The Dark Between (23 page)

When the conversation flagged once again, Elsie reached for her bag and retrieved her camera.

Simon’s eyes widened. “You trusted my rowing skills enough to risk your camera?”

“I can hardly bear to be parted from it,” she replied, opening the box and clicking the lens into place.

“I’m afraid it’s going to rain any minute,” said Kate, peering at the sky.

“Then get to your feet and stand so that the college is behind you.” She turned to Simon. “What is that building, Mr. Wakeham?”

“New Court,” he said. “Built less than a hundred years ago. My cousin Marshall has rooms there.”

“It’s very grand. Kate, you must pretend you are a princess escaping the tower. Mr. Wakeham, help me pose her.”

They laughed so much as they directed the placement of Kate’s arms, hands, and head that it took quite a while to arrange an appropriate pose. Afterward Simon consented to be photographed beside the river, and he smiled handsomely when coaxed by Kate. Before they could arrange another pose, it began to drizzle.

Elsie packed her camera away as Simon and Kate pulled the basket and blanket under the canopy of an enormous willow tree. There they settled, listening in silence to the gentle patter of rain. Simon was half sitting and half lying, propped on an elbow. Elsie positioned herself so that she could covertly study the back of his head, his pale neck and wide shoulders. After a moment she leaned against the tree, thinking she’d not felt such contentment in years.

She closed her eyes and imagined walking alone with Simon through the meadow, their arms entwined. She rested her head against the mossy bark, smiling as she envisioned him searching her face, the cool grey of his eyes warming with passion. Yawning contentedly, she settled further into the fantasy.

“Someone is watching us,” said Kate.

Elsie opened her eyes to see the girl scrambling to her feet.

Simon jerked upright. “What? Who?”

Elsie leaned forward, peering into the distance, but Simon blocked her view.

“Oh!” Kate cried. “He said he would find me.” She glanced back, her expression apologetic. “Please excuse me—I won’t be gone long.” And with that she was off into the rain, holding the parasol over her head. Her hat lay on the picnic blanket.

“Kate,” Elsie cried, “that parasol is not meant for
rain
!”

But Kate was already out of hearing.

“It will be in soggy tatters when she gets back,” said Elsie, brushing the grass from her skirt. “I wonder who that was.”

“I’ve no idea,” Simon replied, without turning. “Should I go after her?”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine. She’s very good at taking care of herself.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Then he swung around and began tidying the abandoned picnic items.

“Oh, please don’t bother with that yet,” Elsie said quickly, pushing the items aside and inching toward him. “Let’s sit awhile longer. This is such a beautiful place, and I envy you for spending so much time here. Did you say you read classics at Trinity?”

He nodded.

“May I ask, then, what led you to your interest in the metaphysical? Has this always been a passion of yours?”

He smiled. “Would you believe, Miss Atherton, that before coming to Cambridge I fully intended to find my vocation within the church? My father was a vicar, after all.”

“He was?”

“Both he and my mother were devout Christians.”

“So what changed your mind? Did you lose your faith?”

“Not in a higher power. Just … in the church. I couldn’t find the answers I sought there. And yet I still yearned for the serenity I’d once found in sermons and hymns.”

“And you found it in your research?”

He laughed. “There are many so-called metaphysical researchers, and their studies vary greatly. Some of them seem to make a religion out of it, despite the fact that much of the research has led to disappointment. I’d say most Society members are intrigued by the soul and its afterlife, but for my part I would rather study the matter scientifically than sit through sermons or séances.” He paused, his expression hardening. “The
Society members are united, however, in their opposition to the Materialists—those who believe there is no soul, no existence after death. Those who reject metaphysical theories out of hand. They claim to have science on their side but in doing so offer even less comfort.”

Elsie knew if she examined her own religious beliefs, she would have little to offer him in the way of comfort. Although she was fond of their handsome village church by the river, she went to services out of duty rather than spiritual zeal. The sermons made her sleepy, but the hymns were beautiful. Sometimes, when the choir was singing, she felt her spirit reaching out to something higher. But overall, religion merely seemed part of the routine of country life.

“I think I know what you mean,” she finally said.

“I suppose what drives me to study metaphysical phenomena,” Simon continued, “is this certainty I have—or perhaps, if I’m honest with myself, it’s really a profound longing—that the life of the mind does not end with death. Corporeal life is over—I understand that.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But the idea that I could be completely extinguished, that no part of me would continue to exist and grow … well, it’s intolerable.”

She stared at him. She couldn’t help herself.

At that moment she longed to tell him everything.
I have seen the other side. Existence does continue
. But she had only seen the spirit continuing in pain and confusion—there was nothing comforting about that. So she held her tongue, instead reaching out to place her hand on his.

He looked into her eyes for a brief, delicious moment before turning away. “I find it hard to meet your gaze sometimes,” he murmured.

She pulled her hand back, inwardly cursing her own boldness. “But why?”

“There’s a peculiar light in your eyes. As if you know something about me—something I may not even know about myself.” He returned his gaze to her. “It’s disconcerting.”

She thought of the lady in the dark between. She’d loved him so desperately she could not stay away, not even in death. Did he long to speak with her? Would he even wish to see how desperate she was?

“I think it may be that I can read an old grief in your face,” Elsie said.

His eyes widened. “Really?”

“At supper you said you’d lost your father and a close friend. I can see that their deaths still haunt you.” She smiled. “I certainly didn’t mean to be disconcerting.”

He shook his head. “I am behaving like an idiot.” He moved closer and took her hand, staring at it for a moment. When he looked up his expression was blandly cheerful. “I invited you to go rowing, but instead of offering you lively conversation I’ve maundered on about religion and death. And this tree won’t protect us from the rain much longer. Can you forgive me?”

Even though he held her hand, she could feel him pulling away. Her mention of grief and loss had made him skittish, as though she’d touched upon something he wished to hold to himself. Of course, this only made her long to delve further into those very secrets he protected.

She wove her fingers through his. “I don’t care about the rain, Mr. Wakeham, and I don’t desire lively conversation. All I want is for people to talk to me about real things, things that matter, even if they are painful.” She sighed. “I wish you weren’t leaving Cambridge so soon, for I should like to know you better.”

He met her gaze directly, and though his face seemed
haunted, his eyes were wide with surprise … and something like yearning.

The rain began to fall with more force, dripping down through the leaves. Simon blinked as a drop splashed his temple. With her free hand Elsie smoothed a lock of hair that had tumbled over his brow and then allowed her fingers to trail down his cheek, following the path of the raindrop. Her heart was pounding, but she no longer felt shame at her boldness. This was innocent. She only meant to comfort him, to put him at ease and encourage his trust in her.

But she also wanted very much to kiss him.

Her fingers trailed by his mouth, and then she let her hand drop to her lap.

He swallowed, his grip tightening on her other hand.

She leaned forward ever so slightly.

And then, finally, his lips were on hers, slightly open and soft as a whisper. She closed her eyes and sank into him. There was nothing frenzied about it—he did not clasp her by the back of the head and crush her mouth with his own … as the artist had done. Simon’s kiss was so light, like a tentative caress, that she longed to be the aggressor. She pressed against him, imagining herself pushing him to the ground.

A shudder went through her body, but it wasn’t a tremble of desire. Rather, it was the sinking feeling that always prefaced a convulsion. She roughly pushed away from Simon, closing her eyes and gasping for air.

“No, no, no,” she moaned, willing her body to stop shaking.

“My God, what did I do?”

She lifted her hand to silence him. “Just … allow me a moment. Please.” She took several deep breaths, willing her pulse to slow.
This will not happen. I do not want this to happen. I control this
.

And somehow … as it had the night of the dinner party, her body listened. Only this time the fit had come upon her much more suddenly and powerfully. It had taken all the strength she could muster to push it back. And the only thing that could explain such an onslaught was that
she
was here with him. Simon’s lost love.

She opened her eyes.

Simon Wakeham was pale. “I beg your forgiveness. I never intended that to happen.”

“You were here with
her
,” she whispered.

His eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “It was a fleeting thought. The friend you mentioned—it occurred to me that you might have brought her here once. Perhaps for a picnic like this one?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Why would
that
suddenly occur to you?”

“Her memory haunts you. It’s … holding you back somehow.”

“Miss Atherton, when we first met at the British, you spoke words to me. They almost sounded like a message from another person—a person I once knew.”

Panic fluttered in her chest. “I hardly remember that day. My condition often leads to gaps in memory.” She was stumbling horribly, no doubt sounding like a fool. Asher needn’t have worried she would confess everything to Simon, for she was terrified of the havoc her truth might wreak. She was so close to having him.

“What caused your condition, Elsie?” His eyes were gentle, encouraging.

“I was struck by lightning.” The words rushed from her
mouth like a sigh she could no longer contain. “I really should be dead.”

He stared at her for a long and uncomfortable moment, his eyes steely. She forced herself to return his gaze steadily.

“You are the most unusual person I’ve ever met,” he finally said, his mouth softening into a smile. Then he leaned closer and kissed her again.

Chapter 23

I
t was Tec who stood in the rain. Kate broke into a run, eager to throw her arms around him. She had so many questions, and so much to tell him.

But when she came within ten paces of him, he turned and stalked away.

“Tec!”

She lowered the parasol and again screamed his name into the rain, but he didn’t even glance back.

Heart sinking into her gut, she followed him across the grass and through the gate to Garret Hostel Lane. The rain fell more heavily now—perhaps he meant to find shelter so they could have a proper chat without being soaked. Instead he turned onto Trinity Lane without pausing. She called out again, but he either didn’t hear her or was ignoring her. When she stepped up her pace, he did the same. She would have broken into a run but her skirt, heavy with rain, threatened to trip her. The material of Elsie’s parasol was so waterlogged that it was tearing from the frame, offering little protection from the drops that splashed her face. She folded it up, praying Elsie wouldn’t be too angry when she saw it.

Tec led her on a bewildering chase through the market without once looking back. Each time she thought she’d closed the gap between them, he made an unexpected turn or increased his pace so that she once again found herself far behind. Why had he stood there by the river if he’d not meant to speak to her? And why run away when she called out to him?

On Sidney Street she stumbled on a rock and nearly fell just as a pony cart clattered past, coming within inches of running her over. She dropped the parasol and wrapped her arms around her body, shuddering at the thought of the pony’s iron-shod hooves. When she’d caught her breath, she retrieved the parasol and dashed into the alley, giving wide berth to a speeding bicycle … and ran headlong into a man.

He grunted at the impact, and she reeled back, apologizing. She tried to edge her way around him, but he grabbed her arm.

“And just where are you going in such a hurry?”

The voice was chillingly familiar.

Lifting her head slowly, she peered at the face.

Robert Eliot
.

“You’ll cause an accident if you carry on like that.”

Kate tried to duck her head as he scrutinized her, but he roughly pulled her chin up.

“There’s something familiar about you,” he said. “Dark eyes. Pointy chin.” One hand gripped her shoulder, but the other ran down her free arm and clenched her wrist like a vise. “It’s as though I’ve seen you before, only you were different.”

Kate looked around, hoping for a stranger to see her plight and take pity. But no one bothered to glance toward the muddy alley. The knife was heavy in her pocket, but his iron grip kept her right hand pinned.

He laughed softly. “I know it now. You were the spirit apparition at Martineau’s séance.” Eliot turned her around, crushing
her backside to his body so she could not see him. He twisted her wrist until she squeaked. “You were good, too,” he said. “Made fools of us all, didn’t you? Working your schemes on the streets now, eh? I should take you to the police this instant.”