by Suzanne Weyn
In the next minute, Blythe was crashing through the surf toward us. “Help me get her up!” I commanded. Together we were able to get her out of the water. Mimi met us with a wool blanket opened wide to enfold first Amelie, then me.
My teeth chattered uncontrollably and yet Amelie was strangely serene. “She’s sleepwalking again,” Blythe realized as Mimi spread the blanket over my shoulders.
“Why does she do it?” Mimi asked. She shook Amelie. “Wake up!” she shouted. “Wake up!”
“Don’t do that,” I said.
Amelie blinked hard and then began to cry.
“Are you awake, Amelie?” I asked.
She nodded as the tears streamed from her eyes.
“Why are you crying?” I asked, though I knew she wouldn’t answer me.
Amelie’s tears escalated into huge, rolling sobs. She was nearly hysterical.
Mimi took hold of her shoulders firmly. “Come on; let’s get home. It’s freezing out here.”
We made our way across the beach without saying anything more. As soon as we opened Agatha’s front door, though, we heard horrifying screams from upstairs. “That’s Emma!” Blythe cried as she, Mimi, and I raced to the second floor.
The door was still open and we found Mother trying to subdue Emma, who thrashed wildly on the bed, shrieking with terror. “Emma, wake up!” Mother shouted. “You’re dreaming! Wake up!”
She threw Mother off with the elevated strength of the truly terrified and desperate. Her eyes were like saucers. Her arms swept back and forth rapidly. “Help me, Mother!” she screamed. “Help! I’m drowning!”
“You’re not drowning, Emma!” Mother yelled. “I’m here. You’re dreaming!”
Agatha bolted into the room, mudpack and sleep bonnet on. “Who’s drowning? What’s happening?”
“Emma’s having a nightmare,” I told her.
“A waking nightmare,” Blythe added.
“Oh, the night terrors,” Agatha said.
Amelie came into the room, dripping water everywhere. I wasn’t sure if she was awake or asleep.
Only then did Mother and Agatha look at us closely. “You’re wet!” Mother cried, aghast. “Where have you been?”
Before we could answer, Amelie got onto the bed and put her arms around the frantic Emma. Like a blind person, Emma felt her wet hair and wet face and slowly seemed soothed.
“We have to get her out of that wet nightgown,” Agatha said, but Mother held up a hand to stop her. Emma laid her head on Amelie’s shoulder. Together they lay down on the bed and quickly drifted back to sleep.
“Now what do you suppose that was about?” Mother asked.
Chapter 20
The next day, the five of us were all laid flat with illness, ranging from Emma, Mimi, and Blythe with sniffles to Amelie and me, who had raging fevers, congestion, and a total lack of energy. Fortunately Mother and Agatha were well and tended to us.
They both left by midmorning because Mother was giving a lecture titled “Spiritualism, a Science We Do Not Yet Understand.”
For my part, I lay deep in feverish dreams. I dreamed of ships passing in the night, going faster than was possible. I was all alone on a huge liner. I saw Mimi dressed in a bride’s dress on another ship. She waved a lace hanky as she receded quickly from me. I cried out to her not to leave. I saw Blythe on another ship with twenty children dancing around her. Tesla and Thad flew overhead in a small, flying automobile, which was probably how I imagined Tesla’s flivver plane. Strangely, as happens in dreams, Aunty Lily was with them and she was driving. When I looked down, Emma and Amelie were happily doing the backstroke in the ocean. Amelie called to me to join them, in a voice very like Emma’s.
From time to time I would wake, parched. Cousin Agatha was always nearby to pour me a glass of water from her cut-glass pitcher. She placed cold towels on my forehead as I returned to my delirium of dreams.
By suppertime, I was cooler. “Thank heavens, darling,” said Agatha, handing me toast on a plate. “You’ll soon be better now. Amelie is still quite feverish, though.”
I ate the toast and then went upstairs to see Amelie. In her room, an orange and pink sunset was pouring into the window. Emma sat on the bed beside Amelie, who slept. I sat beside her.
“What’s it like with her when she’s not channeling or making predictions through you?” I asked.
“It’s just talk. She says something and I hear it in my mind, and then I answer in my mind and she hears it in hers. I never have to speak out loud to her.”
“It’s strange, Emma.”
“Not to me. It’s the way it’s been all my life. I like it. It’s com forting to be so close to another person. I’m never lonely.”
Mimi and Blythe came in. They’d sent a telegram to Mrs. LaRoche, the Frenchwoman Mimi had met who was looking for a nanny. “I hope she wants me,” Blythe fretted, her voice thick with congestion. “You told her I love children, didn’t you, Mimi?”
“Since when do you love children?” I scoffed.
“I was one until very recently,” Blythe replied.
“Shh!” Mimi hushed us. “Let’s let Amelie sleep.”
“Can you see her dreams?” I asked Emma in a whisper.
“Sometimes, but not right now.”
We went downstairs just as Mother came in with Agatha, who had driven to London to get her. Mother was aflutter with all the news from the conference. W. T. Stead was the most gifted psychic she had ever met—an absolute genius of extrasensory perception. The way he communicated with Julia, his spirit guide, was amazing. “That Mr. Weiss kept trying to expose him as a fake but he never could!”
“Mother, are you in love with Mr. Stead?” Blythe asked. I was glad she posed the question, because I wouldn’t have had the nerve, but I was also wondering.
Mother colored a brilliant red, which wasn’t at all like her. “Heavens, no! He has a wife and six children. They live out on three acres in a place called Grainey Hall. He has merely rented the town house for the conference. We are dear friends and colleagues.”
I directed my next comment to Mimi. “It matters to a decent person that a person he or she fancies might already be married.”
“Who says I fancy him?” Mother objected. “He is a brilliant, brilliant man. And kind. But there is no romance.”
No matter what she said, I had the feeling that she had been disappointed to discover he had a wife, let alone six children.
“In a speech today he recounted three premonitions he’s had in his life which were fulfilled. He alluded to a fourth which is yet to come,” Mother told us.
“What is it?” Emma asked.
Mother gazed at us intensely and held a beat for one of the dramatic pauses that had become a trademark with her. “He would not say. He didn’t want to be accused of bringing about that which he had predicted.”
“Did Dr. Conan Doyle come back?” I asked Mother.
“Yes, but the poor man seems to have aged ten years. He is now completely converted to spiritualism, however, and sat for several readings. I did a vibrational reading for him.”
“You touched the man who writes Sherlock Holmes!” I gasped.
“Only his vibratory field, and it’s very erratic, I fear. I cautioned him to be careful of his health.”
“Mother, can you truly tell anything at all by doing that?” Mimi demanded.
Mother cast a withering glance. “Would I do it if I could not?”
Mimi shot me the most subtle look of exasperation, no more than a lifted brow and a quivering eyeball, but it was enough to make me bite down on a grin. How I had missed her!
By the next day, even Amelie was almost all better, though she stayed in bed while we went to the convention with Mother. I saw Mr. Weiss writing in a notebook, appearing very engrossed. Intrigued, I sat down beside him. “Have you found evidence of fraud?” I asked.
He spoke swiftly, as if eager to be back to his writing. “Oh, there’s a great deal of trickery going on here
. Yes, indeed. Some of these people are so good at it that I cannot see how they are doing it at all.”
“If you can’t detect a trick, then maybe it’s legitimate,” I offered.
“It can’t be done, so it has to be a trick,” he countered.
“Isn’t that a preconceived notion tainting your research?” I argued.
“It’s plain common sense, if that’s what you mean.”
“Are you writing an article claiming that the conference is full of frauds?” I inquired. I was surprised to discover that I was slightly alarmed by this possibility. Was I becoming a believer, or did I simply like the people involved and not want to see them embarrassed?
“Someday I will write that article, but right now I am recording all the tricks I have witnessed here. One man can throw his voice to the corner of the room and thereby appear to be talking to a ghost. It’s the greatest demonstration of ventriloquism I’ve ever witnessed. Another woman can swallow metal objects and silently regurgitate them at will, thus appearing to produce keys and bracelets and all sorts of things from the spirit world. It’s amazing!”
“If you’re not writing an article, what will you do with the information?” I asked.
He grinned at me. “I will only become the greatest magician the world has ever seen; that’s all! My fame will be even greater than it already is.”
“I know who you are!” I cried as the reality burst upon me. “You’re Harry Houdini, the magician!” I’d seen his picture in the papers. He would have himself chained hand and foot yet escape from a sealed case of water before he drowned.
He stood abruptly and bowed. “At your service,” he said gallantly.
“Why are you using a fake name?” I asked.
“It is my real name. Harry Houdini is the fake name.” He tucked his notebook under his arm. “Good-bye, Jane,” he said.
I watched him leave, not quite believing I’d actually met the world’s greatest magician. His convincing skepticism made me once again uncertain about the spiritual realm.
The next day, Mimi received a return telegram from Mrs. LaRoche who said she had already put Blythe’s ticket in the first-class mail. Needless to say, Blythe was in a state of exaltation. However, it quickly turned into a state of absolute panic when she considered that her wardrobe wasn’t nearly grand enough for the greatest of all luxury liners, the Titanic.
“You’re just a kid nanny,” I reminded her.
“And you’ll be in second class,” Mimi said.
“That won’t matter. You’ll get me into first class, won’t you? I mean, for meals and parties and things?”
“I don’t know if I can,” Mimi told her.
“Well, I’ll find a way in—but not in these horrible dresses I own. Oh, this is a disaster!”
Chapter 21
April ninth was the last day of the conference. Mimi and Blythe would leave on the Titanic that morning, while Emma, Amelie, Mother, and I had tickets to sail on the twelfth on another ship. We would meet Blythe and Mimi in New York.
“Your European trip is over, so will you be coming back to Spirit Vale with us?” I asked Mimi that evening as we walked along the boardwalk.
She wouldn’t meet my eye. “I don’t know. It depends.”
“On what?”
“On how things go with Victor.”
I sighed. “Suit yourself,” I grumbled.
Now she looked straight at me. “Don’t be that way, Jane. Why do you have to make this harder than it already is?”
“It’s not hard for you,” I countered angrily. “You do just as you please. You dumped me off in a strange city and then left me to go home alone to face the consequences.”
“We went there for your sake, in case you don’t remember,” she came back at me. “And you met Thad. You ran off to lunch with him, as I recall.”
“Yes, lunch, Mimi—not Europe!”
“You don’t understand,” she insisted.
“I understand selfishness when I see it.” I don’t know what made me be so peevish with her. Oh, but maybe I do—it was the idea of her leaving again. Tomorrow she would be gone and she was telling me she didn’t know if she was ever coming back. And this time she was taking Blythe with her. Even though I’d see Blythe again in New York, the whole thing just gave me a bad feeling.
Mimi turned and walked back toward Agatha’s without even waiting for me. For the rest of the evening we were icy to each other. Everyone must have noticed as we sat around the table having Agatha’s trifle pudding for dessert. I’d been outspoken enough about my feelings, so I supposed they pretty much figured out what was going on.
“Mr. Stead has invited us to breakfast in the morning. I hope you girls can be civil to each other and not ruin the event,” Mother cautioned.
Mimi and I didn’t look at each other but stared down at our desserts without responding.
“Darlings, remind me to get petrol in the morning for the trip to the dock,” said Agatha.
“I’m sorry, dear. I forgot to tell you. William, Mr. Stead, will accompany them by train to Southampton,” Mother said. “He’s also leaving tomorrow on the Titanic. President Taft himself mailed him first-class passenger tickets directly from the White House.”
“You won’t be seeing us off?” Blythe questioned, pouting.
“We’ll say our good-byes at Mr. Stead’s conference house. It will only be for a few days,” Mother said.
“Almost a week,” Blythe corrected her.
Mimi pushed her chair back and picked up her dish. “I’m not quite finished packing. How about you, Blythe?”
“I’m in desperate need of help,” she replied. “Do you think I could borrow some of your things? Ninette’s bought you such pretty clothing, and I’m almost your size.”
“Not nearly,” I put in.
They both shot me looks of annoyance.
“I have a few dresses you could borrow,” Emma offered. “And you have some nice ones, Amelie. Could Blythe borrow some?”
Amelie looked up from her pudding and nodded.
Blythe’s smile was forced. “Thank you both, but I’m sure Mimi has more clothes than she can even pack.”
Mimi sighed with tolerant exasperation. “Later we’ll go see what I’ve got.”
“Agatha,” Mother said, stirring her tea in a distracted way, as Emma, Amelie, and I took our dishes to the kitchen, “have you ever read anything by an author named Morgan Robertson?”
Agatha tilted her head thoughtfully. “I can’t say that I have, darling. Why?”
“He was at the conference—a charming man. I only just met him and I can’t recall reading any of his books, but his name seems so familiar and I simply can’t stop racking my brain trying to remember where I know it from.”
“Why does it matter so much?” I asked, returning to the parlor.
“I’m not sure,” Mother answered absently, clearly still stewing on the question. “It just seems important for some reason.”
“I’m sure it will come to you,” Agatha commented.
“That reminds me,” Mother said, looking at Mimi and Blythe. “Be cordial to Mr. Stead on the ship, girls, but do not occupy too much of his time. When I told him you would be on the Titanic, Mr. Stead did his utmost to convince me this was not a good idea. He urged me to have you take another ship.”
“I can’t!” Mimi cried. “I must take the Titanic with Ninette and Mr. Guggenheim. They’re my employers. I’m being paid to keep Ninette company.”
“And I don’t want to take some dumpy, dull other ship!” Blythe put in. “To travel on the Titanic is a chance of a lifetime. It wouldn’t be fair to prevent me from going! Why did he say that?”
“He wouldn’t say, but many socially prominent people will be on board. The only reason I can think of could be that he wants to be free to associate with them without being distracted by looking out for your welfare.”
“We won’t bother him,” Mimi assured Mother. “But there is no chance that we would pa
ss up this trip.”
“That’s what I told him,” Mother said.
“It’s strange for him to object so much to their presence on the ship,” I remarked. He’d been so friendly to us during the conference that it seemed out of character to me.
“It struck me as a bit odd, as well,” Mother agreed. “He ended our conversation with a peculiar statement. He said, ‘Mimi is a woman and Blythe will be considered a child. That will affect the outcome.’ When I asked him what outcome he was referring to, he brushed it off, saying he was just working out a problem in his head.”
We arrived at Mr. Stead’s breakfast at seven thirty in the morning on April tenth. Mr. Stead was entering the building as we all pulled up, jammed into Agatha’s motorcar. He explained that he had gone to his home in the country to spend the night before his departure with his wife and children.
It was a lovely buffet spread, and we all ate heartily. We were not the only ones there. Agatha joined us at Mr. Stead’s invitation. Quite a number of other guests attended, but they were all on their way by nine.
Mimi and Blythe were dressed to travel, their suitcases stowed in the front lobby closet. Blythe was like a baby peacock strutting her new finery, a navy blue jacket and a blue sailor-style dress with a dropped waist, both borrowed from Mimi. Her brimmed hat was truly cute. Mimi was the picture of elegance in a rose brocade, ankle-length dress with a solid rose jacket.
Mr. Stead was quiet during breakfast. I assumed he was tired from the rigors of the conference or maybe apprehensive of the upcoming peace conference. We all left the buffet table and at Mr. Stead’s invitation joined him in the study to await the horse-cab he’d ordered to take them to the Waterloo train station. From there they would take the train to the Titanic.
The study was lined with bookcases and papers. “I’ve slowly brought so many things from home,” he commented when he saw me looking at them. “Somehow I shall have to get all this back to the country when I return from the United States and give up my lease on this place.”
“Have you learned anything valuable from this conference?” Mother asked him.
