Chapter 27

twenty-seven

“ M ust I be really here?” Lorna asked, fear etched across her features as they gathered around a table in a small, dimly lit room just minutes before midnight.

“I’m sorry, Lorna,” Daisy said, reaching out to squeeze her wrist in reassurance. “Madame Moyen says this séance is the only way to free us from Isabella.”

“But I don’t remember anything about being on that stage,” the maid said pensively. “I don’t feel as if she’s connected to me at all.”

“I know it seems a great deal to ask, Lorna,” Alex said quietly, “but it’s possible you’re in danger. We just want to get this settled once and for all.”

Trudy heard the tension in his voice as she looked over at the apprehensive maid and wondered what to make of her. The girl had been a gem while Jo was delivering the twins, running to fetch things, keeping the room tidy, making sure everyone had cool drinks or hot tea, and yet Madame Moyen had been so insistent on her participating, she’d even declared a séance without Lorna would be pointless. So, whether wittingly or unwittingly, the maid was involved.

Moyen had also declared they needed at least eight people to create a strong enough pull to draw Isabella to them from wherever she may be so Trudy had brought along a very curious Lucy, while Alex had reluctantly enlisted the participation of a frowning, dubious Chase along with a glib and grinning Ellis. His cousin seemed to find the entire thing a lark.

“Yes, were all in grave danger, Lorna.” Ellis snickered. “From the invisible ghost of Alex’s itty bitty little wife. Mwah ahh ahh.”

“Stop it, Ellis,” Daisy admonished. “It’s not funny. If you don’t want to be here, then go. We can find someone else.”

“I’m just trying to lighten the mood,” he said. “You’re all so damn serious. Or should I say I’m trying to lift your spirits ?” He laughed again at his own jest until Chase leaned over and muttered, “Shut up or get out.”

The door to the next room opened and Madame Moyen’s turbaned assistant came in with a single taper. He wordlessly traversed the room lighting several other candles before turning off the lamp and departing. He didn’t acknowledge them in any way, and without the lamplight, the walls began to dance with flickering shadows, aided by a dozen tiny mirrors hung from strings above the table.

Trudy silently acknowledged Madame Moyen’s skill at setting a mood even though she didn’t particularly care for this one. It was ominous and foreboding and did nothing to steady her jangling nerves. And if she was uneasy, she could only imagine the distress that Alex was feeling.

“Are you ready for this?” Chase asked his brother quietly.

“No, I’m not ready for this,” Alex replied. “But I am more than ready to be rid of Isabella.”

The door opened again, and Madame Moyen entered this time, dressed in the same mourning garb she’d worn inside the red tent, complete with the veil. She sat down in the only empty seat and looked around, seeming to take note of each of them.

“Have you brought the items?” she asked no one in particular.

“I have them.” Daisy nodded and Trudy watched as Alex’s sister set a jeweled hair comb, a lock of her hair, and a garnet ring in a row in front of the medium. Beneath the table, Alex reached for Trudy’s hand, clasping it tightly.

Madame Moyen picked up the comb and whispered, “Spiritus Isabelle Bostwick, obsecramus te ut praesentiam tuam manifestes.”

Trudy recognized it as Latin, but her translation skills were inadequate. Then Moyen continued in English. “Spirit of Isabelle Bostwick, we beseech you to make your presence known.”

Swapping the comb for the lock of hair, Moyen repeated her entreaty, then did the same with the ring. Trudy looked over at Alex, noting the stern set of his jaw, and the tension emanating from him. His eyes, however, were glued to the medium, as were everyone else’s. Even Ellis seemed oddly captivated now, although a strange smirk still hovered around his lips.

Suddenly, Daisy gasped as Lorna’s eyelids began to flutter. Chase leaned forward in his chair.

“I feel strange. What’s happening?” Lorna asked, her voice full of fright.

“Nothing can harm you,” Madame Moyen said. “Relax and welcome her.”

Trudy squeezed Alex’s hand as Lorna slumped in the chair and then with a twitch, suddenly sat up, ramrod straight. She chuckled, a deep, throaty sound and her half-closed eyes surveyed the room, until her gaze landed on Alex.

Alex let out a huff of breath, and Trudy realized she was not the only one suddenly frightened. A tiny whimper came from Lucy, and Daisy looked near to tears.

“Hello, darling,” Lorna drawled, her voice low, almost raspy as her eyes remained on Alex.

“Are you Isabella Carnegie Bostwick?” Moyen asked.

“I am.”

“Welcome. We are all friends here and mean you no harm. But tell us, Isabella, why are you troubling Alexander and Lorna?”

Lorna—or Isabella—murmured, “He troubled me first. And the girl was… convenient.” Her gaze moved around the room, not seeming to see any of them.

“How did he trouble you?” Moyen questioned as the rest of them watched, mesmerized and silent. Trudy could feel her heart pounding in her chest and couldn’t look away from the maid’s face.

Lorna’s head twitched ever so slightly. “He made me fall in love with him, but he was false.”

Alex shook his head. “I wasn’t,” he said quietly, staring back at her, and Trudy wondered yet again how distressing this must be for him. Her heart ached on his behalf.

Last night, in the dim light of the moon shining through her bedroom window, he’d told her about a woman named Katharine Lawrence, and about the discord in his marriage. He’d explained how he’d wanted to call off the engagement and that on the day Isabella had fallen down the stairs, they’d been arguing over his desire for an annulment. He’d shared all of this, he’d said, because he didn’t want Trudy to learn these things about him in the midst of a séance. As he’d spoken, she’d sensed his deep regret, and she sensed it now, as well. The words were hard to hear, and yet she’d understood his choices. She believed in his faithfulness and his version of events. It seemed, however, that Isabella did not.

If this was, indeed, Isabella with them now. Trudy was determined to remain skeptical. Her analytical mind remained full of doubt and questions, but even so, she was captivated by this spectacle as it played out before them. It was strange and unreal, and yet sweet, timid Lorna could not be such a fine actress. Could she?

“Tell us more,” Madame Moyen prompted.

Lorna’s eyelids fluttered again, whispering, “I recall the day we met. I was so enamored.”

“Speak not of your first day together,” Moyen interjected. “Speak of the last day. How did you die?”

As the candles continued to dance, Trudy noticed the scent of gardenias beginning to permeate the air and stole another glance at Alex. His brow was furrowed, his lips pressed tightly together, and he pulled his hand from hers. She wasn’t sure why.

Just then, a floorboard creaked overhead, the sound sharp and startling in the hushed room. Everyone jumped, and Chase muttered a curse under his breath. Daisy fanned her face as if to stem off those tears, and Lucy’s mouth was agape. It was just a squeaky board. The hotel was full of them, but this felt like something more.

“What have you come here to say, Isabella Bostwick?” Madame Moyen urged as Lorna paused. The medium lifted the veil of her hat over her head, revealing a pale but beautiful face. Something about it tugged at Trudy’s mind, but given all that was happening, her disquiet hardly seemed out of place,

“Tell us, Isabella.” Moyen’s tone was demanding, her eyes gleaming with intensity, and Trudy had the presence of mind to wonder if it was a wise idea to speak so harshly to an already troublesome spirit.

“Tell us how he was false. Tell us why your love faded,” Moyen prompted, but Lorna’s eyelids began to flutter once more. Suddenly, the candles flickered wildly, casting eerie shadows into every corner of the room, and Ellis chuckled nervously.

“Why won’t you speak to us, Isabella Bostwick? You have much to say. I feel it in your energy. Do what I command,” Moyen all but shouted.

“Forgive me. I cannot.” Then Lorna slumped down in the chair and a collective gasp went round the room.

Alex had never been so rattled in his life. His heart raced a staccato rhythm in his chest as he tried to calm his breathing. Finding Isabella’s belongings in his pockets and under his pillow was nothing compared to this macabre agitation. The only thing keeping him remotely steady was Trudy’s soothing presence next to him. Even so, he’d let go of her hand lest Isabella notice he was holding it.

And yet, his wife had said almost nothing of substance. Only that she’d loved him, and that he’d been false. If she was truly so angry, why not admonish him now? Why not explain why she was leaving her things in his path, or forcing Lorna to do it for her? She hadn’t answered any of his questions and now it appeared she was already gone. What did that mean?

“Lorna,” Daisy asked cautiously, placing a gentle hand on the maid’s arm.

His mind still whirling, Alex’s nerves stretched taut once more as he watched Lorna sit back up, a calm yet almost contrite expression on her face. She returned her clear-eyed gaze to his face.

“Isabella did love you” Lorna said quietly, “but she was selfish to a fault and jealous beyond all reason.”

Madame Moyen’s eyes narrowed. “Now, Isabella. We have no time for tricks. You cannot fool us. Tell us what we need to hear, and I can set you free. I will set you free,” Moyen said again, an angry edge to her voice.

But Lorna tossed her head, looking directly at the medium, and Alex’s unease ratcheted up another notch.

“No more lies,” Lorna said defiantly. “I am finished with this madness.”

Moyen’s face contorted, her composure slipping. “You are done when I say you are done. I control your fate. Not you. Tell us how Alex pushed you down the stairs and I can set you free.”

Alex flinched at both the words and the fact that it was Moyen who said them, as if she was forcing Lorna to utter a falsehood.

“I did not push Isabella down the stairs,” he said tersely.

Lorna turned and nodded at him. “I know you didn’t. I saw it all.”

A dawning realization suddenly flooded his veins. This was truly Lorna sitting there before them. And she had been there the day Izzy fell.

“You were there,” he said out loud. “I thought it was a twisted dream, but it’s a memory. Lorna, you were standing in the parlor door the day Isabella fell. You saw what happened.”

“Hush!” Madame Moyen snapped, her eyes never leaving Lorna’s face. “Let Isabella speak.”

But Lorna shook her head emphatically. “Enough with that. Isabella Bostwick is not here now and never has been. She has not been haunting anyone, either. You know that.” She pointed at Madame Moyen.

“And so do you!” Lorna added scornfully, and then she pointed directly at Ellis.

“What?” Ellis exclaimed. “What have I to do with this? I know nothing of the sort.”

Alex felt his breath go shallow and his head begin to spin, as pieces of this puzzle began to fall into place, although the image of it was far from clear.

“Ellis?” Daisy exclaimed. “What is she talking about. Lorna, what are you saying?”

“Friends, friends,” Moyen said, her voice unnaturally melodic. “Fear not. Isabella is a trickster using Lorna to fool you all.”

“It’s over,” Lorna snapped impatiently. “You’re the trickster. The schemer, the defrauder, the blackmailer.”

“Blackmailer?” Chase asked, glaring at first the medium and then his cousin. “What is she talking about?”

“I don’t understand,” Ellis murmured, staring at Lorna in disbelief. “Why are you doing this?”

“It’s lies!” Moyen hissed, dropping all pretense of having control of this situation. Even her accent seemed to fade away as everyone at the table looked around at everyone else with varying levels of confusion and fascination and Alex felt Trudy take hold of his hand once more.

“Yes, lies,” Lorna spat out, staring at Moyen. “Ellis lied when he said he loved me, and you have lied to me time and again, just as you have used me time and again.”

Lorna turned to Alex now, her expression despondent and her eyes filling with tears.

“Mr. Bostwick, I am sorry, but Madame and Ellis have conspired against you, and I’m ashamed to admit I helped them. They wanted you to believe that you’d gone mad, that you killed your wife but had blocked your involvement from your mind. But I was there that day, just as you remember. I know for a fact you were too far away to have pushed her. I saw Isabella fall of her own accord. It was Ellis who told the newspapers a servant heard her accuse you of pushing her before she died.”

Alex felt those words like a sledgehammer to the gut, and his mind flooded with confusion, as if his world was suddenly submerged underwater. Sounds and sensations and pressure converged leaving him breathless and fighting for air.

“Why? For what purpose?” he managed to rasp out.

“Shut up, stupid girl,” Moyen hissed, rising from her chair. “You’ve said enough. Everything we’ve done, you’ve done. You incriminate yourself.”

But Lorna seemed determined to go on and tried to answer his question.

“Greed. Jealousy. Malice,” the girl continued. “Moyen and Ellis sought to lure you into confessing to a murder you didn’t commit in the hopes that, even if your family didn’t turn you over to the authorities, you’d be ostracized and banished from society. And once you were no longer welcomed at Bostwick & Sons, Ellis would step in and take your place. Your Uncle Vernon is attempting to usurp your father, as well. He’s the one who shared details of that affair with the opera singer.”

Ellis erupted from his chair, tipping it over in his haste, his anger was a palpable thing as he lunged for Lorna.

“We were this close, you idiot!” he ground out as he sprinted around the table to reach her. “You’ve ruined everything.”

Lorna ducked as Chase rose from his own chair, and with a single punch, knocked Ellis to the ground.

“Ellis?” Alex whispered, unable to formulate a precise question as he stared at his cousin currently writhing on the floor like a bug on its back. But even from there, Ellis sought to vent his spleen as he struggled to sit up.

“You have everything,” Ellis shouted, pointing up at Alex. “You’re the first born, the golden child. You married a God damned Carnegie. All I ever wanted was my piece of the pie, but you and Chase claim everything for yourselves, and leave nothing for me but scraps.”

“That’s not true,” Alex ground out, his own temper rising at what they’d done to him. His own cousin had been tormenting him for months. Playing him for a fool, playing upon his guilt and his sense of integrity. Twisting his few fond memories of Isabella into something that elicited nothing but fear and regret.

“How could you be a part of this,” Daisy asked at last, her voice cracking as she directed the question at Lorna.

It was then that Lorna broke, tears now spilling out hot and fast.

“I’m so sorry, Daisy. I never wanted any of this. I swear. I couldn’t see a way clear of it. I thought this was who I was doomed to be, but you’ve always been so kind to me. You’ve shown me I can be a better person, and I want to be.”

“Then why?” Daisy asked again.

Lorna glanced at Ellis, who remained on the floor—with Chase looming over him. “Ellis convinced me. He said it was just a game, and that if I loved him I should go along, but when I realized what harm this was causing you and your brother, I told him I was done with it. But,” she rubbed her wrist absently, “Ellis can get rough.”

“You think he can get rough?” Moyen spat stalking toward her. “Just you wait until I get my hands on you, you ungrateful little wretch.”

Trudy pushed her chair out into the woman’s path, slowing her down just as Lorna cried out, “Stop. Just please stop. It’s over now, Mother.”