Megan Chance - The Spiritualist
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A great many thanks to Kim Witherspoon, who saw the potential of this story and went above and beyond the call of duty in helping me see it too; Julie Schilder and Eleanor Jackson, and everyone else at Inkwell Management for their hard work and enthusiasm; and Allison McCabe at Crown, who shaped the manuscript further and with whom it has been a pleasure to work. Id also like to thank Kristin Hannah, for all the reasons she knows, and Liz Osborne, Jena MacPherson, Melinda McRae, Elizabeth DeMatteo, and Sharon Thomas for their support and friendship. And, of course, Kany, Maggie, and Cleo, who put up with a great deal and still offer their unflagging support and loveto you I owe everything.
T he fog crept in at four oclock. By seven it had blanketed the city so completely that the efforts of the lamplighters went for naughtthe streetlamps were completely obscured, and no carriage lamp was bright enough to pierce the gloom. Beyond the misted windows of the brougham, it was as if the world had fallen away. I could almost believe my husband and I were the only ones left alive on this night, and that the muffled echo of our drivers shouts belonged to something otherworldly, as if the nightmares that plagued me had seeped past my watchfulness to follow me into my waking hours.
But I said none of this to Peter. I was so happy that hed asked me to come with him that I would have braved any element. I evenfoolishlyharbored hope that tonight might be the start of some new understanding between us.
I glanced across at him. His blond hair was bright even in the darkness, and he sat so still he could have been made of stone. I knew he was nervousas was Iand I looked out the window and said as idly as I could, Look how heavy the fog is. I wonder that Cullen can even see the road.
Well be late, he said brusquely.
As will everyone else, surely?
He sighed.
I tried to lighten his mood. Its a perfect night for it, wouldnt you say? It already looks as if the world is full of ghosts.
His wince was sharp enough that I felt it. They arent ghosts, Evie, as Ive told you before.
Another misstep. It seemed lately I made nothing but missteps. Quietly I said, I was joking, Peter.
Perhaps I shouldnt have brought you after all. If you cant be open to the possibilities
I can be open
You promised not to be the investigators daughter tonight.
And I wont be. I leaned forward, putting my gloved hand on his arm. With a twinge of dismay, I felt him stiffen beneath my touch. I wont disappoint you. I want to see what you see. I do.
He moved his arm so my hand slid away, and reluctantly I sat back against the plushly cushioned leather seat. He looked out the window. His voice was soft as he said, You know, Evie, hes a miracle worker.
There was something in his words that made me shiver. I moved my feet closer to the brazier and told myself it was due to the damp and penetrating cold, and not the disturbing reverence in my husbands voice. It was a tone Id been hearing more and more often since his mother had died six months before, and though Id told him the truththat I wanted to see what he saw, if only because it would make everything so much easierI could not hide my alarm that hed fallen into this fashion of spirit rappers and table tiltings; he was a lawyer, after all, and Id thought him too rational to believe in such things. Still, I knew too how irrational grief could make one, how all-consuming it could be. I should not be surprised now that hed found comfort in the idea of his mothers enduring, communicating spirit. God knew he had not looked to me for solace, though Id hoped desperately that he would.
Were here, Peter said.
How he knew it, I didnt knowthere was nothing outside to show wed arrived. But then the brougham jerked to a stop, and the fashionably crenelated Gothic brownstone that was Dorothy Bennetts house appeared in the mist before us like some materializing spirit. I had not been to the Bennett mansion in some time, as Dorothy had withdrawn from society almost entirely in the last two years in deference to her invalidism. Now, the sight of it unnerved me. Every window was lit, reflecting against the fog, so the house seemed to stand alone on the block, pulsing with a weirdly macabre life. It looked as if it belonged to one of Mr. Poes strange and eerie tales.
The carriage door opened, and the frosty damp air rushed inside to displace the heat from the brazier. It smelled oily and reedy, of coal smoke and the river, and though I told myself it was an exaggeration, in that moment it seemed as if the foundation of my marriage depended upon this night, and the mist seemed conjured especially to lend atmosphere, to whittle away at my rationality. I knew how much Peter wanted me to believe in this medium of his, and I was desperate enough to ease our vague, unspoken estrangement that I meant to try. But my upbringing worked against meI was uncertain I had the skill to pretend, even for Peter.
He stepped out and turned to offer me a hand, and just as he did so, another carriage pulled up, coming so suddenly out of the fog that I started. Peter turned with a frown that grew deeper as a man pushed open its door and stepped out. But for the paleness of his face above his closely groomed beard, he would have blended into the nightdark coat and top hat, dark beard, eyes I knew already to be so dark brown as to be nearly black. Benjamin Rampling, my husbands law partner.
What are you doing here? Peter asked sharply.
Why shouldnt I come? Havent I been to all the other circles? Bens tone was equally sharp.
Id never heard them speak so to each other. Ben was not only Peters law partner; he was also my husbands closest friend. Hed been to dinner at our house on many occasions over the last year, and Id never heard a harsh word between them. It was obvious that theyd argued, though Peter had said nothing of it.
You said you had too much work.
That was before I learned you intended to bring your pretty wife. Ben gave me a smile, a flash of white teeth in the shadow of his beard. I own I was surprised to hear it. A spirit circle doesnt seem quite the fashion for you, Evelyn.
I tried to ease the tension with flippancy. You think not? But you know how I enjoy spectacleand Peter assures me Ill never see another like Mr. Jourdain.
Ah yes. Jourdain, Jourdain, Jourdain. How ever did we live without him? Ben stepped closer to my husband and put his hand on Peters arm, saying in a lowered voice, I must speak with you.
Peter shook his head and pulled impatiently away. Not now.
When?
Never, if you mean only to repeat your nonsense from before
Even in the darkness, I saw how Bens eyes flashed with temper. Peter, this is important. You must listen to me.
I havent time for your baseless accusations tonight. Were late enough as it is. Peter held out his hand to me, but I hesitated.
Whatever is the matter with you two? I asked.
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