“Why not? We used to have them all the time.”
I swallowed and flicked my eyes around the room.
“What is wrong with a séance?” Mama pursed her lips and squinted at me.
“I-I’m still upset by the Dead at the depot. Contacting the spirits sounds...” I trailed off and shrugged.
“Ah.” She tapped the side of her nose. “I see. Well, you needn’t worry. The séances have never worked before, and we won’t have time to hire a medium for tonight. It will be quite casual. Purely entertainment, Eleanor.”
“All right.” She was correct, of course. She’d conducted dozens of séances, but even with a medium, she’d never been able to contact Father. Besides, my chest was starting to ache from my secrets. I needed her to leave before the truth came spilling out. “A séance will be perfect then.”
“Yes, I think so too.” She grinned. “It is cheap, and everyone loves the drama. People still talk of Mrs. Bradley’s séance.” She chuckled.
I tried to laugh with her, but it came out breathy and shrill.
“Are you all right, dear?” Mama asked. “Did the Dead truly disturb you? Did you actually see this walking corpse?” She inspected my face, and I had to fight to keep my body still. Why couldn’t she just leave already?
“N-no. I didn’t see it.” I licked my lips. “I’m fine, Mama. It’s just so... it’s so hot.”
“Yes, and you are sweating.” She stepped close to me and sniffed the air. “I’ll have Mary draw a bath. You smell like a guttersnipe.”
I merely nodded, no longer trusting myself to speak. Fortunately, Mama chose that moment to leave; and in three long strides, she was gone.
I sucked in a shaky breath and collapsed backward onto my bed. My fingers curled around the familiar beige linens.
How could I keep this a secret when I could barely deal with it myself? The Dead had delivered Elijah’s letter. The corpses had my brother!
And before I could stop it, another, much darker thought came. What if Elijah was a walking corpse himself?
CHAPTER TWO
The party around me was a smoky dream. None of it felt real. Not the constriction of my bodice or the poke of my hairpins, not the glittering chandelier or the warm gaslights, and least of all, not the chattering guests.
While our elderly butler, Jeremy, and our young maid, Mary, prepared the drawing room for the séance, the guests and I waited in the parlor. I had successfully deflected old Mr. and Mrs. Moore’s attempts at conversation (discussing church sermons was never my favorite subject, particularly when my nerves were screaming for relief); and fortunately, Mr. and Mrs. Cook were wholly occupied by Mrs. Wilcox and my mother.
Meanwhile, the Cooks’ fair-haired daughters, Patience and Mercy—whom I called the Virtue Sisters—were focused on the remaining guests: the beautiful Allison Wilcox and her very rich, very eligible brother, Clarence.
I sat alone on the sofa, avoiding company by feigning a great interest in examining my surroundings.
Mama had drained half our remaining bank account to ensure that our parlor was at the height of All Things Fashionable. The wallpaper had recently been redone; the shelves were littered with peacock feathers, coral shards, and a thousand other knickknacks. The velvet rugs and drapes, recently added for this very occasion, swirled with elaborate patterns.
Mama’s greatest pride was the grand piano. It shone in the light of the gas lamps and told the tale of Fitt taste and wealth. It was no wonder she stood beside it to prattle to the Cooks and Mrs. Wilcox.
By the window, where the dour-faced Moores stood, was the mahogany bookshelf built to house all of Elijah’s theology books. And behind me was the chess table. Our chess table. The one Elijah had gotten so he could teach me to play—and then beat me nearly every day.
My thoughts vanished at the sound of a bubbling laugh.
Through lowered lashes, I peered at Allison Wilcox. She sat in a mauve armchair nearby, and the peach silk of her gown made her pale skin glow and dark hair gleam. In comparison, my white skin looked pasty. Or perhaps Allison’s exceptional beauty came from her obvious joy—she basked in the happy warmth I had envisioned for myself.
Her brother, Clarence, had recently returned to Philadelphia after two years at college, and he lounged elegantly against her chairback. He was just as handsome as his sister in his perfectly tailored black suit. The Virtue Sisters no doubt agreed with me, for they hovered nearby. Lanky Patience on one side and squat Mercy on the other, giggling at every word he spoke.
At each of Allison’s laughs and smug glances in my direction, I had to bite the inside of my mouth to keep jealous tears away—and to keep from hurling the nearest knickknack right at her. I wanted my brother here; I wanted Elijah safe.
Catching my eye, she bounced up and waltzed over to me.
“Where’s your brother?” she asked.