“How did anyone know any of this?”
“Gladys was not a discreet girl and the room in which she entertained Mr. Yancey was one she shared with another girl.”
“That still doesn’t explain why he would be accused of the crime.”
“Gladys had no intention of settling down to be a dutiful wife to a stodgy older man. At least the girl had some sense about that.” Honoria shook her head. “When he begged her to run off with him she refused. He became angry and began to shout about how much he had sacrificed to give her a life any woman in her position could only dream of.”
“And someone overheard him?” I asked.
“Many people overheard him. Especially when Gladys laughed in his face and threatened to tell his employer what he had done if he bothered her again.”
“How long before the murder did this take place?”
“She was discovered dead the morning after the argument.”
“Did Mr. Yancey not have an alibi for the time of her death?”
“He did not. He claimed he had tried to drown his sorrows in a bottle and had succeeded in passing out on the beach sometime in the wee hours.”
“No one could say otherwise?”
“He was found on the beach still in a state of inebriation, sand clinging to his trousers. No one could say how long he had been there.”
“Was he convicted of the crime?”
“He died in jail awaiting trial. The court of public opinion found him guilty and has passed the sentence of murderer’s children on both Warren and Lucinda. It has been very cruel.”
“Lucinda seems not to have let it break her,” I said.
“Lucinda is a very sensible girl in her own way.” Honoria pushed back her chair and stood. “I hope the two of you will be great friends. She’s come to an age where I’m afraid she will need one.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because she has always done just as she pleased, and between her unorthodox notions of the role of women and her family’s unfortunate reputation she will likely be forced to compromise her principles.” Honoria paused in front of the fireplace and peered into the gilded mirror hung on the wall above it. “Or learn to live on her own as I have done.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I awoke to the sound of waves lapping against the shore and a sense of unease. All night long I had tossed and turned, worrying about my first official day as the Belden’s medium. According to the small clock on the bed stand I had overslept. As I hurried into a sprigged muslin gown I decided to fasten my mother’s ruby necklace around my neck for luck.
I skipped breakfast and instead collected my deck of tarot cards and carried them with me to the séance room. With the Velmont sisters’ habit of tardiness I was certain I would have time for a reading for myself before the pair of them arrived. Not that I necessarily believed the cards held any power to predict things but I did find using them helped me to clarify my own thoughts. And I was desperately in need of peacefulness. I hadn’t the time to sit and shuffle the cards, let alone conduct a reading, when Elva’s and Dovie’s voices penetrated the portiere and the two ladies themselves appeared in the room.
“We’re here,” announced Elva.
“Right on time,” said Dovie.
“It’s a miracle,” said Elva.
“I think there is something quite transformative about this hotel,” said Dovie.
“That’s what Mr. MacPherson was just telling us at breakfast. Something to do with energetic crisscrossing that all pulls together in this very spot,” Elva said.
“I’m delighted to see you both no matter what the time. But you’ve caught me a bit unprepared,” I said. “If you will bear with me I’ll just put away the cards and darken the room.”
“Ohhh,” said Dovie. “Intriguing. Do you read cards as well as conduct séances?”
“I do,” I said. Then the voice spoke to me.
“Use the cards.”
Every performer needs a hook, something to set their show apart from the others, to give the audience a little something unexpected. Tarot has always been a comfort to me in times of trouble. Why not rely on them now?
“Sometimes I even use the cards as a way for the spirits to communicate,” I said.
“We’ve never had a tarot reading or heard of them being used in a sitting, have we, sister?” said Dovie.
“How does it work?” asked Elva. She was the greater skeptic between the two of them. It was Elva I would need to convince if I were to gain their confidence and help the hotel. A practical approach would be the way to win her over.
“Spirits communicate in many ways. Sounds, actual words, images. The pictures on the cards allow the spirits to show images to the sitters as well as the medium. It can be very effective and efficient.” I hoped I sounded more confident than I felt.
“Will it work for our sitting?” said Dovie. “It looks like fun.”
“We certainly can try,” I said. “I’ll leave the curtains open in order for you to better see the cards, all right?” The ladies’ thick spectacles suggested they needed any help available to see things in front of them at all. They nodded and we all sat around the small round table in the center of the room. I slid the stack of cards across the midnight blue damask tablecloth to Elva.
“Would you please shuffle the cards and then separate the deck into three stacks?” I asked.
“I am not accustomed to playing cards, Miss Proulx.” Elva looked scandalized, as though I were accusing her of being a scarlet woman.
“I meant no offense. I asked you not because I assumed expertise in card handling but because it is important that the sitter has contact with the cards, that they are the ones to determine the cards selected.”
“I see. In that case, I will do my best.” Elva lifted the stack with her knobby fingers and dropped them easily from one hand to the other. Despite her claim of inexperience, she worked the cards as well as anyone I had ever seen. I wondered which other vices she might not want to admit to. “You’re a natural, Miss Velmont,” I said as she finished and split the deck neatly. “Now, I’d like you both to think of the person you wish to contact. Have you agreed ahead of time who this would be?”
“We have,” the sisters said in unison.
“You needn’t say who it is but I can tell you I already sense a strong male energy even before I turn over the cards.” It would have been impossible to miss the reverence with which the sisters had mentioned their dearly departed father again and again since their arrival the day before.
“Remarkable,” Dovie said, turning a wide-eyed glance at Elva.
“Indeed,” Elva said with a great deal more reservation in her tone.
“Please concentrate on the image of this loved one as I turn over the first card. This card will signify the spirit that visits.” I held my hand above the card to my right and closed my eyes. “Spirits, please grace us with your presence and deliver to us your messages of love.” I opened my eyes and slowly turned over the card.
“The Emperor,” I said, relieved that the voice had once again steered me along the correct path. Who better than the Emperor to stand in for a beloved father?
“That’s Father, to be sure,” Dovie said.
“This is a man of power and of influence. He is a respected leader and ruler of his people.”
“Does he have anything to say to us?” Elva asked. I sensed that despite her skepticism, she had a strong desire to connect with the beyond. I feel a stab of guilt at what I was doing, but once again I heard the voice.
“Trust you do right.”
“The next card will begin the message,” I said. “The Nine of Cups, a card of wishes.”
“Oh, sister.” Dovie grabbed Elva by the arm and squeezed. Elva flinched and let out a faint squeak.
“And the next one?” Elva asked, t
apping the third card with a gnarled finger.
“Five of Pentacles. These two elderly people show destitution and suffering. One would be right to call them beggars.” My heart sank at saying this to the old ladies, finding myself fretting that they might be the ones headed for financial ruin. The Velmont sisters, however, both leaned over the card as if they could not believe their good fortune.
“What about the last one?” Dovie asked. Elva appeared to be holding her breath. Her lips were clenched and folded in on themselves as if she were trying not to let her insides escape her body.
I turned the final card and looked at the image. I waited for the voice, which had become so much stronger with each passing card. Perhaps there was something to Mr. MacPherson’s assertions about the hotel. The Knight of Wands sat on his horse, brandishing a stick. I started to speak but the voice interrupted me and advised me as to the proper words.
“Generally this card signifies travel but in your case the word ride is being said to me instead. Does this mean anything to you?”
Elva and Dovie turned to face each other. Elva sat stiffly but a single tear rolled down her wrinkled cheek. Dovie pulled a fan from her lap and flipped it open, ruffling the cards with the vigor of her motion.
“The reading seems to have distressed you both. Would you like to stop?”
“Certainly not,” Elva said. She pulled a handkerchief from somewhere in the folds of her costume and delicately blew her nose. “We are simply overcome.”
“It’s the message, you see,” Dovie said. “Our father used to always say this to us when we were girls.” Suddenly, even without a direct prompting from the voice, I knew what to say.
“If wishes were horses then beggars would ride,” I said.
“Exactly. We have been searching and searching for a medium to bring us this exact message,” Elva said. Dovie patted her sister on the back of her wrinkled hand and I felt the familiar pang of the outsider. I wondered if the sisters knew how lucky they were to have each other.
“Perhaps I was able to bring the message through because my own father used to say just the same to me,” I said, feeling a little spooked. After all that had happened between us I was not pleased to consider he might still be influencing me.
“I just knew spending the season at this hotel was the right decision. Didn’t I say that, Elva?” Dovie said.
“You did, sister, you most certainly did,” Elva said. I breathed a sigh of relief and settled back into my chair. My first real séance had been an unqualified success. I was off the hook, at least for the moment.
“Ladies, I feel the spirit has left us.”
“You must be exhausted. We will leave you for now.” Dovie rose from her chair and touched my cheek.
“But we will stop at the reception desk and mark down another sitting for tomorrow.”
“I think we should make it two. After all, it has taken us so long to be sure we are hearing from Father. He must have a great deal to say to us.”
“Excellent suggestion, sister.” Elva rose and took Dovie by the arm. “We will book two sessions a day for the remainder of the summer.”
As I watched them go I wondered if it was possible to have been too successful. Unless I could garner new information about the dearly departed Mr. Velmont, I was going to need to rely exclusively on pluck and luck. Or on the voice in my head. As I sat slumped in the plush velvet chair mulling things over I couldn’t decide which was more risky.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
That girl was trouble. He should’ve spotted it from the moment he scooped her off the bricks in front of the train station. Even though he generally loathed gossip, this time he was grateful for the local grapevine. How could Honoria have allowed such a thing?
If Frank hadn’t heard about the supposed séance from his mother-in-law, Mrs. Doyle, Yancey was sure his mother and Lucy would have kept it to themselves. Miss Proulx needed to be stopped before she did any more damage to his frail family.
• • •
Yancey raced past flocks of sightseers in their summer gowns and straw boaters. He felt his pants’ garter give way and then his trouser leg tug into the safety bicycle chain. The whole machine ground to a halt with a clank and a tear in his trousers.
He dismounted, more irritated than ever. As he tugged at the shredded bits of fabric entangled in the oily chain he imagined Miss Proulx’s parasol similarly shredded. There was just something about that girl that was entirely maddening. By the time he arrived at the Belden he was ready to spit nails.
Ben stood like a sentinel behind the registration desk. Yancey nodded at the man and marveled again at how he looked the same every time he laid eyes on him. Ben never looked tired, never took sick, never seemed to grow older, fatter, or less silent. Yancey couldn’t remember a time when Ben didn’t work in some capacity for the Belden family.
“I need to speak to Miss Proulx. Is she in?” Yancey asked. Ben reached under the desk and pulled out an oversize leather ledger. He opened it and turned it round on the countertop to face Yancey. He tapped a long, pale finger on a line with Ruby Proulx’s name on it. She was busy with a client, perpetuating the same sort of fraud on another pair of ladies that she had on his mother and sister. Yancey felt his temper, usually held so firmly in check, bubble to the surface.
“Do you expect Miss Proulx to have finished with her victims before long?” he asked. Ben tapped on another line in the timetable. Ben silently shrugged. “Unfortunately, I don’t have time to waste. I assume they are in the Blue Room?” Yancey barely waited for a nod from Ben before striding down the hall, the hard heels of his boots muffled by the plush carpet running the full length of the polished corridor.
Whatever qualms Yancey might have had about interrupting Miss Proulx during the course of her work were quashed as he approached the midnight blue portiere at the end of the hallway. Two almost identical elderly ladies pushed their way out through the folds in the curtains and looked up at him. Preying on the elderly was a thing Yancey simply could not stomach. The stories he heard at the police station of women such as these being targeted by pickpockets made his blood boil. Just because Miss Proulx was robbing them in an elegant parlor did not make what she was doing any less criminal.
“Good afternoon, ladies.” Yancey drew off his hat, made a slight bow. “May I ask if Miss Proulx is in there?”
“Yes, she is.” The tiny women spoke in unison.
“Still recovering,” the slightly plumper of the two hurriedly said, as if trying to beat the other to deliver the message.
“Our father, you see,” said the thinner one.
“A strong personality,” they both said, again in unison.
“He can be quite tiring,” said the thin one. “You may need to allow her to collect herself before she’s ready for your session.” The two ladies moved down the hall before he could correct their impression that he was a client. More irritated than ever he pushed through the heavy velvet draperies.
Miss Proulx stood with her back to him at the window facing the sea. Her hand smoothed the drape and light washed over her thin form. She looked like she’d benefit from a year’s worth of his mother’s rich dinners. She gnawed on her lower lip like she hadn’t had a decent meal in months. Perhaps, from the look of her, she hadn’t. The candle on the table sputtered and drew her attention. As she turned toward the noise she caught sight of him in the shadows.
“Miss Proulx, I require a word with you,” he said. “I am here on behalf of my mother and sister.”
“Did you wish to schedule another séance for them?” Ruby drew back the curtain and fastened it with a dark blue cord. “If so, there’s no need as they’ve already booked another one themselves.”
“I know that they have. That’s the reason I’m here. I must insist that you never conduct a séance with either of them again. In fact, I forbid it.”
�
�You forbid two grown women, neither of whom are your wife, to make an appointment with me?”
“I do. And I expect you to honor my wishes completely.”
“I have no intention of doing so.” Ruby stepped toward him, leaving the table with its flickering candle between them. “At least not so long as they wish to take advantage of my services.”
“The only one taking advantage here is you, Miss Proulx,” Yancey said, dropping his voice to almost a whisper. “If you do not leave well enough alone I will be forced to take action.”
“What do you intend to do?” Ruby smiled as if the entire exchange amused her enormously. He was surprised at how attractive he found her smiling face even when she exasperated him.
“I shall mount a fraud investigation, forthwith.” Attractive or not, she could not be allowed to toy with his mother’s emotions. “My mother has spent countless hours and even more money on charlatans such as yourself. I will not have you playing havoc with her nerves.”
“Your mother is my aunt’s dearest friend. Are you telling me you would try to discredit Honoria’s livelihood?” Ruby widened her eyes in amazement. “I should think concern for her friend would shatter your mother’s nerves as no contact with the dead ever could.”
“There is no contact with the dead to be made. You are simply giving her another reason not to put my family’s sordid past behind us.”
“I do not agree. Your mother found a great deal of comfort in what I had to offer. I don’t see how you can desire to deny her that small joy.”
“That joy comes at a very high price, Miss Proulx. I cannot believe Honoria would allow her friends to be taken in by someone exploiting common gossip. It’s utterly disgraceful.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, while I am impressed by the speed with which you researched your victims, I’m not inclined to credit you with proper morals for having done so. So tell me, how did you come to know so much about the circumstances surrounding Gladys Willard’s death? Old newspaper clippings or just idle chatter with the maids in the hotel?”
Whispers Beyond the Veil Page 11
