by Amanda Quick
“Surely you are not taking any of this seriously.”
She pretended she had not heard that.
Another person rose to ask a question, a middle-aged woman this time. She wore deep mourning. A black net weeping veil concealed her features.
“Is the spirit of my husband, George, here?” she inquired, voice quavering. “If so, I want to ask him where he hid the stock shares. He’ll know the ones I mean. I’ve searched everywhere and I cannot find them. I must sell them. I am desperate. Indeed, I am in danger of losing the house.”
Everyone looked toward the stage.
Irene placed her fingertips on the planchette. There was another moment of stillness. Caroline expected the medium to announce that the departed George was not present. But to her astonishment, the planchette began to move beneath Irene’s fingertips, slowly at first and then with increasing speed.
The planchette stopped abruptly. With an air of exhaustion, Irene picked up the paper.
“Behind the mirror above the fireplace,” she read aloud.
“I am saved,” the middle-aged woman cried out. “How can I thank you, Mrs. Toller? You have my most sincere gratitude.”
“You must thank the spirit of your husband, madam,” Irene said. “I am merely the medium through which he communicated the information.”
“Thank you, George, wherever you are.” The woman bustled out of the row of chairs and hurried toward the exit. “Please excuse me. I must find those shares immediately.”
She dashed straight past Caroline, leaving a trace of lavender scent in the air, and disappeared around the curtain that blocked the light from the door.
“Now that was interesting,” Adam said.
Excitement bubbled in the darkened lecture room. Another man shot to his feet.
“If you please, Mrs. Toller, I have a question,” he called loudly. “If the spirit of Elizabeth Delmont is nearby, ask her to tell us who murdered her.”
There was a startled silence.
At the front of the room Irene flinched violently. Her mouth opened and then closed very quickly.
For the first time, Adam gave his full and undivided attention to the stage. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, and watched Mrs. Toller closely.
“I expect that she will claim that Mrs. Delmont’s spirit isn’t present,” Caroline murmured to Adam.
“I’m not so certain of that,” Adam replied. “Look. The planchette is moving.”
Caroline stared, astonished. Beneath Mrs. Toller’s fingers, the device drifted this way and that, drawing the tip of the pencil across a fresh sheet of paper.
Irene groaned. A visible shudder passed across her shoulders. She gave every appearance of struggling valiantly to keep herself erect in her chair.
When the planchette finally halted, no one moved.
Irene eased the device aside and picked up the paper. She gazed at the scrawled writing for a long time. Tension gripped the room.
Irene read the message in her new, raspy voice. “Elizabeth Delmont was a fraud. She angered the spirits with her false claims and tricks. The invisible hand of retribution reached out from beyond the grave to silence her.”
As if the final effort had been too much for her, Irene collapsed facedown on the table. Before anyone could move, the single lamp flared violently and then went out. The lecture hall was enveloped in thick darkness.
Someone shrieked. A hubbub ensued.
“Please remain calm. All is well. This often happens when Mrs. Toller finishes her demonstration. Séances exact a great toll on the medium’s nerves. I will have the lamp on in a minute.”
Caroline recognized the voice of the small man who had introduced Irene Toller.
The lights came up slowly, illuminating the stage.
Irene Toller and her planchette had disappeared.
SEVEN
“Enough of these theatrics.” Adam took a firm grip on Caroline’s arm and urged her to her feet. “Browning had the right of it in his piece ‘Mr. Sludge, the Medium.’ Anyone who claims to be able to summon spirits is a fraud.”
“I would remind you, sir, that Mr. Browning’s wife was very impressed by a séance conducted by the famous Mr. D. D. Home. Rumor has it that she was convinced that Home not only contacted the spirit world but that he actually caused manifestations to appear.”
“With all due respect to the incomparable Elizabeth Barrett Browning, I am certain that she was tricked by Home.” Adam steered her toward the door. “But I will admit that she was in excellent company. In his prime, Home managed to make fools of any number of people.”
To his great satisfaction, Caroline did not resist his effort to get her out of the lecture hall. But he had miscalculated badly in one regard, he discovered. The gently rounded shape and the enticing, resilient feel of her arm through the fabric of her sleeve proved unexpectedly distracting. He had to struggle against a sudden urge to tighten his hold and pull her closer. This was the first time he had actually touched her. He could not suppress the flicker of excitement that crackled through him.
She was warm and vivid in a tightly laced green gown trimmed with white at the neck and sleeves. The short train of the dress was gracefully hooked up to enable her to walk without sweeping the floor with the hem. The design exposed the toes of dainty shoes the same color as the gown. A large, delightfully frivolous green and gold velvet bow decorated the rear of the dress where the skirts had been drawn up and back into a small pouf. Her hair was twisted into an elegant coil. A tiny flower-trimmed hat was perched at a rakish angle over one eye.
She looked good enough to eat, he thought, and he was ravenously hungry.
He guided her along the corridor, intensely, almost painfully conscious of her femininity. The faint, enticing scent of her body mingled with the flowers and herbs of the soap she had used in her bath. The fragrance thrilled his senses. He reminded himself that he was too old, was too experienced and had seen too much of the dark, raw side of life to be so easily overwhelmed by a woman. But there it was. All indications were that he had been struck by lightning.
They made their way down the main hall of Wintersett House, past an office, a large reception room, more lecture halls and a library.
As far as Adam could determine, only the ground floor had been opened to the members of the Society of Psychical Investigations. The floors above were closed to the public.
The mansion was vast, bleak and quite ugly, in his opinion. It had been designed in the Gothic style with walls of heavy stone. The rooms were vaulted in the medieval manner. Very little sunlight penetrated the interior of the big house.
Just the sort of atmosphere the members of the Society no doubt thrived on, he thought.
When they reached the front hall, he saw two gentlemen engaged in serious conversation. The shorter of the two was a man of some forty or forty-five years of age. Although he was of less than average height, he was fashioned along solid, heavy lines, not unlike the mansion. He projected an intense, scholarly air with spectacles, whiskers, a receding hairline and a rumpled coat.
The short, bespectacled man was brandishing a photograph beneath the aristocratic nose of an elegant, well-dressed, rather bored-looking gentleman. The taller man was endowed with the sort of statue-perfect features that never failed to attract the eyes of the ladies. His jet-black hair was highlighted by a startling streak of silver.
“The tall, distinguished gentleman is Mr. Julian Elsworth,” Caroline whispered. “He is the most fashionable practitioner of psychical powers in London at the moment. He gives occasional public demonstrations here at Wintersett House, but most of his sittings are conducted in private homes in the most exclusive circles.”
She sounded far too enthusiastic about Elsworth, Adam decided.
“I’ve heard of him,” he allowed. “We’ve never been introduced.”
“A formal reception in his honor will be held here later this week,” she said. “It will be followed by a demonstration of h
is abilities. There is certain to be a very large crowd.”
“And the short gentleman?”
“That is Mr. Reed. He is the president of the Society for Psychical Investigations and the publisher of New Dawn.”
At that moment Elsworth glanced up from the photograph that Reed was holding in front of him. He gave Adam a brief, considering look. Then, evidently dismissing him as unimportant, he turned to Caroline with a dazzlingly bright smile.
“Mrs. Fordyce,” Elsworth said. “A pleasure to see you again.”
“Mr. Elsworth.” She gave him her gloved hand and then politely switched her attention to the shorter man. “Mr. Reed.”
She glanced speculatively at Adam. “Allow me to present Mr.—”
“Grove,” he said before she could decide what name to use. “Adam Grove.”
The two men nodded politely but it was clear that Caroline was the one who interested them.
Reed’s pale eyes were intense and serious behind the lenses of his eyeglasses. “Welcome back to Wintersett House. Have you returned to continue your literary research or have you finally decided to honor the Society with a demonstration of your own psychical powers?”
Adam tightened his grip on Caroline’s arm. Psychical powers? What the deuce was this about?
Unobtrusively, she tried to free herself. He realized he was holding on to her as if she were in danger of being swept away by some invisible force. He quickly loosened his hand, but he did not release her. For some reason, everything in him was screaming at him to keep her as close as possible.
Caroline smiled politely at Reed. “As I told you the other day, sir, the item in the press was incorrect regarding several of the particulars of my demonstration at the tea party.”
“But I spoke with Mrs. Hughes myself,” Reed insisted. “She was very impressed by what she witnessed that day.”
“Please believe me when I tell you that I do not possess any gifts that would be of interest to the researchers of the Society,” Caroline said.
Reed’s smile held a mix of understanding and approval. “Your natural delicacy of feeling becomes you, Mrs. Fordyce, but there is no need for alarm. I would not dream of putting you on a public stage. Rest assured that the tests would be conducted in private according to the strictest standards of science.”
“I must decline,” Caroline said firmly.
Elsworth raised his winged brows. “I fear you are being far too modest, madam. According to the piece in the paper you were evidently able to read the minds of several of the ladies who were fortunate enough to be present at Mrs. Hughes’s tea.”
“Unfortunately, I have nothing to demonstrate to the Society,” she said, more forcefully this time.
Reed nodded several times. “As you wish. I would not dream of trying to press you into doing something that would cause you discomfort.” He paused and lowered his voice. “I expect you heard the tragic news of Elizabeth Delmont’s death?”
“Shocking,” Caroline said.
“We here at the Society are all quite stunned.” Reed shook his head. “She was a medium of great talent.”
Elsworth glanced back toward the lecture hall where Irene Toller had given her demonstration. “Not everyone held that opinion.”
Adam’s interest in the conversation went up a notch. “Yes, we did gain that impression from Mrs. Toller a few minutes ago.”
Reed grimaced. “I’m afraid there was some professional rivalry between Mrs. Toller and Mrs. Delmont. Powerful mediums are often quite jealous of each other’s gifts.”
“She implied that dark forces from the Other Side were responsible for Mrs. Delmont’s death,” Caroline said neutrally.
Elsworth looked pained. “According to the sensation press there were some peculiar elements about the murder that will no doubt sell a great many copies of the papers.”
“What sort of elements?” Adam asked with what he was fairly certain sounded like idle curiosity.
Reed heaved a troubled sigh and lowered his voice. “There were reports that Delmont’s séance room was turned entirely upside down as though by some powerful supernatural force. Furniture scattered about like so much kindling.” He paused for effect. “They also noted that a mysterious pocket watch was found next to the body.”
“What is odd about a pocket watch?” Adam asked.
“According to the correspondent, the watch was broken,” Elsworth explained, “most likely at the time of the murder. The hands were stopped at twelve o’clock.” He smiled humorlessly. “Midnight is often viewed as a particularly significant hour in the world of psychical research, you know.”
“Some feel that it is the time of the night when the veil between this world and the Other Side is most easily breached,” Reed added with a somber, knowledgeable bob of his head. “It is all extremely disturbing.”
Caroline glanced at the picture in his hand. “I see you have a photograph.”
“Yes, indeed.” Reed brightened and held it up for her to view. “I was just showing it to Elsworth here.”
Caroline leaned closer for a better look. “It is very intriguing.”
Adam studied the picture over her shoulder. The subject was an attractive young lady seated on a straight-backed chair. An amorphous, ghostly image of another woman appeared to hover in the air behind the head of the sitter.
“It was taken by a member of the Society,” Reed explained enthusiastically. “The medium is apparently able to cause manifestations to appear.”
“The problem is that no one trusts spirit photographs any more.” Elsworth was clearly bored. “Too easily faked, I’m afraid.”
“Like so many things,” Adam said.
Caroline shot him a reproving glance. He pretended not to notice.
“Shall we go, my dear?” he asked. “It is getting late.”
“I am in no rush,” she said.
“You have evidently forgotten our appointment,” he added, maneuvering her toward the door.
For a moment he feared she would dig in her pretty heels but instead she made her good-byes to Reed and Elsworth.
Outside on the front steps of Wintersett House, Caroline paused to remove her dainty green parasol from the chatelaine that secured it to her waist and opened it with a snap.
“Really, Mr. Hardesty, there was no need to be rude. Mr. Reed is not only the president of the Society, he has done a great deal to promote serious, scientific psychical research.”
“Scientific psychical research? Now there’s a contradiction in terms if ever there was one.”
“And as for Mr. Elsworth, you should know that in some quarters he is considered to be the heir to the crown of D. D. Home. They say that like Home, he can actually levitate his body.”
“If you believe that, Mrs. Fordyce, may I suggest an interesting investment opportunity that has recently come to my attention? It involves a diamond mine in Wales. The stones are just lying about on the ground there, waiting to be scooped up by anyone with a bucket. You are bound to make a fortune.”
“That is not amusing, sir. For your information, Mr. Elsworth has been examined several times by psychical researchers and pronounced genuine. One investigator claims that both Mr. Home and Mr. Elsworth may have descended from werewolves and that is why they have such extraordinary powers.”
He looked at her, brows raised, and said not one word.
She had the grace to blush.
“Very well,” she said gruffly, “I’ll admit that particular thesis is rather unlikely. But I would remind you that Mr. Elsworth has something else in common with D. D. Home. His sitters have included the most exclusive people in London.”
“I have news for you, madam. It has been my experience that the exclusive sort are just as gullible as everyone else.”
“They say the queen herself requested a séance after Prince Albert died.”
“Yes, I have heard that gossip.” He guided her down the steps. “Unfortunately, grief-stricken people, no matter their rank, are no
toriously easy victims for those who would take advantage of them.”
“I do not know why I even bother to try to hold a logical discussion on psychical research with you. It is obvious that your skeptical opinion has been set in granite.”
“That is not true.” He angled her across the street toward his carriage, a dark, unadorned vehicle that could easily be mistaken for an anonymous cab. Because the vehicle did not draw attention on the street, he preferred to use it on the occasions when he elected not to walk to his destination. “As it happens I am very eager to discuss the psychical talents of one particular individual.”
“And who might that person be?” she asked, looking quite wary.
“Why, you, of course, Mrs. Fordyce. I cannot wait to hear all of the details concerning the demonstration of psychical powers that you gave at Mrs. Hughes’s tea.”
Durward Reed waited until the pair had disappeared through the front doors of Wintersett House before he turned back to his companion.
He did not care for Julian Elsworth. With his aristocratic airs, cold intelligence and strange psychical talents, the man made him nervous. There were times when he was convinced that Elsworth privately held him in contempt. But there was no denying that, with his entrée into Society, Elsworth had brought a great deal of important attention and credibility to Wintersett House.
“The more Mrs. Fordyce denies her own gifts, the more I am convinced that she does indeed possess them,” Durward mused aloud. “I must find a way to overcome her natural, entirely proper feminine qualms and convince her that she could make a tremendous contribution to the field of psychical research.”
Elsworth shrugged. “She makes her living as a writer, not a medium. If you want to gain her attention, I suggest you offer her a contract for one of her novels.”
Durward was briefly struck dumb by the cleverness of the suggestion.
“Good lord, man,” he said when he could find his voice, “that is a brilliant notion. If I published her next book in New Dawn, I could attract an enormous number of new readers and a great deal of attention to the field. I must give this some close thought.”