Perdita (22 page)

But now—it is most aggravating! Grandpere eyes me strangely, as if he suspects something afoot between myself and George, and on our ride back from the hospital he positively interrogated me about the
Stewarts.

Surely he must see that I am nothing to George—only a mere acquaintance—and that I would never see him if it were not for his deep friendship with Dr. McTavish.

February 15

My heart is still racing from this evening's events; it is impossible to think of sleeping, and yet I do not know if I can bring myself to write about what has taken place. I long for Tad, and my own dear room—and Claude would bring calm, I know, to my throbbing
temples.

Oh, why did I agree to join them? I see now that I should have left as soon as they began! Did I remain to protect Allan or to sate my own curiosity? There is a knock at my door—it is Aunt Louise. Oh, I shall welcome her presence this
night!

February 16

I am more composed now; the daylight has produced a calmness in me, and I am able to think more clearly. I almost dare not recount the evening's experience, for I still feel so
unsettled.

Perhaps if I had been prepared for it—I believe I would have refused to join them. Yesterday I had felt unusually fatigued and so had gone to my room before dinner to lie down. Indeed I fell asleep and so was absent for some hours; perhaps Dr. McTavish learned of their intended visit during this
interval.

At any rate, when I came downstairs refreshed, well after the hour at which we usually dine, the hallway was crowded with guests: Caroline Ferguson and her father, George and Allan, Dr. Reid, two other gentlemen I did not recognize as well as their wives, and a very plump, dark-haired lady who was emerging from a swirl of abundant and luxurious fur. Beside her was a slight and somewhat sickly looking young boy. At first I thought he must have been ten years old or younger, but later learned that he and Allan are the same age. The boy, I almost immediately divined, was blind, for he stretched out his hands for his mother, the dark-haired lady, and, once finding her sleeve, hung on to her with a ferocious grip. For her part, she did not seem to mind this and swept him along with her as if he were but part of her frock trailing behind
her.

I gave my greetings to all, and Caroline, though distant, was cordial. She was very beautiful in a gown of deep red, and there was a trimming of Spanish lace at her wrists and throat. I was rather dismayed that I was wearing only a simple dress of navy silk, though I thought it became me. Mr. Ferguson's salutation was warm, and he introduced me to a Mr. and Mrs. Claremont, as well as the other couple, Mr. and Mrs. Poole. Madame Gzowski (for that was the dark-haired lady's name) I did not meet until we were all assembled in the drawing room, where her son, Ivan, did the most peculiar thing. He transferred his grip from his mama to me, begged that I give him a tour of the room, and insisted I describe its most interesting objects. I caught George looking toward me, his eyebrows raised in some surprise and amusement, but at my quizzical expression, he gave a slight nod as if to say, go ahead, the fellow is quite
harmless.

I was happy to comply, for Caroline was next to George, talking in an animated way, and she frequently pulled on his sleeve, giving me the impression that there was an intimacy between them. Perhaps I was still a little sleepy, but it made me very cross to see them thus, and I was glad of some task that would draw my attention elsewhere. Dr. Reid had struck me as somewhat subdued when he greeted me, but he kindly moved some chairs away and created a path for Ivan and me to circle the room. While all of this was happening, Ivan's mother never ceased speaking and she was deep in conference with Dr. McTavish, who, I surmised, was already well acquainted with the lady. I looked about for Allan, but he was standing with George and Caroline, and I was reluctant to appear to notice their colloquy by drawing away Allan's
attention.

Ivan was a very queer boy with a high squeaky voice and restless hands. He soon stopped our perambulations and insisted upon running his fingers all over my face and hair. I gave him license to do so, as he was thoroughly blind, but his slender fingers felt like mice running across my features, and I held very still, almost in an agony until he might stop. Again Dr. Reid was so kind; he stayed quite close by me, and I flashed a grateful smile at him. It was not that I was uncomfortable around children—just that Ivan was so unusual a
boy!

“Are you pretty?” Ivan piped at me. I was surprised at his boldness and did not know what to say, and my eyebrows lifted of their own
accord.

His fingers caught the movement, and he quipped, “Ah, I have surprised you. You must be pretty, and I think that you are not haughty; your eyebrows are too quick and light-footed.” Then, feeling beneath my chin, “And your skin does not sag like my mama's.” Dr. Reid coughed and said quite sternly that Miss Brice was very pretty: fair of both face and form. I blushed a little at his compliment—but there were Ivan's fingers on my cheeks again, feeling them go warm, and a devilish smile on his lips! And then his fingers were tapping and tugging at my hair. “Your hair is very soft, and your ears are pointed like a fairy's.” I smiled at that and queried how
he
could be so sure that a fairy's ears were
pointed.

“You are treating me like a child!” He pouted and withdrew his hands
immediately.

“Are you not a child?” I
exclaimed.

“No,” Ivan answered. “I am fourteen, though Mama says that I am small for my age and
sickly.”

I was silenced by his comment, and perhaps he felt my mood, for he said, “Do not pity me! I have special gifts, and even Mama is sometimes disconcerted by my
powers.”

I led him toward the bookcases and then guided his fingers to the sora and barn owl that we had recently placed upon one of the shelves and cautioned him to be gentle. He took a greedy interest in both objects, and I was amazed at how quickly his fingers moved across them in exploration. From behind us I could hear an animated conversation, and then I distinguished Caroline's voice urging George to agree to some proposal. There was the sudden sound of clapping and laughter, and then I saw Allan beginning to push away the sofa and pull back the chairs to clear a space in front of the
fire.

I looked over my shoulder at Dr. Reid inquisitively and stepped away from Ivan. He explained in a low voice that Caroline had brought Madame Gzowski—a celebrated medium—with the express purpose of inducing Dr. McTavish to hold a séance. My expression must have betrayed my misgivings, for he looked rather gravely at
me.

“But surely,” I said, “not with Allan and Ivan
present?”

“I am perhaps of the same opinion as you, Miss Brice,” Dr. Reid replied. “For I have no enthusiasm for the Fergusons' experimentation with spiritualism. You remember my opinions regarding melancholia. I am convinced that this comes of a morbid sentimentality toward Caroline's mother and a refusal to accept the fact of her
death.”

I murmured my agreement with his reservations, but it was Allan's impressionability that troubled me, and I felt my old fears from the previous summer
returning.

By this time they had decided that the dining room would serve their purposes best, and Dr. McTavish gave instructions to have the fire stoked. We all moved toward the round room, and Mr. Claremont began to draw the heavy curtains while his wife extinguished all the lights, except a heavy candelabrum, which she placed upon the
mantel.

“Ivan,” I said, turning to the boy, “perhaps you and I and Allan might find amusement
elsewhere.”

“Oh, no,” he retorted. “Mama will never communicate with the spirits without
me!”

I turned to Dr. Reid, aghast. Could it be that this woman used her own son in her…theatrics? I could think of no other word, for I had no confidence in any of these
proceedings.

“Perhaps, Miss Brice, you might wish to forgo the séance. It has absolutely no effect upon me, but you…” he
muttered.

I did not know what to say, for Ivan was already drawing me toward their voices and hence to the table, where all were taking their places, including Allan. Dr. McTavish was wearing an expression I could not fathom. I was relieved that Aunt Louise and Grandpere had retired early, for Aunt Louise in particular—a most pious Catholic—would have vehemently opposed such an activity, and perhaps even abandoned the household if her admonitions went ignored. Almost instinctively my hand went to my throat and the small silver cross that she had given me. Though I was certain I was not superstitious, still I felt
disturbed.

Dr. Reid, I think, was amused by it all—at least at
first.

Two chairs at one end of the table were reserved for Madame Gzowski and Ivan. The rest of us took our places, and I found myself between Allan and Dr. Reid. I looked closely at Madame Gzowski as she arranged the folds of her dress and drew a dark scarf over her hair, heightening my impression of her as a Gypsy. She instructed us to close our eyes and join our hands together. I was reassured by Dr. Reid's firm grip to my right and the gentle pressure with which he held my hand. Yet I could almost feel Allan's uncontainable excitement on my left, and through my lashes, I kept my vision surreptitiously trained upon the
medium.

She remained in a deep silence for several minutes—so much so that some of the company started to become restless and Mrs. Poole began to whisper to her
husband.

“Silence, if you please,” Madame Gzowski intoned, and then after several more seconds, “We are not arranged in an optimal sequence, and I request that some of you change your places.” She then proceeded to separate the Pooles, and she instructed Caroline and me to exchange our chairs. I left Allan reluctantly and found myself with George on my left and Ivan on my right. The boy's hand was moist and cold, and I shrank from his touch. In George's hand my fingers trembled against my will, and I desperately tried to calm my agitation. I resolved to keep my eyes shut no matter what occurred and determined to think of other things no matter how Madame Gzowski might direct our
thoughts.

By and by the silence deepened, and I could hear Ivan breathing loudly beside me as if he were falling asleep. Then he began to murmur—strange disconnected words. I felt this to be extremely uncomfortable, and so I decided to do my best to ignore him and to train my thoughts elsewhere. I imagined the Bay, thinking of its snow-covered shoreline and of its silence at this time of year. Before long I felt myself drifting there, and in my mind's eye, I was standing below the lighthouse watching the moon light up great drifts of snow and shimmer across frozen sheets of ice. Ivan's breaths grew faint and
insignificant.

At first I felt an idle pleasure in thinking of my home—but then, all of a sudden, it seemed as if I were really there! My body drifted up toward the cottage, and then, gazing through the window, I saw Tad and Auntie Alis and Uncle Gil at the kitchen table, a solitary candle lit and Tad reading to both of them as Auntie bent over her darning, ever working. I wanted to go to them and draw my chair to the table and listen to Tad's deep voice as he read to us. And then before long I was out behind the kitchen door and there was snow everywhere—deep and lustrous in the moonlight. But I felt none of the cold, and the stinging wind swept past without molesting me. My body drifted down the familiar pathway, through the deep woods, and then—oh, it was
so
real—I stood at the edge of the Basin where it lay frozen and blanketed in
snow.

“Marged.”

There was a voice calling my name from somewhere deep below the snow and ice—and yet I knew that I must not step upon its surface, though my heart yearned to follow the voice. I stayed suspended there for a few moments, and then the clouds extinguished the moon and I knew that I was back in the dining room. Ivan's hand was limp in mine, and he was slumped back in his chair, sleeping peacefully, or so it seemed to me. I gently released his hand, but as I did so, he sat bolt upright and whispered, “You are the one who fetched her—not
I!”

I opened my eyes immediately—for all that I had imagined thus far had occurred with my eyes closed. I heard Madame Gzowski softly admonishing us to keep our eyes closed no matter what might happen. My own traveled unhurriedly across the features of the Claremonts, Caroline's furrowed forehead, and then Allan's strained visage. Madame Gzowski's voice intoned strange words, and I felt my limbs grow terribly heavy—so heavy that I could barely cling to George's hand, nor could I turn my head toward him. With great effort, I cast a glance toward Dr. McTavish, and without any warning, he opened his eyes and stared straight into
mine.

It was then that I saw her behind him—oh, I am afraid to recount it! She rose up behind him: a young woman in a light-colored gown that seemed to be in constant movement around her. Against my will, I felt myself float up from the table and drift toward her. As I came closer, and to my horror, I perceived that her dress was a sheet of living spiders—scurrying madly across her body with long, shimmering filaments trailing from their bodies. The woman wore an expression of extreme anguish upon her face, and she carried a pair of silver scissors. These she brought to her forehead in great distress, and she seemed bewildered as to what she should do. She looked at me—and beyond me—and my heart was filled with a great and overwhelming anxiety for her. I strained to take the scissors from her hands, but my own limbs were so heavy that I could not make them heed my commands. And then, casting a look of utter despair at me, the woman took a deep breath and, holding the scissors, she began to rend her dress, tearing at the fabric indiscriminately and sending the spiders flying in all directions. Some of them scattered upon the table, and I wished to call out a warning, but my voice was locked in my chest, just as the woman seemed to hold her own breath
captive.

In a matter of seconds, her dress was in shreds and the remaining spiders had collected at her bosom. With one last frenzied movement, she clutched the scissors to her breast and tore at the front of her gown. At this, the spiders fled in earnest, and I saw them leap back away from her and into the air. And then I seemed to feel them fall upon my face and in my hair, and I
screamed!