The devil doctor *Completed*

Ghosts of the past

*Bill*

“She plans to have a medium connect her with Riverdale’s spirit,” I say to the group gathered in Claybourne’s library. Claybourne, Evangeline, Frannie, Swindler, and Jack are here. It’s early afternoon. I don’t like talking about Wicky’s plans behind her back, but I owe these people, although I’m beginning to feel as though I’m giving them my soul.

I hadn’t wanted to leave Wicky, but I need to see to some patients, and as my first was the queen herself, I can’t very well be late to that appointment. The regent seems to have recovered from her bout of illness. I wish taking care of Wicky’s situation would prove to be as easy.

“I’ll convince her that no good will come of it,” Evangeline says.

“Let her do it,” Jack says. “Where’s the harm? The medium will raise the table a bit with her knees, make knocking sounds on her chair, hum for a spell, and then pretend to be possessed by a spirit. The luna will believe she’s spoken to her dead husband, and won’t even begin to consider that he isn’t dead at all.”

“He’s right,” Frannie says. “It will only serve to reinforce our ruse.”

I’m not convinced. “And if this medium doesn’t contact her husband?”

“She will,” Swindler says. “They’re all charlatans. I’ve arrested several. I’ve attended the séances to gather the information to prove that they were not contacting the dead as claimed, but swindling people out of money. While I’m opposed to their methods, I agree that in this case they serve our purpose.”

I don’t feel comfortable with it. “What we did three years ago was necessary. What we’re doing now, to protect ourselves, doesn’t sit well with me.”

“Think you’ll feel more comfortable when you’re dancing in the wind?” Jack asks. “He’s a bloody alpha. You’re a commoner.”

“He’s physician to the queen,” Claybourne points out.

“Knowing how she and the king are striving to raise the standard of behavior among her subjects,” Jack says, “do you think she’s going to be open to looking the other way?”

Silence greets that proclamation as they all know that Queen Victoria has high moral values. Within her court, she’s known for dismissing servants for the slightest of infractions.

“We might want to consider another possibility,” Swindler says, his sharp gaze homing in on me. “That the luna is the one instigating a ruse.”

“Why the devil would she do that?” I ask.

“To gain your attention. Have you seen any evidence that what she claims is happening is in fact happening? She’s always telling you things after the fact.”

While I think it highly unlikely, I can’t discount the question entirely. She mentioned the necklace disappearing, then showed up at my door with it. She knew I would be returning to the residence last night. She could have arranged the rings, then sat in the corner awaiting my arrival. But I think of her haunted eyes, her chills, her trembling. “I’ve no doubt she’s telling me the truth.”

“I agree with Bill’s assessment,” Evangeline says. “Wicky doesn’t have a conniving bone in her body. I’ll visit her this afternoon. She’s certain to invite me to attend her séance, and Claybourne and I can at least be on hand to reinforce the notion that Riverdale is dead.”

“I’ll be there as well tonight,” I tell her.

“Well then I don’t see that anything can go wrong,” Jack says.

*Wicky*

I have chosen the Alpha’s library for the séance. He spent a good deal of his life here, overseeing the management of his estates. In spite of its size, which allows for four large sitting areas, this room seems to have absorbed his strong scent. The dark heavy furniture reminds me so much of the bold and brazen man he was.

“Why would anyone require a desk that large?” I ask Billy, while the servants rearrange one of the sitting areas at the behest of Mrs. Ponsby, who is quite renowned for her ability to commune with the dead.

“It made him feel important,” Billy responds.

“And I hate the gargoyles,” I say. The hideous stone creatures sit on either side of the fireplace grate. “He took them from a dilapidated church, or so he said. Still, it seems rather sacrilegious. To be quite honest, there is nothing in this room that I like, except for the books. I suppose I should redo it.” Where there aren’t shelves, there are paintings of battles and people lying about bloodied. They always give me chills, which is another reason I think this room will serve us well. It seems to celebrate death and suffering.

“Are you sure about this, Wicky?” Evangeline asks. In the late afternoon, she stopped by for a spot of tea, and I took the opportunity to invite her and Claybourne to join me that evening for the séance.

“Yes, I’m sure. He made my life quite miserable while he was alive. I shan’t have him doing it while he’s dead.” I squeeze Billy’s arm. “As you weren’t afraid of the dead when you were a lad, I see no reason that I should be as a grown she-wolf.”

“I’m just not certain that you’re going to speak with him as clearly as you seem to think you will,” Billy says. “Calling out to the dead has not been proven to be scientifically possible.”

“Have you ever had a patient who you were certain was going to die, based upon your knowledge of the human body and medicine, but he recovered from his illness or wounds?”

“Yes. You.”

I’m taken aback by his answer although I know I shouldn’t be. That dreadful night, I was certain I would die, but I just hadn’t been able to succumb and leave Ethan. “There are some things that simply can’t be explained,” I say softly. “Mrs. Ponsby says it’s more likely to work if everyone believes it will work.” I glance around. “If any of you can’t believe, then don’t feel you must stay. I know this probably sounds absolutely mad, but I have to try. Riverdale was a very strong force. I believe his spirit would fight going into the hereafter.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Evangeline says.

“My Luna?”

I turn to look at Mrs. Ponsby. Her hair is black except for a white streak of strands that begins at her widow’s peak and trails back, to be finally tucked into her bun. She wears a modest black dress that buttons to her throat with tight sleeves that button at her wrists. She can’t be hiding anything there. She’s brought no instruments of her trade… no box into which she’ll disappear while communing with the dead, no assistant, no magical ball or Ouija board. I like that she isn’t about the trappings. “Yes, Mrs. Ponsby?”

“We’re almost ready. We just need something personal of your husband’s.”

“Oh. His rings would be perfect, but a servant must have put them away. I’ll see if I can locate them.”

“I have them,” Billy says, pulling them from his pocket. “I knew they were upsetting you so I decided to tuck them away.” He hands them over to the medium.

“These will do nicely. Please come join me at the table.”

We do as requested. I sit on her left, with Billy beside me, while Evangeline sits on the medium’s right. Mrs. Ponsby places the rings on the table with the Alpha crest turned toward her. Mrs. Ponsby signals to a servant who goes about the room, dimming the gaslights and extinguishing the flames in lamps until all the light comes from a solitary candle on the table. Then all the servants quietly take their leave.

“We must all clasp each other’s hands to form a circle of serenity into which the spirit will feel free to enter,” she says quietly. “No matter what happens, you must not break the connection.”

Hands are joined and I feel my pulse thrumming.

“Alpha Riverdale,” Mrs. Ponsby sings in a voice that rises and falls like a wind blowing through the leaves. “Alpha Riverdale, we know you’re an unhappy spirit, unwilling to move to the beyond, that you are trying to make your presence known. We’re here for you. Through me, you may speak with those in this room.” Squeezing my hand, she closes her eyes and drops her head back. “I am your vessel. Come to me.”

I wait. I know what’s supposed to happen next. According to my aunt, there will be a knocking, a cold draft along my neck, the hairs on my nape will prickle.

“Riverdale,” Mrs. Ponsby sings again. “Don’t be shy. We’re waiting for you. You need not be agitated with your present circumstance. We shall help you come to peace with it.”

We wait. Mrs. Ponsby sings some more. We wait. More singing, a bit of moaning, a sigh. Mrs. Ponsby finally opens her eyes and looks at me. “I’m sorry, my Luna, but I don’t sense that his spirit is about.”

I couldn’t be more disappointed if Mrs. Ponsby told me I would soon find myself residing in the spirit world alongside my husband. “Can’t you try again? It would be just like him to be obstinate.”

Mrs. Ponsby appears somber. “There’s a void where he should be. I can’t explain it, but I can’t contact him. He’s just not there.”

“But how can that be?” I ask.

Mrs. Ponsby folds her hands on the table and looks at me through kind eyes. “The only possible explanation is that he isn’t dead.”

*Bill*

I watch the blood drain from Wicky's face. The candlelight casts dancing shadows, highlighting the stark whiteness of his complexion. I don't understand what game the medium is playing. She seems so sincere, so honest. It makes no sense.

“That’s utterly ridiculous,” I bark.

“Quite so,” Claybourne says sternly. “He died in a fire at my ancestral estate. There can be no doubt.”

“But I must doubt,” Mrs. Ponsby states serenely, “as I don’t sense his spirit in the afterworld.”

It occurs to me that perhaps Riverdale has paid the medium for this performance, to unsettle Wicky further. She’s a fraud. All conjurers of the spirit world are frauds. I have to ensure Wicky doesn’t begin to doubt his husband’s death. I have to discredit her.

“You’re saying that you always manage to contact the spirits?” Evangeline asks, her voice laced with skepticism.

“Indeed I do. This failure is a first for me, and I am as baffled as the luna. I can think of no other explanation.”

“Perhaps the spirits are simply laying low tonight,” I suggest.

“I think that unlikely. However, I am more than willing to try to contact someone else to prove I’m not a fraud, as I sense you believe I am up to no good. I assure you that I seek more to put the living to rest than the dead. As a physician, Dr. Grimley, I’m sure you’ve seen more than your share of death. Is there someone you have lost with whom you would like to speak?”

For a heartbeat, a single heartbeat, I believe she might be genuine. I think of my father, of wanting to know what happened to him, why he abandoned me all those years ago. But for all I know, the man is still alive. No, I need someone who is undeniably dead. “My mother.”

“Have you an object that belonged to her?”

Reaching beneath my collar, I take hold of a pewter chain, slowly pull it over my head. I place it and the cross with the raised vines woven over it in Mrs. Ponsby’s outstretched hand.

“Your mother was a religious she-wolf,” she muses.

“Very. She spent most of her time striving to beat the devil out of me.”

“Those with strong religious convictions are the easiest to reach. Her name?”

I haven’t thought of it in years. “Flora Littleton.”

I’m not certain what my face shows, but I feel Wicky’s hand clench on the table. For a moment, I forget anyone else is present. It’s Mrs. Ponsby’s eyes. One brown, one blue. They draw a person in, hold them enthralled.

“All right then,” she says melodically. “We shall all join hands again and strive to make contact with Flora.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Claybourne asks.

I hold Mrs. Ponsby’s gaze. “Yes, but I will not be convinced she’s truly made contact unless my mother tells her something that only I know. Otherwise, it’s cheap parlor tricks, and she’ll return to the luna every ha’penny she took for tonight’s entertainment.”

“We have a bargain,” she replies, and I am left with the sense that I’ve made it with the devil’s own mistress.

After we join hands, the medium drops her head back, closes her eyes, and begins to chant, “Flora Littleton come to us. Your son wishes to have words. He wants to reconnect with you. He wants you here.”

Her voice drifts into a musical hum. I can almost sense a charge in the air; the hairs on my arms rise. Mrs. Ponsby goes silent, then falls forward onto the table like a child’s cloth doll. I start to reach for her, but Wicky clutches my hand.

“Mustn’t break the circle,” Wicky whispers.

Inhaling a deep breath, Mrs. Ponsby rolls back until she’s sitting straight up. Her pupils are completely dilated. Something is wrong. I break free of Wicky’s grasp, scrape back my chair…

“Your mother doesn’t believe you want to speak with her,” Mrs. Ponsby says calmly, “but she wants you to know that she forgives you for killing her.”