2 Spirit of Denial (3 page)

The butler gave one final bow before leaving the room. Clara linked her arm in Wesley's, giving him a great smile, and lead him into the parlor.

"Really, it is extraordinary!" Wesley said.  "Out there!  With your hat!  And your cape!"

Clara shut the door, spun him around, and kissed him square on the lips.  All talk of spirits was forgotten.

Finally, they parted, Wesley keeping his arms around her waist.  "You do have a way of changing the subject."

She smiled and led him over to a seat.  The door opened and the tray came floating in. 

"Should I help him?" Wesley asked nervously.

"Please tell Mr. Lowenherz I've been carrying trays since before people were carrying him around as a baby," Willard replied.

"How very kind of you," Clara translated, giving Willard a ‘behave yourself’ glance. "but my household staff is quite able to manage."

"Absolutely remarkable," Wesley said, running his fingers through his hair.  "I hope you will not think me a coward, but I should be quite terrified if it weren't for you here to reassure me all was well."

Willard finished pouring the tea and the bowed again.  "Anything else, ma'am?"

"Thank you, Willard.  That is all for now," Clara replied. 

Wesley shifted uncomfortably as he took his cup, examining the tray and saucer.  "Clara, do not think less of me, but I have spent so many hours in the presence of magicians.  Promise me this is not a cheap parlor trick?"

Clara sighed, knowing it was the next stage of the things.  The shock wearing off, it was natural to search for a logical explanation.  "Of course, Wesley.  While we are in the parlor, I do swear it is no trick."  She looked over at her butler.  "Willard, would you appear?"

Willard snapped his fingers and, astounded, Wesley dropped his cup and its contents all over his pants.  He grabbed a napkin and began mopping it up. 

"I take it you can see him now?" Clara said off-handedly as she sipped her tea.

Wesley put down his things and rose.  He walked over with his hand outstretched to Willard.

"May I touch you?" Wesley asked in wonder.

Willard put out his hand and the two men shook firmly.

"Your sister, Minnie, had only good things to say about you, Mr. Lowenherz, and it is a pleasure after all these years."

"Has she come back yet?" asked Clara. "I do so worry about Lord Oroberg's manor being so far away from home."

"I have not seen her yet, ma'am, but I have a feeling she will come when needed."

"Will I be able to see her, too?" asked Wesley, hope burning in his eyes.

"I am afraid not," Clara said gently.  "Minnie is not as tied to this earth as Willard and Nan.  Even I, who can see Willard and Nan no matter what the circumstances, have a difficult time seeing Minnie."

Wesley's disappointment was clear.  Willard said bracingly, "She cared a great deal for you, sir.  Every day of her waking life, she would talk about her young brother and of how all this was for him.  She was a devoted sister and you must never forget."

Wesley nodded, trying to force cheerfulness.  "Well, just knowing she is here... or once was here... is a comfort."

Willard gave another bow and walked out of the room.  Wesley could not keep his eyes off of him.  Willard gave another snap and disappeared before exiting the room, closing the door behind him.

"Cheeky," said Clara with amusement.

"With a fellow like that, I could have done quite well on the vaudeville circuit," laughed Wesley.

"I shall let Willard know you are in need of an assistant if he should ever decide to pursue a career on the stage."

"This really is extraordinary!" Wesley exclaimed again.

"Yes, I know," Clara replied, so glad that Wesley was taking it all in stride and had not gone running from the house in terror.  She sidled closer to him so that her leg pressed up against his.  "Now, did you come merely to admire my staff?"

Wesley smiled, taking both her hands in his.  "Of course not.  I came to admire you."

"That is the sort of talk I enjoy better," Clara replied. 

"Sadly, I also came to show you this."  He pulled out a newspaper from his pocket.  "Did you see the paper?" he asked.

She looked at the headline.  It was a report of all the grisly murders which had taken place at the Oroberg house.

"Oh dear," Clara said, looking at the artist's depictions of the scene and reading the reporter's take on events.  All statements Wesley, Clara, and Marguerite made to the police had been carefully edited to not include Violet's transformation, but rather than downplay events, the reporter had used the holes in their stories to spin a tale of mystery and fear.  "It is remarkable that we survived it at all."

"We are quite fortunate," Wesley agreed, pouring himself another cup of tea.

"Wesley?" Clara said, putting the paper down and turning to him, hating to bring the matter up.

"Yes, my darling?"

"I am afraid that I have some bad news..."

"What is it?" he said, dropping sugar into his cup and then setting down the tongs to give Clara his full attention.

"Well, it has to do with my household staff."

"I thought we were not going to talk of them again," Wesley said as he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it softly.  Then he stopped.  "They're not in the room with us, are they?"

Clara laughed, "No, darling, we are alone.  But truly, I must speak with you of a matter of great importance."

"Very well," he replied, wrapping her hand in his and holding it to his heart.  "Tell me everything."

"You see, I believe Violet killed my house staff... and she may have killed your sister, too."

Wesley’s grip went lax.

She could not be offended by his reaction.  He had already faced so much today with great acceptance, but she knew the matter could not wait.  "I spoke with Willard and it seems that Horace and Violet's father brought an Egyptologist to the house the night before the murders.  This scientist carried with him several artifacts, one which he gave to Violet's father, Peter Nero.  Both Nan and Willard remember seeing a woman before they died.  And after the supernatural effects we saw on Violet, I fear that the danger might still be present."

"Well," said Wesley, gathering his composure, "we must do something about that.  Any ideas?"

"I went to visit Marguerite in the hospital today," Clara informed him.  "She and Norman have been tracking similar murders across Europe for the past fifteen years.  Marguerite suggested we go to Horace and Violet's estate lawyer tomorrow and make inquiries about any strange objects."

"Very well," said Wesley.  He then held up his finger to silence any argument, "but for tonight, no more talk of ghosts or hauntings or terrible times.  I have had quite enough for one day.  We are off to dinner and then to the theatre, and we shall be just two normal people on an evening about town."

Clara leaned forward and kissed Wesley on the cheek.  "Sounds heavenly."

I
t had taken several days to get an appointment with Horace and Violet's estate lawyer, Mr. Hampstead, but he had finally been able to fit them in at the end of the week.

His smartly dressed secretary wore a well-tailored suit.  Clara reflected that this underling's garments probably cost twice as much as her normal dress, and she had to fight down a bubbling intimidation.  After all, she thought, she had faced a demon-like creature and ghosts at every turn.  And a secretary should make her feel fear?

He did.

The secretary ushered Clara and Wesley into the office and motioned that they should take a seat at the two chairs in front of Mr. Hampstead's impressive desk.  The lawyer's office was a large room of dark mahogany and cherry wood.  The success of his practice was on display in every nook and cranny.  His walls were filled with elegantly bound law books and gas lamps lit the room even though the sun was in the sky. 

The door opened and Mr. Hampstead blew in.  He waved his secretary away, and his man bowed slightly before closing the door.

"Please, don't get up!" said Mr. Hampstead to Clara and Wesley.  The lawyer had a circle of white hair around his bald head and small spectacles balanced upon his nose.  His wide girth showed that most of his business dealings were made around the dinner table and at gentleman's clubs.  He sat down in his chair, made doubly-wide to accommodate his hulking size. "Now, how may I be of assistance?"

Clara nodded at Wesley to begin.  He leaned forward, oozing the charm that all his years as a charlatan had taught him.  "We learned that you were in charge of disposing of the Oroberg estate.  We regretfully learned of Mr. Horace Oroberg and Miss Violet Nero's passing and were interested in purchasing a certain artifact we have long since admired from their manor collection."

The mention of purchase caused Mr. Hampstead's eyes to light up.  "Indeed, and what might this object be?"

"A small artifact brought from Egypt—"

Mr. Hampstead cut him off before he could continue.  "It is already gone."

Clara's eyes widened.  "Oh dear..."

Mistaking her distress for attachment to the object, not knowing of their concerns of the curse, Mr. Hampstead tried to comfort her.  "My dear woman, I am afraid that it has been quite a busy few days.  So many people laying claim!  If it was in my power, I would have put it to auction and let you all squabble amongst yourselves."

"Squabble?" said Clara.

"Oh!  The arguments and fights that have happened in this room.  I have not seen such a display of dramatics in all my days!"

"Who has laid claim to this item?" asked Wesley, trying to steer the conversation to a more amicable tone.

"A Dr. Mallfeld arrived within hours of me being informed of Lord Oroberg's death, and in his hand he had the paperwork to claim ownership.  I was glad to dispose of this item so quickly.  But within hours, another man arrived, a Dr. Van Flemming!  And in his hand HE had paperwork stating that the object belonged to HIM!" he said, vehemently.  "I truly hope that you do not come here with papers, too.  It is too much to be believed!  It is a good thing Lord Oroberg put his trust in me to properly dispose of his objects.  A man without such inclinations of the law might find himself in quite the legal pickle."

"Rest assured, my good sir, we are merely buyers and are not here to created more headaches for you," said Wesley.

"Good, good..." said Mr. Hampstead.  "Well, then, I am afraid I can be of no further assistance.  Are you sure you are not interested in the purchase of any of the other objects in the house?"

"No," said Wesley, "I am afraid that was the only one."

"Well, then, I shall bid you good day," said Mr. Hampstead dismissively.  Clara could see he was disappointed there was no hope of profit from his current guests.

"Pray, could you tell us who finally took the object so that we might discuss acquiring it from them?" asked Clara.

Mr. Hampstead replied, "Certainly, I passed it along to the first claimant, Dr. Mallfeld.  He is an archeologist at the natural history museum in town.  You should go speak with him there."

Clara and Wesley rose, thanking Mr. Hampstead.  He rang a bell and his secretary entered to escort them out.

As they walked onto the busy street, Clara placed her hand in the crook of Wesley's elbow and extended her parasol to afford them some shade.  "What a strange turn of events," she observed.

Wesley placed his tall hat upon his head.  "Indeed, two characters after this one object, and quite passionately at that.  I wonder what should inspire such emotion of ownership...?" he mused.

"And how did it come to be in Horace Oroberg's possession if two other men were also recorded as owners?"

"Stranger and stranger still," said Wesley, hailing a cab.

The driver pulled his carriage and horse over.  They climbed aboard, settling into the black leather seats.

"Driver!" said Wesley.  "To the museum of natural history."

The driver clicked his tongue and the horse took off at a brisk walk towards the center of town.  The museum was still fairly new, home to some of the most exciting discoveries:  artifacts from ancient cities, taxidermied animals from the deep wilds of Africa, even a dinosaur skeleton was on display.

The museum was a brick building surrounded by grassy lawn.  It had a marble relief of Greek gods and goddesses at the apex of the roofline.  Families and couples slowly strolled their way up the stairs into the exhibit galleries.

They alit and Wesley paid for the cab.  As he handled the transaction, Clara thought how a trip to the museum should have been one of great excitement and joy.  But there was a tension hanging over the day, shadows of what they had seen in Horace Oroberg's manor which lent urgency to their actions.

Wesley gave her a tight lipped smile, and Clara knew he was feeling the same as she.  He offered his arm and steered Clara through the light crowds towards the impressive front doors.

These massive creations of ornamental brass and wood opened up into an echoing chamber at least three stories high. The air was cool, the shadowed darkness kept the heat at bay.  The ceiling was a wonder of carved wood, inset with gilt.  The walls were darkly paneled and the marble floor so highly polished it looked like a mirror.  The sounds of the public talking in awed and hushed tones bounced softly throughout the space.

Wesley stopped an official looking fellow and inquired, "We are here to speak with Dr. Mallfeld.  Could you direct us to his offices?"

The man apologized, "I am so sorry to say that he is presently engaged.  He is preparing for this evening's lecture about his recent archeological trip to Egypt and the treasures uncovered by his expedition.  It is open to the public and I invite you to attend."

Clara's hand tightened on Wesley's arm.  It was an invitation they could not afford to decline.

T
here was a buzz of hushed excitement among all of the guests to the lecture.  The room was lit with gas light and the smartly dressed intellectuals mingled with the shabbier dressed professors and scientists.  A four-piece ensemble played music for their entertainment.  Strange and exotic artifacts were placed upon tables for the visitors to look at:  jewelry and spears, knives and baskets.  Several large photographs were propped up beside the objects, showing where they had been found.