“Raissa, listen to me because I may never have the courage to say this again. I’m not a medium. I don’t have any talent at seeing the dead or communicating with them. My talent is theater. I’m very good at playing a part. I told Madam this was a bad idea.”
Eli had stepped behind the trunk of an oak, but he was still there; I could sense him. And the man in front of me was a fraud. “Why did you come here?” I wasn’t angry. I was disappointed.
“I was tired of being Madam’s lapdog.”
“So you thought you’d come to Caoin House and be . . . what? The butler?” My unkind remark hit home. Reginald flushed.
“I deserved that. To be honest, when the spirit was so strong with Madam, I hoped that by coming here, with you, I might learn how to see them. She said the entity that came with you was the strongest she’d ever seen. I want to have that gift, Raissa. I want it desperately, but wanting isn’t enough. You were born a sensitive, like Madam. The gypsies would say you were born with a caul covering your face, which allows you to see beyond the veil of life. It is a gift but also a curse. You must be careful. Most spirits are here for reasons of love, or they may simply be lost. But there are those who died in moments of darkness who are motivated by evil.”
The compulsion to go to the oak grove had passed, but I was in no mood to go to my room alone. I climbed the stairs and returned to my perch on the top step. “I’m exhausted. Let’s leave this until tomorrow.”
“I will pack and be gone before breakfast.”
“There’s no rush, Reginald. You’re here. While you can’t see the spirits, you do know more about how they work than I do. Eli and Eva are here for a reason. Perhaps you can help me discover what it is.”
He brightened. “I can do that. I pay attention, and because I do, I see things others don’t. Not spirits, but the reactions people have to information or circumstances. For example, the lawyer was highly agitated when Madam connected with the male ghost. A curious reaction for a nonbeliever.” He offered another cigarette. “Sit with me a moment. Before I decide what I should do, I need some information. Tell me about the ghosts, and about Carlton McKay. What’s his role in all of this?”
“He’s my uncle’s overprotective lawyer.” Carlton’s reaction to Reginald related to his feelings for me. I didn’t really want the cigarette, so I crushed it out and leaned back. A breeze tickled the nape of my neck. The sense that we were being watched came over me. Instead of yielding to the chills of my imagination, I forced my mind to the mundane. I thought of the portrait of Eva. How did those women survive the summers in corsets, petticoats, and long, heavy dresses? Even with a breeze, the humidity made me feel sticky. “Carlton isn’t an issue. Don’t worry about him.”
“Carlton has made his peace with me being here temporarily, but I’m not sure he approves of me. When he finds out I’m . . . that I can’t really see spirits, he’s not going to be kind.”
Reginald might not see spirits, but he could see the future where Carlton was concerned. “Let me worry about him. Carlton comes across strong, but he can be reasonable.” I took a breath. “My friend Robert died here at Caoin House recently.”
If Reginald had been uneasy before, now he was positively bugged. “I understood he was a young man . . .” He tapered to silence as the full implications hit him. “How did he die?”
“In a fall from the roof.” I didn’t mention that he’d died not ten feet from where we sat, but Reginald was intuitive. He followed my glance.
“Was he pushed off the roof?”
“Can a ghost pop a button off a new shirt?”
“You found evidence of a struggle?” Reginald lit another cigarette. Neither one of us was likely to sleep well after this conversation.
“There was no evidence of a scuffle on the roof, but the tiles are slate and slippery. From afar, the roof looks flat, but it’s gabled. There’s access from the attic. But there was no reason for Robert to be on the roof. The coroner ruled it an accidental death, which is better than what I feared it would be—suicide. But I don’t believe Robert fell. I don’t even know why he was up there. We were in the middle of a hunting game with clues, but no clues led to the roof.”
“Who was he partnered with?” Reginald asked.
“My uncle. Brett hardly knew him but was looking forward to doing business with Robert. And I think he was very pleased to see me interested in having some fun.”
“Would it be okay if I spoke with your uncle about this? He is more likely to tell me things that he wouldn’t tell you.”
It had never occurred to me that Uncle Brett would withhold information because of my gender or his tender feelings for me, but Reginald was correct. “Yes. Feel free to speak with him.”
“The soldier that came through to Madam. He said something was hidden—do you have any idea what it might be?”
I thought of the burglaries in Caoin House. “Someone has broken in here numerous times, even before Uncle Brett bought the property. They are searching for something, but we have no idea what. If Uncle Brett had an inkling, I’m sure he’d tell me.”
“Something here that dates back to the death of Eva, perhaps.” Reginald was musing out loud. “Whatever it is must be tied to that moment in time that connects both spirits to this house.”
I recognized the wisdom in his words. “I think you’ve hit on it. But what? There are some love letters—”
“To Eva?”
“Yes.”
“They were from someone else. Her lover, I believe.”
“A lover?” Reginald’s interest piqued. “Rather a scandal back in the 1860s for the paragon of virtue known as the Southern woman to commit adultery.”
“People are people. I’m sure women took lovers even back then.”
“That’s a thoroughly modern view, Raissa. I’m not so certain others would approach it with the same blasé attitude. A Southern plantation wife who took a lover would be a huge scandal. Even today. There was a standard—”
“For the women. That code of conduct didn’t apply to the men.” My tone was rather heated. “Sorry, the whole double standard hacks me off.”
“It’s the bloodline, Raissa. An unfaithful wife can destroy the bloodline of a family. The heir isn’t truly the heir, if you get my drift.”
The debate over equality had calmed my nerves after seeing the ghost in the oak grove. The heat of my passion had driven all revenants away, and that was a good thing to know. “If a husband treats his wife well, then she wouldn’t stray.” I’d had it with the woman carrying the blame for the same action men took whenever they chose. Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter, which put all blame on poor Hester Prynne, made me livid. I didn’t like to teach it. “A man can father a child out of wedlock and then walk away from his responsibility. How is that right?”
“I’m not defending the wayward louse, but it’s the woman who pays the price because the evidence is so . . . evident.”
I couldn’t argue with the facts, though it galled me to button my lip. “So you think Eva strayed, and what? Her ghost protects the letters and keeps Eli out of the house, so he lurks around the oak trees?”
He gave me a sidelong look. “You make it sound preposterous, but it isn’t. I’ve seen cases like this before with Madam. Eva can’t let go of Caoin House because she doesn’t want Eli to find the letters. He can’t let go because he still loves her.”
“So why is he trying to draw me into the oaks with him?”
“Payback to Eva.”
“Well, that’s certainly unflattering.” But a very male response.
We both laughed, and the strain between us was gone. Despite the fact that he’d lied his way into an invitation to my uncle’s home, I liked him. He was smart about people. Smart about their emotions and desires.
My shoulders throbbed with tension. “Now I really have to go inside. It’s late. Uncle Brett will think we’re out here petting or something.”
Reginald snorted. “Surely he knows—”
“I’ve had to hide who I am my whole life.”
I could read the sadness that came over him. It wasn’t fair that he couldn’t be free to love whom he chose. Nor was it fair that women were treated as children or, worse, as their husband’s chattel. “You’re only in Mobile for a visit. The best thing to do is keep your secrets. The most pressing matter we face is this séance.”
“We’re going through with it, even knowing I can’t channel the spirits?”
“I think we should, Reginald. I can assist you.” I grinned. “Let’s make Uncle Brett happy. Then what you do with the rest of your stay is up to you.”
“Why would you do this for me?” he asked.
“Because you’re going to help me solve what happened to Robert and what’s going on here at Caoin House. If Eli and Eva need to be put to rest, you’ll help me do it. You may not be a medium, but you’re the closest thing I have here in Mobile.”
“Thank you, Raissa.”
“Hold your thanks until this is done.” I wasn’t certain we could pull it off, but I was game to try. I owed Robert resolution. He’d come into the house as a guest and died here—for what purpose I couldn’t fathom, but I would find out. And if we could get Eli and Eva to rest in peace, it would be a double bonus. I was more than a little worried about the effect Eli had on me. He commanded my attention in a way that unnerved me, and I was compelled to find out why he couldn’t rest in peace. My determination was the only thing that sustained me through hardships. I wasn’t about to yield it to some ghost.
I went up to my bedroom. When I couldn’t sleep, in the stillness of the beautiful summer night, I sat at my little desk and wrote my short story. I needed to mull a point of the story, and I went out the French doors to the balcony and gazed down into the oaks. I saw not the first hint of my pale soldier. Whatever Eli was up to, he wasn’t showing himself to me. I went back inside and at last finished my tale. By the time I crawled into bed, dawn was only a few hours away.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
When I finally awoke the next morning, I buttonholed Uncle Brett in the library and convinced him to pull back his plans for a gala séance. The man loved a party. In that regard he was so different from my mother, Evangeline. Physically, they resembled each other with the dark, curly hair and large hazel eyes that I’d also inherited. If I’d had to cast my uncle as a book character, his strong jaw and stubborn chin put me in mind of Heathcliff.
My mother’s kind smile made her a candidate for one of the Brontë brood, or perhaps Jo March from Little Women. But she was not someone who sought center stage or even a place in the chorus. Both of my parents were retiring, which made Uncle Brett even more wonderful to a little girl longing for excitement. Looking back, aside from my birthday celebrations, I couldn’t remember my parents hosting a single party. Not even a bridge gathering or a small dinner get-together. They simply had no interest in entertaining others or in attending social events where the conversation tended toward the light and chatty.
My parents had been the stereotypes of the scholarly teachers. They were happiest in front of a fire, sitting side by side, reading. My great love of books came from both of them. But while my parents were more academically tilted, I loved ghost stories.
“Uncle Brett, were you close with Mother when you were growing up?” I asked.
“She was the older child, and she tried her best to boss me into doing the right thing. She succeeded. Most of the time.” He grinned. “We loved each other, though our interests varied widely. She loved learning, and I loved doing. You’re a nice blend of the both of us, Raissa.”
“She often said you were a rascal who stayed clear of jail only because she watched over you.”
Brett laughed out loud. “I enjoyed a good prank. Evangeline was earnest. She should have had more fun. Life is too short to be serious every minute.” A rueful note crept into his voice. “If I could teach you one thing, it’s that life is best spiced with a little fun. If I could go back in time, I would have worked harder to make Evangeline laugh. She had a beautiful laugh. Like the low notes of musical chimes.”
“I miss her.” Emotion clotted my throat. “And Father, too.”
“Yes, I catch myself thinking what Evangeline would say or do. I felt she was around you right after Alex was killed. Probably my imagination at work, because I know how much she loved you.”
“And now? Is she near?” It was curious that I’d never felt my mother’s or father’s presence, yet I could clearly see a ghost from the 1860s. More than anything, I wanted to believe they were at peace.
“I have no idea if they’re roaming about Caoin House. I don’t sense them at all. The truth is, your mother never really took to this place.”
We’d visited when I was a child, but the visits had stopped. I’d asked several times, but my mother’s response was always vague. Not the right time, or too long a journey, or that Uncle Brett was out of town. Eventually I’d stopped asking.
“Your mother was never one to criticize a decision I made, but she was uncomfortable here. She said the house was haunted. That unhappy times echoed in the halls. At the time, I had no idea how right she was. If we can make contact with her during the séance, perhaps she’ll reveal something more. I’ve wished many times that I’d questioned her more closely.”
“Did she see something?”
“She never said, but you did. You became hysterical, and I never understood exactly what had happened. Whatever it was upset you greatly. She never came back for another visit, no matter how many times I invited her. I chalked it up to her reclusive nature, but perhaps she really understood there was something amiss here. Maybe she knew more than she ever let on.”
I wanted to dig deeper into this topic, but Winona came to the door. “Mr. Brett, I was cleaning Miss Isabelle’s room, and I found this.” She extended a silver locket on a chain.
The necklace pooled in my uncle’s hand like quicksilver. When he snapped open the locket, he inhaled sharply. “This is not Isabelle’s.”
“It was on the floor beside the bed.” Winona looked concerned.
With a furrowed brow, Brett asked Winona, “Did Isabelle say when she was returning?”
“No, sir.” Winona shifted from foot to foot. “Miss Isabelle only said she had business meetings to attend. She mentioned something about Mr. Carlton having papers for her to sign and something about the property near the river. They’re cutting timber on the off chance a big storm will blow in this summer and knock the trees over.”
“I can drive into town and ask her to return,” I volunteered. Her family owned timberland and cattle farms in north Mobile and Washington Counties, but chances were that Isabelle was still in Mobile. Although her title wasn’t official, because a woman of her social station didn’t hold a job, she was actually the bookkeeper/accountant for the family businesses. The offices were located on Conception Street not far from Carlton’s law practice.
“She has her family company to run,” Uncle Brett said. “Let her do her work.” He wouldn’t date a woman who was merely a hotsy-totsy. He liked that Isabelle had made a place for herself in her family dynasty. “When she’s done with her business, she’ll be in touch.” He snapped the locket shut. “Thank you for finding this, Winona. Don’t worry about anything. I was just . . . startled.”
“Yes, sir.”
When Winona left the room, I asked to see the locket. For a moment, I thought Uncle Brett would refuse, but he handed it to me. I opened
it and found a miniature of Eva Whitehead on one side and a damaged likeness of a soldier on the other. The man’s face had been eradicated, as if someone had taken a sharp blade and scored out his features. All that remained was the Confederate uniform. Dread crept along my neck and arms. The defacement appeared deliberate—and angry.
“Who would do such a thing?” I asked.
“A good question. I’ve never seen this necklace before. It isn’t Isabelle’s. How strange that it would appear in her room. Winona’s cleaned that room a hundred times. The necklace wasn’t there before. This is an expensive piece of jewelry. The weight of the silver . . .” He sounded defeated.
“Maybe one of the ghosts left it.” I aimed to cheer him up.
“It was always my understanding that ghosts couldn’t move objects.” He was deadly serious. “I’ve studied telekinesis. For a spirit to have that much power . . .”
“You’ll have to ask Reginald.” He wasn’t a medium, but he’d worked with one for years. “But I have something to ask you. Why don’t you marry Isabelle?” I wasn’t intent on prying, but I was curious. They were a perfect couple, and it was clear they loved each other.
Brett hesitated. “I’d like to, but I can’t.”
“Why not? Is she . . . married to someone else?”
“Heavens no.” He motioned for me to sit across from him in one of the club chairs. “I won’t marry Isabelle until we figure out what’s happening here at Caoin House.”
“What are you saying?” My mind whirled with dangerous possibilities—but none that would come with marriage to my uncle. Brett was fun and simple joy. He was an astute businessman, but he didn’t make enemies; he wasn’t a drinker like a lot of men, nor did he have a bad temper.
“While we were in New Orleans, the house was broken into again.” Brett put a hand on my arm when I started to rise. “They ransacked the attic, but there’s so much old stuff up there, I doubt they took anything. They pulled all the books down from the shelves here in the library. Travis and Winona put everything back in place before we got home. Nothing obvious was stolen. Travis said no vehicles came from the front drive, but he found hoofprints in the back, and evidence two horses had been tied there.”
The Book of Beloved (Pluto's Snitch 1) Page 13
