Whispers Beyond the Veil

by Jessica Estevao

  “I assume Miss Proulx has declined your overtures of friendship?”

  “Of course she hasn’t. But the point is that you tried to influence her to do so.”

  “I consider it my duty to protect both you and Mother from people like Miss Proulx.”

  “Being a dutiful son or devoted brother isn’t a part you can pick up and put down when you feel like it, Warren. I seem to recall you had no interest in protecting us when you ran off to join the army.”

  “That’s not fair, Lucy.” Yancey felt the familiar tightening in his chest he always experienced when he remembered how eager he was to leave the scandal behind as soon as he was able. “I have apologized as best I could and have been trying to make it up to the both of you ever since.”

  “Well, you’re going about it all wrong. If we didn’t need you then, we certainly don’t need you now. Besides, you aren’t as much help as you think you are.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You work all hours, pick fights with your boss, cry out in your sleep, and then deny there’s anything wrong.” Lucy’s face softened, just a little. “You’ve come back a changed man and not in ways that benefit any of us.”

  “You have a romantic notion of what your big brother was, and the reality doesn’t match your imaginings. That’s all there is to it.”

  “No, Warren, it isn’t. You’ve changed and so have I.” Lucy uncrossed her arms and placed a hand on his arm. “I love you but I’ve learned the hard way that I don’t need you. And I certainly won’t allow you to act as if you have a right to waltz back into my life after an absence of eight years and tell me what to do.”

  “So there’s nothing I can do to convince you to stop Mother from consulting with Miss Proulx?”

  “Not only are you not going to stop us, you should know I plan to take Miss Proulx on as my own special project.” Lucy shook her head. “That girl at the hotel who reads objects has been absolutely caustic about Ruby’s appearance.”

  “Miss Proulx told you that?” Yancey was surprised. Miss Proulx seemed too proud to share such a thing.

  “Mrs. Doyle told me about it. The maids and servers have noticed. They all like Ruby and they’ve reported to Mrs. Doyle the jabs and snide comments they’ve overheard.”

  “Is that why you offered Mother’s services at making over her wardrobe?”

  “What else could I do? It would be criminal to allow such a pretty girl to feel she was unattractive. Besides, I know just how it feels to be whispered about by girls who think they’re superior. I couldn’t let that happen to a friend if I could possibly help it.”

  “I wish I’d never left you and Mother to get along on your own. I know it must have been difficult.”

  “You had your own grief to consider. When I was a small girl I used to envy the memories you had of Father when I had none. Now I think maybe I was better off being just a baby when he died.”

  “We both had our burdens to bear. I should have come home sooner.”

  “Mother and I are very glad to have you back. Even if you decided to become a policeman.”

  “You know I do this job to make sure only guilty parties are held responsible for crimes in this town.”

  Lucy squeezed Yancey’s arm. “I know you think Chief Hurley is responsible for what happened to Father but I don’t know how you think working with him will help you to prove it.”

  “It’s the only way I know of to get to the truth.”

  “I can think of a better one.”

  “Don’t say it.”

  “I will say it. You should ask Miss Proulx for help.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I sat on the porch until the dinner gong rang announcing the meal would commence in a half hour. With so little time, my preparations for dinner that evening were even more hurried than the night before. Millie had no time to assist me with my hair since the hotel had steadily filled with guests throughout the day.

  I made the best of things and managed to pin up my hair with several tortoiseshell combs I found in a drawer of the vanity table. Despite my best efforts, by the time I reached the dining room I felt tendrils straying from the combs and slipping down my back.

  Honoria moved from table to table, smiling at guests and faculty alike. I stood in the threshold, overlooking the chattering crowd. I noticed that someone had thought to seat at least one faculty member at each table to mingle with the guests. I wondered how such organization had been accomplished until I moved farther into the room and noticed little paper cards in ornate silver holders. Upon each was written a name.

  I picked my way through the room and discovered my own name at a place near the center. Seated at the same table, I was pleased to see Elva and Dovie Velmont. Between them was a stranger. As I approached, he scraped back his chair and rose.

  “Miss Proulx, I presume?” he asked, pointing at the place card.

  “I am. I know the Misses Velmont”—I nodded around the table at them—“but I’m afraid I am not acquainted with you, sir.”

  “Dennis Ayers, at your service,” he said. “The Misses Velmont have informed me you are the shining star amongst the practitioners here at the Belden.” He drew back my chair and waited while I sat.

  “While I am flattered that they would say so, all the practitioners here at the Hotel Belden are the best at what they do.” I smiled at the Misses Velmont. “That being said, every guest has the discipline he or she favors. I suspect these two kind ladies are more partial to communication with those who have passed on than any other area of study.”

  “You are too modest, Miss Proulx,” the plumper of the two sisters, Dovie, said.

  “Father always said false modesty is as great a sin as unmerited boasting.” Elva lifted her napkin from her plate and opened it with a quick snap of the wrist. Her agility surprised me and I thought I’d be lucky to be as vigorous at half her age.

  “I couldn’t agree with you more,” Mr. Ayers said. He looked at me with a frankness that was entirely different from that of most men. For starters, he confined his gaze to my face, a notable departure from the others. “False modesty is a form of pride, even of willful deceit.” Even though his voice was warm I felt a chill pass over me.

  “We can assure you, while Miss Proulx may be guilty of false modesty she is certainly not guilty of deceit. Not like some others we could mention. Isn’t that right?” Dovie pressed a plump hand against her fleshy bosom and looked to her sister for confirmation.

  “We agreed before we came not to discuss our disappointments,” Elva said, turning a stern eye on Dovie.

  “Surely you are amongst friends here, Miss Velmont,” Mr. Ayers said. “It sounds as though your experiences might serve as a lesson to others.”

  “Father always did admonish us to assist others,” Dovie said, looking at Elva for approval.

  “It’s a rare daughter who does not profit from following her father’s direction, wouldn’t you agree, Miss Proulx?”

  “Since you put it that way, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to discuss it,” Elva said. “Sadly, there are many, many persons who have endeavored to perpetuate fraud upon us.” The two sisters looked at each other and shook their heads in unison. “Especially when they realized we have the financial wherewithal to make frequent visits to their establishments.”

  “They think because we are spinsters we must know nothing of the world,” Dovie said. “You would not believe the nonsensical mutterings we have been subjected to in our quest to make contact with Father.”

  “The worst was the mumbo jumbo about being drawn to the light. Father was extremely fair and suffered from terrible headaches. He’d spend hours upon hours in a darkened room avoiding light as much as possible.”

  “It was clear from the start none of them had a genuine gift.”

  “There was a phrase Father told us he would
say through a medium by which we would know it was truly him speaking. Miss Proulx is the only one to have gotten it right. She has our complete faith.”

  “Is that so?” Mr. Ayers turned his attention on me once more and I detected a sparkle in his eye that made me uncomfortable. There was an undercurrent to his conversation that I was unable to comprehend. Mr. Ayers seemed to be sizing me up like he was inspecting a tool in a box for its suitability for a task. As if he were hefting a hammer with a thought as to whether it was the best one for driving a nail. I would be relieved when dinner was finished and I could find an excuse to be rid of him.

  “Certainly, it is so,” Dovie said. “We were so pleased with our sitting this afternoon we have already set another for tomorrow morning.”

  “I congratulate you, Miss Proulx, on receiving such a ringing endorsement,” Mr. Ayers said.

  “I’m pleased the Misses Velmont are so satisfied with my help but I cannot take the credit for it. The spirits do all the work.”

  “Don’t be so modest. I have every confidence that you are far more deserving of the credit for how effective a sitting is than you admit, Miss Proulx.” He smiled again and I thought of the wolf in an illustrated storybook I had treasured as a child. All I needed were a basket and a cape to be sure he was going to swallow me in an enormous gulp.

  “She’s a treasure, Mr. Ayers. An absolute treasure,” Dovie said.

  “I can hardly wait to test out her abilities for myself,” Mr. Ayers said. And then, while the Misses Velmont were turned toward serving staff bustling in with heavy trays covered with silver dishes, Mr. Ayers winked at me. It was the exact same sort of wink Father used to give me behind the backs of the bumpkins he was about to separate from their money. The only thing to do was to change the topic.

  “Do you have a favorite spiritual discipline, Mr. Ayers?” I asked.

  “I’m sure with your talents you must know it already,” he said.

  “I am a medium, Mr. Ayers, not a psychic,” I said. “But if I had to guess I would venture to say you read tea leaves.” I gave the Misses Velmont a wink of my own.

  “What a charming notion. But my interests lie elsewhere.” Mr. Ayers nodded to the waiter circling the table with a fragrant tureen of soup. The scent wafting from the serving dish momentarily distracted me and I almost missed his next comment. “My passion is art.”

  “You’re an artist?” Dovie said.

  “I flatter myself that I am.”

  “What brings you to the Hotel Belden?” I asked.

  “I have an interest in spirit art. I wish to develop my ability to channel spirit into visual messages shown through my drawings.”

  “Fascinating,” Dovie said. “Do you render landscapes or portraits when you commune with spirit?”

  “I specialize in portraits. I pride myself, however immoderate it may seem, that I never forget a face.”

  “Never?” said Elva.

  “Once I’ve seen it, no, I never do.” I felt the weight of Mr. Ayers’s gaze on my face. “Even if I haven’t seen the face in life but rather just in a picture. On a handbill, a flyer, or even on a product label.” I flushed despite my best efforts to remain calm. Something in his look made me feel afraid beyond all reason. His words meant more than they seemed on the surface, that much was certain.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  After dinner Honoria invited the guests and Mrs. Doyle to attend a concert at the Methodist Campground a few blocks away. I complained of fatigue from my readings in order to remain at the hotel but really I just wanted to spend some more time exploring the Belden’s extensive library.

  To my eye, the room was the most beautiful in all the hotel. Carved oak bookshelves lined three walls while the fourth was made entirely of French doors leading to the veranda. Honoria had furnished it with two deep wingback chairs and a table nestled between them. I ran my fingers over an eye-level shelf, taking pleasure in the books’ crackled leather spines and embossed letters.

  One thing I could say for my father was that he was a believer in the value of education, even for girls. It was self-serving of him, of course. He felt an educated daughter made him look all the wiser. We never stayed in one place long enough for me to attend school but he always made sure I had books to read. Father had steered me toward the classics and I understood their value, but left to my own devices I preferred more sensational stories.

  Fortunately, someone else must have, too, because tucked onto a low shelf opposite the veranda were a slew of my favorite authors. I pulled out a slim volume by Laura Jean Libbey and settled into a chair for a gorge. I was pulled from my increasing interest in the plight of a naive but spirited mill girl by the sound of fierce whispering accompanying the footfalls heading along the veranda. I sank down lower in my chair, hoping if I avoided the newcomers I wouldn’t have to put aside my book.

  “Mr. Stickney, I’m begging you not to say anything to my husband.” I recognized Cecelia MacPherson’s voice.

  “I told you when last we met that if I ever found you practicing any form of chicanery again I would expose you,” Leander Stickney said. “Your husband has a right to know what sort of woman he married.”

  “I’m a legitimate astrologer.”

  “It would weigh on my conscience not to at least have a word with your employer. It doesn’t do her credit to have a debunked practitioner on her staff.”

  “I assure you there’s nothing deceitful in my practice. How can I convince you to keep silent?”

  “There is one thing I can think of.” Silk rustled and swished and the porch swing creaked as weight settled quickly against it.

  “Get off of me, Leander. Your advances are still unwelcome.”

  “You haven’t changed a bit since I knew you in Boston.”

  “Neither have you. You were as uncouth and unreasonable then as you are now.”

  “My terms are the same as well. You give me what I want and I’ll keep what I know to myself. Your husband and your employer need never know about your past.” I held my breath as Leander gave a final word. “I suggest you decide very soon.” I heard hard soles clatter away along the decking and then muffled sobs.

  “Bastard,” she whispered. Then she blew her nose and crept away.

  • • •

  Try as I might I couldn’t fall asleep. I tossed in the high bed in my mother’s room and thought about Mr. Ayers, Mr. Stickney, and Cecelia. I wondered if I should tell Honoria myself what I had heard. But that felt like the pot calling the kettle black, so instead I lay fretting. I had managed to forget my book in the library when I came up to bed.

  I found a silk wrapper in the wardrobe and plucked the candle from the bed stand. As I slipped down the hallway past the darkened guest rooms, contented snores floated out from Honoria’s room at the far end. I stifled a chuckle as I thought how she would react to hear she slept as noisily as a roustabout after a night spent swilling hooch.

  I fetched my book from the library and entered the kitchen for a glass of milk to send me to sleep if reading didn’t help. My flickering candle threw shadows along the cupboards and crockery. An uncut cake covered in icing and shaved coconut whistled at me from beneath a glass dome. I congratulated myself for ignoring it as Mrs. Doyle would surely notice if I helped myself to a piece. As I turned to the icebox for the milk I heard a rustling noise in the pantry.

  My first thought was mice, but the sound was too loud. I told myself there couldn’t be weasels or foxes inside the hotel and looked around for a weapon. Mrs. Doyle was lamentably tidy. Nowhere in reach could I see a broomstick or a rolling pin. I froze in place as shuffling footsteps approached.

  My mouth dropped open in surprise as Dovie appeared before me in her nightdress. A loose gray braid draped across her shoulder and her hands were covered in white powder.

  “Dovie?” I spoke to her in a low voice but she gave no indicatio
n she had heard me. She walked right past me and smack-dab into the worktable Mrs. Doyle used for breads and pies. I spoke to Dovie again, noticing she wasn’t wearing her spectacles. Before I could call to her once more a light bobbed through the door and for a moment I thought I was seeing double.

  “Elva, I think Dovie’s sleepwalking,” I said.

  “I hope she didn’t frighten you, Ruby.”

  “I was just glad she was a dove instead of a rodent.”

  “What are we going to do with you?” Elva took her sister gently by the arm. “And what have you gotten into now?” She dabbed at Dovie’s hands with a handkerchief she pulled from her sleeve.

  “I think it’s flour.” I nodded to the pantry. “Has she done this before?”

  “Oh yes. Every time we try to contact Father she has an episode.”

  “I hope I didn’t upset you.”

  “We are overjoyed that you contacted him.” Elva started to lead Dovie away. “Happiness is as likely to agitate her as grief.”

  “It’s a wonder she didn’t break her neck on the stairs.” Now their desire for a first-floor room when they arrived made sense. “Shall I help you get her back to bed?”

  “No, dear, I’ve had quite a lot of practice.” She pointed at the pantry. “But it would be helpful if you would repair any damage she’s done to Mrs. Doyle’s pristine domain.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  I slept poorly even with all the comforts of the bed. I awakened early and, seeking breakfast, I found myself most unfortunately alone in the company of Mr. Everett MacPherson, Cecelia’s husband and a man from whom secrets were being kept.

  I helped myself to a boiled egg and a broiled biscuit from the sideboard and, faced with no way to politely avoid him, sat at the table with Mr. MacPherson.

  “Good morning, young lady. It’s nice to find that someone besides myself is an early riser.”