Chapter Twenty-Eight #2
He chuckled as he circled around her. “Wonderful! Shall we go right now?” Her confusion must have been evident because that devil smile curved into pure menacing pleasure.
“It would give me no greater joy than to watch you march into a station and declare the man standing next to you attacked you. They’ll cart you straight off to Longview.
You see, hallucinations are funny things.
You may feel like you’re touching me or that I’m touching you.
” He grabbed her wrist and squeezed. “But to everyone else, you’re interacting with air.
If you don’t believe me, look at the couple on the corner.
” He gestured to a man and woman watching with great curiosity from the horsecar stop.
Then he waved a hand toward a concerned Mrs. Reed.
“And Mrs. Reed appears quite disconcerted by your behavior. Erratic movements. Talking to yourself. She can probably even hear you issuing threats to nothing but the wind. Oh yes, very unsettling indeed.”
How did he know Mrs. Reed’s name? It couldn’t be true. He couldn’t possibly be a hallucination. “I don’t believe you.”
“Then shall we test who is right and who is wrong? How about a game of tag? We’ll make a merry chase of it and have them calling for a Black Maria in no time.”
Nora scrutinized the couple again. They whispered to each other as they cast furtive glances her direction.
What must this look like to them if Winston was not truly standing before her? Dread tautened her body as they continued their discomfited gestures. Was she going mad?
The gentleman took a few steps her direction and called out, “Is everything all right, miss? Do you need assistance?”
He didn’t indicate he saw Winston, only her. Oh, Lord, please don’t let it be true. I can’t be imagining him.
“No.” She clutched the knitting needles in her pocket and forced a smile. “I am well. Good afternoon, sir.”
“Believe me now, do you?” Winston asked. “How about we be certain? Let’s walk up to them and ask if they can see me.”
Ill and trembling, she forced herself to turn her back on Winston and stride inside.
Mrs. Reed gently pulled Nora to the settee. “I’m sorry to have upset you so. I did not realize your pain was still so great. Grief can be quite maddening. How long has your mum been gone?” She handed Nora her cup.
Funny choice of words, that—maddening. Nora glanced at Winston outside, who nodded back. “I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Of course not. How inconsiderate of me. Perhaps the story of Katherine Yates would be a good distraction?”
“Yes.” A distraction, that’s what she needed. And information about Katherine Yates. Maybe by the time Mrs. Reed finished, Nora would have regained her senses and Winston would be gone.
“Oh, how I love the chance to tell a good story, and this one is worthy of an opera.” Mrs. Reed scooted to the edge of her seat.
Her performance experience was unmistakable in the way her hands told the story with as much enthusiasm as her voice.
“Katherine Yates was a rising star. Everyone thought she would be the next Jenny Lind.
If she was in a performance, you could be certain of financial success.
She had admirers everywhere, and she catered to the rich ones wherever she went, which was all over England and the Continent.
“But—” She emphasized the word with a dramatic effect.
“Miss Yates was stealing from them. At all of her private performances, she noted who wore the most expensive jewelry and where the person was staying.
Then, while everyone was either in their cups or deep asleep, she would sneak in, crack safes, and steal whatever took her fancy.
She was smart too. She planned for a scapegoat at every location—at least until she was caught in the middle of a theft by a maid.
“The maid sounded the alarm. Desperate not to be caught, Miss Yates murdered the poor dear with the very jeweled hatpin she was attempting to take.
She fled the premises, taking the other jewels with her.
However, a friend of Miss Yates witnessed her killing the young woman and reported her directly to Scotland Yard.
It was all over the papers the next day.
The poor maid was about to be married and escape her life of servitude. The fiancé was devastated.
“Miss Yates was apprehended, but because of her connections, the testimony of the witness was discredited, and Miss Yates was allowed to go free. She left England and came to this country and started another singing career with a new name.”
No wonder Father didn’t want their family associated with her.
Why would Mum choose to claim to be her, of all people?
Granted, Mum’s libretto did paint Katherine Yates as a reformed criminal, the witness to the maid’s murder, and a victim of her partners.
Maybe Mum had idolized her and desired to write a better version of the events.
But how did Winston and Ursula fit into the story of Katherine Yates?
Mrs. Reed took a long drink, then continued. “I’ll never understand why she went with a name as pretentious as Constanza Brisbane. Although I hear the Brisbane part was from the American she married.”
Nora abandoned her cup and saucer before they ended up as shattered bits on the floor. “Constanza Brisbane cannot be Katherine Yates.”
“Of course she is, dear. You’ll see. The opera community is far too small, even globally, for one to start over without keeping the stink of scandal.
Changing her name didn’t change her past, but it did give her the chance to professionally distance herself and signal to her audiences that she was a new woman. ”
Gossip. This all had to be unverified gossip. Her mother could not be a murderess. Katherine Yates had to be someone else. Otherwise she and Father had lied to Nora for all these years.
And yet . . .
Nora gripped the arm of the settee, her world spinning and churning as a growing cacophony of thoughts granted merit to Mrs. Reed’s story.
The existence of Mum’s libretto.
Mum’s proclamation that she was Katherine Yates.
Mum’s frantic need for forgiveness from a past of which she refused to share the details.
Father’s insistence they have no connections to the opera.
“So what do you think?” Mrs. Reed prodded. “Is it not a story meant for the stage?”
If only it had been confined to one.
The old familiar bands tightened around Nora’s chest, making her strain to maintain an even breath. Oh, how she wanted to flee from the suspicion growing within her, but how did one escape their own mind?
“Miss Davis, you look as pale as the dead!”
Nora rose, locking her knees so her trembling legs would not give way. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Reed. I’m suddenly not feeling well. Could we continue this visit another day?”
“Of course, dear, but may I be of assistance? Maybe help you to bed?”
She didn’t dare allow the woman in the same room as a libretto about Katherine Yates written by Constanza Brisbane. “Thank you, but it is only a headache. I will rest here for a while, and soon I’ll be right as rain.”
Mrs. Reed’s concern didn’t ease. “If you’re certain, I’ll see myself out, but I’ll return tomorrow to ensure you are better.”
“I welcome your visit. Good afternoon, Mrs. Reed.”
The door couldn’t close soon enough. Which version of Katherine Yates should Nora believe?
Mrs. Reed’s, where Mum might very well be a murderess?
Or Mum’s, where she was the victim of cruel partners?
What was Nora to do? If Father were home, she’d demand the truth from him, but he wasn’t, and she couldn’t charge into his office and demand answers.
Besides, her revelation about speaking with Mrs. Reed might send him into a panic.
He’d have them packed up and moving to a new city within hours.
And what of her seeing Winston when no one else could?
She needed someone she could talk to who wouldn’t panic.
Ezekiel. She needed Ezekiel.
She walked on unsteady legs to the door, but when she opened it, Winston stood there.
“Where are you going, Eleonora? It isn’t safe to go out alone. Perhaps I should escort you.”
She slammed the door in his face and bolted it. Would that even hold a hallucination in place? Or would he just walk through it?
Tristan yowled at her from the top of the steps, his head tilted.
Did he think her crazy, or was he wondering why she’d been rude to a guest?
It would have been so much better if he’d been down here to attack Winston and prove Winston real.
Although a real Winston was as dangerous as one in her mind. What should she do?
Ezekiel had promised to protect her, but she couldn’t go out the front.
It had been a while since she checked for eggs from Fred, and she could use that as an excuse to cut through Mr. Gallagher’s home.
If Winston were real, then he wouldn’t know to follow her.
But if he was all in her head—which she was growing uncomfortably sure of—could Ezekiel even protect her?
Would he even want to? Father had abandoned Mum when she’d been deemed insane. Would Ezekiel do the same?
Lord, I’m really going mad, aren’t I? Please, don’t abandon me too.