The Twisted Tragedy of Miss Natalie Stewart Read online

  He coughed a bit and adjusted his collar. “Provided she doesn’t find me tedious, yes, I sincerely hope so. Especially with her gone, I realize how much I like having her around. And you’re right, Natalie. Lord Denbury brought us all together, and it’s unfair to court Evelyn and deny you. It’s just—”

  “Been terrifying. Believe me. I know.”

  “Would my courting her bother you? I…you two seem so close. I assume…She’s like family already.”

  It was true, but I ached. I was worried. If I was at the center of mystery, so was Mrs. Northe, and she was accountable. My heart ached for all that had befallen Jonathon and for Maggie, poor Maggie. Despite Mrs. Northe’s protestations, could I have been the friend to Maggie who could have prevented what happened today? And if Mrs. Northe had paid her more attention, I’m convinced things might have turned out differently. I ached for all the things that may yet change.

  “You’re right. We are close. Mrs. Northe has done so much for me, and it isn’t that I’m not grateful. I just don’t want her thinking she can take the place of all that we have lost, the whole of us. That’s too much space for any one woman to occupy, even as unparalleled a woman as Mrs. Evelyn Northe.”

  “She’s not taking anyone’s place,” my father said gravely. “There is no replacing your mother. Do you hear me? No one could replace her.”

  Tears were suddenly in my eyes. And that meant they were soon in his.

  “Can we go to Woodlawn?” I asked quietly.

  “I’d like that.”

  Again the train ride up the line, again the haggard old woman with the amazing smile and a cluster of black-eyed Susans. I’d begun to wonder if she gathered them just for us. We made our way through the winding lanes on our usual course. Father had gone ahead of me. I turned the corner of the knoll to see him down on one knee, kissing the stone. He drew back, putting his hand upon the stone and walking away so that I could have my own moment.

  I thought about Mrs. Northe’s husband, Peter, whom she loved too. No, no one could replace those we had lost. But God made our hearts big and full of many rooms.

  The trees rustled in the breeze, as if willing me to make noise too.

  “Mother…” I murmured, staring at her name. “Mother, listen. You saw me through today. I glimpsed death and you stood in its way. I want you to be always in the way, Mother. I always want your presence in my life known, felt, close. I’m scared. Things are changing—our life, our home…I just want your blessing. I want a sign from you. You are so alive to me in my heart, and I don’t want you to feel…I don’t want to lose you any more than I already did.

  “Will you mind if Mrs. Northe assumes part of your place in this world in your absence? She could never replace you, but she would be there, in some ways in your stead. Give me a sign. Otherwise I can’t be at peace…I can’t accept her otherwise.”

  I stared at the stone. I listened for the Whisper. She’d spoken to me in that corridor just hours ago. But never when I’d asked for her. She was ever elusive. Wild. Walking barefoot through some foreign field on a distant shore…Silence.

  I stared at her name and rank as mother and wife carved boldly in old-fashioned script. I stared next at the German phrase carved below her name, a phrase from Psalm 23 that I’d murmured over and over again just recently, while embroiled in spiritual battles:

  “Und ob ich schon wanderte im finstern Tal, fürchte ich kein Unglück; denn du bist bei mir…”

  “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil for you are with me…”

  And then, even lower; a lyric from a contemporary yet much beloved carol:

  Westward leading, still proceeding, guide us to Thy perfect light.

  I stood a moment thinking about that lyric and wondering why it was there. I’m sure I had the significance written down somewhere. Whatever the case, I’d forgotten. I was always too busy trying to memorize the German.

  The sky was darkening and the first star was in the sky. A distinct star.

  “Remind me why that lyric, Father,” I said as he came to collect me.

  “‘We Three Kings’ was your mother’s favorite song. She heard it as a young woman at General Theological during a Christmas pageant, the very first time it was ever performed. She’d sing it sometimes even in the heat of summer. Why?”

  I turned away. “I think I have her answer,” I murmured, “her blessing.” I walked to the carriage, looking up, my thoughts on the chorus of the song: “Star of wonder, star of night.”

  Above me, glittering in the sky was another famous star that led people to safety as I had been led, and that was the bright, the unmistakable North Star.

  Chapter 25

  I’ll have to wait and see what my father does about proposing to Mrs. Northe, about this…family of ours.

  We had so much to tell her, and we had so much to learn. She’d likely chide me for confronting the demon and disposing of it, not that I’d known it would come to that. But that painting concerned Jonathon and me alone. If I’ve learned nothing else from classic literature, it’s that one doesn’t confront destiny with a crowd. One has to go it alone.

  And I realized that was, in part, the reason why Mrs. Northe had left right at the confluence of our drama. To prove to us without a shadow of a doubt, that we—that I—could survive without her in our journey, a thought that had once been unconscionable. Still, it would be good to have her back. Soon we’d be a family…Soon I’d have to start calling her Evelyn. Or Mother. That would take some getting used to.

  I hoped the demon’s spell would be broken upon Maggie, too, bringing her back around to sane and tolerable. That room needed to be cleansed. Scrubbed down with holy water. Nice floral arrangements wouldn’t hurt; something living and full of light to purge the negative energies that had given the demon another portal of opportunity.

  So many loose ends…How can I not be overwhelmed?

  Bessie rapped at my door and entered with a rather large box in her hands.

  “It’s from Lord Denbury, my dear. He says to put it on, that it’s ‘a must for the evening.’” Bessie affected a fairly good British accent, and I giggled and shared her resulting grin. “He awaits you downstairs. My lady.” Bessie said with a gleam in her eye.

  Within the box lay a gorgeous black silk and bombazine-trimmed dress, replete with onyx beading and tulle gathers that were delicate and frothy along the lines of the bust and fitted sleeves. And, a silk scarf for around my neck. The marks from the demon’s stranglehold had faded but not entirely. I gasped at the beauty of the gown. What on earth was the occasion?

  “Bessie,” I called meekly down the hall.

  “Ah, is this one of those dresses that needs help?” she said good-naturedly and whistled when she saw me drowning in the folds and holding the bodice up to my bosom.

  “It’s gorgeous. But what’s he taking you to?” She made a face. “A funeral?”

  “A play.”

  “A play of a funeral?”

  I laughed. Before too long I was transformed into the princess of some wild dark tale. Bessie pinned up my hair and left a few curls loose.

  It was for the best that my father was at a Metropolitan reception, for he wouldn’t have liked how the neckline of the dress plunged, or how I had Bessie lace my corset extra tight to give my womanly features extra emphasis. Bessie whistled again, handed me some tea, and had the audacity to leave me alone in the sitting room to wait for my gentleman caller. I daydreamed of balls, waltzes, stolen kisses in vacant estate rooms…

  A voice at the sitting room door startled me, and I looked up to behold a handsome vision all in black, tickets in one gloved hand, top hat and silver-topped walking stick in the other. I rose and curtsied.

  “My dear Lord Denbury,” I murmured, “My, don’t you look—”

  “Not half as ravishing as you, my darling Miss Stewart.” He bowed, boasting a sly smile that was rakishly delicious. “Her Majesty’s Association of Melancholy B
astards has demanded that we stand with them in the galleria tonight as the very special guests of Mr. Nathaniel Veil. May I escort you, my lady? Mrs. Northe shall take her box, so we are free to mingle as we please.”

  It was a striking, stirring look that Jonathon sported, his blue eyes all the more shocking for the wholeness of black—black ascot, black waistcoat, and the matte fabric of his coattails—down to his trousers and shoes. Was there a faint trace of kohl around his eyes, giving him a slightly haunted visage? Or was I remembering his portrait face? I shuddered suddenly.

  “Come now, Natalie. It’s all in love and fun—”

  “No, Jonathon, I can think of nothing finer than to be by your side and in this exquisite dress!” Still, I shivered. Jonathon reached for me, concern furrowing his brow. “After everything we’ve been through,” I explained, “the chills refuse to quit me.”

  Jonathon came forward, placing a prolonged kiss upon my cheek. “I’ll warm you. I too refuse to quit you.”

  I smiled then. “To lose our worries in Nathaniel’s show will do our hearts good. As he says, ‘sweet release.’”

  Looking at him, seeing how handsome he was, I had my own ideas about what losing myself in something beautiful could be. Mrs. Northe’s driver picked us up. She was meeting us at the theater.

  We were handed a program when we entered the gilded auditorium, and as I opened it, a small leaflet insert fell out. It was a picture of a beautiful woman in a dark gown throwing her head back with glee and abandon. The text read: “Lose all your troubles. Miracle cure for your melancholy. Write to P.O. Box 6616, New York City, for details.” At the bottom was a red and gold crest with dragons.

  My palms went sweaty and the room spun. “J-Jonathon,” I gasped, shoving the leaflet at him. He stared at it.

  “Bloody, bloody hell,” he hissed. “I thought you said Nat turned the devils down.”

  “He did, but someone must have planted the inserts.”

  “I’ve got to get to him, tell him, warn him.”

  “Follow me,” I said and took advantage of the low lighting to run up a narrow stair onto the stage. Our black clothes gave us a bit of an advantage, but a few of the Association members hissed at us.

  “What are you—”

  “I know where his dressing room is. I paid him a visit, remember.”

  “You didn’t tell me it was in his dressing room.”

  “Where else does one visit an actor?”

  “I don’t know, somewhere more public? You can’t trust an actor alone.”

  I laughed and wound my way past scrims and weights. I found that if you moved with purpose backstage and looked dramatic enough, the stagehands didn’t question you.

  The moment I saw the VEIL raven on the door, I sprinted forward, brandishing the leaflet in my hand. I suppose I should have knocked but urgency got the better of me.

  I opened the door to find Veil biting a woman on the neck. She was wearing a dramatic black robe as if she were some sort of priestess. He jumped back at the intrusion, the woman pouting to be released, scowling at me, and throwing daggers with her eyes.

  “Why, Miss Stewart!” Veil cried. “Knock next time, would you?”

  “Sorry,” I mumbled. “It’s an emergency.”

  “I’m sure that’s what they all say,” the woman snapped, storming off, kicking up black feathers in her wake, and disappearing into the darkness of the backstage. Jonathon just chuckled behind me, stepping into the light.

  “My God if it isn’t the mythical Denbury back from the dead. Oh, my friend, I’ve missed you!” Nathaniel leaped forward and seized Jonathon in a bear hug that lifted him off the ground.

  “Good to see you too, Nat, but we’ve got a problem,” Jonathon stated.

  “Always business with you. Can’t you spare a moment for celebration?”

  “Those men who came around with their miracle cure,” Jonathon declared. “I thought you told Natalie you sent them packing.”

  “I did!”

  “Then what’s this?” Jonathon slapped the leaflet on Nathaniel’s chest.

  He took one look at it and his fury was palpable. “What the bloody hell—”

  “That’s what I said. That crest is from a society of madmen who keep trying to kill me, who stitched together a body of different body parts and made it come to life, who went messing with Samuel’s head, and now they’re trying to mess with your people.”

  Nathaniel turned the color of the pale greasepaint on his vanity table. “Why us?”

  “I’m still trying to figure that out. Evidently they don’t take kindly to being denied.”

  “They don’t,” I said. I unwound my scarf to reveal the bruises for emphasis.

  “Dear God…” Nathaniel whispered.

  “We’re all young and talented,” I added. “And that gives them extra incentive to make us their toys.” I wondered, just then, what my talent was exactly. Well, bravery, I suppose, and the uncanny habit of being in the middle of things. I wrapped the scarf back around my neck.

  “So if I were you,” Jonathon instructed, “I’d get your Association to go collect those leaflets and pull them from the programs yet to be distributed.”

  Nathaniel nodded and flung open his door. “Lavinia, darling,” he called, “you can’t have gone far. Come, love, I need your help.” The red-haired woman in the dramatic black robe stalked back to his dressing room, glaring at us. “Don’t be rude, L, these friends of mine might have just saved your life and the minds of our whole Association. Someone put leaflets into my programs uninvited. And you know I do not tolerate unexpected changes to my show. Have Raven and Ether collect them at either side of the aisles, and tell Mr. Bell not to hand out any more programs with the page in it.”

  She bowed her head and disappeared into the black velvet wings of the backstage once more.

  “You were biting her neck,” I said, watching her walk away.

  “Gently. I wasn’t drawing blood.”

  “Is that a thing? A thing you do?”

  “Yes, it’s quite exquisite. Have Jonathon try it on you. Or I can, if he—”

  “Don’t even think about it.” Jonathon lifted a warning finger.

  “Oh, this is exciting, Miss Stewart. I’ve always been the one with all the girls. Jonathon’s never had anything he’s been possessive of. This will prove great sport—”

  “I’m no sport,” I said through clenched teeth. “I don’t take kindly to games.”

  “Even games of flattery, flirtation, and wit?” Nathaniel asked in his charming way. I found myself fighting a grin. Jonathon set his jaw.

  “Don’t be cruel,” he muttered, and I remembered that plea from my dream. I blushed, recalling the dream I’d had of Nathaniel upon my neck. A little too real here.

  “I’d only have suffered the things I did for one man, Mr. Veil,” I said, sliding my arm through Jonathon’s. “So do your worst with your games, but you won’t win.”

  Nathaniel clapped his hand over his heart. “Ah, loyalty. It’s so romantic. Come, come, the both of you, out on stage. I’ll introduce you to the whole theater as my extra-special guests while the inserts are collected—”

  “No,” Jonathon and I said at the same time. Jonathon continued: “I’m keeping a low profile, friend, which probably means I shouldn’t be anywhere near you.”

  “Fine, then. Get out of my room. I must prepare.”

  With a chuckle, we moved to the door.

  “Den,” Veil called. Jonathon rolled his eyes at the pet name and turned back. “I’m really glad you’re not dead.”

  “Me too. Thank Miss Stewart here for that.” Nathaniel moved to embrace me. “On second thought, save your thanks for Lavinia. We’ll have you over for dinner one night. Keep an eye out for an invitation from Mrs. Northe.”

  “Will do. Thank you for telling me about the leaflet. You know I can’t bear anything befalling my Association. Anything,” Nathaniel said, utterly without affect.

  “I know,” Jonat
hon said and closed the door behind him.

  “Den?” I asked with a giggle.

  “He’s the only one allowed to call me that. He has pet names for everything and everyone. It was the only one that wouldn’t get me bludgeoned on the street if someone overheard it. If you ever call me that, I will never speak to you again.”

  I laughed as we sneaked back into our places within the Association. Mrs. Northe was somewhere in her box above, a figurehead of a chaperone leaving Jonathon and I to our glorious freedom. I looked up and caught her eye. I blew her a kiss. She lit up, utterly delighted by the token of affection. I’m not sure I’d ever seen her beam so brightly, and I realized in that moment how much I cared for her. I felt confident she honestly cared for me and for my father just the same.

  Jonathon and I were on our own with the crowd in the pit, where we edged our way past black tulle and feathers, onyx beading, and mourning finery at its very finest, carving our own little corner by the velvet-covered railing.

  I was giddy with excitement. We looked like we belonged to the most intense, artistic set, the two of us. I didn’t know how strikingly dramatic we could be, looking so severe and strangely beautiful. I couldn’t stop staring at us in the beveled mirrored sconces that doubled the light of the golden gas-lamps.

  Jonathon caught my gaze and slid his arm around me. “Would you look at that beautiful couple? I can hardly handle the sight of us,” he murmured, a purr in my ear.

  “You’d best get used to it,” I teased.

  “Oh, there are so many things I cannot wait to get used to,” he said, trailing a finger down my back, the bodice line of which was too plunging and exposed to be modest. But then again, it was the height of French fashion, and the French must know how exquisite a fingertip upon a woman’s bare back can be.

  My giddiness was soon tempered as a man in a fine coat and tails came up the aisle. I thought he was merely taking his seat in the rows behind our standing gallery. His top hat was tipped low over his brow, so we didn’t get a good look at him.

  But when he slipped a piece of paper marked “Denbury” over Jonathon’s hand that rested upon the velvet rail, my eyes bore into him as the stranger turned away. Jonathon snatched the paper, looking after the man who gave it, but he was already lost in a sea of other coattails and top hats, a sea of black satin and white waistcoats.