Things Half in Shadow (47 page)

It was a desperate time indeed. We needed to take desperate measures.

“Do you really mean that?” I asked Lucy. “Being so tormented that you almost confessed to what you had done?”

“Of course,” she said. “Why?”

“Because it wouldn't surprise me if others were to have the same reaction.”

I looked around the dim room, my attention settling on the nearby table. There were still instruments scattered on top of it, lying dormant. My gaze shifted to the so-called spirit cabinet against the wall and I thought about the sham of a séance I had witnessed in that room. What Lucy and Thomas had devised weren't bad illusions. While they had failed to trick me, the bells on the table and the “ghost” in the cabinet had managed to fool others. Perhaps they could again.

“You need to hold a séance,” I told Lucy. “You need to contact Lenora Grimes Pastor.”

She responded with a confused laugh. “You, of all people, should know I'm not capable of that.”

“I know,” I replied. “But I don't mean for real. We gather everyone who was in the room with us when Mrs. Pastor died. We bring them here and hold a séance. If the mood is right and the illusions convincing, the person who killed her—”

Lucy, suddenly catching on, gasped and said, “—might confess to her murder.”

W
e worked nonstop through the night, preparing the room for what we hoped would be a convincing séance. It wasn't easy. There were plenty of small problems to solve and, I hate to admit, much arguing involved. But by the time dawn spread its misty wings across the sky, we were finished.

“Do you really think this will work?” Lucy asked.

She was slumped in a chair, seemingly on the cusp of sleep. I lay on the floor, trying to stave off exhaustion. Until she spoke, I had been taking a series of seconds-long naps, my eyes flying open and my body shuddering each time I woke.

“It needs to work. We have no other option.”

Lucy looked around the room through heavily lidded eyes. “I have to admit, it's impressive. Your father taught you well.”

“I'd rather not speak of him,” I said.

I hadn't told Lucy about my prison visit, nor did I intend to. Despite toiling all night, I knew a large part of my exhaustion stemmed from my earlier encounter with Magellan Holmes. Memories of seeing him were still too raw to be able to hear his name. It was like a hangover in that regard.

“I'm sorry,” Lucy said. “So now that the room is ready, what next?”

Forcing myself to sit up, I outlined the rest of our day. In order for our plan to work, we needed every member of Mrs. Pastor's final séance present. That meant rounding them all up and inviting them to Lucy's house. If they resisted, then we needed to coerce them into coming. I wasn't above using blackmail, if necessary, vowing to expose all of their secrets. And if that failed to work, then I was prepared to get Barclay involved. They would have no choice but to come if the police ordered them to.

With the understanding that the task was too great to complete together, Lucy and I divided the list of suspects. She agreed to reach out to P. T. Barnum and Elizabeth Mueller. I assigned myself Mr. and Mrs. Dutton and Robert Pastor. With our tasks set, we parted ways until later that evening.

Once home, weary and unkempt, I got as much sleep as time would allow. It wasn't much, a few hours at most, but it left me far more alert than if I hadn't slept at all. Still, the unkempt part needed to be taken care of. Without Lionel around, that proved to be more difficult than I expected. Carting buckets of water upstairs for my bath wasn't easy work, and by the time I had bathed and shaved, I was again exhausted. Once the whole business of Mrs. Pastor's murder was over—if it would
ever
be over—my next order of business had to be finding a new butler.

I then ate a quick lunch under the watchful eye of Mrs. Patterson, told her I wouldn't be needing her for the rest of the day, and set off for the home of Eldridge and Leslie Dutton.

My plan for the Duttons was to force their attendance by vowing to reveal the two things they didn't want exposed. For Mr. Dutton, that was the otherworldly affair with his late wife. For Mrs. Dutton, I simply needed to mention how I could get something about her role in the Pastor murder written up in the
Bulletin
at a moment's notice. It turned out I didn't need to do either, for it was Bettina Dutton who answered the door.

“Mr. Clark,” she said, surprised but pleasantly so. “What brings you here?”

Her face had been scrubbed clean of that awful paint, leaving her looking almost like a stranger to me. She was prettier that way—a fresh, young woman who would have no trouble eventually finding a beau.

“I came by to invite your parents to a séance this evening,” I said, offering her a card with Lucy's address. “It begins at seven o'clock sharp.”

“After what happened last time, I doubt they're too eager to attend another séance.”

“They must come,” I told her. “I'm sure you'll be able to convince them. It would mean the world to me.”

“I'll try,” Bettina said. “Will your fiancée, Miss Willoughby, be there?”

I lowered my head. “I'm afraid Miss Willoughby and I are no longer engaged.”

It still hurt to say it out loud, like my heart was being squeezed in a vise. But I said it for a reason, getting just the reaction I had intended. Bettina, while aiming for a somber expression, nonetheless couldn't hide being overjoyed at the news.

“They'll be there,” she said quickly. “I promise you.”

With that task easily accomplished, I next headed to the Pastor residence. I knew convincing Robert Pastor was going to be more difficult than the Duttons. Out of everyone involved, he had lost the most when Mrs. Pastor died, and I doubted he would agree to a séance in which the surface goal was to contact her. Therefore I was happy to see Stokely answer the door.

“You here with more questions?” he asked, more amused than annoyed, although I detected both in his voice.

“I am,” I said. “Chief among them is how you're holding up. When we spoke a few days ago, you were quite broken up about Mrs. Pastor's death.”

“I'm still mournin', but I'll be right as rain sure enough.”

“I'm sure you will,” I said. “By the way, I never got the chance to thank you for helping me. It was very kind of you to convince Mr. Pastor to speak with me. Under the circumstances, I wouldn't have blamed you for refusing.”

“I told you before, Mister Clark, I think you're innocent,” Stokely said. “I only hope it helps you find out who really killed Missus Pastor.”

“It hasn't yet. Hopefully soon, though. But that requires more help from you.”

Stokely eyed me with suspicion. “How much help?”

I told him everything. He would have figured it out himself even if I hadn't. But because he trusted me, and because I wanted to retain that trust, I truthfully laid out our entire plan. I urged him to tell Mr. Pastor only that we'd be trying to contact his wife's spirit at a séance. It wouldn't work if any of those suspected knew our real goal.

“That don't sound like much of a plan,” Stokely said once I had finished.

“It's not,” I admitted. “But we're desperate. And we need Mr. Pastor to be there.”

“My allegiance is to Missus Pastor. Not her husband.”

“Then you'll help me?”

“He'll be there,” Stokely promised. “If it'll help bring justice for poor Missus Pastor, then I'll make sure he's there, even if I have to drag him my own self.”

I thanked Stokely as profusely as one could without embarrassing himself, and departed.

While it might have appeared that my task was complete, I knew it wasn't. There was still one more person I needed to bring to the séance. He, unfortunately, lived in the last place that I wanted to visit. Still, I went, catching the trolley at Spring Garden Street and taking it across the river to West Philadelphia. Soon I was at the home of Mr. Thornton Willoughby and his family.

The maid who came to the door looked downright flummoxed to see me, an indication that everyone in the household already knew of the broken engagement. Before I could speak, she retreated into the house, fetching none other than Violet herself.

Wearing a pink dress, with her hair pinned up, she looked as pretty as the day we'd met. But there was a noticeable change to her, as well. The kindness that had once radiated from her was gone, replaced by a weary sadness. My sweet Violet's light had been dimmed.

“Hello, Mr. Clark,” she said in a tone so cold it could have frozen Hades. “Why are you here? I thought I had made my intentions quite clear last night.”

“I'm afraid there's been a mistake,” I told her. “I'm actually here to see Jasper. I apologize for the confusion.”

Violet seemed to dim even further, darkening right before my eyes. Seeing it broke my heart all over again. I wanted to kiss her, badly. I wanted to hold her hand and apologize for every stupid thing I had ever done. But more than anything I wanted to assure her that all of my actions had been for her and that, hopefully soon, my name would be cleared.

Instead, I said nothing as Violet left the door to fetch her brother.

Jasper emerged from the house five minutes later, looking worse than I had ever seen him. His hair was uncombed, his shirt was un-tucked, and his trousers were so wrinkled they resembled an accordion. His face was alarmingly pale, save for his eyes, beneath which hung dark purple circles.

“You went back to your old house again, I see.”

Jasper simultaneously winced and nodded. “I had to finish off those bottles. Couldn't let Winslow find them.”

“I wish you'd tell me what's troubling you.”

“Maybe,” Jasper said, “I'm just a drunk.”

But it was more than that. He was haunted by something. A recently lost love, perhaps, just like I was. Or maybe it was simply guilt, gnawing at him after some misdeed. If so, I wondered about the nature of his crime, and if it involved Lenora Grimes Pastor or Sophie Kruger.

“Well, you can't drink today,” I told him. “At least not until after seven.”

“What's at seven?”

I handed him the card with Lucy's address. “A séance. You're coming to it.”

“Mrs. Collins again,” Jasper said. “You really don't learn, do you, Edward?”

I ignored the jab, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of getting a rise out of me. “Just be there.”

“What if I'm not?”

“Then I'll notify your entire family about that whiskey habit of yours. I'm shocked they haven't noticed it already.”

“I'm certain they have their suspicions,” Jasper said wearily.

“Then imagine how your father will react,” I said with a tip of my hat, “when I confirm it for them.”

P
eople began arriving at Lucy's house shortly before seven. Elizabeth Mueller was the first, followed by P. T. Barnum. Lucy had done her job well. Soon after that came Robert Pastor and, just behind him, Mr. and Mrs. Dutton, with Bettina in tow. Jasper Willoughby was the last to arrive, in much better shape than earlier in the day.

We all convened in the parlor before making our way to the séance room, where Lucy was already seated at the round table. A single tambourine sat in front of her, the other instruments having been relegated to side tables scattered about the room. There were at least a dozen of them, ranging from the smallest of bells to a dusty violin I had found in a corner of my attic. Joining them on the side tables were several candles, their collective flames casting a flickering glow on the ceiling.

Just for show, I picked up one of the instruments—the bugle—and turned it this way and that, proving to anyone who might be watching that it wasn't attached to anything. Some of the other attendees did a similar examination of the remaining instruments.
Mrs. Dutton, for instance, touched one of the bells and gave it a single ring.

The spirit cabinet, no longer against the wall, now straddled one of the room's corners, so everyone seated at the table might have a better view of it. Because the curtains had been drawn tight over the windows, the only light in the room came from the candles and a single lamp situated behind Lucy.

“Thank you all for coming,” she said. “Please take a seat. Anywhere you'd like.”

Thanks to the hole in the portrait of the late Mr. Collins, she had been able to see the number of guests and place a corresponding number of chairs around the table. I took the seat to her right, knowing it would help when her prosthetic arm came out of hiding. Mr. Barnum sat to her left, which was nothing but luck. Being a showman himself, I doubted he'd alert the others if he caught Lucy in the midst of one of her tricks.

The rest of the table, starting at Barnum's left, was arranged in this manner: Mr. Pastor, Mrs. Mueller, Jasper Willoughby, Mrs. Dutton, and Mr. Dutton. Bettina, unsurprisingly, squeezed in between her father and me.