Monz wrote in her diary that night: ‘I wish I could un-see what I saw. I tell myself there’s nothing to worry about. But I know it isn’t true. I will never tell a soul. Never. All I hope is that it is not already too late. But I have a bad feeling in my guts that a bomb has been dropped and is already speeding to its target.’
When Lisa had read that entry in her mother’s diary a week ago she had felt her chest tighten with pity for the frightened, solemn thirteen-year-old whose world of happiness and safety was about to be turned upside down. It was a feeling Lisa knew all too well, the pain of powerlessness that could only be dealt with by imagining that you had some power. The power to keep a secret.
Before she left the Ritz that day, she had leaned over and kissed her mother gently on the forehead. Monika looked up in surprise, a little flustered. ‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ she whispered. ‘For whatever happened.’
CHAPTER 18
* * *
Adelina
Meadow Springs, January–July 1921
Adelina had apologised to Adam for the way she had broken down the night of the Conan Doyle dinner. The famous author and his wife had been truly solicitous. Sir Arthur had even reassured both the Foxes that it was not uncommon for people to have strong reactions to such encounters. ‘After all, communion with the other side is a profound and confronting experience.’
Playing the role of good host to the bitter end with remarkable self-restraint, Adam had thanked the spiritualist for her services and brought the evening to a rapid close. It pained him to think that this final scene, half tragedy and half farce, would eclipse his guests’ recollections of the night, despite their effusive reassurances to the contrary.
Only Adam and Adelina knew the secret history behind the medium’s cryptic message. Only they felt the painful reawakening of emotions that had been sealed off in dark chambers of their hearts for years. When his guests had departed and he and Adelina had withdrawn to their private rooms, Adam had hurled the erotic postcard into the fireplace and refused to discuss its ‘meaning’.
‘Meaning? There is no meaning! It’s nothing more than a cheap magician’s trick pulled by that ridiculous charlatan to frighten us,’ fumed Adam, pacing in front of the fire. ‘I tried to warn you, Adelina, but you insisted on having your own way. What did you expect to hear from “the other side”? Some fairytale ending about how Robbie is happy now? That all is forgiven and forgotten? As if life is ever that simple!’
Tears spilled from Adelina’s eyes as her husband’s anger built with the fury of an approaching storm.
‘I knew it would end in disaster. I should never have let it go ahead. But never again, do you hear me? I forbid you and that busybody housekeeper to indulge in such dangerous nonsense ever again. Do I make myself perfectly clear? I have done everything you asked to make amends for the past. I loved our son, Adelina, just as much as you did. I miss him just as deeply. No one can say any differently. But Robbie is dead and gone. There is nothing we can do to change that now. I will not tolerate this maudlin obsession any longer. Let that be an end to it!’
How Adelina wished she could obey her husband and bury the past. But she simply could not. Over the next few weeks, she began sleepwalking again, a telltale sign that she was heading for a relapse of melancholia or, worse, an episode of hysteria. Dr Liebermeister deemed it wise to increase her treatments and so she spent two days of each week at the Hydrotherapy Establishment.
But none of the immersions and showers, tonics and massages, could expunge her conviction that a terrible fate awaited her. The evidence ran all the other way. For a start, there were the spirit photos that Mr Upton had taken the night of the séance. Mrs Wells had discreetly obtained copies and slipped them to Mrs Fox as asked. With its shock of sandy hair and its dark, sad eyes, there was no mistaking the handsome face floating in a halo of light close by Adelina’s shoulder. Adam could say what he liked but here was the proof that her son had crossed the Great Chasm to deliver a message to his mother: a message she ignored at her peril.
Every night as she fell asleep, she saw the pornographic postcard tumbling through the air and heard Robbie’s singsong voice in the darkness:
In the valley, here I lie
Here I lie but am no liar
Before the snows come, two shall die
One by water, one by fire
Before the snows come, two shall live
But only if they can forgive.
Ignorant of the exact circumstances of that horrid card, Adelina was certain of one thing: it was connected to Freya and Adam’s adultery, the Original Sin that had blighted all their lives. ‘My birthday present,’ Robbie had announced as the card fluttered to the table. Adelina shuddered to think what it was intended to signify.
Had Robbie become sexually attracted to Angie, his own half-sister? Was that the ‘present’ she had promised him that fateful day, the abomination her poor boy had paid for with his own life? She had feared something of the sort might happen, which was why she had begged Adam to put a stop to their ongoing friendship. She knew nothing good could come of the elaborate falsehood they had all conspired in to deceive these innocents – but she had never imagined it could result in such evil.
Now Adelina was torn between fear of her husband’s anger and fear of the spirit’s message: two women would ‘die’ before the first snowfall if neither could forgive. This warning clearly pointed to herself. But who was the second woman?
Freya, surely. The last time she’d inquired as to the fate of Freya and her family Adam had informed her that they had been deported to Germany along with hundreds of other enemy aliens. He also told her that Freya had finally agreed to sell him the cottage and its land and reassured her there was no possibility of the Woods ever returning to live next door. When she heard this news, Adelina had thanked Adam with tears of gratitude and felt borne up by a great wave of relief. She had even dared hope that maybe, at long last, this dreadful, drawn-out chapter of their lives was over.
It looked as if exile was God’s final punishment of the woman who had destroyed Adelina’s marriage and happiness. There was no punishment too severe for the injury Freya had done her. Even the sacrifice of a child was barely enough. Adelina had settled for the promise of a newborn’s love in exchange for the loss of her husband’s. His love, she knew, remained hostage to Freya forever.
But even that did not satisfy Freya’s greed. While she still held Adam in thrall, she had also wanted to steal away Robbie’s love too. To turn him against her. ‘White Witch’ – that was the name Freya taught Angie to whisper whenever she appeared, mocking her ill health and ghostly appearance. Ah, the cruelty of that woman! And the recklessness! Was there nothing she would not stoop to?
It was true that they had all conspired in deceiving their children and were equally to blame for that lie. But Freya had gone one step further. She had encouraged Angie to grow close to her own half-brother! How could any mother with a conscience take such a risk? The fact she did this in defiance of Adelina’s efforts to protect Robbie and Angie revealed just how monstrously selfish Freya really was.
Adelina saw her enemy’s motives plainly enough, perverse as they were. Freya’s overweening sense of entitlement as the daughter of a once-famous painter had so poisoned her mind that she had lost all perspective. She felt justified in doing whatever it took to restore her former status and esteem, no matter how illusory or second-hand: steal the love of another woman’s rich husband, make a transaction of her newborn son, endanger her own daughter’s soul. All of this so Freya’s ambition could survive vicariously as she clung to her threadbare pride.
Adelina did not know how she could forgive such a venal creature. And yet this seemed to be exactly what her dead son demanded. Had her little boy come to her as a ministering angel to show the path to salvation? And if she could forgive Freya, then what act of atonement perforce would follow? Would an apology suffice or would it require a more material restitution: the return of their land a
nd cottage?
Even more pressing was the question of whether the death promised in the message was metaphorical or real. It was this question that tormented her every night as she struggled to fall asleep. Adelina needed to know the truth. How else could she understand what was at stake? Was she literally fighting for her life?
The promise of finding out that truth was dangled before her nearly four months after the night of the séance. Mrs Wells had already been called into Mr Fox’s office and given a stern warning not to raise the subject of spirits or séances with his wife ever again, on pain of dismissal. But the housekeeper was not that easily deterred in her bond of female fealty to Mrs Fox.
One bright morning in May, the head housekeeper found the patient sipping a cup of Dr Liebermeister’s liquorice tea and taking in the warmth of the sun on the terrace after a vigorous wet-sheet rub-down. ‘A word, Mrs Fox, if I may?’
‘Yes, yes, of course, Mrs Wells. But keep an eye out, please,’ replied Mrs Fox, aware that her husband had spoken to Liebermeister about Mrs Wells’ ‘unhealthy influence’.
Mrs Wells nodded conspiratorially. She leaned in close and whispered, ‘He has been seen.’
‘You mean . . . ?’
‘Yes, Robbie. Here, in the hotel.’ Mrs Wells held up her fingers. ‘Three times.’
Mrs Fox gasped and spilled tea on her cotton gown.
Wells glanced towards the glass doors of the clinic to make sure no one was watching, then placed her hand solicitously on Mrs Fox’s shoulder. ‘I swear it is true, my dear. He has come back to speak with you. It is a good sign. He understands your distress and wants to comfort you.’
Mrs Fox wished she could share in Mrs Wells’ optimism. Instead she felt an anxious fluttering in her chest.
‘Last Monday, two guests saw him in the billiard room and told the night manager. He was hiding behind the davenport the way he used to do, remember? The following night, one of the housemaids saw him running down a corridor, calling out your name.’
Mrs Fox drew a deep breath.
‘Then yesterday, right on dusk, I saw him myself. As clear as I see you now. Standing on one leg, in the smoking lounge. “Please, Addie,” he said.’
Adelina gasped at this final proof. ‘What should I do?’ she asked.
‘I could arrange another session if you like. Miss Glanville-Smith would be more than happy to help. We can hold it somewhere quiet, out of the way.’
‘I don’t think so. If Adam ever found out . . .’
Wells was careful not to say a word against Mr Fox. ‘Of course.’ And then she had an idea. ‘The other possibility is we could reserve you a room in the hotel overnight. You have such an early start each morning at the clinic. I’m sure Mr Fox and Dr Liebermeister would understand.’
So that was how it was settled. Every Tuesday and Wednesday night, Adelina stayed in a room in the Megalong Wing at the western end of the hotel so that she could begin her treatments early. Mr Fox agreed to the arrangement as Liebermeister resided in a cottage close by and could be summoned urgently if there were any problems. And, to be frank, given his wife’s agitation and frequent episodes of sleepwalking, Adam welcomed a few nights’ peace.
It was here at the Palace two weeks later, half an hour shy of midnight on a cold, autumn night as Adelina tossed beneath the sheets of her hotel bed, that she heard a light tapping at her door.
‘Who is it?’ she asked.
There was no reply. Two minutes later, the tapping recurred.
‘Hello?’ Adelina called out.
Silence.
Slipping on her silk dressing gown, she unlocked the door and peered through the crack into the dimly lit corridor.
It was empty. She was about to withdraw when she heard a voice at the far end of the passage: male, young, aching with sadness. ‘Please, Addie. Please,’ it whimpered. A flicker of pale-blue light cast a beam along the carpeted passageway and came from the same direction as the voice. ‘Please, Addie. Please,’ it repeated.
Adelina opened the door fully now and stepped into the corridor. Her heart was pounding hard in her chest but there was an undeniable sense of excitement and longing mingled with the adrenaline. To her right, she saw the blue light flicker like a candle flame guttering in a draught. Her ears buzzed and she could hear her own breathing, rapid and shallow, as she advanced towards this source of illumination.
‘Is that you, Robbie?’ she whispered.
The corridor turned at an angle, making a corner as the west wing joined the main building. Here, three squat white pillars supported a fancy Ionic capital and an archway. As Adelina crept forward, she could see that the blue light was coming from somewhere around the corner; from here she could only catch its blurred edge.
‘Don’t be frightened,’ she said, trying to steady the quaver in her own voice. She took another step forward and the blue light flickered again. A few more feet and she would clear the corner and see it face on. She noticed a pungent, acrid smell in the corridor ahead of her and wondered if it was smoke from the fireplace in the lobby.
‘Please, Addie. Please,’ the voice pleaded.
Her hand holding her room key trembled and no act of will could steady it.
‘Please, Addie.’
She took two more steps and rounded the corner. There stood Robbie enveloped in a blue haze, floating and rippling on the air. He wore an Argyle sweater and long pants and had his hands shoved in his pockets. He was leaning a little sideways and favouring his left leg like he always did. He stared at her solemnly with those familiar dark eyes. Adelina marvelled at how, from head to toe, her son appeared to shimmer inside a silvery blue aura and she could see right through him to the white pillars and the archway beyond.
‘Please, Addie,’ he mouthed again and held his arms out to her. ‘Please forgive them. Please make it right.’
A sob broke from Adelina’s lips and she rushed towards her phantom boy.
‘Please make it right,’ he said again. At that instant, Robbie winked out as abruptly as if the light of a lamp had been switched off. Adelina’s empty embrace swept up nothing but an eddy of cold air.
‘Oh Robbie, no, I beg you. Please don’t go!’ she cried, crumpling to the floor.
A door opened behind her and she heard concerned voices in the corridor. She must get up. If anyone found her in this state, her secret would be exposed and Adam would forbid her to come anywhere near the hotel. It was this thought – that she might never lay eyes on Robbie again – that gave her the strength to stand.
A young man in a dressing gown came around the corner. ‘Are you alright, ma’am? I thought I heard someone call out.’
‘So did I,’ said Mrs Fox artfully. ‘But I suspect it was just the wind from the valley. It can make the most uncanny noises.’
And with that, she returned to her room and locked the door.
Adelina knew better than to breathe a word of ‘Robbie’ or ‘spirits’ within earshot of her husband or doctor. But she had finally heeded her son’s message. Winter was close. Time was running out. Since the séance, she had been paralysed by fear. Fear of looking foolish, fear of angering Adam, fear of offending God, fear of losing her mind, fear of facing her own guilt and hatred. It would take a supreme effort of will to find forgiveness in her heart and to act on it. Robbie’s message was simple. Adelina could only absolve herself of guilt by an act of restitution, of genuine Christian charity. She must, in the words of her son, ‘make it right’. There was only one course of action and it would take courage. She must change Adam’s mind.
A week later, Adelina and Adam sat in their rosewood steamer chairs, taking a light supper out on the veranda of their house in Meadow Springs. It was a cool evening but not yet too cold. Adam Fox sipped a glass of sherry as he drank in the spectacle of the western sky, ablaze with orange and vermilion fire behind ramparts of dark purple cloud. Birds skittered and dived in the gathering dusk.
Adelina spoke. ‘Adam,’ she said in a low voice.
&
nbsp; ‘Yes, dear?’ Adam turned to his wife. It had been a gratifying but demanding day at the hotel and he was savouring this scene of poetic serenity. He hoped his reverie was not about to be broken.
‘I know this will sound strange, but I have been thinking a great deal about the cottage recently,’ said Adelina.
Adam looked at her with an expression of mild surprise. He took a deep gulp of his sherry. ‘Is that so? And what have you been thinking?’
‘Well, I wonder – I wonder if you shouldn’t write to the Woods in Germany and see how they are faring.’
Adelina tried to keep her voice light and neutral so as not to alarm Adam unduly. Over the last few weeks, Adelina and Adam had seen little of each other and even then, when their paths did cross at supper or breakfast, Adelina had begun to feel like a ghost herself, barely present to her husband, whose attention always seemed focused elsewhere. The overwhelming sense of loneliness, even when in his company, was becoming unbearable. Adelina knew that this was all part of her punishment, the warning signs of her impending doom. At least this remark had arrested Adam’s attention.
‘Why on earth would I do that?’ he asked, a note of irritation in his voice. What Adelina did not know was that Adam was well aware of how Freya was ‘faring’. Freya was not about to allow him to forget.
In March 1920, Adam’s solicitor had received correspondence from Freya’s threatening to file a legal action in the district court to challenge the sale of the land and cottage. Repeated attempts were made to persuade Freya that her cause was doomed. It was pointed out that anti-German feeling was still rife in Australia and it was doubtful she would get a sympathetic hearing in any court. She was determined, however, to see justice done and instructed her lawyer to proceed. The case was finally heard in November. Freya’s suit was dismissed with legal costs awarded against her. Adam offered to pay these as a last-ditch attempt to head off more mischief. Stiff-necked as usual, Freya refused the offer. Adam had decided it best to keep all this unpleasantness hidden from his wife so as not to stir up painful memories. All in vain, it seemed now.
Palace of Tears Page 24
