CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO #2
“I write for the Brooklyn Illustrated Star . My editor is Oran Montgomery, and I’m sure I could interest him in your story.
” Another lie, of course. Millie’s tale was more sordid than the readers of the Star preferred.
There had to be an angle, as Millie had said, and it was freeing an innocent man.
“I’ve heard of it.” The tea had done the trick—Millie’s nose leaked into her handkerchief, and her chest didn’t sound as tight. Her eyelids drooped as the laudanum took hold of her. Sleep would be healing. She had a long way to go to overcome her ordeal.
“Think about it, won’t you?” Leona stood and placed the teacups and plates back on the tray. “But for now, sleep.” She picked up the tray and carried it as far as the door before Millie spoke again
“Will you write about Khepri?”
“If that’s what you want.”
“He’s still out there,” Millie said.
“I know.” Leona nodded. “I’ll keep you safe.”
Millie croaked out a laugh. “You’re an odd sort, just like Iris said.”
Leona hardened her heart and struggled to soften her voice. “Rest, Millie.”
She brought the tea things to the kitchen and went upstairs. Leona took the derringer from the drawer and slipped it into the reticule before bringing it downstairs again. Much as she wanted to retreat to her study, she had one last thing to take care of. She went back to the kitchen.
“Mrs. McCarthy, please come with me,” Leona said.
“But the beef broth—”
“I won’t keep you long.”
Leona led the way to the parlor and closed the pocket doors tight behind them.
“Please, sit here, Mrs. McCarthy—” Leona took her by the hand and led her to an armchair by the fire. She took the one opposite.
“M’um—?”
Leona tried to smile at her. “When it’s just you and I, please call me Leona? I feel as if we are friends.”
Mrs. McCarthy laughed. Her blue eyes twinkled. “Then you must call me Abigail, just between us.”
“All right, Abigail.” She tried to smile again but couldn’t muster the energy. “There is quite a burden on you, taking care of all of us.”
“Pish,” the housekeeper said. “Mr. Earl doesn’t mind giving me a hand, and you have always taken on the work when you can.”
“Now I’m burdening you further, but not with work. I need you to know what is going on under this roof. Millie is a fugitive. The police are looking for her. She’s the wife of the murdered spiritualist Jesper Frost.”
“Oh, my dear!”
“But she doesn’t want to go to the police because their trade is criminal. Blackmail, theft, perhaps even murder.” She hated to frighten the woman, but she had the right to know. “I’m hoping to talk her into going to the police on her own. Soon.”
“Then I must do better than beef broth,” Abigail said.
“Mrs.—Abigail. Let me be plain about the danger this might present. She fears the murderer is hunting her—and the man who shot my husband is still out there.”
“We’ve braw Irish policemen to look after us. My nephew is one of them and tells me they are searching diligently for both fellows. I feel quite safe, Leona.”
“If you wanted to leave for a short time—”
Abigail took Leona’s hand and patted it with her own work roughened one. “I won’t abandon you and Mr. Earl. And Mr. Gladney, of course.”
“Thank you, Abigail. If things change, I will let you know immediately. And once this is all over, I’m going to put an ad in the paper for a maid to help with the house.
” She needed to ask one more question of her, but her heart stumbled and the words didn’t come easily. “But if—you found—do you think—?”
“Leona—”
“Abigail—”
They laughed together.
Abigail patted her hand once more and let go.
“I’ll say it. On laundry day, I found the glove in his coat pocket after one of his late nights.
We haven’t seen Mrs. Caldwell-Jones here at the house for a longish time.
I’ll say no more, it’s none of my business, but I know what men get up to.
I don’t want to see you hurt anymore, and Mr. Earl has been very unhappy with Mr. Gladney.
I’m not telling you anything you don’t know. ”
Leona was grateful and relieved Abigail would stay with them, and that she’d been honest about her thoughts about Gil.
“I think, no matter what, we’ll be all right now.
If we can get past our current situation—situations.
The New Year is upon us and things must change for the better. How can they get any worse?”
***
T HREE QUIET DAYS AND nights passed as Leona’s houseguest and husband recovered from their wounds. On the fourth day, Leona tapped at the guest room door.
“Millie?” she asked, not wanting to disturb her, yet steeling herself for the confrontation to come.
“Come in.” Millie didn’t look up from the book she was reading, her feet in Leona’s second-best slippers propped on the footstool.
“Do you feel well enough to dress and join me for tea in the front parlor?” She stood taut in the doorway, waiting for Millie’s answer.
Millie snapped the book closed and set it on the little table beside her.
“We would be elsewhere if Jesper were still alive.” She glanced out the window where the falling snow gathered on the sill.
“A warm place, Florida maybe.” Dropping her head against the back of the chair, she sighed. “I miss them so.”
“Please, dress and come to the parlor,” Leona urged her. “An innocent man is in jail—no matter how you and I feel about Benedict Van Wyn, he has a wife and child who need him.”
“Not that he cares about them,” Millie said with disgust.
“He has a right to redemption too, as we all do. You too, Millie. The police need a description of your husband’s murderer.”
She drew the blanket up to her chin as if she might hide under it. “He’s still out there.”
“You will have protection. I will protect you.”
Millie sneered at this, as she had before. But tears came and washed away the expression. “I just want to—to curl up and die,” she whimpered. “How can I be living when he is not?”
Leona’s icy heart melted a little. “I know, Millie. When I lost my first husband and my child, that’s all I wanted, too. But you must get up and carry on. So, when they catch the man who killed them, you can see him on trial for his crimes and know that you have gotten justice for them.”
Millie closed her eyes, and Leona despaired her words had stirred her guest to action. But then Millie stood and reached for the clothing at the end of the bed, her movements stiff.
“Thank you,” Leona said.
“I don’t have a choice, do I?” Millie sighed, kicking off the slippers.
Leona waited in the parlor until finally Millie, moving as if every step hurt, groped her way around the furniture, a hand pressed to her forehead as she squinted at the bright afternoon light.
Leona picked up the paper and pencil she’d placed nearby.
She couldn’t help but observe the woman’s watchful gaze as Millie took in the comfortable room.
Not an opulent room—anything of worth they had placed in the formal parlor upstairs.
“I don’t know where to start,” Millie said.
“Where were you born? Tell me about that,” Leona said in as friendly a tone as she could muster.
A resigned breath gusted out of Millie. “Philadelphia. Just my mother and I. My father deserted us when I was nine. We had to live on the charity of his family, for Mother’s parents died and left her orphaned at an early age.
But Mother loved seances and mediums. This is how we met Iris and Jesper. ”
“And what about Khepri? Will you spell her name for me?”
Millie did, though it appeared to cause her pain.
“When did you see her first?”
“When I was a child and sad or ill, and then all the time, day and night. We walked in each other’s dreams.”
“Was she a girl your age? What did she look like?”
“Yes, we were the same age and grew up together. She’s beautiful, with long black hair and a lithe figure beneath a pure white gown. Gold bracelets clatter together like bells and a gold scarab on a necklace on her graceful neck. That’s an insect in Egypt.”
“Thank you,” Leona murmured, her pencil flying.
“Mother spoke of Khepri to Iris and Jesper. They helped develop my talent and turned it to good use to help other people.” She sipped at the tea, appearing more confident now.
“How?”
“Khepri knows things, knows the past and the future.”
Leona peered at Millie. Did she expect Leona to believe this? Did Millie believe it?
“Mother was relieved when they took me under their wing. We lived with relatives, and there was talk of the asylum for me from them because I... preferred Khepri’s company to girls who were mean and venal and only cared about dresses, gossip, and husbands.”
Millie’s words had the ring of truth to them. This did not bode well for any kind of testimony Millie might have to give.
“When Mother died, this left me in the hands of those relations who had grown weary of me and grown very fond of the idea of the asylum.” Her face flushed the dull red of anger.
“They had a doctor examine me, and he declared me insane. Before they could take me away, I ran away to Iris and Jesper. He married me to keep me safe, but he loved me, and I loved him.”
Leonas asked, “Is Khepri real?”
Millie glared at Leona. “I know you’re not that foolish, not like the Elmira person you pretended to be.
Of course not. It was make believe because I was a lonely child.
Mother took me to an Egyptian exhibition.
I fell in love with it, and Khepri was born.
Mother and Iris encouraged me because it made me a star in their seance circle, gave us a foothold in the world.
The members of the group showered us with gifts—money, food, and books.
” She flung her hand out toward the bookshelves.
“But it poisoned my father’s family against me. And look where it has brought me!”
Relief washed through Leona. No one could conclude Millie was a madwoman if she claimed her daydreams of walking in Ancient Egypt were only a way to make a living.
Because if they caught the killer, and she had to testify, a good lawyer might turn the tables on Millie and get her sent to the asylum she feared.
Millie rubbed her temples, eyes tightly shut.
“Sometimes,” she whispered, “I do see things that no one else can see—apparitions and spirits. But they don’t always come when I call them, and they leave me on the spot.
” She opened her eyes and gazed at Leona, her eyes hungry.
“Like the young soldier I saw around you when you came for your mediumship lesson. Do you believe me?”
Leona caught her breath, unwilling to go down this path. And yet....No. The woman likely only saw the ghosts of a guilty conscience. Like Leona’s own—Tom Perley and Red Stone.
“It doesn’t matter what I believe,” she said, trying to keep the judgement from her voice. “It’s your story. Please go on.”
“It all seemed right, but then it all went wrong. The Frosts and Mrs. Drew got greedy.” Millie’s eyes glistened with tears. “And look what happened to them. And I’m alone again.” She shuddered. “I can’t even go back to the house.”
“Millie.” Leona put a little sympathy into her words. “Perhaps it’s time to find another line of work?”
“Like what?” Millie scrubbed at her bright red nose with the handkerchief. “Mediumship is all I’ve known.” She glared into the fire, then her eyes softened. “I don’t want to be parted from her. Khepri is me.”
Leona sighed. “It’s time to think about others, Millie. Like the Van Wyns.”
Millie wiped at her streaming eyes and nodded. “You’ll publish my story and then what?”
“I know a detective. I’ll speak to him about you.” It was time to speak about her own role, too, before Millie told him about it. “But it would go a long way to prepare a statement declaring Van Wyn’s innocence first.”
“All right, if that’s what it will take to appease you.”
“Not for me, Millie. To correct the wrongs your husband and his sister did to innocent people. This is the only way you’ll get past this terrible episode of your life.”
Millie held out her hand. Leona put the paper and pencil into it as a wave of relief washed through her.