Barbara Michaels - The Wizard’s Daughter

"Gruffstone said he would send for us if… if we could be useful," was the reply, made in an abstracted voice, as if the lawyer had something else on his mind.

"Whatever possessed you to order that ridiculous amount of food? It would be impossible to eat anything."

But when, sometime later, trays of sandwiches and salad were brought up, she found that she was ravenous. The food and the strong tea removed the last traces of her dizziness; she felt keyed up and alert and too restless to sit or be silent. Talking seemed to relieve her mind. Unfortunately Carlton did not share this weakness, if weakness it was. He sat hunched in his chair staring into space and responded to her irritable comments in monosyllables, if at all.

It was almost dawn before the doctor came to them. "She will do now," he said. "It was not as serious as I feared, but I stayed with her till she slept."

"You look very tired," Marianne said. "Can you take some food before you retire, or a cup of tea? I have kept the water hot."

"I have no appetite." But he began to nibble on a sandwich and Marianne poured him some tea. "You realize," he continued, with a severe look at the girl, "that she must have quiet and rest. The least excitement -"

"And how do you propose to accomplish that?" Carlton demanded. Now that his anxieties were relieved he had reverted to his old snappish manner. "The Duchess creates her own excitement. After that purported message tonight she will be on pins and needles till she hears the great revelation."

"We have a little time to prepare," the doctor replied heavily. "If, as I suppose, the reference was to the anniversary of that scoundrel's death, it is almost a fortnight away – the thirteenth of November, to be precise. Perhaps by then I can persuade her…"

"To do what?" Carlton seemed determined to be objectionable. "Give up hope of contacting that scoundrel, as you call him? Never believe it. Or have you some other scheme in mind? I warn you, Gruffstone, that any frustration of her hopes will prove as severe a shock as the message itself."

"Don't try to teach me my own profession! I know that as well as you do. I have an idea…" This time Carlton did not interrupt him, and after a moment of hesitation and a sidelong glance at Marianne, the doctor continued, "I can at least hope to strengthen her, to prepare her for the inevitable disappointment."

"Why should you suppose she will be disappointed? The agency that produced those obscene demonstrations tonight is quite capable of doing it again, unless we can discover how it was done and prevent it. Ah – your face is too open, Doctor; it gives you away. That is what you plan, is it not? What do you have in mind?"

The doctor did not reply.

Marianne said quietly, "Dr. Gruffstone prefers not to speak in front of me. I will go."

"No, no, it doesn't matter." The doctor waved his arm and gave a great yawn. "Only you will have to let me express my ideas without regard for your feelings, Miss Ransom, and not take offense. At the present time I have no plan, I have only theories – too many of them."

"You can dismiss Miss Ransom from consideration," Carlton declared. "I will swear she could not have freed herself."

"Are you sure? You did your best, but you have not studied, as I have, the tricks these charlatans employ. I made it a point to investigate them when the Duchess became so infatuated with – with spiritualism. Not that it was any use, exposing the tricks to her; she merely replied that because a thing could be done in a certain way did not prove it was done in that way. This, despite the fact that phenomena such as we saw tonight can be duplicated by any clever conjurer."

Carlton shook his head. "I don't believe Miss Ransom could have managed it." But he sounded less certain.

"I am not accusing her. I am merely pointing out a possibility. There are others. Young Henry, for instance, is quite bright enough and mischievous enough to perpetrate such antics. I am not convinced that Holmes did not install mechanisms of various kinds in that room. Even without such aids Henry could have crept in, by means of one of the secret passages he boasts of knowing so well – or hidden himself in the room beforehand – and done everything that was done under cover of darkness. His seizures are brought on by excitement; it would not be surprising if one followed a performance such as that."

"Hmm." Carlton nodded. "That is a possibility that did not occur to me. Though I believe the seizures began when that idiot tutor, trying to recapture him, laid violent hands on the boy. And what of M. Victor himself? He's a wretched creature, capable of playing tricks for the fun of it."

"He is," Marianne declared.

"I won't ask how you know that… Well, Doctor, you are a clever fellow, you have given me much to think about."

"I am not done," the doctor declared. "I cannot wholly discount the operation of some unknown force – not the sentimental twaddle about spirits, but a form of animal magnetism that can move objects at a distance. Certain cases of haunted houses suggest that possibility; the agent is usually a young person, who is quite unaware of his, or her, abilities. Well." He put his cup down and rose to his feet. "I must have a few hours' sleep before returning to my patient. Good night."

Carlton also said good night. Marianne went to her bed, but she did not fall asleep immediately.

She knew why the doctor had not voiced one of the theories that must have been in his mind. She, too, was reluctant to admit it; yet to an objective observer, the Duchess had to be considered a suspect. It was absurd, of course, to suppose that she would deliberately play tricks on herself, but the doctor's theory of hysteria, if Marianne understood it correctly, could explain a great deal. "We believe what we want to believe," Carlton had said. He might have added, "Some of us will go to any length to prove that what we believe is true."

There was one other suspect. Perhaps the doctor had reasons for dismissing her from consideration, or perhaps he had simply forgotten about her, for she was a shadowy figure at best. Marianne had never set eyes on her, unless the retreating figure she had seen the first night had indeed been the Duke's mother.

I will make an effort to meet her tomorrow, Marianne thought drowsily – if she exists at all, and is not another of the Duchess's fantasies.

The following day brought answers to some of the questions that had troubled Marianne, but they were not the answers she had hoped to hear.

She slept late, and upon arising went to see how the Duchess was. Her soft knock was answered at once, and when she entered she saw the patient propped up on lace-trimmed pillows and looking quite herself. She greeted Marianne with a smile.

"My dear girl, what a night you must have had!"

"Nothing compared with yours. I am so glad to see you looking better. But perhaps you should not talk, or have visitors," Marianne added; for as she came closer, the Duchess's high color and sparkling eyes did not look so much like signs of recovered health as of unhealthy excitement. "I won't stay. I only came to ask how you were."

"I feel splendid. Horace is an old fussbudget. It is you I am concerned about. I will ask him to have a look at you."

"I assure you, my health has never been better. Is there anything I can do for you? Write letters, or read, perhaps?"

"You are a sweet child," the Duchess replied, with an affectionate smile. "Later, perhaps, if you would care to join me for tea, I might ask you to write a letter or two. Now I want you to get out into the fresh air. I am sure Roger is waiting impatiently to go riding with you."

"I imagine he is still sleeping."

"No, no; he was here only a few minutes ago. Have you had breakfast? You must eat; it is essential to your health."