Clementine Elliott had raised the bar of Wellington fashion, then so be it. What real harm could it do if it was but a transitory thing and made women happier creatures?
Of more concern was his brother-in-law. He knew that Daniel had a bit of an eye. After all, it had been what attracted him to Susannah in the first place. She had been an extraordinarily pretty girl and was still a fine-looking woman, but Lewis knew that she had begun to fret about the fine lines that had etched themselves into the skin around her eyes and mouth, and once he had surprised her at the mirror in the front hall. She had been pulling at the slightly sagging pouch of flesh under her chin. She’d blushed a little when she saw him, and he had not commented. He had no real reason to think that any part of Daniel would rove except for his eye, but he was anxious that his sister’s feelings not be wounded by even this small transgression. If necessary, he would have a word with him, but he hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
Mrs. Elliott had dutifully attended her father-in-law the day after her arrival, but what the old man made of her was unknown, for by now he was apparently so far gone that it was unlikely that he even realized she was there. She must have concluded the same thing, for she made no move to return to the Elliott farm. Instead, she wandered the town, her small, pale son in tow, and handed her cards to everyone she met. Daniel had a supply of these cards, for she had asked him to leave a pile on the table in the entrance hall. He showed one to Lewis. Psychic Guide, it said in an ornamented script, and underneath, in plainer letters, Mesmerism, Transportation and Spirit Communication, Dr. & Mrs. Nathan Elliott. Rates upon inquiry.
“What nonsense is this?” Lewis said. “Spirit communication? What’s that supposed to be about?”
“I asked the same thing,” Daniel said. “Apparently, Mrs. Elliott has the ability to contact the dead, and helps their relatives speak with them, make sure they’re all right, that sort of thing. It all seems very odd, doesn’t it?”
Lewis was quite prepared to overlook the obsession with dress that Clementine Elliott had ignited, but this was something he could not countenance.
“This is wrong,” he said flatly, “a desecration. Not only that, I suspect it’s impossible anyway. This can’t be anything but a parlour trick.”
Daniel shrugged. “It’s got everybody talking.”
“I expect it has,” Lewis said. “That doesn’t mean it’s right. Has any fool actually taken her up on it?”
Daniel appeared unconcerned. “Not yet, but I suspect it’s only a matter of time. There are plenty enough people who are desperate over the loss of a loved one. And there will be plenty of people who are curious enough to come at least once, just to see what it’s all about.”
“You’ll have to tell her she can’t do that sort of thing here.”
Daniel bristled. “Now, why on earth should I do that? It’s none of my business … and she’s a paying customer.”
“But it’s fraud,” Lewis protested. “You’d be a party to it.”
“I don’t see how you can come to that conclusion. All I do is rent the rooms. Besides, how do you know it’s a fraud? Maybe she can do what she claims.”
“You know that can’t be true, Daniel.”
“No, I don’t know for sure,” he said. “Maybe she can. Whether she can or not, all she’s really doing is bringing a little comfort to folks. What’s wrong with that?”
“But it’s a lie.”
“Oh, leave it alone, Thaddeus. She’s not hurting anybody. Not everybody has your conviction, you know.”
In spite of his certainty that contacting the dead was both impious and impossible, Lewis had to concede that there was a certain element of truth in this argument, for he, too, had once been guilty of a longing to communicate with his lost daughters. He wondered if he would have availed himself of a similar service had it been available at the time of his most intense grief. In spite of his moral objections, he rather suspected that he might have considered it.
Chapter Four
Clementine stood at her upstairs window and watched as two women struggled down the street toward the hotel. She recognized one of them; the woman had been at the fusty little dry goods store the day before when she had called, and had seemed quite interested when she had been handed a card. The woman’s eyes had been red-rimmed. A recent loss, and a heavy one from the look of it, she had thought at the time. She would have spoken with the woman at greater length, but she had barely been able to get a word past the prattling of the little dressmaker who worked at a table in the corner. Fortunately, the gossipy woman had happily filled Clementine in on the details she needed to know after the woman had left.
“That’s Mrs. Sprung. Poor lady lost her little girl in an accident just a month ago. She’s only just managed to pull herself together and go out once in a while.”
“How dreadful,” Clementine had murmured. “Whatever happened?”
She was treated to a blow-by-blow account of a runaway horse, a small child slipping in the street in front of it, broken, shattered bones, and the wails of the mother when it was discovered that the life had been battered out of her child. She had filed each detail away in her memory. The dressmaker had a very loose tongue, and Clementine made a mental note to frequent the store as often as possible.
Clementine had known that it was only a matter of time until the grieving woman came to her, but she was surprised she had come so soon. It was nearly always a woman who made the first approach, and most often they brought someone with them the first time, for comfort and support. The second woman in the street beside her could be safely ignored.
“Is the room ready?” she asked the boy, over her shoulder.
“Yes, Mama.”
“Bring me my shawl.”
“Yes, Mama.” His tone was flat. The boy always did what she asked, and with his father gone he had proved to be an enormous help to her; but she realized that she was never quite sure what this pale son of hers was thinking. There was no time to worry about it now, though, for the two women had arrived at the front door.
Clara Sprung hesitated as she and her companion reached the hotel. If her husband, Ezra, knew what she was doing, he would be furious. She had wondered at it herself all the way down the street, but the prospect of once again talking to, maybe even seeing little Amelia, was a possibility that she couldn’t ignore. One part of her mind argued that the whole enterprise was a waste of money, and that Ezra would be sure to notice the missing coins. Another insisted that this woman could indeed hold the key to finding out what had really happened to her darling Amelia, in spite of the assurances of the preachers that the little girl had without doubt gone to heaven and was even now basking in the glow of God’s blessing. She needed to know firsthand. But just in case her judgment had deserted her entirely, she had decided to bring her sister Harriet with her.
She was a little taken aback when she stepped inside and saw Mr. Lewis in the hallway. Everyone knew about him, of course. He had tracked down a notorious killer and brought him to justice. The whole village had been atwitter when he and his ailing wife had moved into the community. But she had been so flustered at the thought of speaking with her sweet little girl again that she had forgotten that Lewis was now helping to run the hotel. She had attended Methodist meetings on occasion, before she had settled into the
