Things Half in Shadow (55 page)

He smiled at my stubbornness. Like father, like son.

“You'd be putting yourself at risk,” he said. “Still, I would enjoy that very much. But let some time pass first. And remember: continue to live life as you already do. Do not bring suspicion upon yourself.”

“I won't,” I said. “I swear it.”

I released the door, letting my fingers slide past my father's own before pulling away for good. Then, giving Magellan Holmes one last glance, I departed.

There was no sadness in my heart as I made the lengthy walk back to Callahan, waiting on the other end of the cell block. I knew I would see my father again soon enough. And if I had my way, it wouldn't be in that godforsaken prison but in the comfort and freedom of my home.

I had no intention of breaking my promise to him. I planned to live as I had been, going through life as Edward Clark. But also, I intended to learn all I could about the Praediti. I was going to find out who they were, where they were. And, when the time came, I would free my father and bring whoever killed my mother to justice.

Because even though I was Edward Clark on the outside, inside I was a new man.

I was once again Columbus Holmes.

T
here you have it—my full account of the murder of Lenora Grimes Pastor and how it came to be that I helped solve it. And while some parts may seem fantastical, I assure you that it's all true. I embellished nothing, for this particular tale needed no embellishment.

And yet there's still more to be told, for strange events continued to be a regular part of my life for quite some time thereafter. Much of it, however, can't fit into a single volume. It would be far too heavy to lift and very easily wear out a reader's welcome. This one is already too long as it is. So if you've made it this far, I thank and salute you.

But there are a few things I feel compelled to mention, mostly because Isabel, my dear granddaughter, demands it. She's been urging on—prodding might be more accurate—my progress all along, sometimes snatching pages from my hands before the ink has even dried on them. If she demands more, then more is what she shall get. She's spoiled, that one. Takes after her grandmother.

So, if you'll allow an old man to ramble on for just a few pages more, I'll tell you about what happened immediately after I left my father in that wretched prison cell. I returned home to Locust Street and found Stokely leaning against the stoop. Beneath his shirt, he later showed me, a bandage as wide as a pillowcase had been wrapped around his stomach. He also required a cane to help keep himself upright.

“Mister Clark,” he said, mustering a smile even in his weakened state. “I've been waitin' for you.”

“What are you doing out here?” I asked, surprised to see him out of the hospital so soon. “Come in, come in.”

Even with the cane, he needed my assistance, which I was glad to give. Although his breathing was shallow and his steps weak—and although he constantly winced in pain—he was alive, which was frankly better than what both of us had expected.

“You should still be recuperating,” I said as I eased him into the most comfortable chair in the parlor.

“I needed to thank you,” Stokely replied. “You saved my life, Mister Clark. Just as sure as Missus Pastor did.”

I sat across from him, undeserving of his thanks. “You're welcome, but there was no need to risk your health and come here. A letter would have sufficed.”

“It might have,” Stokely said. “But I also came 'round for somethin' else. You see, I now find myself in need of a favor.”

“Whatever it is, I'll do my best.”

“Now that Missus Pastor can rest in peace, Mister Pastor plans on goin' back South to be with his people,” Stokely said. “Can't say I blame him. He ain't got nothin' here anymore but bad memories. As for me, well, I don't ever want to go back there. That's where my bad memories are, see? I plan on stayin' right here. And, since I caught wind of the news that you might be needin'—”

I raised my hand to stop him. Stokely needed a job, and I refused to make him experience the indignity of having to ask for one. I would have gladly offered him enough money to live comfortably for a while if I hadn't known it would hurt his pride. Quite honestly, he had been injured enough.

“If you're wondering if I will let you come and work for me, the answer is yes,” I said.

Stokely nodded his gratitude. “I'm a hard worker, Mister Clark. You won't regret it.”

“I'm certain I won't. First, though, you need to get better. You'll be of no use if you don't give yourself time to heal.”

“Thank you, Mister Clark.”

“You're welcome. And from now on, I insist you call me Edward. I'm not one for formality.”

Stokely winked. “Yes'sir . . . Edward.”

The doorbell rang, prompting Stokely to try to stand and answer it. I stopped that nonsense at once, pushing him back into his chair and going to the door myself. Standing on the threshold, quite unexpectedly, was Lucy Collins. Dressed in a frock of yellow silk, she looked bright and lovely, like a spring daffodil blooming right on my doorstep.

“Oh, good,” she said. “You're home.”

“I am,” I replied. “And thank you for ringing the bell this time.”

Lucy's mouth drooped slightly, right on the edge of a frown. “I learned my lesson last time. By the way, how is Miss Willoughby?”

“She's fine. Is that why you're here? To talk about Violet?”

“I'm not,” Lucy said. “This visit is solely about business.”

Her green eyes, I noticed just then, glinted in a way that unnerved me. I had seen that mischievous gleam several times before, and I had the feeling I wasn't going to like whatever scheme she was currently plotting.

“I've been thinking about you quite a bit,” she said.

“You have?”

“Yes. We make a good team, you and I.”

I scratched my head. “Do we?”

“Of course. We solved a murder together.”

“Two murders,” I replied. “Three, if you count Laura Dutton's death.”

“The exact number doesn't matter, Edward. What's important is that we work well together. And I'd like to continue that working relationship.”

I must admit, I was intrigued. All of our other complications aside, I, too, had realized that we made a formidable team.

“What did you have in mind?”

“We can discuss that at length later,” Lucy said. “But for now, I have a proposition for you. I have a client in need of a medium.”

“Aren't
you
a medium?”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “A
true
medium. Someone who has the actual ability to communicate with the dead.”

“I'm afraid you'll have to look elsewhere, because—”

“Don't you dare say you can't do it, Edward Clark,” Lucy interjected. “I saw you with my own eyes. You were every bit as good as Lenora Grimes Pastor.”

“No matter what you saw,” I said, “I have no intention of becoming a medium.”

“But this client is offering an obscene amount of money.”

“I don't need any money.”

“Well, I
do
,” Lucy said. “Because your article in the
Evening Bulletin
mentioned an elaborate fake séance at my home, the entire city now doubts my legitimacy.”

While I should have considered that to be a good thing, I felt sorry about Lucy's plight. She was on her own, doing everything she could to support a child. Then, of course, there was the fact that she had saved my life inside the Fairmount Water Works. I owed her something for that. So far, all I had given her was my thanks and a kiss, both of which had only served to complicate matters.

“Before I agree,” I said, “what would this require me to do?”

“Exactly what you did the other day,” Lucy replied. “Summon a spirit.”

But I didn't know how I had summoned the spirit of Mrs. Pastor. I might have possessed the gift my mother had, but that didn't mean I knew how to use it.

“I doubt it's that easy.”

“You accomplished it once,” Lucy said. “Certainly you should be able to do it again.”

“If I do this—and I still haven't made up my mind about it—you must promise me that it will only be this one time.”

Lucy, impatient as ever, stomped her foot. “For heaven's sake, Edward. Just help me out in this instance. He's waiting.”

“Your customer is with you
now
?” I asked.

“Of course.”

She pointed to the street, where her battered coach was parked. Thomas, sitting up top in the driver's seat, spat a wad of tobacco juice in my direction. When the mismatched door to the coach opened, I was shocked to see none other than Jasper Willoughby emerge. He ran up the steps and took my limp hand in his.

“Thank you for agreeing to do this, Edward,” he said. “Please don't be angry at Mrs. Collins. This was all my idea.”

“But why?” I asked.

“I was fascinated by what happened between you and Mrs. Pastor's spirit the other night. It was amazing to behold. I only hope that you can help me the same way you helped the others.”

“Help you with what?”

“I need someone to help me speak with Joseph,” he said.

“Joseph? Your dead brother?”

“I contacted him once before, when I attended a séance at Mrs. Pastor's house,” Jasper explained. “Only something went wrong. Joseph, for reasons unknown, didn't depart after the séance.”

“Where did he go?” I asked.

“He's stayed with me,” Jasper said. “Haunting me. He's with me all the time now. Although I can't see him, I know here's there. I can feel it. And the things he's been doing! Tossing books around my room and moving chairs. It's a surprise I haven't gone mad. The only relief I have is when I drink. It dulls my mind enough to make his presence less frightening. But he's there. He's always there.”

That explained the whiskey. And his presence in his old house. It even was the answer for the late-night noises in his bedroom that kept Violet awake.

“But what do you want me to do about it?” I asked.

“Talk to him,” Jasper begged. “Please. Tell him to leave me alone. I can't bear it any longer.”

Before the conversation could get any stranger, I pulled both Jasper and Lucy inside. Neither of them seemed surprised or bothered by the presence of Stokely, whom I was certain had heard every word. In fact, Lucy clapped her hands and said, “How nice! One more person for our séance.”

Stokely tried to protest but Lucy helped him to his feet and led him and Jasper into the empty dining room. I had no choice but to follow, watching as she drew the curtains and placed a lit candle on the table. Then we all took our seats, me with Stokely to my left and Lucy to my right. Jasper sat across from me, keenly watching my every move.

“Before we do this,” I told him, “you need to promise not to tell your sister. This must remain a secret. She can never know what I'm capable of.”

“I promise. As your future brother-in-law, you have my word.”

My gaze floated to Lucy, trying to see if the mention of Violet provoked any noticeable reaction. It didn't, for she merely said, “I suppose we should now form a circle.”

I reached out to my left, feeling Stokely's massive, sandpapery hand wrap around mine.

To my right, I felt for Lucy's hand. We hesitated before joining them—an awkward dance of fingers—but when we connected, palm to palm, I felt a familiar pulse of excitement scurry up my arm. Was it unwelcome? Yes. Did I nonetheless enjoy it? Undoubtedly. And it made me question if continuing to associate with Lucy was the best idea.

By then, however, it was too late to back out. For Lucy nodded at me and said, “Edward, please begin.”

“I-I don't know how,” I sputtered.

I was still baffled by what was happening. It was as if I had been caught in a strong current and was being pulled, quickly and inexorably, under the waves.

“Just summon the spirits,” Stokely told me. “That's what Missus Pastor did. If they're around, they'll appear.”

I closed my eyes and, feeling like a fool, spoke to the air above the table. “Um, spirits from the Great Beyond. Are any of you there . . . ?”

“It needs to be more forceful,” Lucy prodded.

“Yeah,” Stokely said. “Say it like you mean it.”

I cleared my throat and, as forcefully as I could, again said, “Spirits of the Great Beyond, if you are present in this room, show yourselves!”

A breeze entered the dining room. Nothing like the gale we had experienced at Lucy's house, this was a light wind, soft and refreshing. It caressed my hair before swirling around the room. Opening my eyes, I saw a familiar black fog expanding just above the table's surface. Soon Lenora Grimes Pastor was there, those startling eyes of hers locking onto mine.

“Why, Mr. Clark, I wasn't expecting to see you again so soon.”

“I'm surprised to see you myself,” I said. “It wasn't my intention to summon you.”

Mrs. Pastor gave me a bemused smile.
“That's easy to explain. I am what you might call your spirit guide, just as Philip was for me. Think of me as a bridge, connecting
you to the spirit realm. Do you understand?”

“I think so.”

“Excellent. Are you ready to begin?”

I should have been terrified, considering what I was about to do, yet I felt no fear. I was more curious than anything else. Curious and eager to embark on the same journey my mother had started many years earlier.

Even though she wasn't visible to me, I felt my mother's presence, as if she could somehow see me. I imagined her smiling, just as gently as Mrs. Pastor was. I was about to continue her legacy and fulfill whatever destiny awaited me. It was, I imagined, exactly what she wanted.