Boston Metaphysical Society Read online

  “They be more comfortable than they rightly deserve, miss.” The man chuckled, his thick Irish brogue twisted across his tongue. “What about the foodstuffs and clothes?”

  She gestured to Samuel. “Mr. Hunter will give you the final instructions for the food and extra clothing. But I want them brought here first so I can inspect them.”

  “Yes, miss.” He gave her a tip of his hat. On his way out, he leaned toward Samuel and whispered, “The lass looks a wee bit knackered, sir. You might want to be taking her on home soon.”

  “Thank you for your concern. If you can convince her to do that, I’d be much obliged.”

  The delivery man threw up his hands as he stomped out the door. “Gah! Women!”

  Preoccupied with her list, Elizabeth didn’t notice the man’s feigned outrage.

  “Elizabeth,” Samuel called out to her.

  She frowned, ignoring him as she tapped her pencil against her cheek three times then flipped through more pages of her notes.

  “Elizabeth,” he said a little louder.

  Her head shot up. “Hum?”

  “We don’t have to see Rachel today. You’re tired. Let’s put it off until tomorrow. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

  “No. I gave her my word, and I want to give her an update on the first delivery.”

  Samuel walked over and put his arm around her, leading her to one of the new upholstered chairs. “Then at least sit down.”

  As they both sat next to each other, he took her hand. “You know, you need to let me do something. You can’t do all this on your own.”

  Her shoulders drooped. “I’m sorry. I’m sort of taking over everything, aren’t I?”

  “Just a little . . . not that I mind.” Samuel paused and backpedaled. “Although I did have certain ideas about how my office would look and—”

  “You were too polite to say anything.” She sighed. “It’s the upholstered chairs, isn’t it? They’re too much.”

  Samuel held up his thumb and index finger so they were an inch a part. “Maybe.” He bounced up and down in the chair. “They are comfy, though.”

  Elizabeth bounced on her chair as well. “Oh, my. You’re right.”

  They both laughed as they bounced like two ten-year-olds until someone’s throat clearing caught their attention. Much to Samuel’s embarrassment, Mr. Owen stood at the front door and gaped at them in astonishment. It was obvious he had never seen someone of Elizabeth’s class behave in such a manner. When he realized they were both staring back at him, he snatched his hat off his head and clutched it to his chest, muttering apologies.

  Elizabeth jerked up, sending her clipboard clattering to the ground. “Mr. Owen. We didn’t expect you.”

  “No, no, miss. It’s my fault.” He scrambled to pick up the clipboard then handed it to her, keeping his eyes down during the whole process.

  “May we help you?” Elizabeth asked.

  Still clutching his hat, Mr. Owen got enough courage to look up at the both of them. “I overheard you were looking to be a detective again, with Mrs. Hunter helping.”

  Elizabeth pursed her lips in annoyance but said nothing.

  He shuffled his feet. “I don’t have much money, but maybe we can do something in trade, being that you’re just setting up shop.”

  “Mr. Owen, have you lost something?” Samuel pressed him.

  “Aye. My sister. To start.”

  “To start?” Elizabeth and Samuel said in unison. They both gave each other a stunned look.

  Elizabeth gestured for him to sit. “Please, Mr. Owen.”

  “No, Mrs. Hunter. Not on those.” Horrified, he backed away from them as though the mere touch of an upholstered chair would burn him.

  Samuel grabbed one of the remaining old beat-up chairs from the other room and plopped it down in front of the elderly Irishman. “How about this?”

  “That’ll do just fine, sir.” Mr. Owen sat on the edge of the plain oak chair.

  Samuel retrieved two more chairs for himself and Elizabeth. They sat across from the chauffeur, who clutched and unclutched his hat. Samuel realized he was waiting for them to start the conversation.

  “How old is your sister?” Samuel asked.

  “Mary be forty-two, sir. Lost her husband near four years ago in the coal-mine blast. Never been quite right in the head since. Sometimes she wanders off for a few hours, but not this long. My cousin looks in on her.”

  “How long has she been gone?”

  “Be three weeks this Sunday. I be searching high and low, and no one has seen her.”

  “Couldn’t she have gone to a friend’s or another relative?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Only my cousin and myself be her kin since Patrick passed on. And she stays close to the house. Only going out to shop or run a few errands.”

  “This is what you were upset about when you picked us up at the harbor, isn’t it?” Samuel asked.

  Mr. Owen nodded. “Aye. And I’m sorry about that.”

  “There’s no need,” Elizabeth responded, a gentle smile on her face.

  “I don’t mean to be cruel, but it is possible that she’s . . . dead,” Samuel said as kindly as possible.

  “Aye, I know. But I just have this feeling in my gut that tells me she’s still alive. And if she be, then the others might be too.”

  “And you’ve informed the police,” Elizabeth asked.

  “Aye, Mrs. Hunter. But they don’t care about the likes of us on the South Side if we go missing. If there be murders, they’ll give it a go, but otherwise . . .” The chauffeur shrugged.

  “You said there were others?” Samuel pressed him.

  Mr. Owen nodded, tears welling in his eyes. “There be some children too.”

  “How many?” Samuel asked, fearing what the answer might be.

  The Irishman’s brow furrowed. “Five or six. Jennie was the last one and before her was Abigail and Daniel. But there have been a few around my Mary’s age, both men and women.”

  Elizabeth gasped; he turned to see her face had drained of color. “Elizabeth, what’s wrong?”

  “Did you say Abigail?” Elizabeth asked Mr. Owen in a very controlled and measured voice.

  “Aye, she be about ten. She never came home one night. Then Jennie disappeared after she’d gone clamming.”

  “Samuel?” She turned to him, trembling.

  “Elizabeth, what’s going on?” Samuel demanded, his voice dropping an octave.

  “I . . . I . . .” Elizabeth put her hand to her forehead.

  Mr. Owen’s face twisted in alarm. “Oh, Mrs. Hunter, I’m so sorry to have troubled you. Please don’t tell Mr. Weldsmore that I came.”

  “No, no. Of course not. It’s fine. I’m just a bit tired. Don’t worry yourself.” The color returned to her face.

  Samuel focused his attention back on Mr. Owen. “I’m not going to lie to you. I don’t know if we can help you or not, but we will try.”

  “I don’t have any way to pay you out right, but I can run errands whenever Mr. Weldsmore doesn’t have need of me.” Mr. Owen replied. “And please don’t tell the missus I’ve asked you to help. She’ll think I’ve overstepped.”

  Elizabeth smiled and patted his hand. “Not a word. Can you tell us any more?”

  Samuel listened to Mr. Owen while Elizabeth took copious notes. He knew it paid to listen to everything a client said, even the off-handed comments, because they often gave him details that someone might otherwise overlook. They sat for over an hour and learned the disappearances had begun a month before they returned from their honeymoon. What piqued his interest more was that even though the victims ran the gamut in age and were both male and female, each of them was special in some way: slow, very bright, or not quite right in the head, like Mr. Owen’s sister.

  After the chauffeur left, Elizabeth told him more about the vision she’d had at Rachel’s. A boy named Gabriel in her vision had talked about Abigail disappearing, and Elizabeth feared they were somehow linked. Samuel ma
de a note to find Gabriel and talk to him or his family.

  They both had tea and the lunch Sampson had sent over. When they were done, Samuel slid two of the upholstered chairs together and insisted Elizabeth nap before they headed over to the South Side. He suspected the sessions with Rachel were going to become more draining, and he wanted to make sure she was prepared for it. He did not doubt she could master her gift, but what worried him the most was how she would react if they never found Mr. Owen’s sister and the missing children.

  ***

  The short nap at the new office had refreshed Elizabeth, but she was anxious to meet Rachel again. For the first time in her life she felt like she had a purpose. No longer was she just the heir to House Weldsmore but a woman who had the ability to help others in a much more personal way. She knew Samuel did not approve of her working at the dock, but he was warming up to the idea faster than she had anticipated. It made her happier than she’d ever thought possible.

  The horse carriage jerked over the rough and pitted cobblestone road as they entered the South Side once again. On the way over, she and Samuel put together a list of the people they would interview. Samuel had told her it was a shame they had only found out about the missing people now as he knew the longer they were gone, the less likely they would be able to find them. Elizabeth hoped that if she could control her abilities, she could remedy that.

  “Whoa!” a voice from outside called.

  The carriage stopped and the same man Samuel had hired before opened the door. He had arranged for the Irishmen to deliver the food and clothing she promised Rachel. Samuel negotiated their cut, but Elizabeth had pre-approved the amount beforehand. It galled her that these men would not negotiate with her because she was a woman. It was absurd, especially after her grandmother, Beatrice, had run the family business for decades. She would have to change that if she was going to take control of House Weldsmore.

  This time she was prepared when the children swarmed the carriage and had a single coin ready for each of them. Samuel did not approve, but after seeing the squalor and despair on her first trip, she had to do something. Elizabeth suspected Samuel was right when he said that now the children would expect it every time she arrived and that when she was tired of doling out money they would resent her. She hoped the food and clothing would help deter that, but even that was a brief respite from the poverty most of these people lived in. A few made it out, like Mr. and Mrs. Owen, but the rest eked out a living working here or for a Middle District family or their business. It was a problem rooted in the Great Houses. What she could do about it, she had yet to figure out.

  After climbing the stairs to Rachel’s apartment, she knocked on the door and waited. Andrew opened it and smiled as he greeted both her and Samuel.

  “Punctual. Rachel be liking that.” He escorted them into through the front room. “How you be feeling, lassie? Any nightmares or visions since the night before last?”

  “No.” Elizabeth shook her head. “Have you heard about the children that have gone missing as well as Sean Owen’s sister, Mary?”

  “Aye,” Andrew replied. “I even set about to do a bit of looking myself, but those bairns be gone. And for Mary . . .” He sighed. “I fear she be dead.”

  “Samuel and I are looking into it for him. Perhaps if you know of anyone who might have seen her before she disappeared, you could introduce us?” Elizabeth gave him her most beguiling smile.

  Andrew’s laughter rumbled out of his chest. “Oh, lassie. You don’t need to get all girlie on me. You already have me wrapped around your pinky finger.”

  “And here I thought you were immune to my wife’s charms, Mr. O’Sullivan.” Samuel joked.

  “Call me Andrew, laddie. It sounds odd having a gentlemen talk to me in such a fashion.”

  “I’m just a mere Middle District man like my father and grandfather.”

  “Everyone knows that.” Andrew’s eyes twinkled in mirth. “You be one of the few men who married into a Great House.”

  Samuel stood back and gave Andrew the once over. “Is there anything you don’t know about us?”

  “You and the missus stand in the spotlight while the rest of us linger in the shadows.” Andrew took on a serious tone as he addressed Samuel. “Though I be thinking you’ve spent some time there.”

  Elizabeth’s eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean, Andrew?”

  “He means nothing,” Rachel interrupted as she pulled the curtain away from the doorway where she stood. “It be time we start our lessons, Mrs. Hunter.”

  Andrew led the way into the now familiar room as Elizabeth sat down in a chair across the table from Rachel. Samuel leaned by the curtained window out of her field of view.

  “I appreciate you keeping your word,” Rachel remarked. “The South Side will have an easier winter this year.”

  “Isn’t there something else I can do?” Elizabeth asked. “It seems if your people were better educated they would find better jobs. What are your schools teaching?”

  Rachel chuckled. “Exactly what the Great Houses want them to learn. Only about being servants and the like.” The older woman shook head. “Most of our people live in ignorance, but I fear it be you who are truly the ignorant one.”

  Elizabeth sat up straight, not sure if she should be angry or not. “Then perhaps you will educate me.”

  “Only about being a medium. The rest you be learnin’ on your own.” Rachel reached her hands out toward Elizabeth. “It’s time. Take my hands and focus on the trinity knot around my neck. And let’s see if you can enter the passageway and call a vision without me helping. Andrew?”

  The Irishman put his hand on Rachel’s shoulder.

  Elizabeth nodded and stared at the necklace around Rachel’s neck. After what seemed like fifteen minutes of trying to find her way through, she released Rachel’s hands and sat back in defeat. “I can’t do it.”

  Rachel sighed. “Try again.”

  Elizabeth composed herself, took Rachel’s hands again, and fixated on the trinity knot. Again, nothing happened. “What am I doing wrong?”

  “You be trying too hard. Let your mind relax and let go of this world.”

  “But I don’t want to!” Elizabeth exclaimed.

  Everyone, including Samuel laughed at that.

  “Lassie, find a memory that be special,” Andrew offered.

  “Then let it wash over you like a wave of warmth,” Rachel added.

  “All right.” Elizabeth settled down again and focused on the necklace, imagining she was wearing it. It gave her a sense of joy and sadness at the same time. That’s when she realized there were emotions attached to it. Rachel’s emotions.

  And just like that, once again she floated in the blackness. Her mind imagined a door. Behind it would be her next vision, but this time Elizabeth had a choice about whether to open it or not. Happy with her modicum of control, she willed it to open.

  Elizabeth stood in the middle of a cobblestone road. Horses and carriages clomped past. Street vendors hawked their wares as the South Side bustled with activity on the rare bright and clear day. Giggling echoed behind her, and she turned to see two kids pointing at her then running away. Another boy about twelve years old with dark-red hair and soot on his face dashed by and struck her in the head with his hand.

  “Abigail, get on with ye before Ma gets angry and blames me for why you be late.”

  The girl stuck her tongue out at him as he ran on. “I hate you!” she yelled at his back. “You be a meanie!” Satisfied that her response had the desired effect, she turned to the right and stared into a candy-shop window. Pink and blue taffy hung on simple wooden stands while other colorful sugar delights sat in varnished wood trays. Saliva filled her mouth as she put her hand up on the window, pressing her fingers into it.

  The girl glanced up, and Elizabeth saw the reflection of a ten-year-old with stringy dark reddish hair that looked like it hadn’t been washed in weeks. Her brown woolen shift fell to her ankles while the sl
eeves were way too long and covered her hands. Patches were sewn onto the elbows and under armpits. It must have been a hand-me-down from an older relative. And she itched.

  “I want you . . . and you . . . and you,” Abigail said as she pointed at each of the treats she yearned for.

  While the girl contemplated the candy, it occurred to Elizabeth that this was a time from before Abigail had disappeared. She knew she had to find out more and reached out with her mind to Rachel, hoping for guidance. Elizabeth sensed the older woman’s presence, but no help was forthcoming that she could tell. Perhaps she wasn’t strong enough yet or didn’t understand the signs if Rachel was communicating to her. Either way, she wasn’t going to waste this opportunity; she needed to discover where Abigail was going.

  The girl looked up again, and Elizabeth noticed a stray lock of hair had fallen across her face. She thought about brushing it out of the way—and to her surprise,the girl did it. Puzzled, Abigail stared at her hand. When Elizabeth realized what she had done, she decided to try something else. She reached up, put one finger on the glass, and slid it down. The girl watched in horror as her hand moved on its own accord.

  The result was predictable as Abigail took off screaming down the street. Loose and jagged cobblestones gouged the girl’s feet through the thin leather soles of her shoes. She knocked into passersby as she ran, earning her sharp words and a strike across the back of her head. It sent her tumbling to the ground; her nose slammed into the gravel-and-ash ridden street. Pain radiated up her cheek, and when she looked down, blood poured down onto her torn and dirty dress. Elizabeth ached to comfort the child but realized anything she did would only frighten her more. She decided to let the girl handle it herself and lead her to some clue as to where she had gone.

  Still panting, Abigail struggled to get up, but a pair of boys running by knocked her down again. Her emotions welled up, and Elizabeth sensed every one of them: fear, anger, humiliation. Soon, warm tears coursed down her face. Elizabeth resisted the urge to wipe them away, but Abigail did it herself. This time when Abigail attempted to stand, a large hand took her by the arm to help her up. The girl flinched at the touch, but when a blow did not follow, she relaxed a little. Curious to see who was helping her, Elizabeth turned Abigail’s head to see a man’s hand, uncalloused and clean. The cuffs of his jacket were well made and unfrayed. This was no South Sider.