Mesmerist

by Pam McCutcheon

  His eyebrows rose, and Gina remembered Rupert had described the gardens as a popular “trysting place” for couples. Darn—she’d put her foot in it again. She added quickly, “It’s cooler there by the fountains, and I need to walk Scruffy.”

  As the women drew nearer, Drake nodded. “Twenty minutes, then,” he said and hurried off.

  Gina stopped at her room to change into her uniform. It might be ugly, but it was a great deal cooler than the horribly confining dress Esme had lent her. It was kind of fun playing dress-up, but in the sweltering heat of August in Virginia, it wasn’t very comfortable . . . and air conditioning wouldn’t be invented for many years to come.

  Scruffy was eager to go out, so she led him out the side door and hurried to the gardens. As Drake greeted the ecstatic dog, Gina became conscious that they were visible from the hotel so she urged him down one of the paths concealed by the enclosing shrubbery.

  They walked in silence for a moment, and Gina sighed in appreciation. In daylight, the formal gardens appeared rigidly controlled in perfectly manicured splendor, but at night, they held an entirely different appearance. Fairy-like fireflies darted about, lending a magical air, and the darkness made her other senses more acute, enhancing the gentle sounds of burbling water in the fountain and the lush, heady fragrance of evening-blooming primroses, honeysuckle, and wild roses. No wonder this was The Chesterfield’s version of lover’s lane—it was very seductive.

  Their wandering brought them to a stone bench in a secluded bower. Silently, Drake gestured toward it, inviting Gina to seat herself.

  She did so, grateful for the coolness of the stone and the light breeze that whispered through the surrounding foliage. Scruffy jumped up beside her and Drake sat on the other side of the dog to scratch his ears and stare off into the night, his odd white streak gleaming in the moonlight.

  Not wanting to break the enchantment, Gina waited until Drake was ready to speak. Finally, with a sigh, he asked softly, “Where did I go wrong?”

  In the darkness, Gina searched for a kind way to tell him his talk had been incredibly dull. “I don’t think the audience found your lecture interesting.” He slanted her a glance full of self-mockery. “You mean they found me boring. I know that, but what I don’t understand is why.”

  He seemed genuinely confused, so Gina decided to enlighten him. “It was the wrong slant for that audience. You spoke to them as if they were all scholars, as if they were interested in learning for its own sake.”

  He frowned. “Isn’t everyone?”

  She almost laughed at his naïveté. “No—most people want to be entertained. They came looking for amusement and got a history lesson instead. No wonder they were bored.”

  “Not everyone,” Drake protested, sounding defensive.

  “No, but the doctor is a scholar himself, and . . .” She paused. There was no way to put this delicately. “And, uh, I believe some of your female admirers have an ulterior motive in saying they enjoyed your lecture.”

  Though the shadows of the shrubbery obscured most of Drake’s face, she saw his lips twist in a rueful smile. “Perhaps you’re right. At least your motives are clear—you’ve made no secret of the fact that you want me gone.”

  Gina shrugged. She couldn’t deny it, especially now that the man who had sat next to her at the lecture had given her another option to get Drake to leave. Lester Suggs was a booking agent for the lecture circuit. If she could just help Drake find a way to wow his audience, Mr. Suggs might schedule him for a long tour around the country. Anything to get Drake out of The Chesterfield and away from the doom that awaited him.

  Unfortunately, Drake wouldn’t take any suggestions from her unless she could understand why he cared so much about mesmerism. How could she get him to confide in her? Hmm, she’d always been a good listener. Maybe if she encouraged him to talk . . .

  Deliberately changing the subject, she asked, “Why are these lectures so important to you?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I can help you improve them, but only if I know your objective—what you want to accomplish.”

  Incredulity colored his voice as he asked, “You think you can help me?”

  Stung, Gina said, “Well, you weren’t doing so well on your own, were you?”

  “Very true.”

  “Then maybe I can help.”

  “Perhaps,” Drake admitted, though doubt still tinged his voice. “But I hope it doesn’t involve dressing up like a ghost to terrorize innocent guests.”

  I guess I deserve that. “Of course not. I promise—no stunts. But I have experience in entertaining an audience and I can help you . . . if you’ll tell me what you’re trying to accomplish.”

  Drake was silent for a moment, but the darkness or her soft, matter-of-fact tone must have lulled him into confiding in her. In a low voice, he said, “I—I want to help people.”

  Surprised, Gina asked, “Why?”

  Again, silence filled the night until Drake said, “There was someone . . . two years ago. I was unable to help her, and she died.”

  A stab of jealousy pierced Gina, but she quickly suppressed it. She had no business being jealous. In fact, her only business was to get him to leave the resort so she could go home.

  Though she wanted to know more about this woman who had died and meant so much to Drake, this wasn’t the moment to probe. At least, not for that information. “So tell me, what kind of help do you want to provide? What do you want in an ideal patient?”

  He didn’t need to pause this time. “The ideal subject would be someone whose illness is mental in origin, perhaps someone who has tried physical or other traditional means of treatment and failed.”

  So this mesmerism really was the precursor to modern psychiatrists and psychotherapy. Well, Gina had spent some time in therapy, trying to come to terms with her father’s death and her mother’s coldness. She knew all the buzz words and was familiar with pop psychology, which was far more than anyone in this time knew. Heck, that made her an expert.

  The only question was, what type of person did he want to appeal to? “Will anyone do? Or would you prefer to have someone influential as your first . . . subject?”

  He frowned, considering. “Mesmerism isn’t just for the rich and powerful—it should be available to every person, depending on need.”

  When he hesitated, she added, “But . . . ?”

  “But in order to spread the word about the benefits of this treatment, I need to start with people like the guests here at the resort. That’s why I came here.”

  Okay, that made sense. “Then the first thing you need to understand is that these people are bored. To get their attention, you need to put on a dog and pony show.”

  He glanced down at Scruffy. “A . . . pony show? I don’t understand.”

  “I mean that to intrigue them, you have to catch their interest. And the best way to do that is to be entertaining.”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry, but that goes against everything I believe in. Sensationalists such as Dane Carl Hansen have given mesmerism a bad name, reducing it to silly parlor tricks.”

  Ah, so he was familiar with the concept. Good, that would make her job easier. “But did he then use this ability to help people?”

  “No,” he admitted.

  “Well, there’s the difference between you,” she said in triumph. “You can borrow his methods, but turn them to your gain. To other people’s gain.”

  “It doesn’t seem right, somehow.”

  “Nonsense—you aren’t going to make people interested in mesmerism by lecturing them with dull history. You need to jazz it up a bit.”

  He eyed her skeptically. “And you are good at this . . . jazz?”

  “I’m very good, if I do say so myself.” Learning to be a handler and putting on a good performance for the dog show judges had taught her that. “I know how to impress a crowd.”

  When he didn’t say anything, she added, “Isn’t it worth a little sensation
alism to achieve your objective, to find the kind of people you want to help?”

  “I don’t know . . . what do you have in mind?”

  “I’m not sure yet, but I’ll figure something out. Do we have a deal?”

  “Perhaps. You do seem to have a flair for the dramatic, but . . . why are you willing to help me with this?”

  Honesty seemed best in this situation, and he was already aware of her primary objective. “Frankly, I hope this will help you leave The Chesterfield earlier.” If she could make his next lecture interesting enough, she was sure she could convince that nice Mr. Suggs to book Drake in a series of lectures across the country . . . far from The Chesterfield and the fiery fate that awaited him here.

  He pondered for a moment longer. “Very well, I agree. On one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You must tell me why you are so determined to have me leave.”

  Playing for time to come up with a suitable story, she said, “Okay, but not until after your next lecture.” That would give her a month to come up with something he’d believe.

  “All right.” He grasped her chin and gazed at her with those dark, sexy eyes of his, saying softly, “But none of your tricks, now. If I am to change everything I believe in, you must promise you will do me the courtesy of telling the truth.”

  Gina gulped. He was difficult to resist when he turned the full force of his personality on her. And it was even harder to lie when he so obviously believed in her honesty.

  “All right,” she said, and meant it. “But I warn you, you’re not gonna believe it. . . .”

  Chapter 6

  Drake had two hopes on the day following his first lecture. First, that he would have several clients waiting for him in Dr. Ziegler’s office despite the failure of his presentation. And second, that Gina would forget he had ever promised to listen to her wild ideas.

  His first hope was doomed to failure. The only “clients” who had come to visit him were the Biddles and the Harringtons. It was apparent they had paid close attention the night before, for they claimed several nervous conditions from the list he had cited. But, as he suspected, their so-called symptoms didn’t match the ailments they claimed.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Harrington,” he told the disappointed Chloe and her mother, “but I don’t think I can help you.”

  He escorted them to the door, ignoring their downcast expressions. If he thought Chloe was really in need of his help, he would be more than happy to treat her. But he didn’t want to waste his time or theirs on fruitless therapy.

  Though he had dismissed the Biddles and their spurious claims earlier, Mrs. Biddle still hovered around the office. Waiting, no doubt, to ensure Chloe didn’t steal a march on Letty.

  Thin Mrs. Biddle and short, plump Mrs. Harrington eyed each other like two prime fighting cocks, ruffling their feathers and circling each other, looking for an opening.

  But Drake had never been fond of cockfights and this was one bout he didn’t plan to attend. Saying, “Good day, ladies,” Drake attempted to shut the door.

  Birdie Biddle was too fast for him. Interposing herself in the doorway, she said, “Are you quite sure you can’t help my Letty?”

  “Quite,” he said firmly in a discouraging tone. “Letty and Chloe are both healthy young women who have no need of a mesmerist.”

  Thus assured that her rival had gotten no further than she had, Mrs. Biddle couldn’t resist sending Mrs. Harrington a satisfied glance.

  Unfortunately, she didn’t move from the door. Drake wondered if he would have to remove her bodily until salvation in the form of Gina appeared. Seizing on her appearance as an excuse, Drake checked his pocket watch and said, “Ah, Miss Charles, excellent. I still have some time left. Won’t you come in?”

  Gina grinned at him and played along. Sweeping past one matchmaking mother, she paused at Mrs. Biddle’s form in the doorway, saying, “Excuse me.”

  Mrs. Biddle looked her up and down with suspicion in her eyes, and Drake realized Gina was once more attired in the bright blue dress.

  “I thought your services were intended for the hotel guests,” Mrs. Biddle said to Drake with a disapproving glare at Gina.

  Drake despised snobbery of any kind—he had seen far too much of it in his so-called peers growing up, and it belittled none but the snob. Reprovingly, he said, “My services are available to anyone in need, regardless of social level.”

  Mrs. Harrington seized the moment to gush. “Why, of course they are. And sweet little Gina is quite the odd one, isn’t she? I’m sure you can help the dear girl.” She cast a triumphant glance at her rival, though she didn’t realize the danger came from an entirely different direction.

  Game as any cock he’d ever seen, Gina thrust her chin out pugnaciously and clenched her fists, apparently ready to enter the bout as an unscheduled contestant. Drake intervened quickly. “I would be happy to help you, Miss Charles. If you would please wait for me inside?”

  Gina shrugged and Mrs. Biddle had no choice but to move aside. Drake followed Gina into Dr. Ziegler’s office, shutting the door behind him.

  “So I’m your patient again, huh?” Gina asked.

  Drake smiled ruefully. “I’m sorry for that. You see . . .” He paused, wondering how to phrase his difficulty.

  Gina grinned. “Never mind—I can see your dilemma. In fact, I’m the one who warned you about them to begin with, remember?”

  He sighed in relief. “So you did.” But he feared his relief was short-lived. Apparently, she had come to dash the second of his hopes—that she would have forgotten their agreement. “How may I help you?”

  Her smile widened. “You’ve got it backward. I’m the one who’s going to help you. And I have your first lesson all ready.”

  Ah, just as he’d feared. . . . “What lesson?”

  She brandished a pair of colorful tickets. “Mr. Suggs was kind enough to give me a couple of free passes. We’re going to the circus!”

  As if being in her presence isn’t circus enough for anyone. He frowned. “Is that really necessary?”

  “Absolutely. You’ve been stuck in Dullsville for so long, you don’t know how to have fun.”

  Dullsville? “I’m from Boston.”

  “Ugh. Even worse.” She planted her hands on her hips. “Come on, now, you promised to let me help.”

  “How will going to the circus help?”

  “It’s best to see for yourself. Come on, now. It’ll be fun—it’s opening night for the Barnum and London Circus down in Hope Springs.” She arched an eye brow at him. “Or would you rather spend the rest of the evening hiding out from Letty and Chloe?”

  If those were his only two options, he would definitely choose the circus. “All right, then.” Picking up his hat, he turned toward the main door, then thought better of it. It was quite possible the cockfight was still in progress on the other side. “There’s another exit. Shall we?”

  “Sure,” Gina said, grinning. “Let’s sneak out.”

  Drake suppressed an answering smile. He suspected Gina enjoyed baiting him, that she took perverse delight in exposing polite discourse for the fraud it was. Truth be told, he found her amusing as well, but he didn’t dare encourage her.

  Not for the first time, he found himself wondering about her upbringing. Though she worked as a hotel employee, essentially a servant, she didn’t act like any servant he’d ever known. He couldn’t imagine his mother’s parlor maid or housekeeper teasing him, walking with him in the moonlight, or inviting him to the circus. And it had never even occurred to Gina that it might not be considered proper for him to escort one of the resort employees to an entertainment.

  It had occurred to him, of course, but after his indignation over Mrs. Biddle’s snobbishness, he could hardly turn Gina down for that reason. Besides, it might be diverting. “I’ve never been to a circus,” he admitted as they left the bathhouse.

  “My father took me when I was little,” Gina said, and her wistful
expression made him wonder what had happened to her father. “But I haven’t been back since. And we’re both gonna love it,” Gina promised. “P.T. Barnum is supposed to be one of the greatest showmen ever.”

  Three large tents had been set up not far from the town below the resort, and The Chesterfield had thoughtfully provided transportation to the event. As Gina and Drake climbed into one of the waiting carriages, he thought he caught a glimpse of more than one disapproving look turned their way, but he ignored them. Gina didn’t seem to notice as she chattered away about the circus.

  Soon, they arrived and it was like entering an entirely different world. The energetic sounds of the calliope, the smell of popcorn mixed with the odor of sawdust, and the bright stripes of the tent and colorful outfits of the circus folk lent a festive air.

  Gina scorned the sideshows, heading straight for the “big top.” She charmed their way into good seats near the center of the ring and pulled Drake down onto the wooden bench. “Isn’t this great?” she asked.

  Drake couldn’t help but return her smile. Unlike most women of his acquaintance, Gina was unaffected, enthusiastic. She, apparently, had never been taught that overt enthusiasm was unladylike and vulgar. And frankly, Drake could see nothing wrong with her zeal. He found it surprisingly refreshing and far more healthy than most modern young women who were taught to suppress their feelings. He regarded her wistfully, wishing Charlotte had been as free. Perhaps then she wouldn’t have taken her own life.

  “Look,” Gina exclaimed. “There’s the ringmaster. They’re going to start.”

  She squirmed with excitement and Drake relaxed, resolving to enjoy the show. But he derived far more entertainment from watching Gina. Her every emotion played across her face as she clearly delighted in the tumbling feats of the acrobats, the skill of the jugglers, and the antics of the clowns.

  But it was the equestrian exhibition that held her undivided attention as skilled riders performed seemingly impossible feats on horseback. She greeted the lion tamer with detachment, whispering, “The big cats are hard to train. I can do ten times more with Scruffy.”