Mrs. Houdini(82)

Gradually the words became clear: Mene, mene, tekel, upharsin, the slate read, in white letters. “Why, that’s what I wrote down,” Sir Arthur murmured, aghast. He was visibly shaken. Bess recognized the quotation from the Old Testament. They were the words written on Belshazzar’s palace wall by a mysterious hand, which predicted imminent doom for his reign.

Doyle grasped Harry’s hands. “Houdini, what powers are you working with?”

Harry shook his head. “I have devoted a lot of time and thought to this illusion. I have been working on it, on and off, for the course of a year. I won’t tell you how it was done, but I can assure you it was pure trickery.”

Doyle’s face was white. “I don’t believe you.”

“I devised it to show you that such things are possible. I beg of you, Sir Arthur, do not jump to the conclusion that certain things you see are necessarily supernatural, or the work of spirits, just because you cannot explain them. You must be careful in the future of endorsing phenomena just because you cannot explain them.”

Doyle smiled. Bess could tell he still did not believe Harry. He thought Harry was obscuring his powers by trying to play them off as tricks. But Bess knew better. She had seen Harry levitate a table, and knew how he did it.

“Come,” Bess said, standing up and smoothing out her dress. “Enough of these games. Let’s go in to dinner.” She did not want to see Doyle’s beliefs shattered in front of her; older than Harry by fifteen years, he seemed very fragile under his flinty exterior. As it was, the American press was lambasting him. During an interview he had said he thought men were given whiskey and cigars when they got to heaven, and the papers were already mocking him. And back in England, he had endorsed a young girl’s photograph of a fairy as authentic, only to learn that the picture had been doctored, and he had been the object of great ridicule as a result of his na?veté.

As they walked into the dining room, Bess grabbed Harry’s arm discreetly. Using the system they had devised during their early stage years, she cautioned him that Lady Doyle had been asking about his mother. She warned him in whispered code—each word, or pairs of words, indicating a different letter—spelling out the word DECEIVE: “Now-tell-pray, answer-tell-look-answer-answer-tell.” Harry looked alarmed, and disturbed.

They dined on chicken and asparagus and kept up polite conversation about Doyle’s lectures. As they finished their dessert of cream cake, Doyle cleared his throat. “Houdini, I must say I was somewhat angered by that article you wrote for The New York Sun. You said that after the hundreds of séances you attended, you have never seen anything that could convince you there is a possibility of communication with the beyond.”

Harry took a long drink of water. “I am perfectly willing to believe,” he said, “but I need significant proof to back any claims I put in print.”

Gladys came to her brother’s defense. “Certainly you cannot expect Harry to support your claims simply because you are friends. He has a reputation of respectability that he has to uphold.” Gladys was more of a skeptic even than Harry and had tried for years to convince him that their mother was not going to come through to them, much to Harry’s dismay.

Doyle was insulted. “And I do not have a reputation to uphold? I must tell you, I feel sore about it. You have all the right in the world to your own opinion, but I know the purity of my wife’s mediumship, and I saw what the effect was upon you when we were in England. You believed.”

Lady Doyle sat quietly beside Bess, sipping her wine. She looked neither supportive of nor embarrassed by her husband’s outburst.

Sir Arthur stood up. “If agreeable, Lady Doyle will give you a special séance, as she has a feeling that she might have a message coming through. At any rate, she is willing to try.” He continued, “I’d like for her to give you some kind of consolation, and change your mind.”

Harry glanced at Bess. “Yes, certainly,” he said. “But I assure you I did not mean my article as an affront to you or your wife.”

What Bess and Gladys had not told Lady Doyle was that it happened to be Mrs. Weiss’s birthday. If this fact came through in the séance, then perhaps Lady Doyle’s powers could be proven real. Bess felt a little thrill at being in league with Harry again, as they had been during their stage days. But she also felt sorry for Harry and for Gladys, dredging up all this business with their mother yet again. If Harry had been depressed since her passing, Gladys had been even more so. Mrs. Weiss had been her best friend and confidante, as well as her eyes. Losing Mrs. Weiss had been, surely, like losing a limb. One could never, ever, be the same. Bess only hoped that Gladys wasn’t expecting anything to come of this séance, especially having heard Lady Doyle pressing for information earlier.

They proceeded back into the library, and Harry dimmed the lights. They sat in a small circle and placed their hands on the table between them. Once again, Doyle began with a prayer, and Lady Doyle, a pad and pencil in front of her, began by drawing the sign of the cross and asking the spirits, “Do you believe in God? You must say so if you wish us to continue.”

Then she began to convulse, and her hand flew across the page, writing furiously.

“It’s your mother,” Doyle whispered. “It has to be.”

I am so happy, my beloved son and daughter, Lady Doyle wrote. I know that you think of me often, that you often wear the clothes and gifts I’ve given you because you think it will help you reach me. You must know that you have a guide who is often with you at night. He helps and instructs you over here. He is a very, very high soul, sent especially to work through you on the earth plane. He wants me to say, my dears, that there is much work before you.