Many people relied on the Belden for their livelihoods, myself included. If she discredited me we would all suffer. Even the Velmont sisters, who had invested so much of their money, and even their reputation, in the hotel. I felt as though everyone’s future rested with me. I wiped my clammy hands as discreetly as I could on the back of my cotton day gown and gestured to the séance table in the center of the room. Sophronia bestowed a dazzling smile upon me as she approached.
“I feel quite certain you possess an unusual level of talent,” she said, pulling out a chair and placing her hands in her lap. “These ladies both speak very highly of your ability to connect with their father.” It still felt strange to have champions, people who believed in me and told others how they felt. It was a support I was loath to lose. But delaying the experience would not make things easier. I took myself in hand and forced a smile to my own face.
“Why don’t you tell me what you would like to consult your father about today?”
“We do not wish to speak with Father. We are well aware of his thoughts on the subject of women and the right to vote.” Elva shook her grayed head. “No amount of transmuting powers of the great beyond would change his opinion on that subject, we’re afraid.”
“Dear Sophronia has been urging us to join the cause of suffrage. She suggested we consult the spirits since we are still undecided,” Dovie said.
“I think today it is high time we ask you to try contacting someone else entirely for an opinion.”
“Who would that be?” I was aquiver with curiosity.
“Our mother,” the sisters said in unison.
I had never given any thought whatsoever to Mrs. Velmont. Her daughters had expressed such utter devotion to the memory of their father that I had simply forgotten that another parent had ever existed. I felt rather foolish and I found myself apologizing.
“I should have thought to offer to seek her before,” I said. “I am very sorry not to have done so.”
“We didn’t like to ask,” Dovie said.
“Whyever not?”
“We thought it might be painful for you,” Elva said.
“Because of your own mother,” they said in unison.
“That is very thoughtful of you but you needn’t have tried to spare my feelings. I have absolutely no recollection of my mother.”
“Neither do we. The similarities are striking.”
“We lost her before we were out of the nursery,” Dovie said.
“In fact, I was still less than a year old when she slipped away during Dovie’s arrival.”
“It was easier to pretend she had never existed than it would have been to acknowledge the gaping hole where a mother should have been,” Dovie said. “We thought it likely you would feel the same.” She blinked her light blue eyes at me from behind her wire-rimmed spectacles. Their thoughtfulness touched me deeply and I felt my throat burn with unshed tears. Dovie seemed to sense them and leaned across the table to cover my hand with her own.
“I know just what you mean but I must confess, I longed for my mother every day for as long as I can remember.”
“Then you are just the person to help us get into contact with our own. Will you try?” I nodded but felt a heavy heart as I did so. My readings for the Velmonts and their father were based heavily on all the emotion they brought forward about him as well as the tidbits of information they dropped in casual conversation.
I had not had the opportunity to glean anything about their mother, not even her name. I could only hope that between the voice and the tarot cards that they would find themselves satisfied with the reading in the end. I shuffled the deck, cut the cards into three stacks, and asked the voice for guidance.
The cards felt lifeless, as they sometimes do. It doesn’t happen often but when it does the reading does not tend to go well. I wondered why the voice was silent and my own intuition had abandoned me. I was going to have to rely on the showman’s box of tricks to prime the pump. After all, it wouldn’t do for the hotel’s investors to lose confidence in my abilities to connect with the dead. I ran through my usual list of leading questions for sitters. I felt nudged to think about the woman they asked about and about mothers in general. I thought about the sorts of things I might want to hear from my own mother on the subject of suffrage.
I closed my eyes and placed my hands shelteringly over the cards. “The cards are cold. She does not need them.” I pushed them into a pile at the center of the séance table. “She wishes to communicate more directly with her beloved daughters.” Through slitted eyes I noticed the hopeful glances exchanged between the sisters. Even at their advanced age it was clear they longed to feel like someone’s cherished child. It didn’t require any form of metaphysical ability for me to understand how they felt or what they most desired to hear.
“I hear her faintly. She seems like a gentle spirit.” Considering the way opposites attract and the information I knew to be true of Mr. Velmont, she would have had to have been a mild-mannered person to garner his attention.
“So everyone who knew her has said.” Elva sounded so hopeful. I almost felt bad about deceiving her but since the deception increased her happiness and cost her nothing I told my conscience to quiet itself down. “What else does she say?”
“She speaks of watching you both throughout your lives. Even though she could not make herself felt in the physical realm, she hopes you were aware of her constant, loving presence.”
“We have been, haven’t we, Elva? Haven’t I always said I could feel her in the very air around us?” Dovie gripped her sister’s hand and shook it.
“She asks if you noticed any signs of her here in the Belden,” I said. “Anything that answers the question you have set before her?” I watched through the barest crack between my eyes for the exchange between them.
“The cycling suits.” Elva nodded at Dovie. Without thinking I opened my eyes in surprise. Cycling suits had not been at all on my mind.
“You mean like mine?” I asked.
“Yes. And Lucy’s and Miss Rice’s.”
“Don’t forget the catalogue, sister,” Dovie said.
“We received a Sears and Roebuck catalogue in the post a few days ago,” Elva said. “One of the pages was folded down at the corner as if it had been marked.”
“When we opened it we noticed the illustration showed a pair of women, arm in arm, wearing matching cycling suits.”
“And you believe this is a message from your mother?” I asked. It was not what I would have expected but the sisters seemed surprisingly pleased.
“It most certainly is.” They nodded at each other again in that way they had, as though they knew exactly what the other was thinking without any words passing between them. “She planned to dress us alike, you see,” Dovie said.
“You sound quite certain,” I said.
“Oh yes. Mother was an avid needlewoman. Even before I was born she created clothing that matched in a variety of sizes,” Elva said. “She sewed little dresses and knitted little shawls and caps. They were always in light blues and soft yellows and there was always one that was larger and one that was smaller.”
“There was enough to keep us clothed for several years,” Dovie said. “The nurses and nannies that cared for us after she died followed her wishes and dressed us in matching outfits every day.” I didn’t have the heart to mention to the ladies that it was likely their mother was simply a thrifty woman who wanted to use up the bits of material left over from creating a larger garment to produce a smaller one as well. If it pleased them to believe their mother had planned for them to dress alike it did no harm for them to continue to think so.
“Once we had outgrown the clothing she had made, Father made a point of having the help replenish our wardrobes with things that matched,” Elva said.
“We could never see a reason to discontinue the practice so we
dress alike even now,” Dovie said. That explained it. I had been curious as to why two adult sisters would dress identically all the time. In fact, when I had first met the pair it had been difficult to tell them apart. Elva was slightly older and just a bit smaller. Dovie walked at a more leisurely pace and was inclined to smile more. But everything they adorned themselves with matched exactly from their shoes to their hatpins to their spectacles.
“It is said that if you see or hear something three times it is a sign,” I said.
“Exactly. First we received the catalogue, then we saw you and Lucy leaving for your outing sporting your matched suits,” Elva said.
“Don’t forget meeting Miss Rice in the lobby just now,” Sophronia said. “She was asking Ben if he knew of a seamstress she could call to make some alterations to her cycling outfits. Miss Rice can’t even thread a needle.”
“That was the third incident,” Dovie said. “Obviously, Mother has something to say.”
“Which is what prompted our desire to contact her as well,” Dovie said. “Could you ask her if she wants us to procure cycling outfits of our own?”
“More important, should we join the suffrage movement?” Elva asked. Both sisters leaned toward me, their eyes shining and their crepey cheeks pinked with excitement. There was no doubt in my mind which answer they hoped their mother would give them.
At our first sitting together, with a great deal of help from the voice, I had convinced the sisters of my ability to channel messages from their father. I had used that complete faith to convince them to follow their own instincts on many occasions. They only needed a bit of ghostly approval to push them in the direction they wanted to go in the first place.
I should probably have felt guilty about devising such falsehoods but they were happier and more confident in their own decision-making abilities than they were when first we met. They had taken up swimming, learned to manage their own investments, and had allowed themselves the pleasure of reading popular, sensationalized fiction. My readings for them were something the highly critical Mrs. Doyle would have described as white lies. Even though I knew it to be fraud, I fully intended to continue to encourage them to trust in their own minds until such time as they seemed to have no need of such support.
I closed my eyes once more and swayed gently back and forth in my chair. I cocked my head to one side as if catching a message in my left ear. I nodded to the unseen speaker and then opened my eyes and smiled at the sisters.
“Your mother wishes you to know that she approves of whatever it is the two of you desire to do, as long as you do it together.”
“So she approves of us joining the suffrage cause?” Elva asked.
“She does if you are in agreement.” The sisters nodded their heads simultaneously and pushed back their chairs at the same time. I looked over at the ornate silver clock on the mantelpiece. “You still have time left in your session.”
“Thank you, Ruby, but we have much to do today.”
“We have to seek out a pair of cycling suits. Before the march.” They rose and flitted away. I watched their retreating backs as they went through the door arm in arm and I wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like to have a sister.
Chapter Fourteen
Sophronia waited until the Velmont sisters had passed through the midnight blue portiere before speaking.
“I am impressed,” she said. I felt the knots in my neck and shoulders ease. Perhaps I had succeeded in convincing her of my abilities after all. “You have as rare a gift as the Velmonts, and your aunt, say that you do.” I felt my cheeks warm. It was pleasant to receive such a compliment but I was still learning to offer a gracious response.
“Your good opinion leaves me overwhelmed. I am still quite new to mediumship and am exceedingly grateful for any encouragement but from someone as respected as you it is even more valued.” Ever since arriving in Old Orchard my ability to hear the voice had strengthened. Honoria and Mrs. Doyle had given me advice on building my skills but neither of them was a medium and neither was clairaudient. I would dearly love a mentor to assist me in making sense of my gift. A flicker of hope swelled in my heart that Sophronia might be just such a teacher.
“You give me more credit than I deserve, Ruby. Tell me, do you try to use these in all your readings?” Sophronia pointed at the stack of tarot cards placed in the center of the table.
“Not always. I use them when the situation seems to call for it.” I didn’t say that I also used them when I felt unsure. My cards were like a child’s favorite stuffed toy or doll. They brought me comfort when I needed to be soothed by something familiar. Half the deck had belonged to my mother and I had used it for years to earn the extra pennies that had kept food on the table when Father wasted his earnings on wild schemes or strong drink.
The other half of the deck had been in Honoria’s possession and I had only recently begun to use both halves together. I had never had a guide other than the voice I heard in my head to advise me on the true meaning of the cards. Instead, I had always used my intuition and imagination to interpret the images on the cards querents chose during the readings. Unsure how best to proceed I determined I’d let Sophronia decide.
“Would you like me to use them with you?” I asked.
“Perhaps another time. Today I would like to become more acquainted with you. Tell me, how do you manage to give such satisfactory readings to your sitters?” There was a conspiratorial tone to Sophronia’s voice that set my heart pounding and lifted the fine hairs along my forearms.
That was just the sort of question that I most wanted to dodge. I worked in the hotel as the medium and I prided myself on the helpfulness of the readings I gave to the clients. Honoria reassured me that what I did was genuine but I still could not say with any surety that I truly believed I was a medium at all. Hearing a voice was not the same, in my opinion, as seeing spirits or even hearing a multitude of different voices of dearly departed individuals. I heard only one. One that always felt like the same exact advisor. It was a fine line between what I did and what the clients believed me to be doing and I was not sure how much of the truth I should reveal to Sophronia. I swallowed a dry lump in my throat and asked the voice for guidance.
“Tell her about me.”
I had made a point in recent weeks to follow the advice the voice gave me no matter what. Even when I trembled at its suggestions. Even when I felt certain it must be wrong.
“I hear a voice,” I said, looking at the table. Sophronia reached across the space between us and took my hand. She did so in a comforting, reassuring way and I felt oddly at ease despite my usual reluctance to discuss such things.
“Why do you say this like it is something to be afraid of?”
“There is an inherent danger in admitting to hearing voices. Asylums are filled with people who make such claims.” I had never told anyone about the voice until I arrived in Old Orchard. In fact, if Mrs. Doyle hadn’t suggested she had expected me to inherit my mother’s gift of clairaudience, I likely never would have done. All my life I had suffered from a dread of being shut up in the sort of lunatic asylum I had read about in books. I would not have mentioned it to Sophronia if it had not been for the voice’s urging.
“You are right to be cautious when sharing such a secret. It is far too easy for men to confine independent and inconvenient women to such places.” She shook her head so swiftly a hairpin escaped its mooring and clattered onto the table. She picked it up and winked at me. “In honor of your confidence in me shall I entrust you with a secret of my own?”
The voice spoke again. “Accept this offer.” I nodded.
“Do you really believe I see visions of the dead floating in front of my eyes when I am holding a rally or giving a public presentation?” She released my hand from her grasp.
“Don’t you? That is your reputation within the Spiritualist community,” I said, tryi
ng to keep my voice even. I could hardly hear my own words over the swishing of blood in my ears as I thought of Lucy and the disappointment she would feel knowing Sophronia was a fraud. “It is part of the way you bill your public appearances.”
“Very effective it is, too. I was quite pleased with myself when I decided to add the theatrical flair of Spiritualism to my presentations.”
“Are you entrusting me with the confidence that you are a fraud?” I was flabbergasted. Sophronia had so much to lose if I were to share her secret with the world.
“Certainly not. It’s just that there is a narrow gap between what the audience would like to hear I can do and what I actually do. It seems remarkably similar to what you do.”
“What is it that you do if you don’t see spirits of the dead?” I asked. I wasn’t sure if I should be hopeful or even more worried by her admission.
“I see not the dead but a vision of the future with such clarity it often feels more real than the present circumstances in which I find myself. Women will have the vote. They will even be elected to public office. I daresay one day even the highest office the land.” Sophronia gazed off toward the ceiling as if that bright future called to her from the plaster medallion ringing the small crystal chandelier dangling above our heads.
“Why don’t you simply share that vision with the public? Wouldn’t your supporters be overjoyed to hear such things from you?”
“For the simple reason that I have found one of the most effective ways as a woman to be heard is to not seem to be the one speaking at all.” Sophronia leaned across the table and drummed the top with her slim fingers. “If I say what I see or even what I think I am demonized as a woman who has forgotten her place. If I share messages from those who have passed into the wisdom of the great beyond, rather than it coming directly from a mere woman, the message becomes far more palatable. Especially with those who believe in the possibility of spirit communication far more than they believe in the capabilities of the female population.”
Whispers of Warning Page 8
