I took my leave from Mrs. Northe’s quickly after those events inside the painting, too overwhelmed to have gone into details with her.
She didn’t press me beyond saying, “You look as though you’ve just seen a ghost.”
I stared at her and nodded. “I met two,” I signed.
At that moment, Father came into the foyer and I brightened my expression. “Natalie, darling,” he exclaimed, “we mustn’t wear out our welcome here. Come along.”
“I’ll see you soon, Natalie,” Mrs. Northe murmured as she helped me affix my favorite hat—the one with a small tulle veil and a satin rose—atop my head and sent me out the door. “You’ve a story for me, I can tell.”
And so the next day there I was again in Mrs. Northe’s study. She’d come to fetch me at my home while Father was at the Metropolitan. Bessie was again all too happy to send me on my way, and while I was seriously questioning my sanity, I felt I had no choice but to tell Mrs. Northe about having fallen into another world.
I sat in a sumptuous chair with a cup of tea in hand while Mrs. Northe simply stared at me patiently. Amid the terror of the situation, her calm strength was a most gracious balm. I rejoiced in this motherlike figure who was not stricken in the face of what I feared was madness.
I debated for a moment about inventing some lie or feigning that my corset had been laced too tightly the day before. But she herself had said that fate had brought us together. This sort of thing could not go on without comment—not to a woman like her, invested as she was in this situation. She’d see through a lie. If we two had light and colors that Denbury could see, that made us both players in this strange drama.
The first thing I signed was to plead for Mrs. Northe’s discretion. I wished for Father to hear none of this.
“Go on then,” she said. “I promise not to say a word. To anyone. You mustn’t hide what magic has been wrought here.”
I signed to her how the painting had changed, how it lured me and then dragged me under like a tide, how Denbury had caught me against him, how the event had created such a shock that it drove me to speak. I felt my cheeks redden in frustration that the miracle had not held true of my voice upon my return to this world.
Mrs. Northe’s eyes widened, and she stiffened in her chair as I relayed the events. I felt I had a warrior in the room with me, as well as a confidante. She was as amazed as I, and yet, to my great relief, undeterred. I described the incredible and otherworldly aspects: the particulars of that oddly exquisite little room with a hazy window onto the world beyond, the wild desperation of Denbury’s imprisoned soul in contrast to his stoic painted appearance, and the strange sensation of tumbling in and out of another reality.
I accepted another cup of tea, wondering if I’d ever stop shaking from the madness of it all and signed something to the effect of: “Does spiritualism have a precedent for this?”
Mrs. Northe shook her head. “Hardly. I fear I’m out of my depth in this matter. While I’ve no experience, I do have some ideas. But remember, Natalie, this is the blackest of magic. I deal in spirits, human forms transcendent to energy. I embrace and use positive things, beautiful but generally simple things along the veil between life and death. This matter is entirely different. We are dealing with demons and vile, complex magic. I’d take a mere haunting any day over this.”
And then something that had been nagging me from the first inkling of the supernatural reared its head. There was something I was ignoring, avoiding. Something that made my eyes well up with tears as it bit the back of my mind.
If what had happened today was real, then so was the Whisper. The movement at my eye was real. Perhaps messages came from the beyond after all. From Mother. This event cracked open everything I’d ever wondered, hoped, or believed. My heart burned with all of it trapped inside.
“Do you speak to the dead?” I signed.
She stared at me, deeply and for a long time, as if measuring my worthiness to the weight of her answer. “I have,” she replied quietly, “but I’m not sure Denbury is dead.”
I stared at my lap. My present concern had nothing to do with Denbury. “No, not him.” Shaking hands did not make for good sign language. “Would you…” I couldn’t look at her.
“Speak with your mother? Or at least try?” Mrs. Northe finished simply.
Tears fell again from my eyes, and I batted at them. I did not want to get the reputation of being a weepy, weak, or sniveling girl. I was no orphan, no cripple, and I was not fond of tears. But I wanted to speak to my mother. It seemed a reasonable request.
“In due time, if you feel it is right, we can try,” Mrs. Northe replied gently before cautioning me, “But with forces like these afoot, we don’t dare draw anything so meaningful to you. We can’t summon anything as tied to your heart as her. Your desires could be used against you. We must keep careful guard around sacred and loving connections, and use them in the proper time and place. They are our greatest vulnerability and greatest weapon.”
I glanced at her, and I know the disappointment I felt was evidenced on my face.
She patted my hand. “I’m sorry to deny you,” she murmured. “But you must steel your heart, Natalie. Lock it tight against those who would pry it apart. Keep your energy close, your spirit sound. Else unsavory forces may suck the very life out of you.” My eyes widened, and my hand went to cover my throat.
Mrs. Northe set her jaw. “No, I don’t mean one of those vampires in those dreadful penny theatricals. Though such a creature may indeed exist, there are worse things than such carnivores. Denbury chose you. If you’re found out, you will also be a target of such magic as was used against him.”
I stared at her, eyes wide. Panic surged in my veins.
“Denbury was cursed,” Mrs. Northe clarified. “We simply have to find the counter-curse. And as I doubt the magic will let me in, it’s likely up to you to find it.” She smiled softly.
“What I learn, I’ll tell you,” I signed. “In words, I hope.”
My fear turned into a little thrill. It was true: I had spoken. My teachers had told me that I was capable of the act if I only trusted myself. Apparently, when faced with the impossible, an act I’d written off as impossible refused to be ignored and showed itself to be possible. It was just like I’d dreamed; I had slipped into a fantastical world only Collins or Poe would believe, and there indeed I had my voice.
“What was he like, really, in that moment?” Mrs. Northe asked.
A glimmer in her eye reminded me that Mrs. Northe had surely once been young and in love. Once she’d cavorted and danced with men like Denbury in fine society. Once she too had been rendered breathless by beauty. Her expression said all this, and her simple question held wistful echoes. I began to sign, attempting to keep my flattery—and my blushes—within reason.
“He’s so…compelling. And a true gentleman. He wants to continue his studies in medicine and open his own practice. Despite his youth he’s already opened a clinic in London he seems quite passionate about. Why would anyone want to harm him? But then again, I hardly know the truth of his character.” How could I judge someone’s character when I wasn’t sure whom I had met, a man or a phantom? “Regardless, he’s magnificent,” I added, my blush rising to the tips of my ears. Mrs. Northe’s eyes continued to sparkle. “But the strangest thing of all is that there’s a familiarity—as if we know each other. And yet, of course, we don’t…”
She shrugged and again spoke as if the oddest things were obvious. “Remember when I told you that you’d know when people were meant to enter your life? When they do, those persons seem oddly familiar at first glance.” I bit my lip. He and I were meant to meet.
Mrs. Northe rose to her feet. “You must come to call again, Natalie, and soon. We cannot leave that poor boy trapped, and I pledge to assist in every way I am able.”
I stared at her. My hands flew in signing a blunt question: “Why are you so kind to me?”
Mrs. Northe stared directly back at me. “Because I was told to be.”
“By whom?”
She smiled enigmatically, dodging the question. “Running from fate will be of no use. Magic will follow.”
I let the matter alone, rose, and embraced her. We were suddenly sisters in a supernatural bond, too overwhelmed to do anything but agree to the compact. Neither of us could deny the impossible. We had crossed a point of no return.
And as I write these words, I keep trying to reassure myself that the man I met inside a magical world isn’t evil. He’s panicked, maddened, desperate…but not evil. Surely not?
Sitting here on my sill, looking out into the dark New York night, with its roving spots of light and life down the avenue, it is all I can do to behave normally until I am able to see Lord Denbury again, no matter if it’s dangerous. Until I can speak again. Until life is magical again. Yes, I partly fear the unknown, the magical, the supernatural. But when pitted against excited resolve, fear is outmatched.