Page 23 of Whispers of Shadowbrook House

By the time Pearl arrived downstairs, Jenkinson had already led Madame Genevieve into the entry hall.

A break in the storm allowed the woman to enter without getting rained on, and Pearl thought Madame Genevieve’s extraordinary appearance depended on remaining dry.

If her scarves were damp, they’d not flow with every dramatic lift of her arms, not to mention what might become of her halo of frizzy orange hair.

Jenkinson led the woman past Pearl without a word or a glance, as though she were a decoration in the entryway.

Pearl said nothing but watched as Madame Genevieve resettled her scarves and shawls and arm bangles.

The woman gave what Pearl thought was a wave, but then she repeated the gesture, and Pearl saw she was simply testing how her flutters looked while she was on the move inside the house.

She waited outside the door of the nearest parlor, and less than a minute later, the butler returned. He walked past Pearl, and she turned and fell into step with him.

“Who is she?” Pearl used her practiced voice of friendly discussion as if they were in the middle of a comfortable conversation. Jenkinson had never responded in kind, but she was sure some day he might. This could be that day.

This was not that day. He walked silently, his steps a touch faster than she could comfortably match. She jogged along beside him. As long as she kept her breath, she could continue to ask questions. Maybe one of them would nudge the butler into answering.

“This is the woman who sent the letter. I understand she’s some kind of public figure.

Have you read about her in the papers? Why did she choose to visit Shadowbrook?

How did she meet Mr. Ravenscroft? Does she have a connection with the house?

Is she a friend of yours? Someone you knew before you went into service? ”

At that last question, Jenkinson turned his head just enough to glare down his nose at her. He didn’t speak a word, but Pearl thought he’d answered her all the same. She had no idea if the answer was yes or no. Jenkinson gave very little away, but he’d reacted, which he rarely bothered to do.

Jenkinson stopped outside the housekeeper’s small office near the kitchen. Knocking twice, he opened the door enough for his head and shoulders to disappear inside. “Tea is required. Entry parlor.”

Pearl heard the scrape of a chair and the rustle of skirts. Mrs. Randle scurried out of the room. Pearl planned to follow, interested in anything she might pick up from Mrs. Randle’s orders to the kitchen staff, but a new sound distracted her.

High-pitched and insistent, the noise conveyed some level of distress. In a house like Shadowbrook, full of twisting halls and false doorways, determining location by sound was a fool’s errand. Even so, Pearl thought the noise came from the entry hall.

She retraced her steps and arrived back at the front door to find a pile of luggage, a steamer trunk, and a leather bag. A fluffy white head with a golden star on its center poked out of the opening of the cracked and worn red leather.

Upon seeing Pearl, the small dog barked more demandingly, clamoring for attention.

Pearl looked around, and, seeing no one, lifted the dog from the carrying bag. “Hello, there,” she said, and the dog responded by raising its furry head and licking her chin.

Laughing, she tucked the dog, which was not much larger than a folded bedsheet, into her arms. The barking, though unceasing, seemed to decrease in intensity, or at least in desperation. Was it possible for a dog to bark with happiness?

Another glance at the stack of luggage proved the animal belonged to Madame Genevieve. Each piece was a different color, and all handles and straps were wrapped in bright ribbons.

Pearl looked down at the dog in her arms, its fur brushed and shiny, its tiny snout quivering. “You are an excellent excuse to get some answers,” she whispered.

The dog licked her chin again.

With only a second’s hesitation, Pearl opened the door of the parlor where Jenkinson had left the visitor. She strode in as if it was her place to do so.

“Good day,” she said. “I believe this is yours.”

The dog struggled to jump from Pearl’s arms, but Madame Genevieve didn’t raise her hands to receive it.

A long, slow nod was followed by a long, slow sigh. “Ah, Misty.” The woman smiled at the dog, her words drawn out into several notes and several extra beats. “There you are.”

Those few words seemed to take far too long. The woman’s low, husky voice seemed to stretch and carry every syllable into two or three. For the first time, Pearl knew what authors meant when they used the word intoned .

“Poor dear has had a long trip and must be quite exhausted by my company.” Hums and sighs punctuated the woman’s drawn-out statement.

She still made no move to take the squirming dog from Pearl’s arms. Maybe she was the one who was tired of the dog.

“Do take a seat, Miss Ellicott.”

Pearl wasn’t certain which surprised her more, the comfortable way this stranger gave orders or the fact that she knew Pearl’s name. Either way, Pearl followed the dramatic waving gesture and sat, holding the dog in her lap.

With eyelids half-lowered, Madame Genevieve lifted one arm in a fluid gesture that meant nothing at all but looked like part of a seated dance. Circling her hand in the space above her head, she stared at Pearl unblinking.

It did not take long before Pearl felt uncomfortable, and she stroked the little dog’s head, grateful she had a reason to look away from the woman’s gaze.

When Madame Genevieve spoke again, her words shed no light on what she might be thinking. “Do you have it?”

The woman couldn’t be referring to the dog. With no idea what else she was supposed to have, Pearl shook her head.

Slowly, dramatically, the scarf-bedecked woman pulled words from wherever she stored them, stretching them like a knitted stocking. “That is a pity. The Sight would help you heal.”

Pearl didn’t know what to make of that sentence. The sight of what? And heal how? “Perhaps you misunderstand. I am not ill.”

Another slow nod, and the woman gave a half smile that lowered the curtain of her eyelids a fraction more.

“People who do not have the Sight never understand the full extent of their own pain.” She seemed to recall the arm still raised above her head and lowered it gently, making full effect of both fluttering scarves and jangling bracelets.

There was information here if Pearl could understand it. Was this person a fortune teller? What did she mean by “the Sight”? What did she expect Pearl to see?

Madame Genevieve explained nothing, just continued to watch Pearl. In response, Pearl looked down at the dog in her lap. It was only her curiosity that kept her eyes returning to those half-lidded ones.

Many long minutes of heavy silence passed before Pearl attempted one of her own questions. “Did you say your dog’s name is Misty?”

Madame Genevieve brought her hand in front of her chest and waved it from side to side as if she were an orchestra conductor keeping her own words in somber time. “Ah, yes. Short for ‘The Mists of the Veil Between Realms.’”

As long as it took Madame Genevieve to drag all those words forth and place them into the space between them, Pearl did not quite have time to school her features. She dropped her eyes again to the dog in her lap, whose name was a burden no animal should have to bear.

What silliness was this? And how long did it take Mrs. Randle to boil a kettle of water? As soon as tea arrived, Pearl would have an excuse to leave the room. She’d invited herself in, but she regretted doing so. No answers would come from this strange interview, only more questions.

“Even without being gifted with the Sight,” Madame Genevieve said, “you must be able to see them occasionally. Of course you can hear them. Ghostly music rings from the walls. The chatter’s deafening. So many voices. The house is full to bursting.”

Them? Who did the woman mean?

The sound of Mrs. Randle’s quick, light footsteps preceded the housekeeper into the room. Relieved, Pearl stood to excuse herself, but Mrs. Randle waited only for Pearl to put the dog on the floor before placing the tea tray in her hands.

Pearl gave a short shake of her head. “I need to check on Maxwell,” she whispered.

The housekeeper pressed the tray more firmly in Pearl’s direction. “Mr. Ravenscroft wishes you to stay with his guest.”

With no choice except to obey, Pearl took the tray and settled it on the table next to her chair.

Before she could sit, the little dog leaped up and claimed the seat, settling herself onto the cushion.

She tucked her pointy little nose beneath a paw and closed her eyes.

Pearl would have wagered the small dog wasn’t sleeping at all, but she was hardly in a position to call the bluff of an animal named The Mists of the Veil Between Realms.

There were three cups on the tray, and Pearl poured tea into each.

She handed a cup to Madame Genevieve and watched as the woman helped herself to most of the sugar in the dish.

She spread her hand, with silver rings on almost every quivering finger, over the selection of cake and biscuits before placing several along the rim of her saucer as if Pearl might take them away before Madame Genevieve had a chance to sample each one.

With each sip of heavily sugared tea and each nibble of sweet treat, Madame Genevieve seemed to sink farther into her chair. Both hands full, she made no further gestures to set her scarves aflutter, nor did she continue their conversation. Pearl was relieved.

Until the woman began nodding and shaking her head in turns as if she was having a conversation Pearl couldn’t hear. This hint of madness made Pearl distinctly uncomfortable.

After a few long and awkward moments, the woman hummed a long, sustained note. “Mmm. I see.”

Pearl raised her eyes in question, but Madame Genevieve did not elaborate.

No clattering footsteps warned Pearl of the next arrival. Instead, the door opened and Mr. Ravenscroft entered, his soft leather shoes making barely a whisper along the floorboards.

He glanced at Pearl and then turned his attention to his visitor.

Pearl was eager for Mr. Ravenscroft’s dismissal.

She couldn’t wait to leave the room. Although Madame Genevieve’s appearance was entertaining, their interview had gone on long enough.

Would Mr. Ravenscroft send her away before she even finished her refreshment?

Not a problem. Since the dog had taken her chair, she was still standing, teacup in her hand.

She’d like to pocket one of the almond biscuits for Maxwell before she left.

Mr. Ravenscroft made an awkward bow to Madame Gene vieve. He cleared this throat and glanced around the room.

“How do you find the place?”

It was a strange way to begin a conversation with a guest, but Pearl knew conversing with guests was not something Mr. Ravenscroft did regularly. Or ever.

A breathy sigh seemed to draw Madame Genevieve to the edge of her chair.

“Oh, Arthur,” she murmured, her voice a deep, sonorous hum.

Pearl hid her shock at hearing the woman refer to Mr. Ravenscroft by his given name.

“We were correct. Your house is, indeed, a divining rod. Powerful spiritual energy resides here. We shall find great success in our efforts.”

Mr. Ravenscroft pressed his hands together at his heart in a surprisingly warm and gentle gesture. He appeared to breathe in comfort at Madame Genevieve’s words.

More talk of spirit and auras and resonance spun in the air between Madame Genevieve and Mr. Ravenscroft.

Pearl felt she was intruding on a private moment and began to inch her way toward the door, keeping her steps light.

The others seemed intent on their conversation.

This was an excellent time to make her escape.

But such a plan was not to be. Mr. Ravenscroft straightened and turned to face Pearl. “A moment, Miss Ellicott.”

Pearl stopped.

“You will sit with Madame Genevieve and answer her questions in preparation for her meeting with my grandson.”

Pearl responded without thinking. “You want Maxwell to speak with this woman?” She managed to soften the disbelief in her voice before the final words escaped her.

He squinted at her. “She will do him a world of good. And you may find yourself benefiting from her services as well.”

Mr. Ravenscroft spoke to Pearl infrequently. Unless he was giving a direct order, he rarely aimed his words to her. She nodded to show she’d heard him.

“Very well. I’ll leave the two of you to your discussion.”

Mr. Ravenscroft did not offer his hand to Madame Genevieve, but she reached for him, pulling on his forearm.

“You will not regret bringing me here. Many doors will unlock at my touch.”

Pearl had no idea what that meant, but Mr. Ravenscroft nodded. “I’m counting on it.”

He turned and left the room as silently as he’d entered.

“Funny old bloke, inn’t he?”

The words came without a hint of the moaning, musical tones of Madame Genevieve’s previous statements.

Pearl spun around. “I beg your pardon?”

It was as if Pearl watched the woman put on a new face. Her mournful expression returned, as did her flowing gestures. “The dear, sorrowful man. He puts a great deal of trust in us both, I think.”

Why, you’re nothing more than a fraud , Pearl thought.

Masking her disapproval, Pearl nodded as she lifted the dog from the chair again and sat with Madame Genevieve. “I believe he does.”