“Not yet,” she said, an odd tension in her body. “I want to stay for the whole thing.”
He listened to yet another ghost give reassurance to her widowed husband, then a different female ghost appeared onstage.
“Who is this?” the spiritualist asked. A pause, then, “Charlotte Ruxton? Does anyone know a Charlotte Ruxton?”
Drake went rigid and cold with fury. How dared they bring his sister into this? Beside him, Gina gasped and gave him an apprehensive, sidelong glance. He tried to rise, but Gina had a death grip on his arm.
Madame continued, “Charlotte has a message for her brother.” She paused, then added haltingly, “You must listen to the young woman who has come so far to warn you, or you will surely join your sister on the other side. Heed her well . . . it is not yet your time.”
Not for him the reassurances of the dead. Oh no, for Drake there was nothing but a warning—a warning that echoed the many Gina had forced upon him since they’d first met.
This had to be her doing. He trembled with outrage. Damn her and damn Madame Rulanka. “This time, you’ve gone too far,” he hissed.
Wrenching his arm from Gina’s hold, he stormed out of the theater without looking back.
Chapter 13
Gina sat stunned for a moment as Drake left the theater. His lapse into bad manners—for whatever reason—was just so out of character, she found it difficult to comprehend. But she quickly regained her composure enough to take off after him, though she was careful to maintain a ladylike pace. Most people were intent on the stage and Madame Rulanka, but she couldn’t count on the Major ignoring an infraction. He seemed to be able to spot them with his eyes shut.
Once outside the theater, she abandoned caution and hurried to catch up. “Drake, wait,” she called.
He didn’t even pause as he strode rapidly away from her, his back rigid and unyielding. He must really be ticked off.
She couldn’t blame him after what had happened in there, but it wasn’t really her fault. Madame Rulanka had gone over the line.
She chased him up the front part of the main section and down the north side. There were couples strolling everywhere after the ball so she didn’t want to yell at his retreating back and make a scene any more than she had to—word would get back to the Major, then she’d really be in trouble. And people were staring hard enough at them already.
Instead, she waited until he reached the junction between the north and west wings before she put on a burst of speed. Darting in front of him, she caught his arm so he would have to stop. “It wasn’t me,” she panted out. “I didn’t do it.”
His eyes had turned flat and angry. “You expect me to believe that?”
“Yes, because it’s true.”
“Let me get this straight,” he spit out. “Did you or did you not give Madame Rulanka information on resort guests and employees?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“And did you or did you not ask her to warn me to leave the resort?”
“Yes, I did that, too, but—”
“That’s what I thought.” He jerked away again and took off toward the west wing and his room.
“Drake, wait, let me explain.”
Again, no response except for the eloquent rigidity of his back.
She ran ahead of him and stopped at his room, splaying herself in front of his door so he couldn’t enter without hearing her out first. “I didn’t tell her about Charlotte.”
“Don’t even mention her name,” he gritted through clenched teeth.
“No, it’s true. I didn’t tell Madame Rulanka anything about your sister. All I did was ask her to warn you off, using your own ghost.”
Annoyed confusion flitted over his features. “My own ghost?”
“Yes, remember, you said you might be convinced that I was telling the truth if your own ghost crawled into bed with you?”
His face hardened again. “I was being facetious. Surely you didn’t expect me to believe that?” He answered his own question. “Of course you didn’t—that’s why you brought Charlotte into it.”
“But I didn’t.”
“Then how did that fraud know about my sister?” Gina had been wondering that herself. “I don’t know—I guess she had other sources.”
“You are the only one here who knows about Charlotte.”
She knew it looked bad, but . . . “Well, I didn’t tell anyone. Look, she must have found out from someone else.” Then she remembered something else. “She mentioned Char—your sister’s last name. I didn’t even know her married name—you never mentioned it.”
“You probably had your newspaper friends look it up.”
So he was on that kick again, was he? “I don’t have newspaper friends,” she reminded him. “Though Madame probably does.”
He just regarded her coldly, and she regretted ever thinking she didn’t like his amused twinkle. Can I have it back now, please?
He reached for the keyhole under her outstretched hand and unlocked the door.
“You’ve got to believe me,” Gina pleaded.
“How can I, after all the stunts you’ve pulled? Trying to scare me off, setting me up to tour the West, pretending to be a ghost . . . ? Those were bad enough, but this? I thought better of you.” With that, he pushed open the door, shunted her aside and entered his room, shutting the door in her face.
His disappointment was even harder to take than his anger. As Gina regarded the closed door, she wished she’d never even met Madame Rulanka. She’d give anything to be back on easy terms with Drake, to not have him so angry with her. What could she do to make him believe her? Heartsick, she pounded on his door in sheer frustration.
It didn’t do any good. Nothing but cold silence came from behind it. And the hallway was beginning to fill. The show must be over. Well, she didn’t care. She would stand here and pound on his door all night if that’s what it took to get him to listen.
She raised her fist again, but a hand caught hers before it connected with the door. In surprise, Gina realized the hand belonged to Esme—the demure yet strong housekeeper.
“Do you really want to make this kind of scene?” the housekeeper asked softly, looking incongruous in her chick costume. “Word might get back to the Major and I won’t be able to protect you.”
“Who cares? I probably don’t even have a job any more the way Drake is acting.”
“Well, you won’t have one at all if you continue in this way.” Then, more gently, she added, “Why not give him some time to calm down?”
Gina sagged. Esme was right—and it wouldn’t do any good to pound on Drake’s door anyway. He’d just ignore her.
Esme led her away, toward the servants’ quarters at the other end of the wing.
“What am I going to do?” Gina wailed.
Esme patted her hand. “Don’t worry, you’ll think of something.”
Unfortunately, Esme had more faith in Gina than she did in herself. “Is there something you can do?” The head housekeeper seemed to have vast, strange resources that Gina could only imagine.
“No, I’m sorry. I wish I could, but I have tampered enough in your life.”
“Well, tamper some more! You and your hope chest got me into this mess. Can’t you at least get me out of it?”
Esme regarded her sternly. “I was not responsible for this particular mess. You managed that all on your own.”
There was some truth in what she said. Gina might not have told Madame Rulanka about Charlotte, but since she had passed on other information, it did look bad. Numbly, she allowed the housekeeper to lead her to her room, where she sank down on the bed to be comforted by Scruffy.
This was all Madame Rulanka’s fault. If she had done exactly what Gina had told her to, Drake might still be speaking to her.
Wait—that was it. What if she could get Madame to tell Drake the truth about what had happened? Gina still had the leverage she needed, if Madame would agree.
Gina grabbed the newspape
r clipping from its hiding place and rushed off to the tower. Now that the show was over, Madame was bound to be waiting for her to fulfill her part of the agreement.
Sure enough, this time Rath didn’t even hesitate when she knocked on the door, but let her in right away.
Madame was still dressed in her gypsy outfit, but she looked tired underneath the heavy makeup. “Do you have the proof?” she asked, her hand out stretched imperiously.
“Yes, but first, tell me why you didn’t stick to our agreement.”
“What do you mean?”
“You were supposed to warn Drake away with his own ghost, not his sister’s.”
She shrugged. “Wasn’t this more effective?”
Not from Gina’s end. “Where did you learn about Charlotte, anyway?” Maybe if she could prove that Madame Rulanka had ferreted out Charlotte’s name, Drake wouldn’t be so mad at her.
“From Charlotte herself,” Madame said calmly.
“What?”
The spiritualist regarded her with amusement. “I know I said that the spirits sometimes need help . . . but not always.”
Was she saying what Gina thought she was saying? “But I gave you that information on Sasha and Poopsie.”
“Yes, and several others,” Madame said calmly. “But that was just to prime the other spirits, so to speak. Sometimes, they are quite willing to come forward to pass messages on to the living. The last few came through on their own—including Charlotte.”
When Gina could do nothing but regard her numbly, Madame said, “I’m sorry if it wasn’t what you wanted to hear, but I didn’t even realize the spirit was addressing your mesmerist until he left.”
Gina had no choice but to believe her—Madame obviously believed what she was saying. Even if she didn’t, Gina doubted she’d ever get the truth out of her.
Madame held her hand out again. “The proof now, if you please?”
Numbly, Gina handed her the clipping, and Madame read it. “I see. Well, we shall just have to cancel our trip to Las Vegas in the New Mexico Territory, won’t we?” She raised an eyebrow. “May I keep this?”
Gina shook her head and took the paper back. “I might need it again—to convince Drake.”
As she left the tower suite, Gina felt totally defeated, all plans of proving herself to Drake lost. What could she tell him? That the ghost really was Charlotte? Yeah, right. He’d really believe that.
She glanced down at the paper in her hand. Before her eyes, the article exposing Madame Rulanka as a fraud faded out, to be replaced by one lauding her success. Gina blinked in surprise, wondering if her eyes were playing tricks on her. But no, it had definitely changed—just like Marty’s photo in Back to the Future. Spooky.
Well, it was nice to know she could change the future . . . but the article about Drake’s death was still as bleak as ever.
When Mr. Feeney left, Drake tarried for a moment before leaving his office. In the week and a half since the Madame Rulanka debacle, his relationship with Gina had become very strained. It was an effort to remain civil each time he faced her, and, knowing she waited just outside the door, he didn’t want to face her just yet.
A week and a half ago, his first, irate instinct had been to pack up and leave the resort, never to see her again. But once the flush of anger had faded, he realized that to do so would mean abandoning his patients . . . and giving Gina exactly what she wanted. She was the one who ran away from everything, not him. So, he stayed.
He had even planned to fire her and damn the consequences since her actions had shown she didn’t deserve his consideration. But more than her livelihood was in question here. In his current position as mesmerist to the resort’s influential guests, most of whom had nervous complaints, he needed to ensure some sort of stability. And causing a scandal by firing his assistant would not help that. Furthermore, explaining that he had done so because she had counterfeited his sister’s ghost would not only make both of them appear more disturbed than his patients, but it would be difficult to prove.
And I wanted to marry this woman?
No, “wanted” was the wrong word. “Felt an obligation” was far more accurate. After the night of passion they had shared, he had felt honor-bound to offer her the protection of his name. Any fantasies he might have indulged in beyond that were just that—pure fantasy.
He had always dreamed of a wife who would be so much more than a mere ornament—a woman who would gladly warm his bed, bear him children, and enliven the many years to come with her warmth and wit. But Gina wasn’t that woman. She had proven to be coldhearted and witless. How had he ever even considered her as his wife?
His one consolation was that there didn’t seem to be a babe coming as a result of their union. So, he no longer felt any obligation whatsoever. He shook his head. He should have remained with his original vow to have nothing to do with women until he had fulfilled his promise to Charlotte.
He heard a soft knock on the door and Gina opened it tentatively.
He still couldn’t help but tense at the sight of her. “Yes?” he asked coldly. “Is the next patient ready?”
“No, Mrs. Rutledge sent a note saying she is ill.”
“Then we are done for the day,” he said in a dismissive tone. He bent to gather up his notes, but Gina remained. “What is it?” he snapped.
She advanced a little farther into the room. “Please, I just want to—”
“Is this about a patient?”
“No—”
“Then I don’t want to hear it.” He’d heard enough protestations about her innocence. If he didn’t believe them then, what made her believe he would now?
She bit her lip. “But what about Shorty’s threats?”
“What about them?”
“He’s been heard all over town, saying he’s going to get you for embarrassing him twice.”
Drake sighed. “I’m not worried about Shorty Callahan. He’s all bluster. And if he hasn’t followed through on his threats now, I doubt he ever will.”
“He will if he gets drunk enough and works up the courage. After all, the newspaper article—”
“That’s enough,” Drake barked out Damn it, could the woman think of nothing else? “I am well able to take care of myself.” When she opened her mouth in an obvious protest, he added, “I want to hear no more on this subject.”
She pouted. “All right, but how about Annabelle? Will you talk about her?”
“What about her? Is she very ill?” He had assumed it was just some sort of nervous female complaint—the sort a woman like Mrs. Rutledge was very susceptible to.
“No, I don’t think she’s ill at all. I think her husband made her send that note.”
“And why would he do that?”
“Because there’s been talk about you two.”
“What sort of talk?” he asked in a warning tone. Was she going to mention that blasted article again?
“I’ve heard some men in the waiting room making comments to him . . . comments about you seeing Annabelle all alone.”
“I see many of my patients alone.”
“But none of them are as beautiful . . . or have such a jealous husband.”
He scowled. He hadn’t allowed Gina in on Mrs. Rutledge’s sessions, fearing the woman would be too intimidated to talk freely. “If this is just a ploy to get me to let you in on her sessions, it isn’t going to work.” Gina still had this absurd notion that he was going to run off with Mrs. Rutledge.
She looked a little guilty. “Well, I do think I could help you with her, but that’s not the reason I mentioned it. I think Mr. Rutledge is starting to suspect something is going on—and he told me he hasn’t seen any improvements in her yet. I don’t think he wants her to come back.”
“And why are you so concerned about Mrs. Rutledge all of a sudden?” Gina had done nothing but try to get him to drop her since he began seeing her.
“Well, it’s like this. I know you aren’t going to give up on her, so I figure I ca
n help you cure her that much faster by setting Mr. Rutledge’s mind at ease and helping you figure out a way to give her some backbone.”
Her arguments made sense. Setting aside his problems with Gina for his patient’s benefit, he decided to discuss the case with her again. He had missed Gina’s insights these past two weeks, and missed discussing the patients with her. Perhaps she would have some idea how to handle the woman. “It isn’t that easy.”
He gestured her into a chair and seated himself. “You and I might think Mrs. Rutledge needs backbone, but she needs to be eased into that realization. After all, her reason for coming to see me is to correct those bad habits her husband frowns upon.”
Some of Gina’s tension seemed to evaporate. “Have you been able to get her to open up about these bad habits?”
“A little. The problem is that she just can’t seem to please her husband.”
“Isn’t that her husband’s problem more than hers?”
If it weren’t for Charlotte, he might question Gina’s interpretation, but after seeing how Charlotte’s husband had browbeaten her into a sense of worthlessness, he couldn’t deny that it was primarily her husband’s fault that Mrs. Rutledge felt this way. “Perhaps, but that doesn’t change the fact that she is in despair because of her husband’s actions.”
And that very despair had caused Charlotte to take her life. He couldn’t risk another death on his hands . . . not if he could prevent it. “She believes his opinion of her.”
“So, we need to find a way to convince her she’s not worthless and show her how to appease her husband, while making him comfortable with the fact that she’s seeing you?”
“Yes, I supposed you could say it that way.”
Gina frowned thoughtfully. “That’s a tall order. Well, we can fix the last part by letting me sit in on your sessions.” Before he could say anything, she held up a hand. “I’m not doing this to keep an eye on you—I really think it’s necessary to make Mr. Rutledge agree to more treatment.”
Unfortunately, she was right. “All right. I’ll speak to Mr. Rutledge.” Though he would find some other way to explain why Gina would now be sitting in on the sessions.
[Hope Chest 01.0] Mesmerist Page 18
