Free The Spiritualist by Megan Chance

that the speculation about where he was and what might have happened to him abounded. Someone had even suggested he’d been drugged in a local opium den and abducted by white slavers—to this, the New York Times had responded tartly, “It appears there are those to whom Peter Atherton’s disappearance gives the opportunity to indulge in childhood flights of fancy.”
    “Has Paul talked to the police?” I asked her. “Has John?”
    Penny nodded as she directed her maid in the unpacking of her trunk. “Both of them were with the commissioners last night. The police have been told to leave Dorothy Bennett alone. They were quite relieved, I gather. I doubt they would have intruded upon her in any case, but one never knows when the police will suddenly get it into their heads to actually do something.”
    I found myself wishing Ben was in town, and that I could turn to him for advice. Though I understood the Atherton concerns, I wanted answers, and I’d spent the night sleepless and asking myself how it could possibly hurt to talk to Dorothy personally. Was there some reason I hadn’t considered? Some little known society rule or breech of etiquette that would make everything worse? Ben would know the answer. It would relieve my mind to at least discover if Dorothy had seen my husband after Thursday night, and to ask the same question of Michel Jourdain. If no one knew of the visit, what could be the harm?
    I had myself talked into it within the hour. After that, it was only a matter of waiting, of looking for an excuse to go out. When Penny told me she planned to cancel a dinner engagement with one of her abolitionist friends, I told her not to worry about me, and to go.
    She frowned at me. “Are you certain, Evelyn? You’ll be fine here by yourself?”
    “I’m almost always here by myself.”
    “Very well.” She wrapped a muted scarf about her throat—only Penny would have managed to find such a colorless paisley. “If the police come, you’ll send for me right away, won’t you? Don’t speak to them yourself, Evelyn.”
    “I won’t. I promise.”
    She went out into the night reassured, but the moment she was gone, I bade Kitty follow me to my room and dress me for a social call.
    As I was still in half mourning for Peter’s mother, I wore a deep lilac silk with a high collar and long sleeves and black lace flounces. I directed Kitty to do my hair in a simple chignon, and I wore no jewelry but for the locket around my neck that held some of Peter’s hair.
    In the street, Cullen was moving from foot to foot against the frigid breeze, which blew the snow about in blinding clouds, rearranging it for its pleasure. Tiny, icy flakes pricked against my cheeks. The bare-limbed trees lining the street creaked and cracked their branches against one another, and the snow crunched and squeaked beneath my boots.
    “It’ll be a hard journey, ma’am,” Cullen warned me as he opened the door and helped me inside. “The roads’re froze.”
    “We aren’t going far. Only to Mrs. Bennett’s house.”
    “I lit the brazier a half hour ago. You keep warm, Mrs. Atherton.” Then he closed the door and mounted the driver’s seat, and we were off.
    We were only going a few blocks, but the roads were as impossible as Penny had warned, and it took us forty-five minutes to reach the familiar Bennett brownstone only a short distance away. Even with the brazier, I was stiff with cold when we finally arrived. The lights of the Bennett house were burning, and there were carriages lining the frozen, snowy street in front. Dorothy must be holding a circle.
    I hesitated. I’d intended to speak only to Dorothy and Michel Jourdain. I had no interest in voices from beyond or eerie parlor tricks, especially now. Penny or Pamela would be horrified to discover I’d gone to another. I could turn around now, go home, and no one would be the wiser. The Athertons would find Peter without my help.
    But I wanted answers. And now that I’d