A Dreadful Splendor

by B.R. Myers

“Dying is the easy part,” Maman used to say, her French accent smoothing the edges of the English words. “It is those left behind that suffer.”

“No matter what you hear or see at Somerset, you must remember, you are the only person capable of giving my lord the one thing money cannot buy him—peace.”

“He will most likely change his tune when he learns you tried to leave with a few extra pounds of silver. And I should have you know, Mr. Lockhart’s approval is so eagerly given that it holds little worth to me.” “You’re quite opinionated, aren’t you?” I declared. “It’s my opinion you should be most concerned with, Miss Timmons, considering you’re here to ease my grief.”

“You won’t be leaving. At least not tonight.” He stood taller, all his confidence reaffirmed. “The notion of this scheme upset me earlier, but after this clever parlour trick you just demonstrated, I believe you can be of use. Audra is dead, but not by her own hand. She was murdered.” Audra. This was the first time anyone had spoken her name. The knot in my stomach moved up to my throat. “The police don’t seem to agree,” I said. “There is no evidence to prove otherwise, so I must rely on the one thing that will hold up in court—a confession.” He stepped closer, and it took all my nerve to keep my boots firmly planted on the spot. “A confession brought on by proof that Audra’s spirit is in the room and pointing to her murderer. You see, what I need is your skill for illusion and persuasion.”

“You wish for me to perform a séance so convincing it will persuade a murderer to confess?” I guessed. “Precisely.”

Happy people were never interested in their fortune; they already had what they wanted. Grief meant profit. Grief put meat in the stew and coal on the fire.

“You cannot live if you are wishing for the past, ma petite chérie.” Her hand made soothing circles on my back. “That girl in the picture was so silly and naive. She believed love would last forever. She had no idea of the pain that follows. Beware of what your heart tells you, Genevieve. It has the power to make you think you’re invincible. Remember, the only guarantee love brings is heartache. You must lock away the most precious part of your heart, keep that power for yourself. Promise me.” “I promise,” I said. She nodded. “Good. That power will save you when you think you’ve lost everything. You are strong. You will depend on yourself, not others.”

The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Flipping through the pages, I found my favourite chapter, where Esmeralda is rescued by Captain Phoebus. It was like reuniting with an old friend. I could have wept. Then the cold memories surfaced, and I snapped the cover shut. The last time I saw that book, its pages were strewn on the floor, trampled and muddied by the coppers’ boots.

“Ghosts can’t hurt you,” I said. “It’s the people on this side of the grass you should worry about.”

The inevitable weighs heavily on all our minds, Dearest. What is to become of my home? Of me?

“What if one of the servants stole it?” William asked tentatively. “No one goes in that room.” There was a pause. “It could have changed everything.” Mr. Lockhart sighed heavily. “No point in lamenting your poor choice, William. You’ll have to trust me—really trust me this time. After the séance, everything will fall into place and you won’t have to worry about his lordship any longer.”

Any trust I’d begun to build with Mr. Lockhart had been severed. I was nothing but a cog in whatever sinister plan he and William had concocted. And what did they suspect Audra had hidden in her room? Something that would force Mr. Pemberton from Somerset, apparently. Regardless, whatever happened the eve of the wedding, they both had information they were purposely keeping from Mr. Pemberton, and probably the police.

“Which room is Audra’s?” I asked outright. She blanched and fumbled with the duster. “It’s the one at the far end, beside the alcove with the statue of the tiny cherub.” She looked at me cautiously. “Why, miss?” “I wonder if you might let me inside,” I asked. She flinched, apparently appalled at my brazen request. I quickly added, “It’s helpful in a séance to have a personal item of the dearly departed.” Flora shook her head vehemently. “No one is allowed in Lady Audra’s room. Mrs. Donovan forbids it.” “Why?” “Out of respect for the dead.”

Maman said no matter how alone someone seemed, they could always think of a person they hoped was on the other side, missing them just as much.

“What do the ghosts say?” she asked. “What do they think about?” I smiled. Flora wanted something I could give her. “Ghosts usually stay with those they were closest to in life,” I said. “And do ghosts know things . . . like people’s secrets?” “I believe they tell me what they perceive to be true.” I found Flora’s particular question interesting. But as Maman used to say, grief never leaves the soul.

“What do you think happened that night?” I asked. Flora frowned like a battle was waging inside her. She tucked the duster into her apron pocket. When she spoke, her voice was hardly above a sigh. “Just like her father, and his father before him. The doctor said it was an illness, but it was more like a curse.” “What makes you say the family is cursed?” “Not just the family—Somerset itself! Me aunt says Audra’s great-grandfather built it with stolen money. I don’t know much about him, but I can tells ya it all started with his son, Audra’s grandfather.” “The one whose portrait is in the library,” I confirmed. She nodded and marked herself with the sign of the cross. “Ever since he leapt off the cliff all those years ago, nothin’ but misery has fallen on this family.”

“Spirits are drawn to the flame of a candle.” What people don’t see with their eyes, they fill in with their hearts. The heart sees.

When I turned to the mirror, the truth was so cruel it was almost comical. The waist was too big, emphasizing how gaunt I was beneath it, and my barely contained hair looked like a madwoman’s. “I could be the ghost,” I said to my reflection.

Oof

A strange sense of unfairness washed over me. I went over the misery-filled timeline of my life and all the occurrences and choices that had brought me to this crumbling castle by the ocean. Maman’s voice resurfaced from a memory. We have the skills to survive, you and I. Whenever it seems most bleak, remember, you will always find a way. You can only depend on yourself, ma petite chérie. “Trust your skills,” I whispered. “Depend on yourself.”

“I suspect your reputation will be glorified in his eyes if Audra’s killer is found, Miss Timmons. But by all means, continue to make this about yourself.” I frowned at his useless answer and said, “It’s a habit one develops when you’re the only one you can count on, my lord.”

How cruel it is to be born into a station in life that determines your worth, no matter all your good intentions.

Was this what it was like for the rich? To go to bed every night drowsy with the indulgence of food and drink?

“Oh.” I had nothing to relate; the notion of a home had never been a reality for me. The only constant in my life had been Maman. “Still, you have the means to go wherever you please. You can choose where to call home. That’s rarer than you realize.” There was the hint of annoyance behind his words. “Because I’m wealthy?” “Because you’re a man.”

“There is a difference between cruelty and evil, don’t you think?” “Evil is cruelty unchecked, when it’s allowed to flourish.”

Don’t be foolish to envy the dead, Maman used to say. If ghosts existed, they would say only one thing: let me live again. Even for the sad parts? I had asked. Bien sûr, especially the sad parts. That’s what the dead would crave, ma petite chérie, to feel again. But we know better.

“People are more capable of believing the devil is some external force we have no resistance against, instead of accepting their own capacity to be cruel.

“I think the devil is already inside us. It’s there, behind the wrong choices we make, ensuring we sabotage any chance at happiness.”

“Lady Audra,” I began. “Will you speak with us?” Again, we heard the three knocking sounds. “How are you doing that?” he asked. The room had become a cocoon, making any noise or sensation immensely exaggerated. “Stop interrupting,” I whispered. “Do it again,” he said. “I want to see if I can guess.” There was an intense curiosity about him. I made the three knocks again. He opened his eyes, and then leaned to the side, ducking his head under the table. “Aha!” he said. “Your boot is off.” My foot squirmed away, already slipping back into the boot. There was something unusually embarrassing about him seeing my stocking. Sitting upright again, he looked rather delighted with himself. “You’re cracking a toe, I believe.” “An ankle,” I corrected, unable to hide my sourness.

Maman’s voice chastised me. Beware of what your heart tells you, ma petite chérie. It has the power to make you think you’re invincible.

“As with all your other clients, you were going to fool my broken heart with all your grand trickery, weren’t you? Seduce my bereaved soul, while secretly thrilled at the dreadful splendor of it all.”

Among all that death was the only time I was truly alive—that was my dreadful splendor.

But what of this voice that calls out to him at night? Why does he wander through Somerset, testing the locked doors, determined to go outside? His hollers are enough to wake the dead. It frightens me so.

I am grateful, at least, that I never told him the Linwood secret. I can only imagine the unease he would have unleashed on Somerset.

I was stubborn and did not heed her words. It had been two months since our last séance, and she was particular about saving money, which meant we’d been eating porridge for every meal. The spiritualist business had become more dangerous. The chief inspector was rumored to be especially hard. He said what Maman and I did was criminal activity. “Worse than robbing a bank!” he exclaimed to the London Times. “They prey on the vulnerable emotions of grieving souls. No worse vermin than that lot.” Having his words in print set flame to a general sense of unjustness among the public. Work came less and less. The money stopped, and our home slowly lost its comforts one by one as it forced Maman to sell anything that would fetch a price—even Mrs. Rinaldo’s bracelets.

I envied the women of the stately homes we visited. They knew how to do needlework, painting, dancing, and all the other skills that accomplished ladies possessed. I had nothing to look forward to but following Maman around as I grew taller, wearing dresses with a hem that was already let down to the longest length.

She flipped them over one by one. “There will be a significant change in your life,” she said. “I see you taking an alternative path, but one that is chosen for you, not forced.” My future was before her eyes. Would Maman and I join the caravan? When she turned over the last card, every part of my body was rigid, waiting to exhale. “You will be an orphan soon,” she said. She tapped the card depicting a beast with horns and a tail like a fish. “And I see you underwater, as a young maiden.” A bark of nervous laughter came out of me. Maman was by my side at once, spitting out a sharp retort in French. The fortune-teller kept her gaze on me. “You will die a young girl. I see the number nineteen.” A chill crept over my skin. I forced a smile. I couldn’t appear affected in front of Maman, not after ignoring her advice. “I will die when I’m nineteen?” I asked, still trying to make sense of her words.

Oh so that's what she meant in the beginning

When people do something mean, it’s because they are secretly hurting.”

I began to collect Maman’s things, but she stayed still and regarded Miss Crane. “You need someone to pay rent?” Maman asked. “How much?” Miss Crane stared back, locked in a battle of wills. I sensed she knew exactly what Maman had just done and was torn between avoiding being conned and having another paying tenant. They struck a deal, and Maman and I had new accommodations. She told me it would only be temporary, and that we could save a bit more this way if we continued to work hard.

The fortune-teller may have been nothing more than a con. Perhaps she was bitter, as Maman suggested, and purposely wanted to hurt me. Or perhaps she had told the truth, hoping it might somehow spare Maman and me—a warning for us to heed. Whatever her intentions, it set me on the path of a self-fulfilling prophecy. I hadn’t told anyone at Somerset Park, but my nineteenth birthday was in five days.

“I see a potent presence around you,” I told her. “It’s not always there, but tonight you are being shadowed.” “Shadowed? That sounds bad.” She looked over her shoulder. Flora was what Maman would call “the perfect customer.”

Maman would not approve. We do not lecture, ma petite chérie. We tell them what they want to hear. We tell them enough so that their heart fills in the rest. The heart sees.

“I didn’t hesitate to lunge for you. It was a great fright, I confess. And once I realized you were sleepwalking, I became intrigued. I felt there was more to understand about you.” My heart was racing. I didn’t dare reply. A small part of me was eager to hear more about his interpretation of our meetings, even though I knew it would end badly.

A crash, hmm?

He continued, “After our first few meetings, it became clear to me that you are not at all the person those reports suggest. I decided to trust my instincts and let you stay.” I recalled what Mr. Lockhart had told me in the carriage—that I was the only one capable of giving him what money could never buy. Peace. Mr. Pemberton frowned, the lines on his forehead deeper than usual. “This afternoon, when you accused me of not taking Audra’s death seriously, I retaliated most viciously. And I would like to make it clear that my anger was not with you, but with myself. I should have been more attentive to her, regardless of the nature of our arrangement. It pains me that she will never know my regret.”

Fear leads us down the wrong paths, only to be met with misery.”

“I’ve never told anyone. Except, I suppose, now you.” It felt like an unearned honor to be considered a confidant. I relished the compliment, until it occurred to me that he might have only shared this to earn my trust, so that I would be more likely to share my secrets in return. It was a technique I had often employed myself.

“I’m sorry you lost her,” he said. “All those years dealing with death, and the thing I fear most is living without her.” I paused. The story of that horrible night was too close to the surface.

was thinking about how you said people sometimes make decisions they know will sabotage their own happiness. But, I wonder, if those people delved into why they felt so unworthy, perhaps they’d discover they deserved more.”

“Have you an ounce of sense? We just overheard two people plotting what I’m most certain is your murder, and all you can think about is the schematics for the séance. The obvious course of action would be to call the police and have them both arrested.”

The two of us bowed over the brooch, not daring to look up at each other. He said, “You admitted you tried on the tiara because you wanted to see what it would be like to be beautiful. I can assure you the tiara is unwarranted. You only need to see yourself as others do.”

Then I said the thing I thought about late at night, when my eyes were shut tight, and the pillow was pushed against my ears. “I wish I’d never been born. I wish you’d jumped into the harbour the day my father died.” I knew I’d said the one thing that would break her heart. But a part of me felt relief, a warped victory. I steadied myself for her to finally pull away, to give up trying to convince me. Instead, she pulled me into a hug. “You saved me that day,” she whimpered. “And have been keeping me alive ever since. Please don’t hate me. You were meant to live, ma petite chérie.” I didn’t hear the plea in her voice; I only heard anguish. I had taken her word as the perfect truth for as long as I’d been breathing—until then.

That broke my heart