Boston Metaphysical Society Read online

  “What can I do for you, Mister . . . ?” Mr. Larsen inquired.

  “Sampson. Mr. Sampson.” Samuel thought the house manager wouldn’t mind as long as he never knew anything about it.

  Mr. Larsen sat behind an unassuming walnut desk with a small eggshell-colored porcelain vase of flowers sitting on the corner. He studied Samuel for a moment before he reached into a drawer and pulled out several forms, placed them on the desk, then picked up a pencil.

  “What is the name of your . . . sister?”

  “Elizabeth.”

  “And will anyone else need access to the account besides yourself?”

  “Yes. A Mr. Thomas Rochester.”

  Mr. Larsen paused, then continued writing.

  Assuming that Thomas had an account here, Samuel ventured to push Mr. Larsen for more information. “I believe you already have Mr. Rochester’s signature on file. Or do you need him to come in as well as?”

  Mr. Larsen broke into a smile meant to instill confidence and security. “That won’t be necessary. Once I fill out the forms and you make your deposit, we’ll arrange an appointment for your sister to come in at her convenience.” He stopped writing and glanced up. “How much will you be depositing today?”

  “A thousand dollars.”

  “Very good.” He slid the paperwork across the desk. “Will there be anything else?”

  The rest of the conversation consisted of pleasantries as the account manager ushered Samuel to the front door and held it open for him after wishing him a good day. Samuel headed out to the next bank.

  His modus operandi was the same at the next bank, though it took more time to sniff out a manager who wasn’t already there so he could eavesdrop in the lobby. After a brief conversation while opening an account, Samuel could tell that the account manager had never heard of Thomas Rochester other than that he was the son of Emmet Rochester. It was clear he was in awe of both men and asked if it were possible to get an introduction. Samuel told him he would ask. The man gushed with joy as he escorted him back to his car.

  It would be impossible for Samuel to find out how much money Thomas had in Liberty Bank without either a warrant or a certain amount of subterfuge; he wasn’t willing to take that risk quite yet. He knew with the information he had Jonathan might ferret out how much Thomas had deposited. It was as simple as Jonathan calling Liberty Bank and claiming Thomas was doing business with him. Liberty Bank wouldn’t hesitate to give him any information he needed, being he was the head of House Weldsmore. In fact, Jonathan would probably even open an account there as a sign of gratitude for their help.

  The real question was why Thomas would hide money in a Negro bank in Boston. There were plenty of banks in Chicago, and Samuel had no doubt Tillenghast paid him well. If he had gambling debts, then why would he be squirreling away money and not paying them off? The risk to his reputation was too great. However, he might be secreting it for another purpose. Samuel considered contacting his former Pinkerton informants to find out what they could come up with. He no longer had any in the Chicago area to keep an eye on House Tillenghast, so he didn’t have much choice. In the meantime, he had hired two men to trail Hal and Thomas during the day. He planned to meet with one of them later this afternoon to get his first report.

  Samuel also decided to follow up on the information Elizabeth had gleaned from her visions. After visiting the other banks and learning nothing more, he left Liberty Row and headed for the bay off the South Side where she had seen the children clamming. He knew the area and hoped the locals would talk to him. Then he would stop at the candy store. If he was lucky, perhaps the proprietor would remember something about the little girl. It might not lead to anything, but it was worth a try.

  As he drove the car through the bustling streets, Samuel relaxed. He was enjoying his foray back into detective work, no matter how minor. It pushed the worry he had about Elizabeth and his own dark thoughts far away so they only nibbled at his consciousness. He found it a relief to feel almost normal again. Though he worried, he resisted the urge to turn and head over to the South Side and check up on Elizabeth. She had to be done with her interviews by now and was visiting the medium. His wife had been pampered and catered to her entire life; it was time he let Elizabeth take control of her future even if she could see it from time to time.

  ***

  Elizabeth walked out of another three-story walk-up with an aching head and heart. The stories these families told her were familiar now—a loved one gone to work or to run an errand, never to be seen again. A few came from troubled homes, some harsh enough to run away from. One parent insisted that was what had happened and that their son was working on a merchant ship out of North Carolina. They had no proof, but Elizabeth thought it was worth investigating. As before, the missing were either slow or very intelligent, but ran the gamut of age. One women’s eighty-year-old grandmother had disappeared in the last two weeks, but they believed she might have fallen into the bay after wandering off on her own.

  Elizabeth instructed her guards to take her to Rachel’s as she organized her notes in the carriage. She tried to decide if she should tell Rachel about what had happened in the garden. She was proud of the fact she had entered her vision and returned without help, but she also wondered if it was a fluke. If it was, then they needed to discuss it. That way they could work together to hone her skills. Rachel might be angry, but it was the wisest course of action.

  Whoever this man was, he had to be a medium himself, otherwise how could he have known she inhabited the boy. By the looks of his hands and his speech, he was not only an educated man but one of some wealth. Elizabeth was positive he’d known she was there. The whole experience thrilled and scared her, but not enough to not want to try again. Something about the way those people had acted led her to think they might be drugged. But why kidnap them? And why keep them there? And who was that man?

  The carriage rumbled to a stop. They had arrived at Rachel’s. She climbed out and into a waiting group of children clamoring for more coins. Chagrined that Samuel was right, she gestured to one of her Irish guardsmen to hand out the shoes she had tucked away for this very reason. That distracted them long enough for her to enter the building without being accosted again.

  By the time she got to Rachel’s door, Andrew had already opened it. His eyes lit up when he saw her.

  “You be a fine sight, lassie.”

  She put her hand on his arm. “And you be quite the charmer, Mr. O’Sullivan.”

  “And when are you going to call me Andrew?”

  “Never.” Elizabeth flounced into the room with exaggerated grace. “It wouldn’t be proper.”

  He chuckled at that. “Have a sit. Rachel be running a bit late. There be an accident at the power plant, and she be patching a few of the boys up.”

  “Are they all right?” Elizabeth frowned in worry. “Do they need a doctor?”

  “They’ll be fine. She be doing it all the time.”

  “Oh, so she’s a nurse too?”

  Andrew struggled not to be disrespectful. “Lassie, there be no doctors or nurses here. We take care of our own. Now, why don’t you have a sit. I’ll get us some water.”

  They walked into the adjoining room where they had met before. Elizabeth sat down while Andrew poured them each a glass. When he handed one to her, she noticed sediment settling at the bottom. Not wanting to be rude, she took a sip then set it down, making a mental note to talk to her father about the condition of the pipes in the South Side. She was sure she could convince him to do something about it once he was aware. Such things could lead to disease and illness. And since the Irish did so much labor in the power plants and in the city, it was in everyone’s interest to have them healthy.

  After that, Elizabeth considered how she could improve the education in the South Side. However, change did not come easily to the Great Houses, and she would have to convince them and her father, which would be quite a task.

  “You know, lassie, we’ve m
et before,” Andrew remarked.

  Startled out of her train of thought, Elizabeth glanced up. “What? When? I don’t remember.”

  “I be working for a murder detective by the name of O’Malley then. We were on our way to a case in Beacon Hill when you passed by with your governess.”

  Nausea and a dull, thudding pain crept up from her stomach to her throat.

  Andrew put his hand on her shoulder when he noticed her distress. “I’m sorry, lassie. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  Elizabeth took a deep breath and calmed herself. She remembered now. “It was at House Bridgeworth. I walked past, and you were in the alley.”

  “Aye.”

  “A servant girl was murdered along with her beau,” Elizabeth recollected. “I overheard our servants talking about it. You and the detective solved it?”

  He nodded. “Aye. We did.” Andrew winked at her then turned when he heard the door open. Rachel had returned.

  “My apologies.” The woman dropped a battered, stain-ridden leather case the size of two loaves of bread on to the floor. Then she took off her coat and threw it onto a chair in the front room as she marched over to where Elizabeth sat. “More men needed tending than I thought.” Rachel spied the water on the table. “Though that might kill you faster than a mine blowout.”

  “I’m sure it’s fine,” Elizabeth remarked. “Once you’ve settled, I have something to tell you.”

  Andrew and Rachel sat down across from her, and she spent the next half hour telling them about her experience in the garden, more details on the room, and the man who appeared to know she was there. Rachel clasped and unclasped her hands numerous times as she spoke while Andrew’s face darkened with worry. Neither interrupted her. A palpable tension had filled the air by the time Elizabeth finished. By the amount of stress on the medium’s face, it occurred to her that Rachel might be afraid.

  “What you did was dangerous.” Rachel’s accent became heavier, almost guttural. “It be showin’ great progress, but you be needin’ more control. You cannot be falling in and out of your visions willy-nilly. And be writin’ down everything. Especially if that truly be the place where all the missing are being hid.”

  Elizabeth pulled out her notebook. “I do.”

  “Good.” Rachel leaned back in her chair. “Today, I need you to think about how you felt in the garden. What did the air smell like? Were you cold? Hot? A breeze? You said you were gazing at the stars. Let’s begin there.”

  “I want to search for Abigail. The girl in the candy-store window,” Elizabeth replied. “If I can find her, then I know I’ve found where the missing people have gone. Then perhaps I can discover where they are being hidden.”

  “That be most admirable, but you still be too new at this,” Rachel warned her.

  “I have to.” Elizabeth’s voice cracked. “Samuel and I haven’t found much in the way of clues as to where they have disappeared to or why. I have to find out more, and this may be our only hope of solving this case.”

  “First things first. I want you to be learnin’ how to protect yourself.”

  “I don’t understand. How can anyone hurt me in the spirit passageway or in a vision?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Not your body, but your mind.” The medium extended her hand. “Take it. We do this, then we go look for the missin’.”

  Elizabeth sighed. “Fine.”

  For the next hour Elizabeth and Rachel practiced building a metaphysical wall brick by brick in the passageway. Unlike before, Elizabeth was much more aware of Rachel’s presence as the medium instructed her on how not only to build but to destroy the wall she had built. When all she could do was throw the equivalent of mental darts, she watched as Rachel’s physic energy blasted a hole through it. Elizabeth resolved to do a better job after that.

  After a brief tea, Rachel agreed to assist her in trying to reach one of the missing, though her presence would not be so apparent.

  “I will be there like a fly on the wall and help you back if need be.”

  Elizabeth took Rachel’s hand, closed her eyes, quieted her mind, and entered the passageway again. Not wanting to linger in that dark abyss, she pretended she was back in the garden gazing up at the stars. Her gaze shifted from star to star until one that sparkled blue and green caught her attention. Taking a cue from Rachel, she imagined leaving tiny trinity knots in her wake to help her find her way back. Once she did that Elizabeth focused on the star. As she did, her mind sensed a gentle tugging. She allowed herself to be pulled along, getting closer and closer to the star. It flared, blinding her for a brief moment. When she regained her vision, Elizabeth was once again back in the room filled with the missing people.

  A clanking sound distracted her. Two men in work clothes carried a large iron pot over to a spigot and a drain and washed it out. Another man cleaned up the table where the plates and utensils had lain. The smell of food wafted through the air. A meal had been served, though it appeared most everyone had finished and had returned to their cots. Without thinking, she forced the hands of the person she inhabited out in front of her to get a better look at them. Elizabeth heard a gasp.

  The hands were of a middle-aged woman, calloused, scar ridden, and with large veins crisscrossing the top of the thin skin. She sat on a cot like the others, but although this time they were awake, no one talked to each other. A few mumbled, but Elizabeth couldn’t quite hear what they were saying.

  Elizabeth berated herself for being thoughtless and let go of her control over the woman’s body. She was startled when the woman stood up and walked over to a trough of water about six feet long with three spigots sticking out of the brick wall over it. The woman leaned over and stared at her reflection. It was as if they were both getting a good look at each other.

  Elizabeth’s first guess was correct. The woman was in her forties with graying dark-red hair and pale green eyes. Crow’s feet had already formed around her eyes, and the skin around her jaw sagged. She wore the same smock as everyone else, but it covered a heavy-set body that hunched over from too much menial labor. Elizabeth wondered why she had been kidnapped. Her answer came faster than she expected.

  The woman mouthed the words, “I see you.”

  14

  The car rocked as it hit a pothole. In the back seat, Jonathan glanced up at the rearview mirror to see the chauffeur’s eyes tense up then relax.

  “Sorry, Mr. Weldsmore.” Brendan apologized for something that was not his fault. “Roadwork.”

  Jonathan studied the final Abyssinian employment and trade agreements. No assassination attempt today. “Can you detour using Franklin?”

  “I’ll give it a try, sir.” The car made a left turn and settled into traffic.

  The contracts were generous, and Jonathan knew he’d be making a lot of money over the next few years unless someone sabotaged the deal. The income would be enough to support House Weldsmore and its employees for years to come. It was more important than ever to educate Elizabeth and Samuel on the business in case House Tillenghast assassinated him. It wouldn’t be the first time a Great House had done it. His grandmother, Beatrice, had arranged the accidental death of Emily Tillenghast’s late husband in order for Hal to marry her. As her former husband was an abusive man, neither Alfred Tillenghast nor Emily had seemed to mind his sudden passing.

  The few times he had met Alfred Tillenghast Jonathan had been impressed by his business acumen, though in his opinion the man’s desire to control everything around him was a weakness. If one hired competent managers and delegated, then a company ran more efficiently and effectively. That didn’t mean there shouldn’t be a strong hand at the helm, but one confident enough not to be threatened by change.

  Jonathan didn’t think Tillenghast would assassinate him, but it could happen. However, Hal wasn’t lying when he said Tillenghast might try to destroy him but not House Weldsmore. Keeping the infrastructure of the House intact would allow for a smooth—or rather smoother—transition of power to someone of T
illenghast’s choosing.

  Though Hal didn’t know about the Abyssinian deal yet, Jonathan knew Tillenghast would eventually learn about it one way or another. Whether Tillenghast would consider it a threat, he wasn’t sure. But the clock was ticking. Jonathan needed to do something that House Tillenghast and the other Great Houses would not expect, something to throw them off balance. Jonathan smiled to himself. He knew just the thing, but the risk and possible public fallout would be great. He decided it was worth it.

  Jonathan closed the file in his lap.

  “Mr. Owen?”

  “Yes, Mr. Weldsmore.”

  “Take me to the office of the Boston Times.”

  Jonathan saw Mr. Owen’s expression of shock in the rearview mirror.

  “The newspaper, sir? Wouldn’t you rather they come to the house?”

  “No, I want this to be a surprise.”

  ***

  If one could feel shock while inhabiting the body of someone else, Elizabeth did. As she attempted to get her bearings, her initial reaction was to take control of the woman and flee. However, Elizabeth resisted the urge and instead tried to communicate to her.

  To her delight, the woman pointed to her chest and mouthed the word, “Mary.”

  Her name was Mary.

  Elizabeth’s excitement grew. This must be Mr. Owen’s sister. She had to find out more and hoped to God that Mary could read. Spying sludge at the bottom of the trough, she took control of the women’s arm and thrust it into the water. She dragged her finger across the bottom to write the word Beth. Elizabeth saw Mary grin in the reflection.

  She took control of Mary’s arm again and wrote Where?

  Mary shook her head and wrote back The bay? Smell fish.

  That didn’t help much. The bay all around Boston reeked like a fish market. She wrote another message in the sludge. Look out window. The woman nodded and took her arm out of the water.

  Elizabeth hoped Rachel was seeing all of this.

  Mary’s cot was located across the room from the windows, so she had to walk through the maze of cots to reach the other side. Elizabeth took control of her head so she could move it back and forth and get a good look at who was there and anything that might give her a clue as to where they were. She scanned the room until a tangled mop of red hair on a young girl caught her eye. Elizabeth nudged Mary in that direction. The older woman complied. As they maneuvered toward the girl, Elizabeth wished she could thank Mary for being so cooperative. It must be an odd feeling communicating with someone else in your head.