Shrouded In Thought (Gilded Age Mysteries Book 2) (11 page)

“You must forgive my husband.” The hostess appeared mortified.

“Of course, it was not his fault. Please do not worry.”

Garrison rushed forward with a glass of brandy instead of water. Serafina drank it without protest.

Euphemia hovered solicitously. “Do you feel well enough to continue?”

The medium gave a helpless little shrug. “I am afraid I cannot. She is gone. I do not think she will return tonight. I am so sorry, Mrs. Allworthy. I do not believe I can do any more this evening. I am very tired now.”

“My dear, you must not fret. I understand that such matters cannot be regulated like winding a clock. You must go to your room and get some rest.”

Serafina patted the older woman’s hand comfortingly. “We will speak again tomorrow.”

***

Martin was pacing back and forth under the porch light. He took in huge gulps of air, but his lungs never seemed to stretch enough despite his efforts to fill them.

“How could that young ass sit there without blinking! ’I’m sorry but I don’t recall this particular bathing beauty.’ The witless fool!”

Martin shakily tried to light a cigar. The smoke didn’t calm him. It made him cough and further irritated his shortness of breath. It was too impossible to believe. He leaned his head against one of the columns on the front porch. The stone felt cool to the touch. Soothing. His heart was still hammering away, and it took several more moments before he could regulate its pounding by a sheer act of will.

“This can’t be. Someone must have told her. The alternative is unthinkable!” Martin began to grow anxious about what the others would say. He was about to re-enter the house when the door opened and Evangeline and Freddie emerged.

“What, are the festivities over so soon?” His hands were still shaking.

Evangeline gave him a searching look. “Yes, I’m afraid so. Serafina seems rather done in for the evening.”

“Well, another time perhaps.”

“Yes, another time,” Evangeline said evenly. “Thank you for a most interesting evening.”

“Most interesting.” Freddie took Evangeline’s arm to help her down the front stairs. The street lamps were no more than feeble pinpoints of light that afforded little assistance under the cloudy night sky.

Martin watched the couple recede into the shadows beyond the reach of the porch lamps. Taking his first full breath, he straightened his tie, ground out his cigar and re-entered the house.

***

“Well, that was a unique experience,” Freddie said wryly once they were out of earshot of the villa.

“I thought Serafina was quite gifted.”

“Oh, rubbish, Engie! How can you believe such nonsense?”

“She was accurate, wasn’t she?”

“Accurate!” Freddie cried in disbelief. “Everything she said could have been information fed to her beforehand. I’ve no doubt her friend Creech is a confidence trickster as well. My profession, Allworthy’s background, even your dabbling as a detective are all facts that are common knowledge to any of our acquaintances!”

“Why do you find it so difficult to credit an honest medium?” Evangeline sounded nettled.

“Because it’s a contradiction in terms. There is no such thing as an honest medium. All this mumbo jumbo can’t be proven. It’s all smoke and mirrors. The idea of ghosts is utterly absurd!”

“Freddie, are you a Christian?”

“What?” The young man was taken aback by the abrupt change in topic. He stopped dead in his tracks and peered down at his companion in the shadowy glow of a street lamp.

“I asked if you are a Christian or not.”

“Of course I am! What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Then you believe in the existence of God?”

Beginning to sense a philosophical trap, the young man answered cautiously. “That is the most basic principle of the Christian faith. Yes, of course I do.”

“How do you know He, if indeed He is a He, exists?”

Freddie groaned in exasperation. “I have it upon the good authority of generations of holy men that He does. Some of them have even testified that they saw Him.”

“Indeed. And I have it upon the good authority of generations of witnesses who testify that they have seen ghosts. Why is your belief more worthy than mine?”

“Because yours is ridiculous, that’s why! Disembodied forms floating around in the air frightening people into having fits!”

Evangeline maintained her composure. “As a Christian, you believe that a virgin gave birth to a man who walked on water and rose from the dead, do you not?”

Freddie refused to admit that her reductive description made this fundamental religious tenet sound as ridiculous as his own portrayal of ghosts. Instead, he chose to take the moral high ground. “Have a care, Engie. You’re implying heresy to say you don’t believe in it, too.”

His companion laughed at his pompous defensive strategy. “I’m not spouting heresy, Freddie. You’d be surprised how conventional some of my beliefs are, but I merely wish to point out an inconsistency in your thought process.”

Freddie calculated the further verbal humiliation he faced if he opposed her. Rather than argue the point, he sighed and asked, “What might that be?”

“Since the existence of God or the existence of ghosts are matters that ultimately come down to a question of belief, I hardly think you can prove anything one way or another. What is it your
Saint Paul
says? ‘We walk by faith and not by sight.’”

The young man crossed his arms truculently. “Hmmph!” He made a great show of offended dignity.

“Furthermore, the belief in one type of disembodied form, namely God, opens the door to the belief in another type of disembodied form, namely ghosts. Logic demands it. If you are willing to countenance the one, you must countenance the other.” She paused for effect. “Unless, of course, you’d rather be thought irrational—just like all those silly people who believe in ghosts.”

Freddie made one last attempt. “But what about all the charlatans out there who practice spiritualism to line their own pockets, capitalizing on credulousness as their stock in trade? Can you deny they exist?”

Evangeline shook her head gravely. “I do not deny they exist. And may I remind you that priests sold false relics during the Middle Ages. The Christian church has had its share of charlatans, too. I’m merely saying that each practitioner must be judged on his or her own merits. I am equally as opposed to blind credulity as I am to blind skepticism.”

“What is the lesson I am to infer from all this?” the young man inquired stiffly.

Evangeline shrugged. “Nothing more than the need to keep an open mind. All that we know is not all there is to know. To think otherwise is the grossest kind of intellectual arrogance.”

Freddie escorted her the rest of the way to her front door in silence, still not wishing to admit defeat in the face of her relentless logic. He secretly cursed Evangeline’s advanced education and harbored a suspicion that a Jesuit lurked somewhere in her academic background.

Just as she turned to enter, she offered one parting salvo.

“Oh, Freddie, by the way...”

“Yes?”

“Did any of the newspapers provide a physical description of that girl who drowned at Hyperion? Her hair color or the dress she was wearing?”

“No, not that I know of.”

“But you saw her, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” The young man sighed. Knowing the inevitable question to follow, he braced himself.

“Just out of curiosity. What was her hair color?”

“Brown. Dark brown.”

“And her dress?”

“It was a light gray silk.” He could barely force the words out through tightly clenched teeth.

In the shadowy light, Freddie could see Evangeline’s triumphant smile as she turned to enter the house.

“Good night, dear boy. I trust you will draw the appropriate conclusion.”

Chapter 9—Fired With Conviction

By midnight, tranquility reigned once more over the Allworthy villa. Serafina had been escorted to her room, attended by Mrs. Allworthy’s personal maid, as well as her own, to see to her comfort. Theophilus had been pressed to remain as a house guest until the following morning, at which time he would take the train back to the city. On somewhat less cordial terms, Roland was suffered to stay the night on the understanding that he, too, would return to the city in the morning and thereafter apply himself to business.

After she had seen to the accommodation of her guests, Euphemia retired to her bedroom and sighed with relief as one of the maids unlaced her corset. Donning a dressing gown, she sat down at her vanity table. By the time the maid finished brushing out her hair, she felt herself slipping into a comfortable state of relaxation

Her restful mood was abruptly snapped when she chanced to look into her vanity mirror and caught the reflection of Martin quietly closing the door between their adjoining bedrooms. She had purposely left it open.

She attempted to keep the tone of her voice calm for the sake of the servant. “Martin, a word, if you please.”

She could imagine that Martin was silently damning himself for not escaping her notice before he had bolted the door.

In an equally civil voice, he assented. “Of course, my dear. Of course. I am at your disposal. I’ll just tell my man to go and be right with you.” Martin stuck his head back into his own bedroom and waved his valet to retire.

Euphemia dismissed her maid. Still seated at the vanity table, she turned to stare at her husband. “Shut the door, please.” She knew that the tone of her voice was a signal to him of rough weather ahead.

Martin swallowed hard and did as she instructed. He returned, albeit unwillingly, to the middle of the room and stood before her. A single boudoir lamp burned on the vanity, throwing his shadow against the opposite wall. The shadow dominated the room—something the man who cast it could hardly be said to do.

Folding her hands in her lap, Euphemia didn’t mince words. “Martin, ever since that ugly business at the factory, I’ve been in a quandary about what to do. Tonight has settled the matter for me.”

Her husband laughed nervously. “Why, whatever do you mean, my dear? The matter is already settled. The men have been replaced. Order has been restored. There’s no need for you to concern yourself further about it. Do you mind if I smoke?” Martin drew a gold cigarette case out of his pocket.

His wife inclined her head and waited while he struck a match. She knew he only smoked cigarettes when he was excessively nervous.

“Martin, I have always trusted your judgment to run my concerns in a profitable manner.”

“Of course.” Martin exhaled a puff of smoke in what he must have hoped was a casual manner.

“I’m sorry to say, the time has come when I seriously question your judgment.”

“Please explain what I have done to lose your confidence.” Euphemia could tell from the expression on his face that he dreaded the answer.

“I do not agree with the wage cuts you ordered nor with the way you subsequently dealt with your workers.”

Using the approach of an indulgent parent speaking to a slow-witted child, Martin knelt before Euphemia’s vanity bench and took her hands in his. “My darling, as I’ve already explained to you, our orders were down. What other course of action could I take? You didn’t want to see your profits destroyed, did you?”

Euphemia coldly withdrew her hands from her husband’s grasp. “Of course I don’t wish to see profits destroyed, but I have reason to doubt your explanation of events. I have reason to doubt the wage cuts were precipitated by a steep decline in orders.”

“Really?” Martin stood back up. He turned his back on his wife and strode to the opposite end of the room. She assumed this was in order to conceal the nervous tic in his right eye, which had begun to jump ever so slightly. He extinguished his half-smoked cigarette and absent-mindedly lit up another.

“Mr. Tibbs paid me a visit last week.”

Martin turned to face his wife with an expression of disbelief. “The bookkeeper? He was fired along with the other strikers. In fact, he was their leader!”

“Quite,” Euphemia replied simply. “He told me he no longer had anything left to lose. He showed me a copy of the company books and related some interesting anecdotes about Mr. Bayne, his exorbitant salary, and the manner in which he conducts himself at my factory.”

“Malice!” Martin protested. “Pure spite! What would you expect him to say? He was fired and wanted to lash out at me by spreading lies!”

Euphemia turned back to face her mirror. Slowly removing her rings, she spoke to Martin’s reflection. “That thought had crossed my mind, and so I kept silent until I could weigh the facts. Mr. Bayne’s performance this evening leaves me in no doubt as to the veracity of Mr. Tibbs.”

Martin gulped down a prodigious amount of smoke. He furtively cast a glance at his wife’s reflection, staring back at him in her mirror.

“Why are you protecting this man, Martin?” Her voice was dead calm.

The master of the house turned away from her again and began to pace. He shrugged, his back to his wife. “I told you. I owed him a favor. A rather large favor.”

“What favor? What could be of such consequence that you would jeopardize a thriving concern to shield him in this manner?”

“It... it’s a matter between gentleman. I... I... cannot speak of it.”

“Gentlemen?” His wife was incredulous. “You have the audacity to call that man a gentleman after his behavior tonight?”

Martin cut in frantically. “No matter what his behavior is or was, I am still a gentleman and must bear my obligations as one! You must understand, it’s a matter of honor that I fulfill my part of the bargain. A matter of family honor! You must trust me in this. I will say no more about it!” Martin’s voice had risen in pitch. Something akin to desperation had crept into his tone.

Euphemia rose and turned to face her husband. He stopped in mid-stride as she stared him down.

“You have spoken of your honor, but I am a practical woman. I suggest you think less about your pride and more about running an efficient operation. What you have done makes for bad business. It is bad business to cut the wages of honest workingmen in order to pay the salary of a parasite. It is worse business to let a hundred experienced workers go and replace them with novices in order to protect the salary of this same parasite. It was bad enough when Roland joined the company. This is ten times worse. Bad business all around.

‘Not only that. Your timing leaves a great deal to be desired. Because of the Pullman strike,
Chicago
is teetering on the brink of a worker’s revolt yet all you can do is add fuel to the fire. I want the original workers brought back and their wages reinstated. Above all, I want Mr. Bayne removed.”

Euphemia watched her husband pace around the room like a caged animal. He seemed panicked, scarcely rational. “I need time! You must understand, it is paramount that I not offend him in this! Do not ask me why, for I am not at liberty to explain myself further. Perhaps I can find him another place. Perhaps I can work out some other arrangement that will be satisfactory to him.”

“How much time?” Euphemia asked coldly. “I hope you understand that you are in no position to bargain here.”

Martin hesitated a moment. “Two weeks. Give me two weeks to settle matters for him.”

Euphemia continued to stare. “And at the end of two weeks, then what?”

Martin never stopped pacing. “As I said, I want to remain on cordial terms with him, so I’ll invite him out here on a Saturday afternoon. I’ll explain matters to him. I’ll offer him better terms elsewhere and... that will be that.”

Euphemia nodded. “Very well. I accept your provisos with respect to Mr. Bayne.”

Martin appeared ready to slip through the door to the safety of his own room, but his wife stopped him.

“Wait!” she commanded. “I’m not finished yet. While we’re on the subject of questionable behavior, I also have something to say about Roland.”

Her husband stood suspended in mid-flight. “Yes?” he asked mildly.

Euphemia considered her words carefully. “The vision Serafina saw behind him at the séance has started me thinking in an entirely new direction about Roland. It aroused a suspicion that he may have had something to do with the death of that poor drowned girl. I can’t think of any other reason for the apparition.”

“Euphemia, my dear, you can scarcely condemn him because of that.”

Euphemia held her hand up for silence. “I intend to make inquiries into his behavior while he worked at my factory. Perhaps Mr. Tibbs would like to perform that little service for me.”

Martin opened his mouth to protest but Euphemia’s cold stare silenced him.

“So help me, Martin, if anything comes to light that connects your nephew with that girl’s death, being cut off without a penny will be the least of his worries. For the time being, just tell him to keep his distance from me and this house. Is that clear?”

Martin nodded silently.

“Very well then. I leave it to you to take the necessary steps regarding Roland and Mr. Bayne without any further intervention from me.”

She resumed her seat before the vanity and dismissed him offhandedly as she faced the mirror. “You may retire now, Martin.” Euphemia watched as his reflection bobbed his head and made hastily for the door.

“And Martin...”

“Yes?” He paused with his hand suspended over the doorknob.

She continued to address his reflection. “After your final tete-a-tete with Mr. Bayne two weeks from now, I never want to see that man in my house again. Is that also understood?”

“Yes, my dear,” Martin nodded vigorously. “Perfectly.” Before she could offer any additional comment he scurried into his own room and closed the door swiftly behind him.

***

Only when he was alone did Martin give way to his silent rage.

His valet was gone, so he had to undress himself. He threw off his coat and kicked it into a heap in the corner. Tugging angrily at his collar, he sent buttons snapping and flying in every direction. For a moment he contemplated smashing a lamp, a mirror, anything that would make a satisfying crashing sound. He breathed deeply several times to clear his head, to regain control. Finally, walking over to his dresser, he propped his elbows on it, running his fingers through his thinning hair, trying desperately to think of a way out.

He stared at himself in the mirror—not seeing his own reflection—seeing instead the image of a ghost with damp brown hair.

“This won’t do,” he muttered to himself. “This cannot continue as it has. I must take steps. I must put an end to this once and for all!”

He felt the weight of the invisible chain of his family honor grow heavier and tighter around his neck.