Page 34 of Whispers of Shadowbrook House

Oliver clutched the handrail as he walked with Pearl and Max down to the main floor.

He knew at any moment he might become so absorbed in staring at Pearl that he’d tumble down the steps.

Not that he was in the habit of losing his equilibrium, but Oliver was in definite danger of falling for this woman.

Danger? No. He could admit it to himself. He’d already fallen.

None of them spoke as they made their way through the entryway and down a hall that seemed to curve and twist rather than turn at a normal angle.

Gaslight sconces burned so low that their glow centered near the middle of the walls, leaving the floor and ceiling in darkness. The yellow light flickered, seeming to beckon to Oliver.

Max tugged on his hand and pulled him through a wide doorway.

Inside, the room was golden with candlelight.

A shimmering, flickering glow hovered over every surface, covering tables and spreading over the fireplace mantel, even pooling on the floor.

The effect was magical. Oliver was sure he’d never been in this room before, but in any other state the space would be unrecognizable.

Whatever was happening at Shadowbrook tonight was unlike anything he was prepared for.

He looked at Pearl, and the shining candlelight reflected in her eyes. He wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and stare into those eyes for hours. Forever.

Maxwell pulled Oliver deeper into the room and out of his daydream.

“This is Madame Genevieve.”

Oliver turned and stared. The woman’s hair hovered around her head like an orange cloud, and she was dressed as a stage performer. She took Oliver’s hand and pressed it between her own, and he felt the imprint of her thick rings on each of his fingers.

“At last we meet.” Each word came slowly, with a deep warble. “Mr. Oliver Waverley, heir to the blessings and challenges of Shadowbrook House.”

What was he supposed to say to that? “Erm, hello.”

She smiled from behind a shocking layer of facial cosmetics, and Oliver realized he had no idea how old Madame Genevieve might be, or how likely he’d be to recognize her out of her current costume.

Whatever her age or natural aspect, she certainly had strong hands. He wanted to squirm out of her grip.

“Your mind is consumed with trivial matters. Open yourself to the portals of the infinite. If you allow it, you’ll see wonders tonight.”

She spoke so slowly Oliver had time for a hundred thoughts during the performance of each of her sentences. The most obvious of his thoughts was a wish to get free of this woman’s clutch and leave this room.

Maybe she read his mind—or his face—because she released his hand. Oliver took a large step away from her and hoped no one was watching him. He didn’t want to be rude, but he had no wish to let her look that closely into his eyes as if there was a message inside she could discover.

His long step away wasn’t long enough. Madame Genevieve reached out and caught him by the sleeve, deftly steering him to the couch where his uncle sat, stiff and glowering, staring toward a wall.

“Dear Arthur, as I’ve told you, the forces of the universe have continued to work together to bring healing to this house and all who dwell within. How else would you explain the presence of both your dearest nephew and myself at this auspicious moment?”

Oliver wasn’t sure what was auspicious about this moment, but he could explain his presence quite easily. He’d be wherever Pearl was as long as he could manage it.

His uncle didn’t answer, so maybe Oliver didn’t need to say anything either.

He glanced over to see Pearl watching him.

He sent her a look he hoped telegraphed his embarrassment and his wish to be standing nearer to her.

At that instant, a clap of thunder shook the walls, and rain began to pound on the windows.

As far as dramatic effect was concerned, it couldn’t have been better timed if they’d been standing on a stage.

Oliver watched Maxwell step close to Pearl’s side and throw his arms around her waist.

He reminded himself he was not envious of a little boy. He was not.

Turning back to Uncle Arthur, Oliver saw the old man watching him. Had he seen Oliver’s expression of yearning? He must have noticed the look that passed between him and Pearl.

And why should he not see? There was no reason Oliver couldn’t find happiness with a lovely and intelligent woman who happened to be an employee of his uncle’s household.

He had nothing to feel ashamed of. He simply hoped he wouldn’t have to discuss his feelings with his uncle without hours of mental rehearsal first.

But this moment required someone to speak.

“Uncle, I thank you for welcoming me to the party.”

Uncle Arthur looked unblinking into Oliver’s face. He did not smile. He did not offer his hand.

Oliver attempted not to fidget under his stare.

Moments that felt like years passed before the medium laid a hand on Uncle Arthur’s shoulder. Her tremulous voice flowed through the room. “What a joy to have you with us for this special evening.”

Joy, was it? Nobody looked particularly joyful to him.

The scarf-draped woman lifted her arms as though she hoped a bird would perch there.

“We shall now all take our seats. Pearl, this is your place.” She pointed to a small sofa, and when Pearl sat in the center, the woman gestured to the side until Pearl moved over.

“Maxwell, dear, you are here beside your grandfather.”

Max settled himself much closer to Arthur than Oliver would have ever dared. The boy was comfortable with the old man in a way Oliver had never been. He wished he might have been so brave in his childhood. He knew it was too late now.

“Mr. Waverley,” Madame Genevieve drawled.

His name sounded far different in her voice than it did in Pearl’s.

“You will take the seat beside Miss Ellicott.” She held his eye long enough to send him a tiny smile.

What was the smile for? Did she think she knew something about Oliver’s heart?

About his hopes? He’d prefer it if the strange woman would ignore him.

As he walked to his designated seat, the little dog emerged from beneath the divan and leaped into the spot Madame Genevieve had pointed him toward. Pearl scooped the dog into her arms.

Oliver sat next to Pearl, and Misty leaped onto his lap, standing on hind legs with front paws on his shoulders and licking his chin.

So much for sending a signal of sophistication.

Pearl shifted, and Oliver was unsure whether he was more embarrassed or more pleased that the small couch allowed him no extra room.

Even as one of his legs pressed against the side of the sofa, the other touched Pearl’s skirts.

Though they were not as full as those the fashionable women in London wore, the cloth still took up much of the space on the couch.

Oliver felt a flush rise into his cheeks as Pearl shifted again and the blue fabric of her skirt covered part of his leg.

The dog walked a circle over his thighs and then curled into a ball.

Oliver looked up at the rest of the people in the room, surprised to see Jenkinson and Mrs. Randle sitting in chairs placed between the couches to form a circle.

The young maid Violet was perched on the edge of her seat, looking excited.

The cook sat with her arms folded across her chest. Another maid and two young footmen seemed to be feeling a range of emotions from willingness to dread.

Madame Genevieve began to speak, moving around the circle of seated guests.

She fluttered and jangled and spoke some nonsense about opening hearts and minds to the mysteries of the beyond.

She widened her circuit and stepped to the gaslight knob on the wall.

With what had to be a practiced touch, she turned the gas down as far as it would go, leaving the sparkling candles as the only light source in the room.

The rainfall outside sounded louder in the sudden quiet.

Without actively paying attention, Oliver heard the next words the woman spoke. “Only in this way will you be prepared for what is asked of you.”

He leaned closer to Pearl and whispered, “What is being asked of me? I wasn’t listening.”

In answer, she placed a finger to her lips. Oliver knew the gesture was telling him to be silent, but instead it reminded him how soft those lips felt when she brought them to his own.

The smile he gave her likely hid none of his thoughts. She looked away, but not before he saw her answering smile.

“As everyone knows,” Madame Genevieve intoned, standing in the center of the gathered seats, “the souls of our departed beloved remain in our realm for as long as they are needed, or for as long as they feel the desire.”

Oliver leaned close to Pearl again, just for the pleasure of whispering in her ear. “Does everyone know this? It’s the first I’ve heard of it.”

Pearl gave him another smile, but quicker this time, before she turned her attention back to Madame Genevieve. Was Pearl simply being polite to a guest, or did this woman’s patter mean something to her?

He might as well listen so he could discuss the charade with Pearl once it was over. He couldn’t stop his smile, though, so he decided it best to keep his eyes off the performance, just in case Madame Genevieve could read his doubt and amusement.

Oliver’s eyes traveled the circle, taking in each expression. One footman still appeared wary, and the older of the maids looked frightened. She sat straight against her chairback and twisted a handkerchief between her hands as if she needed to wring precious drops of water from it.

Maxwell was attentive, his hands pressed into the tops of his thighs and his eyes focused on Madame Genevieve’s face.

Madame Genevieve was still in full flow, arms waving and voice warbling.

He shifted in his seat and looked at his uncle. Arthur Ravens-croft’s brow was furrowed, his mouth pulled down. There was no better description of that face than stormy . Was the old man regretting his decision to bring this stranger into the house, to let her direct the activity of the evening?

Oliver watched his uncle for a long moment, noticing the stiffness with which he held himself. Whatever the purpose of this evening’s event, it didn’t make Arthur Ravenscroft comfortable.

Madame Genevieve crossed in front of Uncle Arthur and seated herself on his other side. “Now, as we focus our energy on our most treasured memories, we must join hands in a circle of connection.”

She raised her hands in front of her, looking for all the world as though she was ready to be handed a tray.

When nothing hap pened, she glanced to the footman at her left.

He slowly reached out and took the woman by the tips of her beringed fingers.

Oliver felt a wave of relief that he was seated opposite the strange woman. Not to mention beside Pearl.

He held his hand out to her, and Pearl slid her fingers into his as if the action wasn’t an absolute miracle. Her hand felt perfect within his, small but strong, soft and sure.

He looked to his other side. Mrs. Randle stared straight ahead, making no move to link herself to him.

On the other side of the housekeeper, Violet held her hand out like an offering.

Oliver wondered if Madame Genevieve recognized what a bold request it was to require this group of people to make physical contact.

He slid his right arm across the space between himself and Mrs. Randle so she only had to clasp the hand in front of her.

She made the move quickly, placing her hands atop the two reaching toward her.

The housekeeper was still visibly uncomfortable, but at least she’d completed the assignment, and Oliver knew how much Mrs. Randle valued completing assignments.

“And now, as we are all physically connected, let us close our eyes and take a moment to consider our spiritual bonds.”

Oliver didn’t know what that was supposed to mean, but Madame Genevieve didn’t elaborate. She simply bowed her head and breathed audibly and slowly. The others stayed silent.

The rain continued to fall, and a low whisper of wind encircled the house.

Glancing once more around the room, Oliver thought how little attachment he felt to most of these people.

But when his eyes landed on Maxwell, his mind settled.

The boy’s charming demeanor and sweetness, his intelligence and humor had captured Oliver from the moment they first met.

Even though they’d only known each other for a few days, Oliver felt sure Maxwell was his one relation for whom he felt immediate, easy love.

He purposely did not look at his uncle. There was nothing easy about his feelings where the old man was concerned, and he’d rather consider someone else.

What exactly did Madame Genevieve mean by spiritual bonds? A connection between one mind and another? A bridge formed across the space between two people? Oliver hoped such a connection was forming between him and Pearl.

He had never worked so hard in his life to stay still.

No one else was moving, and he knew he must do the same.

He found himself breathing in the same rhythm as Madame Genevieve.

He wondered if she intended all the guests’ breath to align.

Maybe that was why her inhales and exhales were so loud.

Or perhaps she was simply lost in the experience of sitting silently in a room full of silent people.

In the quiet, it seemed as if even the rain softened into near silence.

Oliver snuck another look at the people sitting across from him. Madame Genevieve, head bowed, rocked back and forth slowly. Uncle Arthur sat still and stiff, his eyes closed but his lids fluttering as if straining under the effort of spiritual connection.

Maxwell’s eyes were squeezed closed, his nose scrunched up and wrinkled in exertion.

Whatever it was he thought Madame Genevieve wanted, Max was giving it his full effort.

Oliver risked turning his head to see the others; everyone sat with heads bowed and eyes closed.

Had Madame Genevieve given some instruction he’d missed?

Did everyone else in the room understand what was supposed to be happening?

Finally, Oliver turned his head enough to take in Pearl.

As she sat beside him, her long lashes resting on her porcelain cheek, a single tear made its way down her face.

With one hand in Oliver’s and the other holding onto the young footman sitting on her other side, she had no easy way to wipe the tear away or to hide it.

Oliver loosened his grip on her fingers, but Pearl made no move to release his hand. She simply breathed in and out and let the tear fall.