“I have told you, Constance, no.”
“You have said that she is different, implying that I am not. Father, I am different. I want to be a part of what you are a part of.” When still he made no reply, she continued. “I am not like Mother; I am not weak. And… and… I’m not afraid. Father, please, just listen to me. I think I know what you mean when you say that she is different. She has told me, you see, what she saw when she first came here; a woman at the window waving at her. A woman that does not live here.”
What was it Constance was trying to say? The woman I had seen; who could she be if she did not live at the Lawton townhouse? A visitor, perhaps?
“Constance, the work the society carries out is highly valuable. We are at the very start of it; we are pioneers. If we do it correctly, our names will live on in history. But… there are dangers involved. Real dangers. I do not want you exposed to them.”
But it was acceptable to expose me? My father had readily sanctioned that?
Again, I moaned, but this time no one came to my aid.
“Father, sometimes I can see too. I glimpse something, just like I have told you, you know, such as the ruffian, and then the next minute it is gone. The things I see are just… I don’t know how to describe them. Shadows, I suppose. Lately, it has been happening more and more.”
Shadows?
“This is because of that substance you insist on taking,” Arthur replied; “that your mother crams down her throat too.”
What substance?
“I am curious, that is all, merely curious. Father, I am like you. I need to know everything there is to know in this world and if there is a world beyond, then why not learn about that one also? Present me tonight. Let me help in Rosamund’s stead.”
I could still sense his hesitance and prayed for him to refuse his daughter’s request, I wanted neither of us exposed to whatever work it was they were involved with. She might not be afraid, but I certainly was.
Her final words, however, wore him down.
“You have admitted yourself that after all the trouble that has been gone to, if no one is presented, there may be repercussions. I rather think Mr Howard will ensure that is so. Surely then, it would be better to take a chance on me than to risk that?”
Oh Constance!
In that moment, my heart broke for her.
Rosamund Chapter Twelve
I do not know how long I lay in that bed, whether it was for hours or days, but my mind refused to clear. Liquid that was both sweet and spicy had been delivered to my lips on several occasions. I had tried to fight it off, but to no avail. The hands that administered it – wizened hands – were stronger.
What medicine was this? Where was Constance? Crucially, what had happened to my necklace? Had she retrieved it when I had fallen? Was it once more safely ensconced somewhere, waiting to be found yet again?
And who was it that kept creeping into my room at night? For that was what they were doing – creeping, furtive in their actions, to stand over me. Was it Father? If so, he did not touch me; he came nowhere near. Only the person administering the medicine came close to me – was that Nell, the person who tended to Helena also?
Shadows – they also came creeping in. I would refuse to look at them, but they would find their way into my dreams regardless.
How that man troubled me, the one I had seen in Berkeley Square who had noticed me staring; whose eyes had grown wider, looking somehow lascivious. But he was not present in my dreams, nor were any of the other shadows I had seen whilst on the streets of London. They were, however, just as mysterious. They seemed to writhe in front of me, some of them reaching out as if they were begging for help, but others… Those others wanted no such thing. I have often mentioned that I could be beset by nightmares, but it was never more so than when I was at the townhouse. They were relentless, the medicine I was taking perhaps responsible for plunging me back down into subterranean depths again and again. But then I heard screaming and that pulled me upwards, all the way upwards.
There was such horror in it, such disbelief. What have you done? You monster!
Was that Constance shouting? No, the voice was different, yet I still recognised it.
“Be quiet, woman! I have told you, shut your mouth!”
Harsh words, but she obviously refused to obey.
“I knew that you would not stop at me; that you would destroy her too. For God’s sake, when is enough enough?”
“It is my work!”
“It is your greed!”
“I am warning you—”
“You had plenty. You took it all from me, but no more, do you hear? No more! I will be subdued no longer. Your soul is damned. You have played with fire and it has burnt you.” There was a sudden keening and that too was familiar to me. “My poor Constance! Oh, my darling girl! What have you done, Arthur? What have you done?”
Before Arthur could answer, there was a further shriek. “What is he doing here? No! No! I do not want him here! Get him out of my house, for he has darkened it further. He has led you as once you led me – all the way into Hell. You are weak, Arthur, you are so damned weak. Mark my words; the devil will destroy you just as you have destroyed your own family. What you toy with you do not understand, for that is what you do; you toy with it, thinking you know so much when you do not. It is referred to as the unknown for a good reason; we are not meant to know! At first, so much is promised, but never is it delivered. Evil is able to bide its time; it is a patient thing, but at the moment it chooses, it will pounce; it will destroy you and I shall be glad of it. You deserve an eternity of suffering for what you have done.”
Where was all this commotion coming from? In my bedroom or just outside it?
I will be subdued no longer.
Constance’s mother – for that was whom this voice belonged to – was clearly no longer that pitiful thing lying in bed, begging a complete stranger for yet more medication. She was on her feet, and she was screaming, yelling and demanding. For her to do that, something catastrophic must have occurred.
I had to emulate her, force myself from the stupor I was in; no longer exist amongst the shadows, but return to the living, who were just as frightening.
“Constance,” I was shocked at how weak I sounded. “Constance, are you there?” How I hoped she was; how I prayed. Having managed to sit upright, I swung my legs over the side of the bed. I pushed them further, unsure whether I could support my own weight. With my feet on the rug, I staggered forwards, my actions reminding me of something I had seen as a child in one of the fields close to Mears House – a foal, just born, rising to its feet, minutes old; legs splaying outwards, threatening to buckle, and trembling, but how determined that foal had been, gradually gaining momentum. I was just as determined. If anything had happened to Constance; if she was in danger… Constance is lost. What did that mean? What could it possibly mean?
“Control your wife.”
This was Father’s voice and immediately Arthur responded.
“Go back to bed, Helena! Do not lecture on what you know nothing about.”
The closer I drew to the source of their voices, the more I realised how tense the atmosphere was; as taut as copper wiring. They were not on the landing but in a room just opposite, and that door was open. Was it another bedroom? I was not sure, but I crept through the dimness, towards candlelight that flickered.
Three figures were in the room. As expected it was a bedroom but not Constance’s, or Helena’s; theirs’ were on the third floor. A guest bedroom perhaps, Father’s even? Continuing to peer through the door opening, I could see Arthur and Helena facing each other, both shaking but with very different emotions – Helena with anger, Arthur with a combination of that and fear. And there was Father, standing there, glaring at them.
“What happened—”
“What happened was an accident,” Arthur was emphatic. “Do you think I would have hurt her, deliberately hurt her? She was my daughter!”
Was?
“You are a monster,” Helena repeated, her voice giving way to sobs. “Oh, dear God, what is to become of us now?” Quickly she gathered herself. “You are a monster, Arthur, but one driven purely by greed. He, however…” She jabbed a finger at my father, “is driven entirely by something else. Insanity.”
To my increasing horror, Helena ran forward and threw herself at my father, her hands held before her, seemingly ready to claw him to pieces.
“Helena!” Arthur was screaming, but once more she refused to obey him. Constance had said she was not like her mother, but it seemed her mother was not as feeble as she had believed. This woman was attacking my father. My heart raced as I witnessed it; the blood rushing through my veins. Arthur had lunged forwards too but was seemingly finding it difficult to grab hold of his wife as her hands were flailing wildly.
“Helena, you must stop!” he continued. Besides desperation, there was worry in his voice; genuine worry, I was sure of it. But still she screamed as she scratched at my father who had to raise his hands to shield his face.
But then the scene changed abruptly. Father reached out and there was a snap, as loud as I imagined a gunshot to be. There followed a brief silence then a thud.
Helena Lawton’s body hit the ground, jerking like one of the creatures from my nightmares before becoming still, her head lying at an unnatural angle.
Hurriedly, I stepped back not wanting to bear witness to any more heinous acts, but then sensed movement at my side. Was it Nell, the butler or another servant, come to see what all the drama was about? I felt angry. What had taken them so long? If only they had come sooner. They may have been able to save her!
It was not them. It was Constance. Her beautiful raven hair was no longer smooth and shiny, secured neatly with ribbons, but ragged around her head, as if she had been pulling at it in a frenzied manner, trying to tear it from her scalp. Her mouth was wide open and her eyes… Was it blood surrounding them, as if she had been trying to tear them out too? It was a terrible sight, yet strangely I was relieved to see her.
“Constance!” I said, reaching for her; trying to pull her close, to comfort her. Had she seen what I had – her mother murdered, by none other than my father?
All I grasped was thin air as Constance faded clean away.
My subsequent screams rivalled any that Helena had been capable of.
* * *
“She is coming round; she is awake.”
Were the voices referring to me? Had I fainted again? That smell that assaulted me – sweet but sickly, the oddest perfume – what was it?
I opened my eyes but there was only darkness. If my head had hurt before, it hurt even more so now. What had happened to cause this? For a moment all was blank.
And then a light flickered, one candle followed by several others. I counted them as they were lit, including the one in front of me; there were thirteen in total.
I was in a room, and I was far from alone – there were men, so many of them. I continued counting, perhaps desperate to keep my mind occupied and try to make sense of what was happening; twelve men, plus me – thirteen again.
We were sitting around a table and I was upright, not by my own efforts; I was restrained it seemed by leather cuffs.
“All is well,” one of the men assured me. “We mean you no harm.”
“That is right,” another man said, again a stranger, “we only seek your help.”
“Rosamund, listen to my colleagues. And cooperate.”
My head swung towards the man who had last spoken. It was Father, and beside him was Arthur, who was sitting with his head bent and his hands clasped together.
Quickly, I tried to calculate where I was – as far as I could tell it was a wood panelled room with some artwork on the walls. There was also a sideboard and a rather ostentatious mantelpiece, two candelabras set at each end. A drawing room then, but at the townhouse or another address? “Where am I?” I was forced to ask.
“At a private residence,” another stranger answered.
“The Lawton house?”
“Not there,” the same man replied. “Please relax, we will explain what we can.”
I baulked at that. “What you can? What can you not explain?”
The man who was doing the majority of talking glanced at my father, there was an irritation in him, but it was mild compared to that which emanated from Father.
“Rosamund,” he hissed. “Quieten down.”
“Another like Constance,” someone else said, I did not catch who.
“Wilful,” another agreed.
“More Laudanum perhaps?”
Laudanum? What was that?
“No.” It was a young man with fair hair speaking this time; someone vaguely familiar. “Drugs should not be permitted. They…” briefly he faltered, “…skew the results. If we influence the subject with laudanum, then how can we expect our society to be taken seriously?”
A general murmur ensued, filled with the comments of those who agreed and disagreed. ‘Drugs are useful; they open the doors of the mind. It has been demonstrated’ and ‘yes, we must strive for accreditation not against it.’
“Please, gentlemen,” the young man seemed to have grown bolder, “no laudanum and no…” here he took a deep breath, “other devices either.” Before Father could respond, the young man’s eyes were back on me. There was a gentleness to him that was missing in every one of the others, and, dare I even think it – as he himself clearly contributed to the terrible circumstances in which I found myself – a kindness? He attempted a smile. “If Rosamund’s ability is genuine, as Mr Howard insists that it is, then surely there is no need.”
“It is genuine,” Father hissed again, and I found myself thankful that he was not standing close to this young man with a poker in his hand, for unlike me he would use it. My head reeling, my senses on fire, I begged for yet more information.
“Who are you? What do you want with me? What is this ability to which you refer? I do no understand. I do not!”
Another man spoke, one that was sitting directly opposite me at the round table, the wavering candlelight first revealing his face then concealing it by turn.
“We are the founder members of the Society of the Rose Cross, a magical organisation devoted to the study and practice of the occult, metaphysics and paranormal activity. We draw upon many influences not least Kabbalah, Astrology, Tarot, Geomancy and Alchemy. Sitting amongst us today, you will find doctors, gentlemen and scholars. There is great interest amongst our peers in the spiritual world, but sadly, many treat it without the deference it deserves. Séances, table tipping and mediumship are all considered parlour games. In contrast, our society treats the subject with the utmost respect. We seek to learn from it, and in learning, evolve. Making contact with the spiritual world is an area we focus on. Our aim is to prove its existence, something we believe you may be able to help us with.”
“Me?” I gasped, trying to make sense of all this man was saying. Some of the words he had used – Geomancy, Alchemy, and Tarot – he may as well have been speaking in a foreign tongue. “How could I possibly help you to prove that?”
“Because you can see.”
Again I baulked, struggling against my restraints.
What do you see?
All the times my father had said that to me during my lifetime; it went back years, to when I was but a small child. Running; I was always running away from him, always trying to escape. How I wanted to escape now; to flee from this room and its strange occupants. But I could not. All that it was in my power to do was answer the man as I have always answered Father. “All I see is what you can see too.”
My father jumped to his feet, a sudden action accompanied by the banging of his fist on the table, making me flinch and several others around him, I noticed.
“You can see, Rosamund! Your ability is genuine, the pictures, all those pictures…” He looked at the men instead of me. “You are right, laudanum can dull the senses, rather than e
nliven them, I accept that, but this other drug, this new drug, it is different; it prevents lying; the doctors amongst you can pay testament to that. And this child, oh how she will lie. She is adept at it; she is cunning; she will deny all that she is capable of, time and time again. Her mother was the same. If only I had had the drug then…” Anguish caused him to clench his fists. “I urge you all to agree that we use it on Rosamund, here, tonight, in this room. Laudanum has not yielded the results I wanted. It will be easy enough to send someone in a carriage to fetch it. Gentlemen, please, are you not tired of waiting? I know that I am.”
The man who had introduced the society to me stood too. “We will do no such thing! Stephen is right, if it is found that drugs have been used in our research, it will devalue everything we do. It will tarnish our reputation, perhaps irrevocably. Now sit, William, and allow me to continue.” When Father refused to do so, the man’s glare tightened. “You will sit, or you will take your leave.”
“If I do, that will break the chain,” Father retorted.
“So be it.”
There followed several moments of harsh silence with Father still standing and the man continuing to glare at him. I wanted Father to carry on with his rebellion; to break the chain, whatever the chain was, then perhaps I could go free too, but gradually he succumbed, lowering himself into the chair beside Arthur.
Satisfied, the man also sat before addressing me once more. “My name is Andrew Griffin; Arthur Lawton you have previously met and of course, there is your father. Allow me to introduce the other members of the society to you; there is David Woodbridge, Sir Samuel McPherson, Alan Mathers, Stephen Davis…” On and on the list went, all the way up to twelve.
“And you, Rosamund Howard, are our thirteenth guest; our most esteemed guest, a guest who has the power of sight, and who I am hoping will enable us to see too.”
Violently I shook my head. “Please. I only wish to go home.” To Mears House; to Josie – to run into her arms; to take refuge in the attic; to hold my mother’s picture against my breast; to imagine her arms around me too. I was the same as her apparently; did that mean Father thought she could see also?
Psychic Surveys Companion Novels Page 44
