards. She has also won the
Gold Aurora and Bronze Telly for a PSA she wrote and which
was produced by Women In Film.
Her comic Boston Metaphysical Society was nominated for
Best Comic/Graphic Novel at the 2014 Geekie Awards and was
nominated for a 2012 Airship Award as well as a 2013 and a 2014
Steampunk Chronicle Reader’s Choice Award. Her novella,
Steampunk Rat, was also nominated for a 2013 Steampunk
Chronicle Reader’s Choice Award.
Formerly a nationally ranked epeé fencer, she has competed
nationally and internationally. She is an avid reader of steampunk,
science fiction, fantasy, and historical military fiction.
Madeleine lives with her rocket scientist husband, David
and two rescue dogs: Ripley and Bishop.
Please follow her on:
www.bostonmetaphysicalsociety.com
Facebook.com/BostonMetaphysicalSocietyComic
Twitter.com/mhollyrosing
Instagram.com/mcholly1
ALSO BY MADELEINE HOLLY-ROSING
Graphic Novels
Boston Metaphysical Society: The Complete Original Series
Boston Metaphysical Society: The Scourge of the Mechanical Men
(A Granville Woods and Nikola Tesla Story)
Boston Metaphysical Society: The Spirit of Rebellion
(A Caitlin O’Sullivan Story) Coming 2019
Prose
Kickstarter for the Independent Creator
http://a.co/d2VYiKQ
Here Abide Monsters – A Boston Metaphysical Society Story
(Part of the Some Time Later Anthology from Thinking Ink Press)
http://a.co/9xSA2F9
The Underground – A Boston Metaphysical Society Story
(Coming 2019)
Boston Metaphysical Society: Spies and Airships
(Short Story – Coming 2019)