“I was deep in the midst of receiving a message that felt urgent when you knocked. But I awoke before I got to the end of it.” Honoria twisted her rings on her plump fingers. The lines between her eyebrows deepened into a trough you could slot a penny into. Clearly the dream had not been a pleasant one.
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
Honoria nodded and led me to the settee in the center of her private sanctuary.
“I was sitting on the edge of the bed thinking about the busy week ahead when I was completely overcome by a sense of light-headedness as I always am when a prophetic dream is about to take place.” She waved in the direction of the rumpled bedclothes. “Before I realized it had happened I had fallen deeply asleep.”
“Do you remember the dream itself?”
“I remember only vague pieces and disjointed images. I do remember hordes of trampling feet and screaming.” Honoria placed her hand upon her chest and closed her eyes as if she sought to conjure the dream images anew. “I believe there was a man who was in danger but then at second glance it became clear a woman was the one who really was harmed. I can’t stop thinking of my father telling me to be careful of catching a chill and that I should follow his example and wrap myself up warmly.” Honoria shook her head as though she wished to jostle the dream either into or out of it, I had no idea which. “Sadly, most of it fled from my memory as I regained consciousness, as is so often the case when one awakens abruptly.”
“I’m very sorry to have disturbed you.”
“You could not have known what was happening in here. I didn’t even know myself until I awakened. Please don’t give it another thought.” Honoria pushed a stray strand of silver-streaked dark hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. “The one thing I am certain of is that there is danger coming to someone here in the hotel.”
“Do you know to whom?”
“I have suspicions but no real certainty.” Honoria paused and I had the unusual experience of suspecting that she was keeping something from me. “I am sure of nothing. I just know I am very much afraid.”
“Afraid of what?” I wasn’t sure I truly wanted to know.
“Ruby, I wish I knew. I just have a sense of disquiet that I cannot escape.”
“Have you no sense of the source of the concern or the form it will take?”
“I am certain this was a dream that warned of peril.”
“Danger can come in many degrees. Perhaps it will be something of little consequence.”
“I have never found that to be the case. In fact, the dreams have always preceded an event of serious import.” I felt all the excitement and anticipation for the upcoming week’s festivities drain from me. “Spirit does not make itself known for paper cuts or missed trains.”
“Is there nothing you can do to comfort yourself when you have a dream such as this one?” I asked.
“I shall do what I always have done. I will bring the dream before the Divination Circle and ask for their help in interpreting what little I know,” Honoria said, drumming her plump fingers on the arm of the settee. Honoria, her lifelong friend Orazelia Yancey, and Honoria’s devoted suitor, George, met twice a week to develop their psychic gifts.
In fact, the day I first arrived at the Belden I interrupted one of their sessions. It was one in which they were working on contacting spirits of those who had passed beyond the veil. Honoria had misinterpreted my presence and had mistaken me for my dead mother. Fortunately for me she was at least as happy with my appearance as she would have been with her sister’s.
Over time the group had turned its efforts to developing a wide variety of spiritual disciplines. Honoria’s vast collection of metaphysical books housed in the library reflected the interests of the Divination Circle members. Tasseomancy, rune casting, astrology, all tickled their fancies and engaged their attention at one time or another. If anyone could provide her either the sort of comforting counsel that would take her mind off the dream or make sense of it, it would be they.
“Do you plan to meet soon?” I asked.
“As the fates would have it, they are due here within the quarter hour.” Honoria stood and smoothed her wrinkled skirt into place. She looked so uncharacteristically somber I felt a cold wave of worry wash over me. “I would very much appreciate it if you would join us. I have a troubling feeling the dream involves you.”
Chapter Eight
George and Orazelia arrived before I had time to change out of my cycling costume. Honoria apprised them of her upsetting dream as soon as they entered the séance room. Her face still held the same befuddled look she had worn when I first awakened her.
I found myself relieved to have avoided being exposed to the strenuous effects of her prophetic dreams before now. It was difficult to see how it had turned my confident, exuberant aunt into a fidgeting mound of uncertainty. I was relieved beyond telling for Orazelia and George to share the burden of consoling her.
Sadly, George looked at least as off his game as my aunt. His usually waxed and luxuriant mustache drooped. If I was not mistaken a bit of his lunch remained tucked into its bristles. George’s waistline was habitually a source of concern for him but his waistcoats were invariably a thing of beauty. I had never before seen him dressed without attention to his appearance. Today his shirt sported stains down the button placket and his seersucker jacket was rumpled at the elbows, the back, and even along the lapels. It would be less than kind to mention the state of his trousers.
Orazelia gave both Honoria and George a quick once-over and then turned her usually dreamy blue eyes on me. If I hadn’t been looking for it I doubt I would have noticed the pursing of her lips and the quick dip of her head letting me know she would take matters in hand and that I should follow her lead. Frankly, I had not thought she possessed such a manner of thinking. She always appeared fluffy and easily led by her strong-willed daughter, Lucy. There were hidden depths to Orazelia that I would be remiss to ignore. I could not have been more pleased.
“The rest of us will sit in a circle whilst George allows the spirits to come through him and he will transcribe their messages.” We all took seats at the séance table in the center of the room except for George who took up his post at the writing desk at the end of the room.
While George was as devoted to the Divination Circle as Honoria and Orazelia, his own talent seemed to me to be the least authentic. Although he was dedicated to the practice of automatic writing, the messages that flowed from his pen in one of his self-proclaimed trances most often concerned those things preying on his own peace of mind in the physical realm. I had no real confidence his skills would actually serve to soothe Honoria. But Orazelia had taken the lead and I had no desire to question her judgment aloud.
Honoria’s hand trembled in mine as Orazelia began to speak. I wondered once again if she had seen more in her dream than she had shared with me.
“Spirits, we beseech thee to attend our call and to advise us on the law of your world. Do we bear responsibility to act on the fragments of Honoria’s dream?”
The room grew silent except for the occasional sound of merrymakers on the beach or the screech of a gull. Then the sound of a pen scratching began to fill the air. Honoria squeezed my hand and one of her many rings dug into my palm. The sound of George’s pen grew faster and I heard a page of paper flutter through the air as if he had flung it from the desk with abandon. Over and over the sounds of writing and flinging repeated until they slowed to a stop and Orazelia spoke once more.
“We thank you, spirits, for gifting us with your wisdom from beyond. We are complete.” Orazelia released my hand and stood to open the plush velvet drapes blocking out the light. How George had managed to write so much without the aid of his eyes was a mystery to me. Scattered over the carpet were sheet upon sheet of foolscap covered with words. I pulled my sore hand from Honoria’s grasp and bent over to collect the papers.
Much of it appeared to be gibberish. Some pages didn’t even look to be composed of a language sharing our alphabet. Scratchings and scrawlings, tipping and turning every which way, careened over the surface of the papers. But every now and again I could make out a word or two that appeared to be written in English. The phrases beleaguered knight and unexpected interloper appeared more than once. I handed the stack to Orazelia to see what she would make of it all.
She spread the papers out over the midnight blue tablecloth covering the séance table and considered each carefully, running her finger this way and that following the maze of George’s scribblings. Honoria simply leaned back in her chair awaiting a verdict. I had never seen her acting as a bystander. My stomach fluttered uncomfortably. I told myself I was probably hungry but I knew I was lying to myself. Orazelia gave me a deliberate look once more and cleared her throat.
“Based on the symbols I see here, it is clear we are beset by difficulties either at present or in the very near future. The source of concern is unclear but comes to us from outside our usual circle. My sense from the spirits is that while we have been warned to be on our guard against danger and to gird ourselves for its inevitable arrival, there is nothing we can do to turn the course of events. Nor should we try.”
“Are you quite certain?” Honoria asked. “Is there nothing we can do but sit idly by?”
“Spirits assure us it is not our path to turn others from their journeys. It is our privilege to have early notice of troubles. Such privilege does not confer the burden of turning the tide of another’s destiny.” From the corner of my eye I watched as Honoria’s hands stilled in her lap. Her posture straightened and a long sigh escaped her lips. She drew herself to her feet and she reached out to touch her friend on the arm.
“Thank you for your interpretation, Orazelia. I am much reassured.” She turned her attention to George. “Still, I feel the need of some fresh air to revive me sufficiently to attend properly to my guests. George, I would be most grateful if you would accompany me on a walk along the beach.” She crooked her arm, which he took wordlessly. Honoria called over her shoulder to me. “I trust I can rely on you to keep the hotel running for half an hour or so, Ruby?” I nodded, and they were gone without another word.
Chapter Nine
As soon as they were out of earshot I turned to Orazelia. “I am very grateful for your visit. I have never seen Honoria like I found her after her dream.”
“I can only imagine how it must have startled you. Her dreams always take a toll. It is not an easy gift. I am glad you were spared her distress when she dreamt of your mother’s passing into spirit.” Honoria had told me when I first arrived that she had known before my father’s letter had arrived that my mother had died. I had clearly understood the news had grieved her terribly but I had not comprehended the scope until today. “She will be back to her usual self by the time they return. The one I am really worried about is George.”
“He didn’t seem to be himself, did he?”
“No, he did not. And after what little I got out of him during the carriage ride and his easily interpreted worries”—Orazelia pointed to the papers spread between us—“I am certain he’ll have no peace until his brother concludes his visit.”
“George has a brother?” This was news to me. I had never heard him mention family other than his recently deceased mother, whom he frequently mentioned with affection and regard.
“Osmond. An odious man who thinks far more of himself than is justified, considering he’s done nothing in his life to crow about other than to marry a wealthy woman.” Orazelia smacked her hand against the table smartly. “He decided at the last minute to attend the opening of the pier and all the hotel rooms in town were already booked. George received a letter by the morning post announcing Osmond and his wife will be arriving just before suppertime this evening.”
“That sounds most unfortunate.”
“It certainly was. Osmond has spent all his life letting his older brother know how much more successful he thinks he is and how right their mother was to favor him over George.”
“But George always speaks so highly of his mother.”
“George is a remarkably loyal person. Despite the fact that his mother was a thoroughly poisonous woman, he never had a cross word to say about her. In fact, I believe his attitude toward her was one of the reasons Honoria never consented to marry him.”
That was enlightening. George’s regard for Honoria was unmistakable and her affection for him seemed constant and genuine. I had wondered from time to time why they had never married. I had chalked it up to Honoria learning from my own parent’s disastrous marriage but this information shed a different light on the situation.
“I can’t see Honoria holding her tongue where she saw injustice.”
“Exactly. She knew if she shared a household with George his mother would be part of the bargain. And she also understood that either she would drive a wedge between them or he would come to resent her for her opinion of the old wretch.” Orazelia’s cheeks pinked. I had never seen her look cross before. “Every time George spends any time with Osmond he is thoroughly miserable.”
“There was no way George could refuse to host them?”
Orazelia shook her head. “George is ill equipped for any form of confrontation. Osmond and his wife will just plow right over his feeble attempts to put them off.”
“No wonder he looks a little peaked. How long does Osmond plan to stay?”
“George seemed to have no idea. But he did mention that they planned to be here at least until the opening festivities for the pier had taken place. His wife insisted she mustn’t be left out of the social event of the season, and knowing her they will arrive lock, stock, and barrel.”
“I’ll check to see if we’ve had any cancellations. Perhaps we could offer them rooms here at the Belden if it would help George.”
“I’m sure he would appreciate it no end, Ruby dear.” Orazelia said. “I just hope inviting them isn’t at the bottom of Honoria’s dream.”
Chapter Ten
Dinner at the Belden was always an elaborate affair. Mrs. Doyle, the formidable cook and housekeeper, justifiably prided herself on the meals she provided and I’d never yet heard a guest complain. The dining room was the largest room in the hotel and to my way of thinking one of the most beautiful. During the previous winter Honoria had redecorated and renovated most of the hotel and the dining room had received a large share of the budget and the attention.
Round mahogany tables of varying sizes dotted the room. Heavy velvet draperies hung alongside the long, mullioned windows. The wallpaper provided diners with a sense that they were seated in a fairy-tale aviary. Images of bright birds and colorful flowering branches patterned the walls. Crystal glasses sparkled under the new electrified chandeliers, and the singey, starchy smell of freshly pressed table linen gently wafted toward my nose. Although I would not say so to Honoria, my favorite part of the decor was the profusion of floral displays Mrs. Doyle somehow managed to find time to lovingly and expertly arrange. Tonight’s creations featured an abundance of late peonies and sprigs of fragrant lavender.
Mrs. Doyle was not the only one who made dinners at the Belden such a success, however. Honoria supervised the seating arrangements herself every morning. One of the strengths of her plans was the way she seated a faculty member at each of the tables to provide the guests an opportunity to spend unstructured social time with one of the Belden’s paranormal practitioners. She also usually had an uncanny knack for sensing the rippling undercurrent between hotel residents and almost unfailingly avoided seating people together who disliked each other’s company.
Honoria did not know of Amanda’s earlier encounter with Miss Rice and unfortunately proceeded to direct the newcomer to her table. I should have regretted not telling Honoria about the unpleasantness on the subject of my cycling ensemble. In tr
uth, I must admit I felt a small amount of satisfaction when I noticed Amanda’s flushed face as Miss Rice took the seat next to her. I could only hope that Amanda would have enough sense not to provoke Miss Rice further.
I watched with untainted pleasure as Lucy and Sophronia entered the dining room arm in arm and sat at Honoria’s own table. It appeared they were going to get along just as splendidly as I had hoped they would. As I reached my own table I saw that a Mr. Dewitt Fredericks had been seated to my right and a couple by the name of Clemens were to be on my left. I watched the door to await their arrival.
Before long a solitary man entered the dining room and approached Honoria’s table. He nodded a greeting to all the ladies at the table, and appeared to speak to Sophronia and to nod at Miss Rice, before Honoria pointed in my direction discreetly with an elegant inclination of her head. The slim man followed the tilt of her head and after giving Honoria a slight bow, headed in my direction. The light shining down from the chandelier bounced off the heavily pomaded curl pressed against his high forehead. His lips were as full as a catfish’s and his pale skin did little to hide his veins.
Nevertheless, I smiled as he approached. I learned early on in the medicine show that one’s own preferences concerning the company one kept were of little consequence when compared to the preferences of one’s rumbling stomach. Although it did me no credit now that I had vowed to go straight, I could still fake sincerity to a shocking degree.
“Good evening. You must be Mr. Fredericks. Welcome to the Belden,” I said, giving him a bright showman smile. “I’m Ruby Proulx, the hotel medium. I hope you will enjoy your stay with us.” I watched with surprised fascination as he pulled a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and spread it out on his chair before gingerly taking a seat.
“I am certain I shall. My exhaustive research has indicated that this location will be highly conducive to my work.” Mr. Fredericks sniffed loudly. My heart lurched and I wondered what the nature of his business might be. I had no desire to host anyone committed to debunking Spiritualism or to proving fraud was being perpetrated within our walls. But, if he were here to investigate us it would be better to know sooner rather than later. As much as I was dreading the answer, duty demanded that the question had to be asked.
Whispers of Warning Page 5
