2 Spirit of Denial (8 page)

"I see her," Clara whispered, her eyes wide with fear, trained upon the shadowy figure standing behind Pauline.  The spirit was as dark as night, dressed in a golden headdress and gown like Cleopatra.  She gave off a cold, unworldly, blue glow.

"Who?  Who do you see?" urged Phineas.

"I see nothing!" declared Dr. Van Flemming.

"I see her, too!" said Wesley staring off into space, trying to take their attention off of Clara and onto him.  "A woman!  In Egyptian dress.  Tell us, oh mighty queen, what is it that you desire?"

But Pauline was staring straight at Clara with hate burning in her eyes.  The ghost behind controlled her like a puppet.  Pauline's lips moved as the woman hissed, "Give me back my heart..."

Clara screamed and Pauline stood up shouting at her, "GIVE ME BACK MY HEART!"

Clara stood, but did not break the circle.

"YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD ESCAPE ME BY KILLING MY VASSAL?  ETERNAL LIFE SHALL BE OURS!"

And then Pauline fell into a dead faint.

As did Clara.

And the entire room was pitched into darkness once again.

"Lights!  Lights!" cried Phineas.

At once, his butler entered with an oil lamp and long wooden matches.  He set about the parlor, lighting the extinguished candles.

Wesley rushed to Clara's side as she started to stir.  She raised her hand to her head.  "Oh!  I seem to have hit myself on the table," she confessed, wincing.

Wesley gently aided her to a sitting position.  Clara was surprised to see Dr. Van Flemming tending to Pauline with the utmost care and reverence.  The actress had not yet roused.

"Could we get some smelling salts?" Dr. Van Flemming begged the butler.  "A glass of water?  Anything?"

There was urgency to his voice and Clara and Wesley exchanged glances.  Something ran much deeper between these two than they were letting on.

Wesley helped Clara to stand.  Phineas Stokeman was standing back, impotently patting his hands upon the soft tails of his coat.  "Oh, is Mrs. O'Hare well?" he asked.  "I would be most distressed if she came to harm because of my experiment."

Clara nodded grimly.  "I am fine, but I am afraid that I must beg your pardon and excuse myself early."

"Of course!  Of course!" Phineas said.  He called over to his butler, "Please, get Mrs. O'Hare's things.  And see to it that a cab is waiting as soon as she leaves."

"Thank you," she murmured, leaning heavily upon Wesley.

She admired Wesley's singular thought.  While she was too startled by recent events to think of much else, he said to Phineas, "There is a little matter of exchange.  Lives have been put at risk here, and it is imperative that we do not falter from our course.  I must ask you for the urn and the heart now."

Phineas waved at the urn on the table.  "Please!  Take it!  Rid me of that foul thing before it does any more harm!"

Wesley leaned Clara gently against one of the tall chairs, waiting until she had steadied herself before he walked over to the table.  He picked up the urn and an odd look crossed his face.  He shook it slightly, listening for a rattle.  He took the lid off and his face fell in defeat.  "It is empty."

"Of course it's empty," said Pauline.  Ill-tempered, she was awake and allowing Dr. Van Flemming to help her to her feet.  "There was some nasty bit of dried something in there.  Probably someone's lunch.  I threw it away."

Clara felt her knees go out from beneath her.  The heart was gone!  The curse would live!  Wesley rushed over to her side and placed his arm around her waist to hold her up.

"I am afraid Mrs. O'Hare is unwell and I should get her home," he said.  "My apologies for cutting the evening short."

"Go!  Go!" said Phineas.  "Travel safe.  We shall get to the bottom of this mystery if we die trying!  That I promise!"

C
lara rested on a settee in her parlor with a cloth over her eyes.  Where she hit her head had left a terrible lump. 

Nan tsked at her as she switched out the cloth with a colder one. "Such danger you placed yourself in, Clara."

"Oh, Nan," Clara sighed.  "I fear I have failed.  Not only is the curse still alive and strong...”  She paused and then confessed a deeper truth.  “I hoped that if we found a way to vanquish your murderer, you and Willard would finally find the peace and rest you so rightly deserve."

"Peace?  Tush.  What should I do with eternal rest?  Give me ten minutes with my feet up and that's all the rest I need," Nan said.

"Do you get tired?" asked Clara, taking off the compress so that she could look at Nan properly.  "I mean, now that you no longer are bound by the physical demands of the body, do you still feel tired or rested or elated or sad?"

"Ah, me, you foolish girl, I feel just the same as the day I died.  Perhaps a little stronger.  I can carry things now I couldn't before.  But otherwise, I feel just like I never left the mortal world."

"Do you miss living?" Clara asked.

Nan took the washcloth out of Clara's hands and placed it back upon her brow.  "Oh, I miss the company, but now that you're here, you give me enough excitement to keep my days full."

The bell to the front door rang.

"That must be Wesley," said Clara, slowly sitting upright.

"Don't you be letting that man get you into anymore scrapes, or else I'll be serving him up a warm piece of my mind," Nan chided as she took the washcloth.

"I will make sure to let him know," smiled Clara.  "Thank you."

Just as Nan was walking out, the door opened and Willard announced, "Mr. Phineas Stokeman to see you, ma'am."

Clara rose, alarmed by what could possibly have caused him to come see her.  The tall, gangly man with the oily black hair walked in.  Every inch of his pale skin was covered in black, except his face, which was guarded with a hat, dark glasses, and a muffler.

"Willard, would you close the blinds for Mr. Stokeman?" Clara asked realizing how taxing it must have been for Phineas to come all this way.

"Of course, ma'am," her butler replied.

As he was shutting the curtains, eventually enough darkness was reached that Phineas could remove his dark glasses and look at Clara without blinking.  She began to rise to greet him.

"Sit!  Sit!" he said.  He held out a bouquet of flowers awkwardly.  "I apologize for dropping in like this, but I came to see how you were doing.  May I come in?"

"Of course," said Clara, turning to Willard.  "Willard, would you take those flowers and put them in some water?"

The butler took the bouquet and held it at arm's length as he walked out of the room.  Clara motioned to Phineas to take a seat.  Her head was beginning to pound already with the exertion. "Please.  Can I offer you anything to eat or drink?"

He waved the offer off.  "No, I would not think of imposing.  Indeed, I have imposed too much!  My conscious felt terrible that I had been the one to suggest the séance, and then that it led to you being injured.  I was awake all night.  Tell me, Mrs. O'Hare, are you recovered?"

She tried to smile.  "I am afraid that I shall have a lump on my head, but other than that, I am fine.  Thank you for your concern."

Phineas sat forward and wet his narrow lips nervously.  Clara began to get the sense that there was an ulterior motive to his call.  She sat back, waiting patiently as he figured out the most delicate way to broach the subject.

"Did you really see the ghost of an Egyptian queen last night?" he asked with great interest.

"I did," she replied, suppressing the shiver that coursed through her body when she thought of it.  "She was standing over Pauline.  It may have only been a trick, but it seemed to have been influencing her."

"Did she say what she wanted?" asked Phineas.  "I mean, besides the words that Pauline seemed to channel?"

"No," replied Clara.  "Nothing more at all."

"It really was an astonishing evening," said Phineas.  He stared down at his balled fists as if embarrassed. "I hope you won't mind me saying so, but you seem even a stronger medium than Wesley Lowenherz."

"Oh no," said Clara, the warning bells clanging in her mind.  "Mr. Lowenherz is quite stronger than me.  I assure you.  I am quite positive that it was he that created a connection strong enough that a widow like me thought she saw something."  Clara began to sidestep and babble.  "As a matter of fact, I am not so sure I saw anything at all.  I saw a dark shadow, which really, all shadows are dark.  It very well could have been Pauline's shape being cast by the firelight.  Indeed, now that I think about it in the light of day, I am sure that is what I saw."

"You are probably right," Phineas agreed jovially.  "In the atmosphere your Mr. Lowenherz created, it is a wonder that all of us did not begin seeing ghosts."

He and Clara shared a laugh, but she had the feeling his mirth was as false as hers.  He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a box.  "I hope you will not feel this is too forward, Mrs. O'Hare, but I felt so dreadful about last night.  Please accept this gift for what it is, merely an apology for the distress you have endured."

He held out the box.  Clara gave him another stiff smile, hoping he was not about to embarrass himself with some display of affection she could not return.  "You shouldn't have."

"Please, I would like for you to have it.  It is nothing.  A trifle, but something that I hope you will enjoy."

Clara relented and took the box.  She opened it up and inside was a simple necklace with an ornamental scarab hanging from the chain.

"They say that these creatures protect the heart from being stolen," Phineas explained.  "The mummies we found almost always contained one upon the chest bone.  I felt as if after last night and the loss of the heart due to some silly showgirl's carelessness, it would be appropriate."

Clara smiled ruefully. "It is very kind of you," she said, and then laughed, "and indeed, quite appropriate."

"Put it on!" said Phineas.

Obligingly, she took the chain and placed it over her head. 

Suddenly, the room began to spin.

"Oh my," she said, gripping the arm of the sofa.  "I'm afraid that I must have hit my head much harder than I originally thought.  I'm afraid I am feeling a little faint."

Phineas rose in alarm.  "Of course!  I shall not keep you.  Shall I call your butler?"

She shook her head.  "I shall be just fine."

"Don't get up!  Please!" he said as she struggled to stand, but her knees buckled and she slumped onto the ground.  He ran over and took her arm, wincing in pain at the touch, and then helped guide her back to her seat.

"You should not have done that," said Clara.  "What with your condition—"

"My condition is nothing," he said, cutting her off, "if you were injured once more on my watch..."  He then paused, as if seeing her for the first time.  "I do say, Mrs. O'Hare, you are a handsome woman."

She tried to wave him off, the room continuing its spin.  She couldn't even think straight enough to rebuff this compliment.  The most she could come up with was, "I am a widow, sir, and still in mourning."

Phineas stopped her.  "No!  That was not my intention with such a comment.  How utterly embarrassing to cause you injury first in body and then make you think I would take advantage of you in this state.  No!"  He sat down to explain awkwardly, "I am a photographer.  You saw my pictures of Violet and Pauline.  I took those photographs of the dig site which were presented at Dr. Mallfeld's lecture."

"You knew of the lecture?" said Clara.  "Were you there?"

Phineas shook his head.  "Alas, I am afraid that Dr. Mallfeld and I did not part on the friendliest of terms, and I did not want that evening to be the first time we became reacquainted.  I hold him no ill will.  You must believe me.  But I was greatly pleased to hear that he displayed my photographs for the public to see.  I hope someday to change the world with my photography."

"How interesting," said Clara, politely, still not sure what he was getting at.

"It is just that as I looked down at you in that moment, there was an air about you.  Something... well, something that needs to be captured.  Tell me, Mrs. O'Hare, have you ever had your picture taken?"

"No," she said.  "No, I can't say that I have."

"That is a tragedy," he said.  "I hope you will not think me too forward, but would you perhaps consider sitting for me?  Allowing me to photograph you?"

Clara could barely think of a response, the world was spinning so badly.  It was a strange request.  A bizarre request.  "I couldn't possibly," she replied.

"Please say you will!"

"I couldn't..." she protested, but even as she did so, she had a harder and harder time remembering why she was so resistant to the idea.

"I would provide you with a print.  It would make such a lovely gift to Mr. Lowenherz this holiday season."

The thought of Wesley made the world stop spinning for just a moment.  She clung to it before being ripped away into the spinning sensation once again.  She leaned back her head on to the couch and whispered, just to make Phineas go away, "Of course," she replied.  "Of course."

He gripped the brim of his hat in delight.  "Wonderful!  Wonderful.  I shall be in touch shortly to schedule a sitting.  Thank you, Mrs. O'Hare!  You have made me so happy!" He put on his glasses.  "I shall show myself out.  Thank you again!"

Clara closed her eyes, letting herself slip into the darkness of sleep.  She should have said "no", but it was impossible... impossible...

C
lara and Wesley sat in Dr. Van Flemming's untidy office, waiting for him to arrive.

"You are looking pale, my dear," Wesley observed with concern.

Clara raised her hand to her forehead.  "Yes, my darling.  I have not felt myself since yesterday.  I believe all of the excitement may have strained my nerves.  Or perhaps being out in the night air the past few days have given me a chill."

Before Wesley could reply, Dr. Van Flemming walked in and sat down in his chair sternly.  "You all were indeed the showmen and I am quite ashamed to have taken part in such foolery.  Egyptian curses indeed!  Why, that was nothing but an actress pulling one over in a bit of playacting."