by Kate Danley
Wesley glanced at Clara to make sure she was ready before he knocked.
"Come in!" came a rough, feminine answer.
Wesley opened the door. The room had a table covered in jars of rouge and face paint. A large vase of flowers sat at the end. A dressing screen was at the far end of the room and a petite girl with long, wavy black hair hanging loose to her waist emerged from behind it, tying a golden toga in place.
"Whaddya want?" she asked sharply. "I gotta get on stage in five minutes."
"We apologize for taking up your time…" Clara began.
"Aw, you ain't one of them do-gooders, here to tell me the error of my ways, are ya?" she said as she plunked herself down on a chair to tie the ribbons of her sandals.
"No," Wesley assured her. "We are friends of Phineas Stokeman."
"Oh, Phineas," she said, spinning around to touch up her lip color. She jerked her fingers towards the roses. "Tell him thanks for the flowers."
"We actually come inquiring about another gift that he gave you," said Clara. "An urn. With an Egyptian flair."
"Yeah, he gave that to me," said Pauline.
"We are afraid that there has been some confusion and we must ask for it—"
"I ain't givin' nothing back!" said Pauline, pointing her brush at them. "He gave that to me fair and square. I kept up my end of the bargain. If he wants it back, too bad."
"We are happy to recompense you—" Wesley tried to interject.
"Recompense nothing. I might be an actress, but I ain't no whore. Not everything is for sale."
There was an odd fierceness to her manner, a glint in her eyes that made Clara shudder. This was no mere attachment to a love token. The mummy's heart wanted her to keep it.
"But truly we have something we might offer in exchange," Clara suggested.
"There ain't enough money in the whole world to make me give it up," said Pauline, getting up coldly. Her manner was as regal as the Egyptian queen she was dressed as. "Now, if you will excuse me, I gotta get onstage. Show yourself out." She opened up her door and pointedly indicated that Wesley and Clara were no longer welcome.
She slammed the door behind them.
"Well, that could not have gone worse," said Clara.
13
"Phineas, you must believe us," urged Wesley. "Pauline is in great danger. If there is anything about her that you care for, you must aid us in securing the return of the heart."
The man looked skeptical and placed his tea cup down upon the low, marble-topped table between them. Failing the night before with Pauline, Clara and Wesley decided the only course of action was to appeal once more to Phineas, and found themselves that afternoon practically forcing their way in.
Clara tried to hammer home the danger. "We were there the night that Lord Oroberg died. We saw what happened. Violet was possessed by some creature, some creature tied to this heart, and it led her on a murderous rampage."
Phineas got up and walked to the window, his hands clasped behind his back. He tugged on the curtains to make sure not a single sunbeam entered the room. Finally he spoke, "I have spent my entire life studying the science of possession—"
Wesley interrupted him, "There is no science about it."
"But perhaps there is!" said Phineas, opening up his arms, inviting them to see the possibilities. "What is science? A controlled, recorded sequence of events which leads to the same outcome over and over again. What we have here is a woman who came into contact with this urn, and responded with possession. Another woman came into possession of this urn, and now you say she is possessed, too? Will she go on the same rampage? If we gave it to your friend Mrs. O'Hare, would she respond in kind? What are the variables? What is it about this object that turns its owner to such evil?"
"I assure you I have no idea," said Wesley. "But can you endanger people's lives for this answer?"
Phineas sat down. "But perhaps no one needs be endangered at all."
"What?" said Wesley. "What could you possibly mean?"
"You, Mr. Lowenherz, are a medium of some repute."
Wesley shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "This is true."
"What if this power this… spirit… seeks not to destroy at all but merely to be heard? What if in reaching out to the spiritual plane, we could end this curse for all time?"
"What are you getting at?" asked Wesley, clearly perfectly aware of the direction of this conversation.
"A séance," said Phineas. "A simple joining of hands around a circle. Let us see if we can contact this creature, find out what it wants, find out if it will merely attach itself to another object, or if in fact, it is bound to this heart and all that it requires is to be returned to its body."
"Could we not return it to its body, and if that fails to stop the murders, then attempt a séance?" asked Clara.
"But think of all the time lost in trying to find the new master, the new owner of the offending object. Think of all the lives you put at risk by not investigating this matter fully."
"I hardly think…" began Wesley.
Phineas held up his hand. "I see that you have some misgivings. Let me tempt you. Hold this séance. Speak to this otherworldly creature. Satisfy my curiosity. And when it is done, the urn shall be yours."
"It is a great risk," said Clara, looking worriedly at Wesley.
"And what risk is there?" asked Phineas. "We know the person you believe the spirit has possessed, my dear Pauline. When she arrives, we can take necessary precautions. All of the deaths occurred because the members there were taken unaware. We shall have complete control of the situation. And once we discover from this spirit exactly what it needs to be led to rest, the problem shall be no more. Surely this is a much safer course than blindly setting about the same task and learning that with your one chance, you did it wrong. Surely."
His logic was persuasive. Wesley leaned forward, "Fine. We shall do it."
Phineas stood. "Good! Good! Let us not delay! I shall speak to Pauline tonight, and by tomorrow this entire matter shall be put to rest."
Wesley and Clara rose and made their goodbyes. Once out on the street, Clara looked at Wesley like she had never seen him before in her life. "Why would you place me at such great risk?" she asked.
"Whatever do you mean, Clara?" Wesley asked confused.
"You do not speak with ghosts," she pointed out. "I do."
Wesley seemed defeated. "I know, my darling, I know. But we shall not be using your skill at all."
"What?"
"This is the only way to secure that heart. Think. He promised that we shall have the heart after this experience. So, we go and I shall say that the spirit demands the heart be returned to the body. We regain the heart, and that shall be that."
Clara could not believe that Wesley could be so thick headed. "But don't you see? Whether you put words in the spirit's mouth or not, that does not change the fact that I shall see the spirit. I shall hear the spirit."
"Clara," said Wesley gravely, "I do not trust Mr. Stokeman. I almost feel that if he should learn of the one way to silence this force, he would do his utmost to destroy it, that he will do whatever it takes to keep the spirit here."
"That is absurd," said Clara. "He would be a madman!"
"He does not know this spirit the way that you and I do. He does not see its power. And I fear he underestimates the danger. I shall pose the questions to the spirit tonight. If you can hear the answer, find out its wants without interference from Mr. Stokeman, I feel that we will all rest safer."
Clara thought to herself that perhaps Wesley was underestimating the danger, too.
14
"You are sure that I am needed here?" asked Dr. Van Flemming. "That you are unable to handle this matter on your own?"
"Quite," said Wesley as they disembarked the cab in front of Phineas Stokeman's foreboding house. "We are definitely unable to proceed without you."
They walked up the pathway. Clara hooked her hand in the crook of Dr. Van Flemming's arm in case
he decided to turn tail and run.
It seemed foolish to even bring him along, but Wesley reminded Clara that they needed someone who could verify the urn was in fact the correct urn, and if so, who better to escort her to Dr. Van Flemming's basement with the heart than Dr. Van Flemming himself?
Wesley posed the invitation as a challenge. He stated the truth, that Phineas wanted to test the scientific foundation of this possession, but used Dr. Van Flemming's desire for flattery to win him over.
"Phineas would like an uninterested party to verify that I am not all smoke and mirrors, that there is truth behind what we do. He knows that you, of all people, are capable of seeing through trickery and would not hesitate to speak up."
Wesley decided not to point out that if everything went to plan, everything would be trickery and absolutely nothing supernatural would be occurring.
They knocked at the door and the silent butler opened the door and ushered them in. Phineas was in his drawing room and turned as if delighted to see them there. "My dear Dr. Van Flemming! So glad you could join us and bring a clear eye to our evening's events. It seems ages. And of course Mrs. O'Hare and Mr. Lowenherz."
Seated in a chair in the far corner of the room was Pauline. Her gown was of gold and fringe and showed her figure off to best advantage. She looked utterly put out to have been there, but rose to put forth the least amount of effort to welcome Mr. Stokeman's guests.
"Pauline!" whispered Dr. Van Flemming. His face paled as he looked upon her, as if all of the air in the room had been sucked away.
There was a momentary flicker of apprehension on Pauline's face, which fled so fast, it could have been mistaken for a shadow of the candlelight, but Clara was not fooled.
"Have we met before?" she asked, extending her hand to Dr. Van Flemming.
He stammered, "Yes! You must…” He stopped himself. “I apologize. I am behaving foolishly. We were acquainted in the past."
She shrugged her shoulders, "I'm so busy. It is hard to remember where I've been after a glass or two of champagne."
But Clara was struck by the hollowness of her words. Pauline remembered everything. Clara was sure of it. So what was her game? Why did she pretend to be a stranger? Surely nothing so pedestrian as estranged lovers? There was something else there, something desperate and primal.
Clara looked closer at Pauline, at this woman she pigeonholed as an enemy to prepare against. Could it be this young woman knew things were amiss and attempted to find the information to set things right?
"Perhaps we should begin," said Wesley.
Phineas gave him a polite nod of the head and then directed everyone into the parlor. A table was set up in the middle and Clara could not help but to think of the séance which had gone so disastrously wrong in Lord Oroberg's house.
The table was covered in a dark colored cloth. A candelabra, tambourine, and horn sat in the center surrounding the urn. Clara could not believe it was just sitting there, so normally, as if it did not hold the secrets to a murderous curse. It was a piece of polished stone, shaped like a ginger jar, but smaller. It had a lid made of the same material, but the lid was shaped like the head of an Egyptian woman. Clara tried to sense if there was anything unnatural about it, but felt nothing. She was interrupted when Wesley finished lighting the candles and then sat, indicating they should all take hands.
Phineas looked at the group. "I am afraid that the slightest touch is excruciating to me. My bones are so brittle."
"The circle must be kept intact to protect us from any unfriendly spirits," Wesley explained. "Perhaps if we place our hands palm up, you could rest yours atop ours and we shall not grip at all?"
"That would be acceptable," said Phineas, putting on his gloves before doing as instructed.
Wesley let his eyes roll into the back and let his head loll back as if in prayer. Now knowing him as well as she did, Clara could almost not help but laugh at his theatrics.
"Spirits from the great beyond, we call you to our side! Give us some sign that you are here!" Wesley cried.
The tambourine gave a little shake, but then the flames around them began to flicker. Clara looked around the room worriedly. This was not in their plan. Wesley caught her eye and tried to calm her. The others at the table looked at the candles with interest, but did not understand the true implications of their sputtering.
Wesley tried to refocus the group and called out again. "We are looking for a woman who lived long ago, a queen in Egypt who has been walking the world without rest since the day she died!"
The lights went out completely and Pauline screamed. And then, just as suddenly as they were plunged into darkness, the candles relit themselves.
"I see her," Clara whispered, her eyes wide with fear, trained upon the shadowy figure standing behind Pauline. The spirit was as dark as night, dressed in a golden headdress and gown like Cleopatra. She gave off a cold, unworldly, blue glow.
"Who? Who do you see?" urged Phineas.
"I see nothing!" declared Dr. Van Flemming.
"I see her, too!" said Wesley staring off into space, trying to take their attention off of Clara and onto him. "A woman! In Egyptian dress. Tell us, oh mighty queen, what is it that you desire?"
But Pauline was staring straight at Clara with hate burning in her eyes. The ghost behind controlled her like a puppet. Pauline's lips moved as the woman hissed, "Give me back my heart…"
Clara screamed and Pauline stood up shouting at her, "GIVE ME BACK MY HEART!"
Clara stood, but did not break the circle.
"YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD ESCAPE ME BY KILLING MY VASSAL? ETERNAL LIFE SHALL BE OURS!"
And then Pauline fell into a dead faint.
As did Clara.
And the entire room was pitched into darkness once again.
"Lights! Lights!" cried Phineas.
At once, his butler entered with an oil lamp and long wooden matches. He set about the parlor, lighting the extinguished candles.
Wesley rushed to Clara's side as she started to stir. She raised her hand to her head. "Oh! I seem to have hit myself on the table," she confessed, wincing.
Wesley gently aided her to a sitting position. Clara was surprised to see Dr. Van Flemming tending to Pauline with the utmost care and reverence. The actress had not yet roused.
"Could we get some smelling salts?" Dr. Van Flemming begged the butler. "A glass of water? Anything?"
There was urgency to his voice and Clara and Wesley exchanged glances. Something ran much deeper between these two than they were letting on.
Wesley helped Clara to stand. Phineas Stokeman was standing back, impotently patting his hands upon the soft tails of his coat. "Oh, is Mrs. O'Hare well?" he asked. "I would be most distressed if she came to harm because of my experiment."
Clara nodded grimly. "I am fine, but I am afraid that I must beg your pardon and excuse myself early."
"Of course! Of course!" Phineas said. He called over to his butler, "Please, get Mrs. O'Hare's things. And see to it that a cab is waiting as soon as she leaves."
"Thank you," she murmured, leaning heavily upon Wesley.
She admired Wesley's singular thought. While she was too startled by recent events to think of much else, he said to Phineas, "There is a little matter of exchange. Lives have been put at risk here, and it is imperative that we do not falter from our course. I must ask you for the urn and the heart now."
Phineas waved at the urn on the table. "Please! Take it! Rid me of that foul thing before it does any more harm!"
Wesley leaned Clara gently against one of the tall chairs, waiting until she had steadied herself before he walked over to the table. He picked up the urn and an odd look crossed his face. He shook it slightly, listening for a rattle. He took the lid off and his face fell in defeat. "It is empty."
"Of course it's empty," said Pauline. Ill-tempered, she was awake and allowing Dr. Van Flemming to help her to her feet. "There was some nasty bit of dried something in there. Probably someone's lunch
. I threw it away."
Clara felt her knees go out from beneath her. The heart was gone! The curse would live! Wesley rushed over to her side and placed his arm around her waist to hold her up.
"I am afraid Mrs. O'Hare is unwell and I should get her home," he said. "My apologies for cutting the evening short."
"Go! Go!" said Phineas. "Travel safe. We shall get to the bottom of this mystery if we die trying! That I promise!"
15
Clara rested on a settee in her parlor with a cloth over her eyes. Where she hit her head had left a terrible lump.
Mrs. Nan tsked at her as she switched out the cloth with a colder one. "Such danger you placed yourself in, Clara."
"Oh, Mrs. Nan," Clara sighed. "I fear I have failed. Not only is the curse still alive and strong…” She paused and then confessed a deeper truth. “I hoped that if we found a way to vanquish your murderer, you and Mr. Willard would finally find the peace and rest you so rightly deserve."
"Peace? Tush. What should I do with eternal rest? Give me ten minutes with my feet up and that's all the rest I need," Mrs. Nan said.
"Do you get tired?" asked Clara, taking off the compress so that she could look at Mrs. Nan properly. "I mean, now that you no longer are bound by the physical demands of the body, do you still feel tired or rested or elated or sad?"
"Ah, me, you foolish girl, I feel just the same as the day I died. Perhaps a little stronger. I can carry things now I couldn't before. But otherwise, I feel just like I never left the mortal world."
"Do you miss living?" Clara asked.
Mrs. Nan took the washcloth out of Clara's hands and placed it back upon her brow. "Oh, I miss the company, but now that you're here, you give me enough excitement to keep my days full."
The bell to the front door rang.
"That must be Wesley," said Clara, slowly sitting upright.
"Don't you be letting that man get you into any more scrapes, or else I'll be serving him up a warm piece of my mind," Mrs. Nan chided as she took the washcloth.
