A New York Haunting: Pt. 05

Author's note:

Due to the mystery/suspense plot, the individual parts of this novel are unlikely to make sense as stand-alone reads. Please see note at the beginning of Part 1 for more information.

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Chapter 18. THE DUMBWAITER

D amn it! Where was the hole? Anders struggled to fasten his collar studs as he dressed for dinner with the Cornelissens. The bedchamber he had been provided was unsurprisingly outfitted with every luxury, including electricity; however, when he stood before the mirror, his body blocked the light from the ceiling fixture. He stepped aside to raise the wick of an oil lamp on a nearby table.

As the light brightened, it fully illuminated a painting affixed to the ornate, wood-paneled wall above. It was a portrait of a man in seventeenth century garments, his face haughty above a stiff, white neck ruff. With the man's reddish blonde hair and goatee, Anders wondered if he was an ancestor of Mrs. Cornelissen. On the wall next to the gold frame, he noticed a tiny porcelain knob resembling one that might be on a cabinet door. Curious as usual, he tugged on it.

The wood paneling swung open, painting and all. It was indeed a small, cabinet-sized door --- he now could see the cleverly concealed hinges. Inside the wall, he discovered a narrow, rectangular vertical space with two ropes disappearing into the darkness above and below. A dumbwaiter, of course. In the Fordyce mansion, Fulton and he had played with one when they were boys.

Anders was about to close the wood panel when he heard his name spoken by a muffled, nearby voice. His eyes swept the room behind him, then turned back to the dumbwaiter as the voice sounded again, emanating from within the dark shaft.

A moment later he identified the source: the dumbwaiter served two rooms. Directly across the shaft was a thin, rectangular rim of light from the incompletely closed door into the adjacent room --- which was Mrs. Cornelissen's sitting room, he recalled from his initial orientation to the second-floor hallway.

His first instinct to tactfully close the panel was delayed by his puzzlement over the next words, uttered in Mrs. Cornelissen's voice:

Mrs. Cornelissen: "Did you not say that Mr. Røkke was from Rochester?"

Dr. Schuller: "I did indeed, madam."

Mrs. Cornelissen: "The very same city that dreadful woman, Susan B. Anthony, calls home."

Dr. Schuller: "Of whom do you speak?"

Mrs. Cornelissen: "Forgive me, I forget sometimes you are not from America. Miss Anthony is an infamous zealot for women's suffrage and 'equal rights' for women and Negroes. With such nonsense, she and her associates mean to destroy the institution of marriage. I am fearful that Mr. Røkke will corrupt my niece with these fallacious theories."

Dr. Schuller: (chuckling) "Because he is from Rochester as well? My dear Mrs. Cornelissen, you are distressing yourself needlessly. Mr. Røkke is entirely engrossed in his medical studies --- why, last night in the billiards room, the conversation was almost exclusively about politics, and the young man merely listened politely, expressing no passion whatsoever for the subject. Moreover, his conversations with your niece have been strictly professional. I hardly think he will wake her tonight to expound upon women's rights."

Mrs. Cornelissen: "But, even without this young man, these discreditable forces assail us from all sides. Suffragists! 'New women'! Heaven save her from these vulgarians! I was shocked last year when Ondine voiced her desire to attend medical school. Fortunately, Warren and I nipped that in the bud. Warren wants to do right by his brother's daughter, but the responsibility of seeing her properly situated --- of guarding against these unseemly influences --- has fallen entirely to me."

Dr. Schuller: "You are the picture of patience, madam."

Mrs. Cornelissen: "I am at a loss to know how to reach her --- she scarcely speaks to me. Ever since she became our ward, she has been contrary --- earning low marks in finishing school, attempting to forgo her coming-out reception, then marrying Peter Van der Veen. I live in fear of what gaucherie she will commit next... what impropriety will be connected to the family. Indeed, I have recently heard most unsettling whispers of her having been seen riding her bicycle or walking alone in the park. But what can I do? I can hardly imprison the girl in the house."

Dr. Schuller: "Walking or cycling in the park alone is unusual, certainly, but I doubt it would cause the scandal you fear."

Mrs. Cornelissen: "Perhaps in Vienna, respectable women may parade unattended in public parks without occasioning remark, but in America it is most unseemly for a young unmarried woman to do so, especially one of my niece's social position. I suppose it may pass unnoticed for a shopgirl or a nurse --- if we allow that such persons can be considered respectable."

Dr. Schuller: "I defer to your judgment on that point, madam."

Mrs. Cornelissen: "Numerous times in recent weeks have I invited her to join us for more appropriate engagements such as shopping or social calls, but she always begs off, pronouncing herself too morose to be amiable company."

Dr. Schuller: (murmur)

Mrs. Cornelissen: "She needs to cease this indulgent moping. I do not fault her for adhering to the prescribed year of mourning --- certainly we do not wish to invite talk."

Dr. Schuller: "Naturally."

Mrs. Cornelissen: "But to continue beyond a year for a scurrilous man to whom she was wed fewer than three hours is excessive. Sometimes I wonder if she claims melancholia to escape her social obligations."

Dr. Schuller: "If she does, I would hesitate to ascribe it to a malicious bent. The girl truly is shy, and alas, was not blessed with the social ease that you and your lovely daughters enjoy."

Mrs. Cornelissen: "Dr. Schuller, even shy young ladies succeed in marrying --- and that is my only wish for her: to marry a suitable man and take her place in Society."

Dr. Schuller: "I do not believe she is willfully subverting your authority - I am convinced she has taken these dreams to heart --- that she truly believes she must never remarry. Her unconscious has cast her late husband as the author of the prohibition."

Mrs. Cornelissen: "Cannot you cure her of this delusion?"

Dr. Schuller: "Indeed, disabusing her of this misconception has become the primary goal of my treatment program. Which brings me to the issue I wished to discuss."

Mrs. Cornelissen: "That being?"

Dr. Schuller: "After several years of enjoying the Cornelissen family's esteemed friendship, I have recently discovered my feelings with respect to one member have unexpectedly evolved. In short, madam, I find myself in love with your niece. It is my fervent hope to present myself as a suitor for her hand once she is amenable to the idea of remarrying."

Mrs. Cornelissen: "My dear Dr. Schuller, this is excellent news! Warren and I will support your suit with enthusiasm. What a perfect match it would be! Financially and socially our families are in complete accord, ensuring that Ondine would live in the manner to which she is accustomed. And perhaps it is not too much to hope that you will tame her ungoverned habits."

Dr. Schuller: (short laugh) "Mrs. Cornelissen, you honor me with your approbation."

Mrs. Cornelissen: "Would Ondine acquire the title of Countess through this marriage?"

Dr. Schuller: "My elder brother is the functioning holder of the title --- mine is merely honorary. But yes, it would be her rightful title, at least in Austria. Has not America dispensed with such practices?"

Mrs. Cornelissen: "Formally, yes, but I doubt anyone here would dispute its use. It certainly lends a distinguished air."

Dr. Schuller: "A subject for further debate after the felicitous union, I dare say? The immediate problem, however, is that I cannot continue as her physician --- my feelings may conflict with what is best for her as a patient."

Mrs. Cornelissen: "But if her treatment is terminated prematurely, she may never agree to marry!

Dr. Schuller: "I concur wholeheartedly. For this reason, I have already investigated other physicians to whom she might transfer her care. Alas, there is no one in New York City I judge sufficiently qualified in the strict science of psychoanalysis. I have however identified a physician in Boston whom I would trust."

Mrs. Cornelissen: "Boston? How frequent do you expect her appointments would be?"

Dr. Schuller: "Once a week should suffice."

Mrs. Cornelissen: "This is supremely manageable. My cousin lives in Boston, and Ondine can stay with her overnight. We'll simply need to find someone to chaperone her on the train there and back. Perhaps my mother..."

Dr. Schuller: "Then, I shall proceed with the arrangements."

Mrs. Cornelissen: "I pray that her treatment is soon successful and that she comes to share your feelings. It will indeed be a relief to cede the worries of my guardianship to her husband."

Dr. Schuller: "After several sessions of stubborn resistance, her recent confidences concerning these disturbing dreams have given me cause to feel encouraged about her growing regard for me. (Rueful chuckle) But perhaps hope has distorted my judgment --- being twice her age, I may simply represent a fatherly figure to her."

Mrs. Cornelissen: (scoffing sound) "Such an age disparity is nothing among Society families here. Your maturity can only be considered an advantage compared to brashness of the late Peter Van der Veen."

Dr. Schuller: "God grant your niece comes to hold your opinion, madam."

Mrs. Cornelissen: "I shall apprise my husband of our conversation. Ah --- look at the time! The dinner hour rapidly approaches --- I must excuse myself to dress."

Such was the chaos in Anders' mind, he was unconscious of closing the dumbwaiter door and staring at the portrait of the ginger-haired cavalier.

Dr. Schuller professed himself in love with Ondine --- and the Cornelissens were eagerly promoting his suit for the girl's hand!

A bitter knot formed in Anders' throat, and his hands curled into fists.

A moment later, he collected himself and resumed dressing for dinner, his fingers by rote fastening the collar and tying his bowtie even as his thoughts churned. He could not account for this feeling of anger --- anger towards Dr. Schuller, who had been nothing but collegial and generous towards him. He confronted his agitated gaze in the mirror.

Very well --- he would own it --- he was jealous.

In violation of every sense of honor and professional conduct, he was enamored with a patient --- Ondine Van der Veen --- and he knew not how to contend with the turmoil of this truth.

For the first time in his life, here was a quandary he could not resolve by visiting the library, drawing a diagram or equation, or memorizing a list. He was alternately struggling with his conscience and losing himself in amorous musings about her. But the only thought he had given to a concrete plan for pursuing her was to dismiss the notion out of hand --- even if she were not a patient. Firstly, apart from his saved tuition funds, he was essentially a pauper. Secondly, among people who valued pedigree above all else, he was a nobody.

How he yearned to throw aside all the artifices of society, class, and etiquette and simply be with the girl in a paradise of primal senses and urges --- male and female, naked! Hope for his feelings to be requited hovered below the surface in all his interactions with her.

But to what end? Even if she shared his sentiment, the dictates of Society forbade them from acting upon the attraction... forbade any connection between them. The situation was hopeless.

Some semblance of composure eventually reestablished, Anders headed for the dining room. In the hallway, he encountered Dr. Schuller and quelled an immediate jealous surge as they fell into step together.

The doctor greeted him cordially. "Good evening, Mr. Røkke. I trust you had a pleasant afternoon?"

"Yes sir. Thank you." Anders surreptitiously eyed his unknowing rival. With his warm brown eyes, intelligent face, well-groomed sideburns, and dignified figure, he could see that most women would consider the doctor handsome. The man evidently had wealth independent of his medical practice, and moreover had something Anders could never acquire --- even if someday in the future he were to earn a respectable income from a surgical practice --- that something being a noble title.

"Are you prepared for another night on watch?" asked the psychoanalyst.

"I am." He hesitated before his next words. "What will happen if we observe no symptoms of a nightmare, but the patient again reports an encounter? Will she be committed to an asylum?"

Schuller blinked. "My God, I hope it doesn't come to that. Anticipating another unremarkable night of observation, I am planning to advise her to seek the opinion of another physician. Perhaps a fresh analysis of the case will be of benefit."

Despite his newfound jealousy of the doctor, Anders had to credit the man with doing the honorable thing in removing himself from the untenable position of guiding her medical care.

That evening at dinner, the Cornelissens were again hosting --- a dozen richly-garbed guests whose names and connections to the family were a blur to him. With an envious twinge, he noted Ondine and Dr. Schuller seated next to each other at one end of the table --- a placement no doubt orchestrated by her aunt. His own seat was at the opposite end, but same side of the table, precluding any casual view of the couple.

Mrs. Cornelissen's seat was nearby, heightening Anders' discomfort. Having overheard the evidence of her dubious regard of him, he exerted himself to demonstrate an extreme of correctness and courtesy throughout dinner. He had never knowingly inspired animosity in anyone, and the perplexing explanation for hers left him confused --- because he was from Rochester? Could this be an example of Freud's concept of displacement, but in the waking world? Perhaps she was frustrated at something or someone else --- her niece, her husband, her dressmaker, suffragists, the intrusion of societal change into her previously secure realm?

No hint of dislike was presently detectable in the elegant lady's manner towards him --- at least none he could identify under the veneer of perfect civility. He hoped Dr. Schuller's words had dispelled her concern about him

After dinner, the company withdrew --- the ladies to the drawing room and the gentlemen to the billiards room. Filing into the hall, Ondine was directly in front of him, and his eyes lingered upon her pale, tender nape where wisps of dark hair had escaped her piled-up coiffure.

While the other gentlemen occupied themselves with conversation, cigars, and brandy, Anders discreetly requested coffee of a servant. As he imbibed, he repeatedly eyed Dr. Schuller from across the room, his agitation redoubling with the advancing hour... and the looming prospect of his rival being alone with the shared subject of their fascination.

What if the man took liberties with her? Anders inwardly shook his head, forced to acknowledge that Schuller was a gentleman who had so far behaved in an honorable fashion towards the girl. Moreover, the doctor would scarcely commit some impropriety that would jeopardize his evidently earnest courtship. Nevertheless, Anders could not help begrudging the man any moment of time in Ondine's presence.

Chapter 19. THE GHOST

Between his perturbed thoughts and the coffee, Anders was unable to sleep before his observation shift. He abandoned an attempt to work on the article in favor of pacing up and down in his guest bedchamber and monitoring the clock. By-and-by, he changed from his tuxedo suit into his regular suit, collected his reading material, and traversed the silent hallway to wait outside Ondine's door.

At 3 am, Dr. Schuller emerged, his finger marking a place in his closed book and his attire perfectly correct. "Another uneventful shift," he commented.

Anders nodded. Stepping inside, he paused to allow his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting as he jealously scanned the room for any evidence of misdeeds --- but he found none. Everything was as proper and peaceful as when he had entered last night --- the bedcovers smoothly covered the sleeper with no obvious sign of disruption, and the seat cushion of the armchair was yet warm from its recent occupancy. The only difference was the bedside lamp wick being turned slightly higher to shed more light upon the subject.

Ondine lay asleep, curled on her side, facing him, her face illumined by the golden lamplight. Anders indulged his desirous gaze for several moments, his eyes lingering upon the shadowed opening between her parted lips. His own lips opened with a slow sigh, then pressed together in a rueful line.

As on the previous night, he soundlessly rotated the chair to face the side of the bed before taking a seat. Extracting his pocket watch, he laid it upon the upholstered arm and wrote down the present time in his notebook. His attention shifted to the draft of the article. Some five minutes later, he again jotted down the time. Now he rose to his feet and began silently pacing to and fro in the chamber. To himself, he said: It's 3:15, my name is Anders Røkke, and I am observing the patient, Ondine Van der Veen.

By God, he would not fall asleep tonight!

After several minutes of walking, he returned to the chair and again made a note of the time. In this manner he continued --- approximately every five minutes writing down the time and alternating between sitting and pacing as he pinched himself and recited various facts to prove he was awake --- not that he felt in the least bit drowsy. He pushed aside the heavy drapes to confirm the windows were closed and latched, then straightened the metal screen in front of the low, crackling fire. From the adjacent stack of firewood, he pried off a three-inch long splinter and propped it upright on the hearth, leaning it against the screen.

The column of jotted times lengthened along the edge of his notebook page as Ondine slept serenely on, at one point rolling with a soft sigh so that she lay upon her back.

At 4:20, Anders returned to the chair, marked the time, and turned a page in his notebook.

And then it happened.

The icy draft coursed through the room and the fire went out. His muscles surged to bolt towards Ondine, but again too late --- as before, he was instantly paralyzed in the chair. The silk hangings on the bed canopy stirred with the approaching presence, setting Anders' skin crawling as the sulfurous fumes invaded his nostrils.

A scream was trapped in his voice box. He was awake! He was not dreaming! If he were dreaming, he should be able to wake himself!

Helpless, he could only watch as the bedcovers flipped back as if of their own accord, uncovering the sleeping girl in her white nightgown. But it was not sleep, was it? Eyes again closed in a trance state, Ondine lay powerless under the ghost's lecherous will. Tonight however, no knee indentations appeared on the mattress --- instead, her head and shoulders rose from the pillow, and her knees drew up. The next moment, her body was completely suspended in the air above the mattress, held aloft in the invisible arms with her head lolling back and her bare feet partially overlapping.