Story snippet: Madame Ludmilla Dobronski
The first time she saw him. A tall, distinguished-looking man in the prime of life, he was standing in Mrs. Scott's front drawing room. She and Sam had just been welcomed in, she didn't even have her coat off, but there he was, frowning at the table in the middle of the room.
Mrs. Scott was welcoming them, profusely thanking her for agreeing to the session, but the entire time, she was aware of him, now standing at the entrance to the room, watching, one eyebrow lifted in amused speculation.
She hated him immediately. For the eyebrow lift if nothing else.
Mrs. Scott noticed her distraction and, turning, spotted him. She started to speak, but he raised his voice, striding forward, hand extended. "John Smith," he said forcefully. Not his name. "And you are Madame Dobranski, of course."
Sam pushed forward, taking the outstretched hand and shaking it up and down vigourously. "Sam Poppins the name. I'm Madame's manager. Mighty fine to meet you."
'John Smith' grimaced and extracted his hand, turning again toward her. He took her hand and bowed over it, European style, saying, "Madame Ludmilla Dobranski?" She inclined her head in gracious agreement. Still holding her hand, he rose and asked, in Russian, "How long have you lived in our fair country."
She smiled, a small polite rictus, pulling her hand free. He began to smirk, looking smug, until she replied, in the same language, "My parents brought me here as a small child, twenty years ago." The change of expression was worth the wait and she wanted to laugh, though she was too much of professional to allow any hint of amusement to show. She might have begun life as plain Milly Jones in Hackleburg, Alabama but Sam was born Stanislav Popov in Kiev. No snooty society type was going to trip her up that way. To drive the point home, she added in Polish, "From Poland, where I was born."
Looking disgruntled, he allowed Mrs. Scott to lead her away to meet the other guests.
There were five in all, a small gathering. She wasn't really sure why she was there. Mrs. Scott was a fairly recent client, one who confused psychic advisor with medium. She wasn't really interested in having her cards read or stars charted, she claimed she wanted to contact her departed husband. Perhaps she did, but Milly didn't see it. After ten years in the business, she could read a mark with the best of them and Mrs. Scott didn't scan.
Unfortunately, Sam had overheard them talking and dollar signs had blinded him to any argument she made. And so, there they were, a little after eleven, setting down around the table in the front parlour of Mrs. Scott's fine home.
A solid, heavy table, Milly was amused to see. She noticed other things as well; the film camera that was almost hidden behind a screen in the corner, the tape recorder on the shelf behind where she was to sit, and the way that 'John Smith' was hovering near her. She hid a smile at that, the one he should be wary of was Sam, but her amusement faded when she recognized that Sam was being shadowed as well.
Under cover of helping her to her seat, Sam leaned forward and whispered, "I should have listened to you, Lyubya. It's a set-up."
She smiled up at him, patting his hand as she replied, "I know. Don't worry, Sammy, all will be well, all will be well." Together they finished, "All manner of things will be well."
'John Smith', taking the seat beside her, overheard at least that part. He cleared his throat, giving her a puzzled look. She smiled beatifically back then expanded her gaze to pull in all at the table.
"Will you now all take hands, so we may begin?" She nodded to Sam and he put the record on the player she had insisted on bringing before taking his own seat beside her.
'John Smith' frowned again and Milly had the delighted feeling that she discommoded him by not following the script he'd obviously expected. Mrs. Scott was the one to blurt out what he was thinking. "Should I turn down the lights, Madame?"
"That will not be necessary, Mrs. Scott. Just hold hands and listen to the music." Russian balalaika music. Milly closed her eyes and listened with every enjoyment. After a moment, she began to speak.
"I do not understand why you think for me to speak to your husband, Mrs. Scott ... " she paused. Sam, thinking she'd choked, squeezed her hand, prompting her to continue. He'd discovered that, far from being dead, Mr. Gregory William Scott was alive and well and living as a bigamist in Lexington. That was Sam's talent, finding things out. Milly's talent was ... something different and that was activating now.
"Your husband has passed beyond my reach, he is at peace. But there is another ... Professor Wynnham-Smythe, your sister ..." He jerked his hand free, standing abruptly.
"Leave my sister out of your ... chicanery!"
Milly looked up at him with solemn eyes, "She forgives you."
He flinched. "I told you ... leave Jane out of this!" He strode out of the room, Milly watched him go, then turned back to Mrs. Scott.
"Shall I continue?"
Mrs. Scott was welcoming them, profusely thanking her for agreeing to the session, but the entire time, she was aware of him, now standing at the entrance to the room, watching, one eyebrow lifted in amused speculation.
She hated him immediately. For the eyebrow lift if nothing else.
Mrs. Scott noticed her distraction and, turning, spotted him. She started to speak, but he raised his voice, striding forward, hand extended. "John Smith," he said forcefully. Not his name. "And you are Madame Dobranski, of course."
Sam pushed forward, taking the outstretched hand and shaking it up and down vigourously. "Sam Poppins the name. I'm Madame's manager. Mighty fine to meet you."
'John Smith' grimaced and extracted his hand, turning again toward her. He took her hand and bowed over it, European style, saying, "Madame Ludmilla Dobranski?" She inclined her head in gracious agreement. Still holding her hand, he rose and asked, in Russian, "How long have you lived in our fair country."
She smiled, a small polite rictus, pulling her hand free. He began to smirk, looking smug, until she replied, in the same language, "My parents brought me here as a small child, twenty years ago." The change of expression was worth the wait and she wanted to laugh, though she was too much of professional to allow any hint of amusement to show. She might have begun life as plain Milly Jones in Hackleburg, Alabama but Sam was born Stanislav Popov in Kiev. No snooty society type was going to trip her up that way. To drive the point home, she added in Polish, "From Poland, where I was born."
Looking disgruntled, he allowed Mrs. Scott to lead her away to meet the other guests.
There were five in all, a small gathering. She wasn't really sure why she was there. Mrs. Scott was a fairly recent client, one who confused psychic advisor with medium. She wasn't really interested in having her cards read or stars charted, she claimed she wanted to contact her departed husband. Perhaps she did, but Milly didn't see it. After ten years in the business, she could read a mark with the best of them and Mrs. Scott didn't scan.
Unfortunately, Sam had overheard them talking and dollar signs had blinded him to any argument she made. And so, there they were, a little after eleven, setting down around the table in the front parlour of Mrs. Scott's fine home.
A solid, heavy table, Milly was amused to see. She noticed other things as well; the film camera that was almost hidden behind a screen in the corner, the tape recorder on the shelf behind where she was to sit, and the way that 'John Smith' was hovering near her. She hid a smile at that, the one he should be wary of was Sam, but her amusement faded when she recognized that Sam was being shadowed as well.
Under cover of helping her to her seat, Sam leaned forward and whispered, "I should have listened to you, Lyubya. It's a set-up."
She smiled up at him, patting his hand as she replied, "I know. Don't worry, Sammy, all will be well, all will be well." Together they finished, "All manner of things will be well."
'John Smith', taking the seat beside her, overheard at least that part. He cleared his throat, giving her a puzzled look. She smiled beatifically back then expanded her gaze to pull in all at the table.
"Will you now all take hands, so we may begin?" She nodded to Sam and he put the record on the player she had insisted on bringing before taking his own seat beside her.
'John Smith' frowned again and Milly had the delighted feeling that she discommoded him by not following the script he'd obviously expected. Mrs. Scott was the one to blurt out what he was thinking. "Should I turn down the lights, Madame?"
"That will not be necessary, Mrs. Scott. Just hold hands and listen to the music." Russian balalaika music. Milly closed her eyes and listened with every enjoyment. After a moment, she began to speak.
"I do not understand why you think for me to speak to your husband, Mrs. Scott ... " she paused. Sam, thinking she'd choked, squeezed her hand, prompting her to continue. He'd discovered that, far from being dead, Mr. Gregory William Scott was alive and well and living as a bigamist in Lexington. That was Sam's talent, finding things out. Milly's talent was ... something different and that was activating now.
"Your husband has passed beyond my reach, he is at peace. But there is another ... Professor Wynnham-Smythe, your sister ..." He jerked his hand free, standing abruptly.
"Leave my sister out of your ... chicanery!"
Milly looked up at him with solemn eyes, "She forgives you."
He flinched. "I told you ... leave Jane out of this!" He strode out of the room, Milly watched him go, then turned back to Mrs. Scott.
"Shall I continue?"