Ghosts by Gaslight - Jack Dann [168]
“Materially? Are you suggesting that she may be able to give us conscious, clearly reasoned assistance?”
“That is a distinct possibility.”
“Yet when you say ‘strengthening her effect,’ I have the impression that what you have done is to create an amplification of effect and not a broadening.”
“As you yourself have said, you know nothing about this branch of science.”
“If you recall, I was speaking at the time about cleansing the air. The creation of the machine that enhanced Christine’s presence happened by accident, and I cannot think that you have a complete understanding of the process. Now you are certainly more proficient than I with regard to the technical aspects of your machine, but I have studied your sister for several months and I would hazard that you know less than I about her condition. You are playing a dangerous game, Richmond.”
“I’m not playing at anything!” he said. “I am desperate to gain Christine’s ear. I must know that she forgives me.”
“Is that truly the sum of your desires?” I asked. “At first you told me that you wanted to know who financed the brothel, and then it was a clue to the identity of Christine’s murderer. Now it is her forgiveness you want . . . and her restoration to a state of being similar to that she had in life. I infer from this progression that you may never be satisfied and will continue to elevate your expectations.”
He gave me an oddly bright look, the sort of look one observes on the faces of certain mental patients, seemingly alert yet too fixed to signal actual alertness.
“I would be remiss if I failed to warn you that you have embarked on a self-destructive course,” I said.
He was silent for such a long while that I began to worry.
“Richmond?” I said.
His head twitched. “I still haven’t been able to come up with a better name for the machines than ‘attractors.’ Do you have any thoughts on the subject?”
“Did you hear what I said?”
“About my self-destructive course? Yes, I heard you. And I have moved on.” He leafed through some papers that had been lying on his desk. “Having witnessed the machines in operation, perhaps you can suggest a suitable name?”
Unsettled by this abrupt conversational shift, I told him that “attractors” struck me as eminently suitable, but that I would set my mind to the task. He appeared indifferent to my concerns, so I excused myself and went in search of Jane.
In the kitchen I found Dorothea seated at the counter, popping grapes into her mouth and gazing at the wall. I asked if she had encountered Jane that day.
“She was about earlier.” She winked at me. “Have you looked under your sheets?”
I sank onto a stool beside her and let my head hang.
“Well, I can tell you’re in a fine fettle,” Dorothea said.
“I’m worn out.”
“Perhaps you need a tonic.”
“Perhaps.”
She chucked. “I’d rub your shoulders, but I don’t care to risk another beating.”
I sat mute and discouraged, and at length said, “I’m not physically fatigued. My weakness is purely spiritual.”
“I was having you on, referring to Jane taking after me with the broom the other morning.”
“Oh . . . right.”
She offered me the bunch of grapes and I took one.
“I think Richmond may be mad,” I said.
“Wouldn’t surprise me. We’re all a bit mad ’round here.”
“I wasn’t speaking in jest.”
“Nor was I. Living in Saint Nichol is enough to put a few twists in your noggin, and sharing your home with a ghostie . . .” She gave her head a violent shake. “Our ghostie has been at me all morning.”
“Christine?”
“If I’ve seen her once, I’ve seen her half a dozen times. She must have important business with someone.”
Richmond’s newest attractor, I thought. Doing its job.
“She’s not in a cheery mood,” Dorothea said.
“How do you mean? Was she wearing her chemise, all bloody?”
“No, but she wasn’t the least bit happy, even when I sang for her.”
I got to my feet, undecided whether or not to notify Richmond of this sudden increase in Christine’s manifestations.