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Telling Polly the news was my next order of business. I also realized that she might be shaken and frightened after the night before, for that was probably the first murder scene at which she had been present—and hopefully the last. So when I alighted from my carriage before the Notley shop, I had no idea what might await.
Ada ushered me in with a minimum of rudeness. Mother, Mollie, and the children were gathered in the parlor, still subdued in this house of mourning, and only Mollie showed any sign of being glad to see me. “How lovely to have you back so soon,” she said.
Mother sniffed but did not otherwise comment. Her eyes were fixed on some embroidery work with a great deal of black in it. The little girls had looked up eagerly, but their faces fell when they saw that Roderick was not with me.
“Is Polly here?” I asked.
“I believe she’s in her room. Ada, won’t you fetch her?”
“That’s all right,” I said quickly. “I’ll go find her.”
When I entered the room the girls shared it seemed different somehow, and after a few moments I realized that it was unusually bare. The framed pictures that had adorned the walls were gone, as were a number of small china ornaments. Perhaps Mother and Ada were preparing to scrub down or paint the walls.
Polly was lying on her stomach on her bed, in complete defiance of Mother’s standards of ladylike comportment, reading about the latest fashions in Ladies’ Monthly Magazine. Not exactly the picture of innocence shattered. Sometimes I forgot how resilient the young could be.
“I wanted to see how you’re doing after last night,” I said. “Being present at the scene of a murder must have been horribly unnerving.”
“It was no more unnerving than what happened when I returned home,” she said, darting an irritated glance at me before turning her attention back to the magazine. “Violet and Myrtle woke up when I came in, though I crept ever so quietly, and wouldn’t stop pestering me until I told them where I had been. They still believe I had some kind of assignation.”
“Dyed-in-the-wool romantics, the pair of them.” Then an unpleasant thought struck me. “You didn’t tell them about the murder, did you?”
She gave me a disgusted look. “I’m not a complete idiot. I told them about the play. The costumes, the sets, the fancy things to eat at the reception.” She stopped and swallowed hard. “I swore them to secrecy and told them that you were going to help me become an actress so that I could be in plays just like this one. That’s when it happened.”
“What happened?” I pictured Mother bursting into the room in her nightgown like a Fury in cotton flannel.
Polly picked at the coverlet, avoiding my eyes. “The most horrendous crash. It sounded like the ceiling had caved in. It hadn’t, of course, but every single picture on the walls suddenly came loose and hit the floor. There was glass everywhere, the girls were shrieking... it was dreadful.”
“It must have been,” I said, startled, and sat down on the bed next to her. “What happened then?”
“Well, by some miracle Mother and Mollie and Jerome hadn’t been wakened by the noise, so I crept downstairs for a dustpan and swept everything up. Ada asked about the pictures this morning, and I told her there had been an earthquake in the night. I don’t think she believed me.”
Perturbed, I went to examine the walls where the pictures had hung. All of the nails had pulled out of the walls. Even if there were some kind of rot or decay in the walls, not all of the pictures would have fallen at once. Something peculiar was going on, and I knew I must investigate further. But first I had a more pleasant task.
“I brought good news,” I said, and at once Polly sat up, eyes wide with expectation.
“What is it? Have you found me a part?”
“Very nearly. There are to be some changes to Macbeth, and you are to be Narcissa Holm’s new dresser and understudy.”
With a smothered squeal she bounded up to hug me. “Oh, thank you, Sybil! How thrilling! When do I start? Today? Say it’s to be today.”
“The sooner the better,” I said, smiling at her excitement. “There is much to be done.”
“I shall play Lady Macbeth!” she crowed, dancing about the room. “My first role, and it’s to be so wonderfully wicked.”
“Now, just a moment,” I said sternly. “Being an understudy doesn’t guarantee that you’ll ever get to go onstage. And the role isn’t Lady Macbeth.”
“It isn’t?” Halted in her swooping dance, she stared at me with the beginning of irritation. “Who am I to play, then? You’d better tell me everything.”
“And so I shall, but first we must tell Mother.”
She gave a wail and fell onto the bed as if she had been struck by a bullet. “No, we can’t!” she moaned into the counterpane.
Considering how dramatic her behavior was, it seemed all the more likely that the theater was her natural milieu. I tugged her back to her feet. “We must, Polly. There isn’t any way to keep this a secret, and trying to do so would distract you from learning your role. You need to be able to bring your full concentration to your new position—and the troupe needs an understudy who isn’t liable to be pulled from the production by her mother.”
Oh, how she grumbled. But at last she let me march her down the hall to the parlor.
The others were as we had left them. No one even looked up until I said, “Mother, may Polly and I have a word with you?”
“I suppose.” But she made no move to rise from her place on the sofa. Stifling a sigh, I sat down and motioned for Polly to do the same.
“You know that the reason Polly came to find me was so that I could help her make her way in the theatrical profession,” I began. “Well, I am happy to say that I have secured for her a position as understudy.”
That got her attention. Setting down her embroidery, she folded her hands in her lap deliberately and gave me the full force of her steely gaze. I tried to remember that I was an adult woman and not a little girl about to be scolded. “Understudy to what?” she asked in chilly tones.
Briefly I explained the situation. “So you see, this is a wonderful opportunity for her, and I hope that you will be able to see that and not—er—stand in her way.”
“Stand in her way?” she echoed. “How could I do otherwise?” She had listened without a word or gesture, and now it appeared that she had done so in order to save up all her fury for this moment. “You know full well how your father felt about actresses. I would be betraying his memory by letting my youngest daughter follow your example.”
“But he gave me his blessing,” Polly said.
My mother looked at her in disbelief. “When did he do that?”
“Just a day or so before he died,” Polly said. I wished I had a way to stop her. “Sybil told me,” she added, sealing my fate.
“Oh, she did, did she?” My mother’s tone was acidly sweet. “How convenient.” When she turned her glare on me, I found myself wishing I could hide. “I can only imagine how much you had to badger and harangue the poor man. When he was at his weakest, all you could think about were your own selfish plans.”
“I had no plans except to help Polly achieve her independence,” I said, uncomfortably aware of how defensive I sounded. “I didn’t think it was fair for her to be held back by Father’s prejudices. Polly is nearly an adult and has the right to make her own choices.”
Polly was staring at me now with an expression that told me she did not appreciate the selflessness of my actions. “So you lied to me?” she cried. “Father didn’t give me his blessing?”
“I’m sorry,” I said, more uncomfortable by the second. “I meant it for the best.”
My mother looked as scandalized as if I had stood up in church and started to dance the can-can. “How could you possibly think such a thing?” she demanded. “I didn’t bring you up to be so heedless and disrespectful.”
“If Father had had any reasonable objections, I would have respected them,” I protested. “But he didn’t have logic on his side—or compassion. Mother, don’t you think Polly deserves a chance to at least find out if she could have a future in the theater? She might make a real success of it.”
A week ago I would have been astonished to hear myself speaking so passionately on Polly’s behalf. Roderick had noted before that as soon as I was barred from doing something, I immediately became determined to do it. (He was not above putting this insight to use when it served his own ends, but that was his husbandly prerogative.) So now I heard myself declaring, “Polly shall have every chance I can give her of succeeding in the theater. We would very much like your blessing, but if Polly is prepared to go forward without it, I will not shrink from helping her.”
My mother’s face was flushed with displeasure, and she took a deep breath as if about to unleash some barrage of parental censure at me. But suddenly I was distracted. Beyond her, a small china figurine on the sideboard had begun to tremble as if agitated. As I watched, the shaking increased, and the clattering noise caused my mother and sister to turn and stare.
“What on earth—” my mother began, when the figurine leaped straight into the air and hovered for a second. Polly gasped, and even I could not help but jump. Regaining my presence of mind just in time, I cried, “Duck!” and tugged at Polly’s arm as the china ornament flew through the air in our direction. The figurine sailed through the air where my head had been just a moment before and smashed against the wall.
“How did that happen?” my mother whispered. She had gone pale, and she stared at the wall where the ornament had left a scuff on the wallpaper. “There’s no one there.”
A sickening theory was forming in my mind. Now a soft, rapid thudding noise drew my eye to the far wall, where a framed photograph of my parents was beginning to jitter and jounce. With a papery flutter, the sheet music on the piano flung itself to the floor. The noise increased as more and more objects around the room began to shake and vibrate wherever they stood or hung.
“This is not good,” I said, striving to keep calm even as the divan on which I had been sitting began to shiver and strain to leave the floor. “We mustn’t remain here.”
“But what is happening?” Mother asked.
“Just follow me. We haven’t much time. Run!” I almost shouted as a huge framed needlework sampler launched itself at my head.
The three of us gained the door just in time. No sooner had I slammed it closed and leaned against it with my full weight than the framed sampler hit the door with a force that made me flinch. There was a tinkling of breaking glass, then a cacophony of crashing and banging.
My mother gripped my shoulder in alarm, and Polly put her hands to her ears. The noise brought Ada, who was just in time to hear silence fall.
I waited a few moments to be sure the danger was past, then opened the door.
All things considered, there was little serious damage, but the sight was enough to make Mother and Ada gasp. The furniture had piled up against one wall, and the drapes had been dragged down from the curtain rods and lay on the floor. With a loud pop the frosted glass shade on one of the gas jets exploded, and all of us flinched despite being at a safe distance.
I could feel my mother shaking, and I put my arm around her. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I can’t help but feel I am at least partly responsible for this.”
She turned wide, shocked eyes to me. “But how could you be to blame? What explanation can there possibly be for such a thing?”
“I’m afraid,” I said as gently as I could, “that you are being haunted.”
“Fiddlesticks!” Ada declared.
Polly gave a gasp that was almost a laugh. “Are you in earnest?”
My lips compressed in frustration. I had underestimated my father’s obstinacy and spite. Why had I been born to so stubborn a father? Or why, having such a father, must I have inherited that same stubbornness? This was all the more proof that had I not left home at fifteen we would have been at cross purposes every moment of the day.
With a gesture I indicated the mess in the parlor. “There can be no other explanation to this kind of violent damage. Clearly a poltergeist is at work here. And judging from the times he chooses to make an appearance, it seems obvious to me that the ghost is Father.”
“Sally Ingersoll,” Mother said, shocked. “Don’t say such blasphemous things. Your dear father is in heaven.”
I shook my head and bent down to pick up a fragment of porcelain. “He is in this parlor, or was a minute ago.”
Light dawned on Polly’s face. “He doesn’t want me to become an actress. It’s only when I am talking about having a theatrical career that he begins to—to—”
“Manifest,” I supplied.
“To chuck things about,” Ada said, shaking her head as she looked at the mess. “Bless me, Miss Sybil, but between you and your sister he’s good and riled up. Is it safe to go back inside?”
“It’s possible that such a violent display drained all of his energy. It may take him some time before he is able to do this again.”
“How can you be certain?” Polly asked. None of the three showed any eagerness to go back inside, and I couldn’t blame them.
“I’ll see if I can find out,” I said. “Wait here.”
My mother caught my arm. “Be careful.”
“I know what I’m doing,” I said, and if I was just a tiny bit smug, I didn’t think I could be blamed. It would be satisfying to be able to show off a little to my family, especially when my success in other spheres had failed to impress them.
Stepping carefully over the broken glass and splintered wood that lay in my path, I moved to the center of the room. The bright Turkish carpet was rucked up in folds. “Father, is it you?” I asked the room generally. “Please answer me.”
A strange slithering, shushing sound made me look around. To my great unease, one of the curtains that had been dumped on the floor was writhing as if endowed with life. I had to force myself to hold my ground as it slowly reared up on end, a column of blue and green acanthus-print fabric, like some giant floral snake about to strike. What it did was almost as unnerving. It molded itself against an invisible form, taking on the shape of a tall, gaunt man. It stayed thus just for a few moments, and then the fabric fell to the floor with a whoosh of released air as if exhausted.
“I shall assume that’s an affirmative answer,” I said, resisting the urge to walk over and place my foot firmly on the curtain to prevent further tendencies toward mobility. “Father, it’s very important that you listen to me. You don’t belong here anymore. This is the world of the living, and your soul needs to depart. This world is not your spiritual home any longer.”
The chatter of metal against the floorboards alerted me, and I ducked just in time to avoid being struck by one of Linden’s toy soldiers. It struck the wall behind me.
“I realize that you’re angry,” I said, with some indignation, “and probably confused as well, and that isn’t your fault. But that does not excuse your attempting to overrule me with physical violence and—”
Two more soldiers followed in rapid succession, and one struck me on the shoulder. Biting back a snappish response, I reminded myself that this was partly my fault, and I owed it to my family to try to conciliate him.
“I apologize for lying about your wishes for Polly,” I said. “That was wrong, and I shouldn’t have done it. You have every right to be angry at me, but please don’t take it out on the others.”
A jarring sound from the piano made me jump. It sounded like fists being brought down on the keys. Clearly an apology was not sufficient.
“I don’t know what you expect to achieve through these displays of temper,” I snapped, as my own temper rose. “Polly isn’t going to stop having a mind of her own just because you want her to. Nor should she! Every human being has a right to live life on her own terms, regardless of—”
I broke off as a massive china bowl filled with potpourri began to vibrate and rise into the air. If that were to hit me in the head, I might join my father in the hereafter. Backing toward the door, I called hastily, “Very well, I’m leaving now, but this discussion is not over!” and darted back into the hallway before the bowl could hurl itself at me. I shut the door hastily, expecting at any moment to hear the bowl shatter against it.
When moments passed and that did not happen, I realized that the gesture had only been for show. He must not have the strength to throw such a heavy object so soon after wreaking complete havoc in the parlor.
“That didn’t go quite as I’d planned,” I admitted to my audience, who were watching with wide eyes. “Don’t worry, I’m not done with him. I’ve routed nastier ghosts than Father.”
Mother stared at me in horror. “How can you be so irreverent?” she whispered. “It’s as if a curse has come upon us! I’ve always been a God-fearing woman, and heaven knows I tried to raise my children to be the same.”
I squeezed her hand to comfort her. “I’m sorry if I don’t seem properly awed, Mother. But this isn’t the first time, nor even the second or third, that I have encountered the supernatural. So if I seem not to show proper awe, it’s because I know this kind of visitation is neither holy nor infernal. It’s simply a human soul that is clinging stubbornly to the world that he ought to have left behind once he was divorced from his body. And I refuse to let him bully you like this.” Rubbing my shoulder where the lead soldier had struck it, I added, “It may just take me a little time to find the best way to approach him.”
“He doesn’t seem like he wants to talk to you,” Ada observed. “P’raps someone else might do better.”
Of course! She was right. I was the last person that my father’s spirit would heed. There was no point in my trying to make him see reason when he had had so little regard for anything I had said in life.
“Ada, you are a treasure,” I said. “I’ll find someone who can make things right, I promise.” I started toward the stairs, but she placed herself in my way.
“Not so fast, missy.” She thrust a broom into my hands. “First you’ll help set the parlor to rights.”
Though I hated housework as some women hate spiders and snakes, I felt I owed it to Mother to help restore order to the parlor. When Ada had declared herself satisfied, I managed to draw Polly out of the house for a quick strategy session on the stoop of the shop next door.
Neither of us wanted to lose the understudying opportunity I had contrived to bring about for her, so we arranged that I would come in a cab and fetch her away to the theater that night.
“And if Father starts throwing things again in the meantime,” I told her, “you leave the house right away, all of you. Come to the Langham if you’ve no neighbors who will take you in.”
“We’ll need cab fare,” said Polly, ever practical, and would not let me depart until I had handed over a sum sufficient to convey the entire family all the way to Wales and back.
By the time I had hailed a cab of my own to take me back to the hotel, I had formed a plan. In life my father had proven obdurate in the face of women’s arguments, so perhaps even now he would more readily be swayed by a man. Fortunately I had a male medium ready to hand.
So it was with the intention of writing to Martin at once that I entered our sitting room, where Roderick, in his shirtsleeves, was working at the piano.
“Such a determined expression!” he greeted me. “And what schemes are being hatched behind those seemingly innocent blue eyes?”
“I need a man,” I announced.
A look of surprised pleasure leaped into his eyes. Immediately he stood and began unbuttoning his shirt. “I am at your service, as ever,” he said, and pulled the shirt off over his head.
“That isn’t what—”
But the sight of his bared chest silenced my objection. When one’s husband was being so delightfully obliging, it would have been churlish to correct his misapprehension.
“Just let me dash off a letter first to give to the porter,” I said.
Roderick advanced and untied the ribbons securing my hat. “A very short letter,” he said huskily.
* * *
SOME TIME LATER, AS we lay in each other’s arms on the oriental rug beneath the piano, Roderick stroked his fingertips along my arm and murmured, “What are you thinking?”
“I’m wondering who the witness is who implicated Treherne,” I said.
The pleasant motion of his hand stopped. “I hope you weren’t thinking about that while we...”
“Believe me, you had my complete attention. But now that I feel so wonderfully contented and relaxed—”
“—your mind naturally goes to murder. I shouldn’t be surprised, I suppose.” His voice was indulgent. “I knew you were an unconventional woman when I married you.”
I reached up to rumple his hair. “As if you would be contented with any other kind.”
“Minx,” he said fondly, and folded his arms behind his head. “So what was this letter that was so urgent?”
“Now, I hope you weren’t thinking about that all this time.” I raised myself on one elbow to give him a mock-severe look.
He favored me with a lazy grin. “Did I seem preoccupied?”
I couldn’t help but smile in recollection. “Far from it, you wicked reprobate.” Then I sobered. “The fact is, rather a delicate situation has arisen with my family.”
“Money troubles? Feud with the neighbors?”
“If only it were that simple. No, my father’s ghost seems to be haunting them.”
“Haunting them?” He sat up so abruptly that I was unable to warn him before he whacked his head on the underside of the piano. “In the literal sense?” he asked, after he had muttered an oath and glowered at the offending instrument.
“I’m afraid so. Father doesn’t seem to want to leave this plane as long as Polly pursues a theatrical career, and he’s making himself most unpleasant.”
“But how—” He groped for words. “Can that really happen? Sheer, spiteful force of will can produce a haunting?”
“Believe me, it isn’t unheard of. My letter asked Martin if he would be willing to make an attempt to dislodge the spirit.” I sighed. “Naturally Father wouldn’t heed me, a mere female.”
Realization dawned on his face. “Is that what you meant when you came in and said—”
Putting a finger to his lips, I stopped the words. “Not at all, darling. I meant exactly what you thought I did.” Then the clock began to strike the hour, and I realized how much time had passed. “Why don’t you ring for a maid and order us some tea,” I suggested, “and I’ll tell you all about my day before I go back to the theater.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “I presume one of the things you plan to tell me is why you’re going back to the theater.”
“Of course. But right now I’d better change my dress. This one has become extremely rumpled, I can’t think how.”
Before I could rise he had hooked a finger under the top of my corset and drawn me close enough for a lingering kiss that melted my bones. “Not to mention that you seem to have lost the bodice,” he said in his silkiest voice, “which I consider an improvement.”
“You say that about all my dresses.”
“It’s true about all your dresses. It would be true of anything you wore. The less of it there is, the better, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Incorrigible man,” I said, pushing at his chest. “If the world followed your idea of fashion the entire textile industry would be put out of business.”
“Ah, economics,” he said, pulling a doleful face as he finally released me. “There’s a subject to cool a man’s blood. I suppose that means our tryst has indeed come to a close.”
Already I was halfway to my dressing room, but I turned and winked at him. “Only this one,” I promised.