The Dark Between (14 page)

“No one’s told her, Poole,” Asher said. “Why don’t you explain? We could work through the evidence together.”

“You know I don’t wish to speak of it,” Kate replied sharply.

“What
are
you two talking about?”

Asher closed his book. “She’s been blackmailing me, Elsie, buying my compliance with threats of telling you that I stare
at you when you’re not looking. Well, of course I stare at you! You’re a beautiful girl.” He turned back to Kate, his cheeks spotted with color. “All right, you must spill it now. Start with the police calling for Mr. Thompson.”

Bastard
. And yet she was impressed by this sudden appearance of a backbone. After considering them both for a moment—they
did
seem genuinely concerned—she cleared her throat and recounted the details leading up to the police station visit.

Elsie’s eyes widened. “This body was found in Queens’ Green yesterday? Why did no one tell me?”

“You retired early … after your episode,” said Asher.

Kate noted the strange look that passed between them. “When I heard it was a young boy,” she continued, “I feared it was someone I knew. A friend of mine—Billy was his name—had been missing since Saturday night. So I asked Mr. Beale to accompany me to the police station to view the body, to confirm that it was my friend.”

Elsie’s brow furrowed. “You
looked
at the dead body?”

“She did,” Asher said. “Most girls I know wouldn’t have the stomach for it.”

“I’m nothing like most girls.”

“That much is becoming clear to me,” he said quietly.

“Do go on, Kate,” Elsie prompted.

“Billy was like a brother. We worked together for quite a long time.” She paused, grappling for the right words. “I needed to be certain it was him. But I also wanted to know what happened to him. I thought if I saw the body, I would have some idea of how he died. I suppose neither of you has ever lost someone dear to you … at least, not in such a peculiar way.” She clutched at her skirt to still the tremor in her hands. “It’s like a pain in your gut, the wondering.”

They stared at her.

“I understand,” Elsie finally murmured.

“You say you worked with this boy,” said Asher. “What do you mean? What sort of work?”

Kate looked to Elsie for help, but it was clear the girl would provide no cover. Her eager expression was eloquent—Elsie wished to hear the answer as much as Asher. “Well … we both worked for Mrs. Martineau. She’s a medium, very popular with ladies and gentlemen of Spiritualist leanings. I heard once that she really did have psychic powers when she was younger. But since I’ve known her, she’s relied on tricks and theatrics. She employs clever young boys from Castle End to search out clues on her patrons’ dead loved ones. That’s how she impresses them during her séances.”

“And Billy was one of those boys?” asked Elsie.

“He was the best of the lot.”

Asher leaned forward. “But what do
you
have to do with all this? You still haven’t explained how you worked with this boy.”

“When I was twelve and could no longer attend school, Mrs. Martineau hired me.”

“To do what?”

Kate paused, steeling herself. “I performed during her séances … as her spirit apparition.”

Asher snorted. “
Spirit
apparition? And Mr. Thompson found you out?” He shook his head. “I’d share this with my father if I had any interest in corresponding with him—yet another example of fraudulent Spiritualists.”

Kate shot him a dark look. “Your father is a member of the Metaphysical Society, isn’t he?”

Asher winced. “How did you know?”

“I’ve seen a list of members. Your father numbers among
them, as well as Mr. and Mrs. Thompson, and even”—she glanced at Elsie—“Baron Rolleston.”

“My father?” Elsie gasped.

“Rolleston?” Asher frowned. “But your name is Atherton.”

“Rolleston is his title,” Elsie said absently. “His name is James Atherton. I just … it’s difficult to believe he’s a member.”

“I’ll show you the list later. If Baron Rolleston is not a member now, he was once.” Kate paused before turning to Asher. “My own father was, too. Mr. Thompson shelters me because my father was Frederic Stanton.”

Asher’s mouth fell open. “I know that name. He was a friend to my family—Father even stayed at his house during one of his trips to England.” He frowned. “But if you are Stanton’s child, why is your name Poole?”

Kate hesitated. “I am Frederic Stanton’s natural child,” she said softly. “I was born before he married. As a matter of fact, he refused to marry my mother.”

Elsie cast her eyes downward at this revelation. Asher merely stared.

“He supported us for a time,” Kate continued. “When Mum died, I had to fend for myself.” She looked away, not wanting to see their pity. “Do you know what this means? We are all children of Society members. Odd that we came together like this, don’t you think?”

“I came here partly to escape all that metaphysical hokum,” Asher said. “My father’s made a damn fool of himself over it.”

“After working with Mrs. Martineau,” Kate said quickly, “I had plenty of doubts myself. I still don’t understand precisely what the Metaphysical Society does. I thought Mr. Thompson came to the séance to expose Martineau as a fraud. But a book I found in the Summerfield library—the same one that listed our fathers and the Thompsons as members of the Society—devoted
entire chapters to the belief that minds can communicate with each other without speech … even across great distances.”

Asher sighed. “My father calls it thought-transference.”

“Yes, that’s it,” she said. “The action of one mind on another, but not just between living people. It also meant communication between a living person and one who is about to die or has already passed on.”

Elsie’s face was pale. “Our fathers believed this?”

“That’s what I don’t understand,” Kate said. “Are the members of the Metaphysical Society skeptics? Or believers?”

Asher stood abruptly and moved to the window. “My father is a Harvard scholar. He is renowned for his psychological research. But yes, he is a believer. In fact, he’s trying to prove that some people have the ability to communicate with the dead. Personally I rather despise his methods of collecting data.”

An awkward silence followed. Kate stared at the back of Asher’s head, wondering at the anger that sharpened his tone. What exactly was behind this falling-out with his father? It had to be more than disdain for the man’s beliefs.

“There are men of
learning
who believe in communication with the dead?” Elsie’s voice was unsteady. “And my very own father may be one of them?”

Kate studied the girl as she clutched at the high neck of her blouse. “Elsie, are you all right?”

Elsie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “What did your friend Billy look like?”

Kate flinched. “Pardon me?”

Elsie lifted her hand. “Wait, don’t answer that. Let me ask it in a different way. Did Billy wear a handsome jacket—well cut for a child of his size—and a trilby hat?”

A hot dizziness came over Kate, and she nearly swayed in her seat. “How did you know? Had you met him before?”

Elsie shook her head. “I’d never even heard of him until now. And yet I think I’ve seen him.”

Asher turned from the window. “How?”

Elsie looked from him to Kate, her face pale and pinched.

“Wait here,” she finally replied. “I’ll show you.”

Chapter 15

E
lsie paused on the staircase, the photograph clutched in one hand. How much was she willing to tell them? She’d known them a mere four days. And clearly, neither of them held much faith in visions of the afterlife.

But she had to show Kate this photograph. Once the girl saw it,
she
might believe.

The need to unburden herself was powerful. Secrets weighed heavily upon her, clinging to her like a second skin that itched to be sloughed away. And if the telling might actually
help
rather than harm, wouldn’t that make the risk worthwhile?

What was the worst that could happen? Kate had no station, no power to expose Elsie, let alone have her sent to an institution. Asher came from a prominent family, but he was young. He was smitten, too—even she could see that. He wouldn’t wish to hurt her. Neither of them had any connection to her family, so they shouldn’t feel threatened by her revelation. In fact, they might help her to better understand it. They were both clever and clearheaded, and Elsie had been wandering alone in a fog for too long.

Thus reassured, she continued down the stairs. She would
show them the photograph. Then she would decide how far she wished to take matters.

They were both seated when she entered the room. Their silence unsettled her.

“I printed the photographs from this morning,” Elsie said quietly. “They’re in my bedroom—I’ll show them to you later, if you like. But I also developed the photograph I took near the outbuilding. Do you remember? It was the day we first met.”

“You wanted a photograph of me and Asher,” said Kate.

“Yes,” Asher said, “and afterwards you fell and …”

“I had a seizure,” Elsie finished for him. “Keep that in mind—it is important.” She handed the photograph to Kate. “Look at this and tell me if you notice anything odd.”

She watched as Kate studied the print. After a moment the girl’s eyes widened. “My God, I see it.” Her hand trembled as she passed it to Asher.

He held the photograph near the lamplight, squinting. “I see a blur next to Kate, that’s all.”

Elsie held her breath, praying Asher would open his mind.

“But that blur has eyes, a mouth,” Kate whispered. “It’s wearing a hat.”

Asher shook his head. “You see that because you’re
looking
for it. Elsie already told you what to expect. I see a blur, or at most a double exposure.”

“But I’ve taken no photographs of young children,” Elsie said.

Kate frowned. “You said something about your seizure—that it was important. Why?”

Elsie sat down, panic tightening her throat. Was she really about to put this into words? She could barely breathe.

Kate lightly touched her arm. “Tell us, Elsie. Don’t be afraid.”

This is it. Now or never
.

“Other than my mother, I’ve told no one of this.” Elsie clasped her hands to keep them from shaking. “Mother could not accept it. In fact, I fear she despises me for it. I can’t make
you
accept it, but I do ask that you keep what I tell you in confidence.”

“Good Lord, this sounds dire,” muttered Asher, but he looked uncomfortable rather than dismissive. She gave him a pleading glance and was reassured when his expression softened.

“Go on,” said Kate.

Elsie took a breath and looked toward the window. “When I was twelve, I died.”

She waited for that to sink in, not daring to look at their faces.

“I’m sorry,” Kate said after a moment, “but what do you mean?”

“I was walking outdoors on a spring day.” Elsie kept her eyes trained on the window. “The clouds were dark and heavy, and there were gorgeous rumbles of thunder. It seemed likely to storm, and in those days I enjoyed a walk in the rain, much to my mother’s dismay.” She paused, pained by the simple memories of childhood. “To make a long story short, I was struck by lightning.”

“Oh, Elsie!”

Elsie turned, grateful for the concern in Kate’s eyes. “I remember nothing of it, but I learned later that a stable boy saw it happen. He ran to me, thinking to help, but I wasn’t breathing. So he picked me up and threw me over his shoulder. That’s when I began to cough and cry. He carried me back to the house, practically running the whole way. My mother sent for the village doctor.”

“What did the doctor say?” asked Kate.

“He hardly knew how to explain it. There certainly wasn’t a treatment for such a thing. The lightning left no marks on my body—there were no wounds to heal—but I was very sluggish. My memory was cloudy. The doctor directed me to stay in bed until my strength and memories returned. It took weeks, but I did recover.”

“A miracle,” said Asher, his expression neutral.

“A miracle that I was alive, perhaps, but it soon became clear I wasn’t the same girl. My mother chided me for turning inward when I used to be so lively. I had heart-pounding nightmares that I couldn’t quite remember the next morning.” Elsie paused to take a breath, unaccustomed to speaking so long without interruption. “One day, when I finally was allowed outdoors on my own, I had my first seizure. It was a mild one, but I didn’t have any medication at that time, so the episode ran its course. And during the seizure … I had a strange vision.”

Both Kate and Asher leaned in slightly.

“I saw a girl.” She recounted her vision of the girl whose words billowed like fog, how she spoke of her mother’s anger at her wet dress. “It seemed like a dream, but I assure you I was wide awake. It was as if I’d fallen into another world for a moment, and while there I encountered an inhabitant of that world.”

“Do you think you suffered a brain injury?” The skepticism had returned to Asher’s expression. “It may have been a hallucination.”

“I considered that.” Elsie related the housemaid’s tale of the vicar’s niece and her fall into the well. “She drowned when I was confined to my bed, so I knew nothing about it. Mother strictly forbade me knowing because she felt I was too vulnerable to hear such news.”

“Were you terribly frightened when you saw the dead girl?” asked Kate.

Elsie thought for a moment. “No. The girl—the spirit, perhaps I should say—was merely confused. She didn’t seem to know she was dead.”

Asher’s mouth tightened. “I’m sorry, but that sounds like typical Spiritualist claptrap—spirits who are trapped on this earthly plane, who must be guided toward the light. That sort of thing makes me ill.”

Elsie met his gaze directly. She’d prepared herself for disbelief, skepticism, but not for this trace of venom in his voice. Something had set him dead against anything otherworldly—against anything that defied his notion of what was logical. Was it his father who’d so colored his perceptions? Or someone else? Whoever was responsible, she sensed pain behind his anger.