Page 3 of Better in Black
She was swaying from foot to foot, humming loudly. One of the elderly traveling sisters—a Miss Melody Livingston, if Tessa recalled correctly—moved to stand before the medium, her hands clasped and her eyes wide.
“My…dear…Melody…” The voice that emerged from Madame Dorothea was that of a querulous old woman. “Have you been taking care…of your little sister?”
“Oh, absolutely,” said Miss Livingston, who was trembling all over. “Our Pearl is quite well, aren’t you, dear?”
The second elderly sister, white as a sheet, nodded.
“This is arrant nonsense,” Will muttered to Tessa, who was inclined to agree. “She is taking advantage of a confused old person.”
“SHHHH,”snapped another guest, glaring at Will.
“And have you been keeping up…with your knitting…dear Melody?” inquired Madame Dorothea, who was still swaying from side to side, her eyes closed.
Melody Livingston gave a little gasp and turned to her sister, Pearl. “Did you hear that? She knows! She knows about my knitting!”
“Anyone could have guessed,” Will muttered. “Half the old ladies in London knit.”
“I still remember…” Madame Dorothea whispered in what Tessa guessed was the voice of Miss Livingston’s mother. “The lovely blanket you made for poor little Edmund…such pretty sunflowers…it kept him warm, but couldn’t save him…”
With a low scream, Melody Livingston fainted dead away. A pair of the Meurice’spersonnel de l’hôtel,dressed in their matching uniforms, seemed to have been waiting for just such an event. They rushed forward, gathered her up, and carried her away, Pearl tottering anxiously in their wake.
Tessa glanced up at Will. His annoyance seemed to have been replaced by wariness. His jaw was set, his shoulders tensed. She suddenly wished they had not come.
Madame Dorothea’s eyes opened. “Oh,” she murmured. Her voice was quite different now: strong and firm, no longer the voice of a very old woman. “What did I say?”
“Don’t you recall?” said a young woman at the front of the crowd.
Madame Dorothea shook her head. “I am only a conduit for the spirits, my dear,” she said. “They speak through me. Though sometimes they do whisper in my ears…” She turned, her hands held out almost as if she wished to ward someone off. “There is someone here who lost a brother, Albert, on the battlefield…but he rests quiet now, my friend, all his tumult ended…”
The old soldier, leaning on his staff, gave a hoarse cry.
“And someone who lost a wife…but Hilda says she is well, very well, and at peace…she is glad you have kept her kitchen just as it was…”
Another gasp, from the back of the room. The crowd was nervous now, a mixture of excitement and fear.Shudder with terror,the sign had said, and indeed, though Tessa knew this medium was almost certainly a fraud, it felt dreadfully unnerving to hear these whispered messages and the cries that followed, like arrows from another world finding their targets in this one…
And then the seer’s gaze fell upon Tessa. Not just Tessa, either, but upon Will and Tessa both. “Such a lovely young couple,” shemurmured in her own voice, moving closer to them. Her eyes were dark and hard as glass marbles. “And yet your youth has not protected you, alas. You both have suffered loss, terrible loss.” Her eyes narrowed as she stared at Tessa with what felt like barely disguised hostility. “A brother,” she said. “One who betrayed you before he left this world. And you”—she turned to Will—“a sister. Older than you, but just a child when she died.”
“That’s enough,” Will said. He reached for Tessa’s hand; when his fingers interlaced with hers, they were cold as ice. “We’ll be leaving—”
“Will.” The voice that rose from the medium was a little girl’s, breathless and worried. “Oh, Will. I looked for you all over. Among the crowberries, and in the stables in Dolgellau. All your favorite places. But you weren’t there.”
Will had gone rock-still beside Tessa. His lips formed a word, silently.“Ella.”
“Will.” The voice went on, relentless. “Will, I’m so lonely here in the dark. Help me.Help me—”
“Stop!” The cry burst from Tessa before she could control herself. “That’s enough—enough.” She still had hold of Will’s icy hand; she tugged at him, pulling him with her through the crowd, away from Dorothea. Silent and stunned, he let himself be dragged, though he was still looking back over his shoulder at the medium, who was watching them go, a small smile tugging the corner of her mouth.
The crowd melted away before them, as if no one wished to get too close to Will and his obvious grief. What Dorothea had said to him manifested the greatest fear of anyone who had come to this room hoping for a word from a dead loved one: the knowledge that their lost beloved was not happy, was not at peace, and did not sleep, but wandered alone in an eternal darkness.
That woman is a liar,Tessa thought, fiercely, but she didn’t speak the words: Will still seemed in utter shock, his face expressionless, his eyes nearly black. Besides, she had no desire for anyone in the room to hear her speak to Will about sorrows that were, and should remain, private.
They were nearly at the door when a small man, elegantly dressed, stepped into their path. He wore a black topcoat and tall hat, and dark red spats. Blocking their way, he swept a deep bow, lifting his hat for a moment to reveal goat’s horns poking out of his slicked-back hair.
A warlock.
So much for their vow to stay away from supernatural things, Tessa thought dismally. First Madame Dorothea, now—
“Chevalier Ace Dupin,” said the man, his accent distinctly American. He replaced his hat and reached into his waistcoat, from which he retrieved a white card. He handed the card to Tessa. “I’m an investigator.”
