Chapter Eighteen

Cambridge, Massachusetts

When the professor returned to his psychology lab, long shadows filled the room. He unlocked the closet door and saw Nigel sitting on a small upturned crate. Further back in the closet a large wet stain marred a pile of books.

“Good God, man!” exclaimed the professor, “You urinated all over my books!”

“I’ve been held captive for hours. This a sample of Yankee hospitality?”

Professor James shook his head with incredulity.

“I suppose it couldn’t be helped.” He motioned for Nigel to step out. “Come, we haven’t a moment to lose.”

They were soon inside a carriage, being jostled about by the vehicle’s progress on cobblestones. Despite the shaking, the professor was able to pour a cup of coffee from a wicker-wrapped flask. He offered the tin cup to Nigel, who shook his head.

“What the Sam Hell is going on?”

“Go ahead and drink,” prompted the professor. “It’s god-awful—my wife’s one weakness—but it’ll have to do.”

Nigel took the cup just as the carriage went over a bump, and he spilled a good deal of its hot contents onto his lap.

“Jesus!” Nigel swore. He reflexively stood up and bumped his head on the carriage roof, spilling the remaining coffee on himself. The cup dropped and clattered away on the carriage floor.

“I warned you it was bad,” said James and set the flask aside.

Nigel sat down and ineffectually wiped at his suit with a handkerchief.

The professor regarded Nigel with a penetrating stare, causing Nigel to squirm.

“So, Mr. Pickford,” the professor began, “let me tell you about our little enterprise.”

****

When the carriage pulled up before the train station, Annabelle, Sarah, and Edgar were paying porters to take numerous pieces of luggage and two large wooden crates onto the train. Nigel stepped out of the carriage and held the door open for Professor James. The professor shook his head, no.

“I must return to Harvard. The Eidola Project is a passionate sideline, but my other work pays the bills. All the more important since the Society for Psychical Research has cut our funds—a little spat between the director and me. I expect it shall soon be smoothed over.” The professor pulled the carriage door closed. He stuck his head out the window and smiled at Nigel. “Thank you for agreeing to give us a try.”

Nigel looked at the others with a smug expression and back at the professor.

“Hell, if you fruitcakes want to keep buying me whiskey and new clothes, I’m prepared to give you a whole week.”

Annabelle waved her hand back and forth to intercede. “No alcohol,” she insisted.

Nigel turned to William James in protest, but the professor shrugged.

“I agree,” he said. “To change one’s life, do it immediately. Do it flamboyantly. No exceptions.”

Annabelle and Nigel glared at each other in a test of wills.

Finally, Nigel broke off and glanced down at his clothes. The coffee stains weren’t visible. He gave the lapels of his new suit a strong tug.

“Well, all right…”

The professor looked elated. “Fine! Fine! I leave you in capable hands.”

Nigel turned back to Annabelle and grinned lecherously. “If Annie’s capable, I’m willin’.”

Professor James pointed to the station’s large ornate clock. “Hurry, now, the train is about to depart. I’ll join you in a few days.”

****

Nigel followed Annabelle as she entered the train car. Their room contained two banks of leather upholstered seats facing each other and three windows on the far side. Annabelle sat down and Nigel plopped down next to her, but when Sarah and Edgar entered, he bounded back up. Nigel stepped in front of Edgar.

“Go sit with the other coloreds,” he said.

Annabelle stood and stepped between them, facing Nigel. Her cheeks were flushed with anger, and he thought she looked rather fetching.

“Mr. Pickford, this boorish behavior must stop!” Annabelle spoke with righteous indignation. “Edgar is both brilliant and a valuable member of the team. If you are to accompany us, you must set your prejudice aside.”

Sarah came up and took Edgar’s arm, steering him from the room without a word.

“Of all the god-damned nerve,” swore Nigel after Edgar’s departure. He retook his seat.

“Massachusetts integrated its trains years ago. It is you whose behavior is intolerable.”

Annabelle moved to the opposite seat and sat down with a huff. She folded her arms across her chest and shook her head in disgust. “Really!”

Nigel folded his arms and leaned back. “Really!” he echoed, mocking her.

Annabelle’s face flushed with even more rage. “If Sarah weren’t so adamant we need you, I would shoot you right now.”

Nigel slid further down in his seat, leaned into the corner and shut his eyes. “Really?” he asked with nonchalance. He intended to close his eyes only for a few moments, to feign indifference, but the instant he did so, he fell asleep.