naming Sarah’s next-door neighbor. “You’ll like that, won’t you?”
Catherine shook her head in misery, big tears rolling down her cheeks as Sarah forced herself to turn away and take her leave.
The Deckers’ coachman was holding the door for Sarah, and she climbed inside to find her mother looking pale and drawn.
“Mother, are you ill?” Sarah asked in alarm. “We don’t have to do this if—”
“No, no, I’m not ill. I just couldn’t sleep a wink last night for thinking about Maggie. What if she appears? Oh, Sarah, I don’t think I could bear seeing her again.”
“She’s not going to appear!” Sarah exclaimed, horrified. “There’s no such thing as ghosts. You taught me that yourself.”
“Sometimes there are . . . apparitions at these events,” Mrs. Decker said as if she hadn’t heard. “My friend Mrs. Burke told me.”
From what Maeve had said last night, Sarah felt reasonably certain that any apparitions that appeared would be staged by the spiritualist, and her mother wasn’t likely to see an apparition on her very first visit in any case. She’d have to return several times and pay a large amount of money for such a dramatic display. “Has Mrs. Burke actually seen an apparition?”
“No, not herself,” Mrs. Decker admitted reluctantly. “But she’s heard about it from others. I don’t think I could bear it.”
“Then perhaps we shouldn’t go at all,” Sarah suggested gently.
Sarah could see that her mother’s gloved hands were clenched tightly in her lap, and she really did look as if she might be ill. “I have to go,” she said after a moment. “I’ve got to try, or I’ll never have any peace.”
Sarah sank back against the seat cushions, resigned to enduring whatever the next few hours might bring.
The trip didn’t take long, or at least not long enough for Sarah. If she’d been called to deliver a baby on Waverly Place, just off Washington Square, she would have walked from her house on Bank Street and counted herself lucky she had a delivery so close to home. Women like her mother didn’t walk around the city, however, even though it took longer for the carriage to navigate the heavy traffic than it would have taken Sarah on foot.
The streets in this part of the city were quiet and well kept, inhabited by respectable people who worked hard and took pride in their accomplishments. Maeve would no doubt approve of this location for a spiritualist who wanted to attract a clientele with financial resources.
When the coach finally stopped in front of one of the long row of identical town houses, Sarah looked at her mother one last time. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
Her mother refused to meet her eye, but she nodded with just a hint of her normal determination. When the coachman opened the door, Mrs. Decker drew a deep breath before taking his offered hand and climbing out. Sarah followed her across the sidewalk, into the tiny, gated yard and up the small stoop and waited while her mother rang the bell. After a few moments, a well-dressed gentleman with carefully pomaded hair answered the door.
“You must be Mrs. Decker,” he said in a deep, reassuring voice. “I am Professor Rogers. Please come in. Your friend Mrs. Burke is already here.” He stepped back to allow Mrs. Decker to enter, and only then did he notice Sarah. “Is this lady your guest?” he asked with just the slightest hint of disapproval.
Her mother had heard the disapproval, too. Although Sarah couldn’t see her face, she saw the slight stiffening of her mother’s spine as she squared her shoulders in silent resistance, in case the man intended to deny Sarah entrance. “Yes, my daughter, Mrs. Brandt.” No one could mistake the tiny thread of steel that ran through the words. Every trace of the uncertainty Mrs. Decker had felt mere moments ago was gone.
The gentleman was suddenly uncertain. “Madame Serafina was not expecting two new clients today.”
“Then perhaps you