12th June 1853
Four weeks later
“Is she there?” Ward asked. “Can you sense her?”
Nicholas sat on the high-backed armchair opposite Ward in the study. His eyes were closed, his posture curiously alert yet somehow still relaxed, forearms and hands resting on the arms of the chair. A few moments earlier, he had called out to his mother. “Ma? Can you hear me?”
At Ward’s question, a tiny frown appeared between Nicholas’s brows. It was an expression Ward had become very familiar with over the past five weeks. That and a hundred others. When he wasn’t in a trance, Nicholas’s resting expression was, well, no expression at all, which made it all the more fascinating that his features gave so much away when he was in a trance, as though a veil had been stripped away.
For a long time, Nicholas was silent, sitting very upright. He looked as though he was listening just as hard as he could. At last though, he sighed and answered Ward’s question.
“No,” he said. “I can’t sense her.”
At least he had tried—really tried, Ward was sure—this time. That was an improvement.
Ward noted it in his book. NH cooperative in trance. Attempted to contact deceased mother. Attempt unsuccessful.
“Can you sense anyone else? Any other spirits?” he asked mildly, careful not to let his disappointment show.
“No,” Nicholas answered, this time without any hesitation. “There is no one here. Only me.”
“Only me.”
Something about the hollow way he said that made Ward look at him more closely.
This was one of the days, Ward realised, when Nicholas grew melancholy in his trance. Sometimes he got this way, though it was difficult to tell only from watching him.
“I am all alone,” Nicholas said now. His tone was matter-of-fact, but there was an edge to it that made Ward’s chest ache.
Ward hesitated, unsure how to answer. “You are not alone,” he said at last. “I am here with you.”
Nicholas laughed at that, but there was no humour in the dry chuckle. “No. You are there. Only I am here.”
Ward frowned. Where was there and where was here? Sometimes he didn’t understand the things Nicholas said when he was in his trance state. He was given to opaque utterances that probably made perfect sense to him, but were impenetrable to Ward.
Ward wanted to comfort him though, so he said again, gently, “You are not alone, Nicholas.”
His words didn’t seem to have the desired effect. Nicholas just shook his head, rolling it from side to side on the back of the chair.
Ward’s stomach was in knots from gazing upon Nicholas’s naked unhappiness. He didn’t know what to do. After a few moments, he picked up his pen and scratched inside the notebook, NH asserts repeatedly that he is alone, as if the mere recording of that truth would somehow deal with the matter. Which was ridiculous. Disgusted with himself, he scored the words out and closed the notebook with a snap.
“Rest for a few minutes, Nicholas,” he said, pretending a confidence he did not feel. “Then, when you’re ready, open your eyes, and wake up.”
Some time later, when Nicholas had roused from his customary post-trance nap, they sat down to dinner together. Nicholas had unbent enough to stay for dinner every Sunday evening since his second visit.
Snow lay peacefully curled up under the table at Nicholas’s feet while they ate. Nicholas seemed to be enjoying the meal, but Ward’s appetite was off. He toyed disinterestedly with his dinner, musing bleakly on the unremarkable results from the last few Sundays’ work.
He had put Nicholas into a trance a number of times now, and today, for the first time, Nicholas had given every appearance of fully cooperating with what Ward had asked of him. That was progress, at least. On the previous occasions, whilst he’d consented to being hypnotised in the first place, once in the trance state, he’d demonstrated a reluctance to comply with Ward’s requests, in particular, refusing to attempt to contact spirits.
Today he had cooperated though. And yet despite that, he’d still made no contact with any spirit, not his mother nor anyone else. In fact, he hadn’t seemed to be able to detect any kind of presence at all—not even Ward, who had been sitting right beside him!
Rationally, Ward knew he shouldn’t allow himself to feel discouraged. It was early days still. But it had been weeks since he’d started working with Nicholas, and their progress was so slow, it felt as though they were going backwards. It was only after today’s failure that he realised he’d presumed that once Nicholas really tried, something would happen.
“You’re not eating,” Nicholas observed, setting his cutlery down and fastening his bright gaze on Ward.
Ward shook his head. “Don’t mind me. I’m not especially hungry, and I’m bad company this evening besides.”
“Yes, you are,” Nicholas agreed. “And I think I know why.”
Ward gave him a look. “Oh, really? Why don’t you tell me, then, since I don’t know myself.”
Nicholas seemed unfazed by that testy reply. “You’re coming to understand that I’m not what you’d been hoping for. You convinced yourself at the outset, despite my protests, that I had some mystical connection to the spiritual plane—probably because of what Jed Hammett said to you in the Hope & Anchor that day—but now you’re beginning to realise that I really am just as ordinary as I told you I was.”
Ward scowled. Nicholas was about as far from ordinary as it was possible to get in his opinion. Not that he was about to tell Nicholas that.
“It’s far too soon to be reaching any conclusions about anything,” he said instead. “As I told you when we began, I need to test many combinations of conditions. So far, we’ve been working only with the application of one potential factor, namely a trance state. I would have been surprised if we’d had any real results as yet.”
Nicholas didn’t respond to that, just raised one brow.
Ward pressed on, manfully. “My intuition about my experience on the Archimedes is that it was all the conditions working together—my exposure to a strong concentration of natural electromagnetism, the presence of ozone, my hypnotic state—that enabled George to reach me. In all honesty, I’m not hopeful we’ll see any positive results until we’re able to combine most or all those factors in appropriate concentrations. But that doesn’t mean this exercise is unhelpful. I’m building up detailed records of my observations of your responses, and all of that data, even that showing nothing happening, will assist me.”
Nicholas plainly wasn’t convinced. “Why do you look so defeated then?”
Ward sighed. “It’s the magnitude of it,” he admitted. “Realising that it’s taken six meetings with you to get to this point and that we’ve scarcely begun yet. And we only have a few more Sundays left.”
Nicholas eyed him. “We should be able to go down the Hole soon, shouldn’t we? Will that help?”
“Perhaps. I hope so. I just wish . . .”
“What?”
“I wish there was a quick way of re-creating all the conditions I experienced on the Archimedes. To see if you sense anything at all.”
Nicholas considered that. “One big storm,” he said. “I see that. You could ascertain once and for all whether I’ll be any use to you. Save yourself some time.”
Ward glanced up quickly. “I didn’t mean that.”
Nicholas smiled. “I’m not offended.”
But Ward wasn’t sure that was true. He thought Nicholas looked sad.
“Anyway,” Nicholas said, more briskly, “you might get one soon. They come in off the sea all year round.”
“The chances of one conveniently arriving on a Sunday aren’t very high,” Ward pointed out dryly.
Nicholas regarded him. He was wearing his smile-frown, Ward’s favourite of all his expressions, especially this particular one with the emphasis firmly on the smile, and only the tiniest frown pleating his dark brows. This smile-frown was mostly pleasure, with only a very little bewilderment.
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br /> He said, “Are you trying to ask me something? If so, I’d rather you just came out and said it.”
Ward sighed. He’d been hoping Nicholas would take the hint graciously but apparently Ward was going to be forced to give voice to his wishes.
“Would you be willing to come here if there was a storm?” he asked. “Even if it was not on one of our Sundays?”
Nicholas said, “Well, it’s nice that you posed it as a question this time.”
Ward flushed. He couldn’t think how to respond to that. They hadn’t spoken of how Nicholas had been persuaded to assist Ward since that very first day, but each time Nicholas came to Varhak Manor, it felt to Ward that he’d thawed a little more, making it a little easier for Ward to forget how this had started. Until now, that was, when Ward was forced to recognise that their bad beginning still lingered between them, like a sore that wouldn’t heal.
He was about to apologise and withdraw his question, when Nicholas sighed and said, “How about this? If I feel a storm coming, I will try to come up here. Other commitments allowing, you understand.”
Ward stared at him, astonished by his generosity. At last he said, his hoarse voice disguising the emotion that overwhelmed him, “Thank you. I appreciate that more than you could possibly know.”
Nicholas just nodded an acknowledgement and picked up his cutlery again, turning his attention back to his dinner.
After a while, he asked, “Have you managed to find any other subjects yet?”
“Not quite yet,” Ward said. “But I’ve corresponded with a gentleman in Truro, a Stephen Bryant, who claims to be a medium. He’s invited me to attend one of his séances in a fortnight’s time.”
Nicholas’s dark brows drew together in a small frown. “Are you going to go?”
“I may as well,” Ward said. “He appears to have a reasonable reputation from what I can make out. It’s worth investigating further, I think.”
Nicholas’s frown deepened. “Has he asked you to pay him?”
Ward opened his mouth to admit that he had—and that Ward had sent the money already—only to be struck by a sudden, awful realisation. Nicholas had now come to Varhak Manor on numerous occasions, and Ward hadn’t paid him so much as a halfpenny for his trouble. And after all his talk of paying handsomely too! Heat flushed up Ward’s neck and blazed from his cheeks.
Nicholas immediately noticed his agitation. “What’s wrong?” he said. Then, incredulously, “You haven’t already sent him money, have you?”
“I— Oh, hell, Nicholas—” Ward’s voice was breaking up even more than usual, as it was wont to do when he was feeling strong emotion, “I am—I am mortified. You must forgive me—” He stood up quickly and crossed the room to ring the bell for Pipp.
“For God’s sake, what’s wrong?” Nicholas looked alarmed now.
“The thing is, I get so taken up with things, so obsessed with my own interests, that I forget you see—” Ward was babbling now. He gave a groan of dismay.
“Forget what?”
“You must think me the worst sort of opportunist.”
“Opportunist? I don’t know what—”
Just then, Pipp opened the door. “You rang, sir?”
Ward turned to his servant, relieved. “Ah, Pipp, yes. I have just this moment realised, to my utter shame, that I have not yet paid Mr. Hearn for any of his time. Could you please bring me the household ledger and the wages box?”
“Very good, sir.”
“What?” Nicholas exclaimed, standing up so violently that his chair rocked on its back legs. Snowflake let out a little yelp of surprise and scrambled out of the way.
“I’ll just be a moment, sir,” Pipp said smoothly and withdrew, closing the door behind him with a quiet snick.
Ward turned to face Nicholas. To his surprise, the man looked furious.
“I never asked you for money,” Nicholas snapped. “I can’t believe you thought I was hinting about that when I asked if you’d sent money to that medium.”
“Nicholas, I didn’t intend to suggest—”
“If I’d wanted paying, I’d’ve come right out and said so,” Nicholas interrupted. His colour was up, his words pouring out, quick and bitter. “I’ve never asked you for anything, Ward!”
“Nicholas, please.” Ward’s voice was useless and tight, harsh when it should be pleading, no tone to it, no inflection. Nevertheless, he forced himself to go on. “I did not mean to insult you, but I promised you payment, and I do not want you to think I do not value your time!”
Nicholas wouldn’t meet his gaze. He stared at the door, chest heaving. Snowflake, sensing his master’s unhappiness, pressed his sturdy body against Nicholas’s calf and looked up at him, his single eye darting anxiously.
“Nicholas—” Ward said again, and winced. The name on his lips sounded like a scold, when he only meant it as a plea. He could have wept with frustration.
The door opened, and there was Pipp again. He held the household ledger in one hand and the cast-iron moneybox he paid the other servants’ wages from each week in the other.
“Go away!” Ward howled, and Pipp’s confused expression was almost funny, might even have made Ward laugh his awful toneless laugh on another day.
Pipp pressed his lips together in a firm line and snapped the door shut again. The click of his boot heels was audible as he marched back down the corridor.
There was a long silence, then Nicholas said flatly, “Well, you’ll be out of favour with Mr. Pipp after that outburst.”
His fury seemed to have abated. Still, Ward lifted the verbal olive branch with great care, offering a wary half smile as he replied, “You don’t know the half of it. Pipp may seem like an obedient servant to you, but he scolds me terribly when we’re alone.”
Nicholas shrugged. “I see more than you think. You’re like an old married couple, you and Mr. Pipp, smiling at each other through gritted teeth and thinking no one notices when you’re in a bad mood with one another.”
That observation was so unexpectedly astute, it startled a short bark of laughter out of Ward.
Nicholas raised a brow. “I surprise you?” he asked lightly. He gave a dry, humourless laugh, then added, “Perhaps I’m like a talking dog to you. Or a bearded lady?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You don’t expect me to notice things, do you? Or even to be interested—really interested—in what you’re trying to achieve. In your eyes, I’m here because you ordered me to come—and for the money, of course. Just a Gypsy looking to fleece you.”
“That’s not fair,” Ward protested, hurt. “I don’t think that. I was only surprised you noticed how things are with Pipp and me because I would never notice such a thing.”
Nicholas didn’t say anything to that, just watched Ward silently.
“As for the money,” Ward went on doggedly, “you can refuse to take it if you want. I can hardly force it upon you. But I promised at the outset to compensate you for your time, and to find myself in breach of that promise—well, I’m appalled at myself. Can’t you understand that?”
In that moment, Nicholas’s thin-lipped anger gave way to a pained expression that was ten times worse than his ire. “But I don’t want your money, Ward,” he said quietly. “That’s what I told you at the outset.”
“I already have a position that pays me well enough . . .”
Ward’s gut twisted with belated comprehension. Nicholas had indeed said as much, and Ward had insulted him by treating him like a servant—on top of blackmailing him.
“Oh,” Ward said. He swallowed hard. “I’m—I’m sorry, Nicholas. I should have thought before I spoke.” When Nicholas remained silent, his gaze averted, Ward said, “I truly didn’t mean to offend you. Quite the opposite. I’m just hopeless at understanding other people, at least that’s what Pipp says.” He stepped closer, laying a hand on Nicholas’s forearm. “Please. Forgive me.”
Finally, Nicholas looked up and met his gaze. He sighed. “You are
hopeless at understanding people,” he agreed. “Which is shocking given how bright you are.”
The faint whiff of humour in that response made the tightness in Ward’s chest ease minutely. “Mother said I spent too much time with books and not enough with other children when I was a boy.”
“She’s probably right,” Nicholas said, and shook his head. “I dread to think of how you’ll get on at that séance.”
Impulsively, Ward said, “Why don’t you come with me then?”
“What?”
“Come to Mr. Bryant’s séance in Truro with me. It’s a week on Saturday. You can keep an eye on me that way, can’t you?”
Nicholas opened his mouth—Ward was sure to refuse—then he closed it again and thought.
“All right,” he said at last, surprising Ward. “Why not? I’ve not been to Truro in an age.”
Ward’s grin widened. He felt quite suddenly and giddily happy. “I was planning to leave on Friday afternoon. The séance isn’t till Saturday evening but I thought to stay the extra night and spend the day in town, then return on Sunday. Will that suit you?” As soon as the words were out, it occurred to him that Godfrey Roscarrock might not like his land steward disappearing for several days and added quickly, “I can amend my plans if it does not.”
“No, that sounds fine,” Nicholas said, “if you’re sure you’ve the stomach for so much of my company.”
A Gathering Storm (Porthkennack Book 2) Page 12
