She laid her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.”
Cole gave her a small smile and rested his hand over hers. His skin was dry and warm but the most shocking thing was the tingle his touch sent up her arm and seemingly, to her loins. She suddenly felt the need to fidget but was wary of pulling away since, as unknown as these sensation were, they were very pleasurable.
“Cole,” his name was little more than a breathy sigh on her lips. Lips upon which his gaze seemed to be lingering.
Time seemed to slow for a long moment and Thea felt herself leaning towards Cole, almost a magnetic attraction.
The spell was dramatically broken by the dinner gong, and Black announcing, “Dinner is served.”
They both stayed where they were for a moment, Thea needing some time to collect herself.
“I’m sorry if I upset you,” Cole said, squeezing the hand he still held.
“No, no…” She looked around to check no one was within ear shot, then lowered her voice. “Is what you told me real?”
“No, my mother died while we were visiting one of my older sisters, and I was with her until the end. I’m sorry if I upset you. What happened afterwards however, when I touched your hand, that, whatever it was, was very real.”
Thea smiled.
Black coughed discreetly and they realised that the last couple was disappearing through the door.
“We appear to be tardy,” he said, trying hard to suppress a smile.
Thea’s cheeks turned a rosy shade of pink and she looked away, seemingly embarrassed. “Yes. Yes, we should go.”
The dinner itself was uneventful, with Mr Platt being asked a lot about Madam Davina but asking little himself. Still, Thea noticed a few personal details being unwittingly dropped during conversation, such as Mr Cole Sr. being known as Beau, as well as him feeling under the weather and not attending the dinner.
Mr Platt excused himself as soon as dinner had ended, and those who wished to attend the séance made their way into the blue parlour. Mr Platt had clearly been busy while Madam Davina rested, and the table had been covered in a black cloth (which Thea tried to look under but she was unable to see very much).
Locke Abbey hadn’t updated with gas-lighting, and so each room had at least one crystal chandelier suspended from the ceiling, the crystals magnifying the candle light and dispersing the light throughout the rooms. Tonight however, only three, five branch candelabra lit the room, making it rather darker than the dining room had been, despite the room being smaller. Even the shutters had been closed, so the meagre moonlight couldn’t help illuminate things.
Although it was summer time, the house was so old and draughty that small fires were still lit in the occupied rooms, but not in here, making it especially cool since this room was east facing, and hadn’t had any direct sunlight for hours.
The lack of light and cool temperature were no doubt intended to add to the spooky atmosphere. Mr Platt had prepared well.
A trunk was also in here, although it was closed. Thea approached, intending to open it and see what was inside, but a calming hand by her father, halted her actions.
“Not now,” he whispered. “Play along for the time being.”
She nodded her understanding.
After a few minutes of hushed chatter between the guests, the door opened and Mr Platt entered, with Madame Davina on his arm.
“Good evening,” she said in her thick accent.
Silence descended over the guests.
Madam was wearing a black, long sleeved dress, her shoulders covered with a long yet thin, black, embroidered cloak, with a black lining. Thea immediately wondered what the cloak was concealing.
Madam left Platt and sat at the end of the table, pulling her chair in close and adjusting her skirts, while Platt took a hold of a single candlestick and black candle.
“Be seated,” Madam told them, and everyone, somewhat reluctantly at first, sat down.
Platt lit the single candle from one of the candelabra and placed it in front of madam, then he stood a few paces behind her.
The candle light cast her features in an eerie, flickering glow.
“The spirits are restless this evening.” Madam announced. “They have much to say.”
“What do they want to tell us?” Mrs Cole asked. “Is Mr Lanning there?”
“We shall see. Hand me the chalk boards.”
Philip rushed to do her bidding, passing her two slates, of the kind children in a school might use. She held both boards up, turning them front to back so everyone could see that they were blank.
“If the spirits have a message, they will write on here.” She placed the boards together and laid them on the table in front of her.
“We must form a circle,” Madam explained. “Everyone reach out with your left hand and grasp the right wrist of the person beside you. Whatever happens, do not break the circle.”
Cole was sitting to Thea’s left and she gripped his wrist. Once again the strange feelings flooded her but she didn’t look at him this time, knowing it would break her concentration. She focused instead on the feel of her father’s hand as he held her wrist; his hands were warm. His hands were almost always warm and that small constant helped to relax her.
Madam Davina lowered her head and began to chant in some strange unknown language; her voice was deep and throaty.
Thea listened closely, having studied many languages in her time, both modern and dead, but this seemed like nonsense. No doubt many believed she was speaking in tongues, or some other balderdash explanation. All languages had patterns however, and Thea could detect no more patterns here, than in the babbling of an infant before it learned speech.
Madam’s voice rose and fell but nothing much else happened. As Thea was growing bored of the display, Madam raised her head.
“The spirits are unsure of your belief,” she said. “They demand a sacrifice before continuing.”
“Sacrifice!” Many woman, and a few men, gasped. There was much clutching at pearls and chests.
“No killing,” Madam Davina exclaimed. “There has been enough killing. The sacrifice of anything that holds value will do.”
“Such as?” Mrs Dale asked.
“Coins, jewellery, anything with value.”
“All right, I’ll play,” Cole said softly, so only she could hear. “Mr Black, would you be so kind as to have someone fetch a purse? There should be one in my greatcoat.”
The butler nodded and left the room momentarily. Madam fussed with her skirts as they waited and a few hushed whispers passed between people at the table. Faster than she thought possible, a younger servant returned and handed Cole his coin purse.
“How much, Madam Davina?” Cole asked.
“I cannot say, the spirits tell me.”
There was less than two pounds in the purse, so he passed it along the table. “Take as much as they require.”
“You are very kind sir.” Madam Davina took a half sovereign from the purse and balanced it on the tips of her first two fingers and thumb of her right hand. She began chanting in the strange language again and passed her left hand over and around the other.
Suddenly she clicked the fingers of her left hand and the coin disappeared. She repeated the process with two crowns and a half shilling. The second half shilling she placed on her fingertips remained once she clicked her fingers however, and she returned the coin to the purse.
“The spirits are appeased,” she told him. “Form a circle again by taking the wrist of the person to your left.”
“One pound, two shillings and six pence,” Thea whispered. “Expensive ghosts.”
Cole gave a small smile in reply.
Madam began chanting again and Thea suddenly sat up straight as she felt a cold breeze on her legs. Judging from the reactions around her, evidently she wasn’t the only one to feel the draught. The men and women immediately around her shared looks, asking where the cool air had come from. Thea would put good money on there being some sort
of bellow between Madam’s knees.
Madam suddenly stopped chanting.
“The spirits have answered,” she said, lifting the top slate up, towards the others so she could not see what was written there.
“He killed me!” Selena gasped. “That’s what she said, that night, isn’t it? He killed me?” The hysteria in her voice seemed genuine but Thea would ask her father and Cole’s opinions later.
“She did,” Lord Grady agreed.
Mr Garwood was looking rather ashen and his voice was thick when he asked, “Who? Who killed her?”
“The spirits are often unclear,” madam explained. “They try their best but they are in another reality now, on God’s spiritual plane, and they do not always hear or understand what we are asking. We will try again however.”
She passed the slate to her companion, who rubbed the chalk off, Thea watching him closely as he did so. When he passed it back, Madam showed both sides of both boards to the table, then placed them together before her again.
Disappearing coins, magic writing on an untouched slate, a slate that chalk had not been near, as far as she could tell; Thea was impressed and perhaps, a touch unnerved.
“Do the spirits requite another sacrifice?” Cole asked.
“They will tell me if they do. Form a circle.”
Everyone did as they were bid and Madam began chanting in her made up language. The breeze was felt again, although it caused slightly less upset this time.
“It’s the spirits,” Mrs Dale whispered.
Thea expected Madam to chastise her but she didn’t, she simply raised her head and smiled. “The spirits make their presence known in different ways. What did you feel?”
“A chill, on my ankles.”
“Cold is often associated with spirits. Let us see if they have left us a message.” She lifted the top slate as she had before.
“Don’t trust him!” Selena seemed close to tears.
“Who? Don’t trust who?” Eliza Buchan asked. She was young, not yet twenty, and enjoying this immensely.
“Whoever killed her,” her cousin, Peter Buchan answered, as if it were obvious.
“Yes, but who is that?”
“Please be calm,” Madam interrupted. “The spirits are easily frightened away.”
“How can we find out who she is talking about?” Lord Reynolds asked.
“I can try to channel her spirit,” Madam Davina said. “It is very taxing and will require complete silence and darkness.”
Platt took a candle snuffer and extinguished the candle flames, until only the solitary, black candle before Madam Davina was still aglow. Returning to her side, he placed a box of matches on the table before her.
“Once the circle is formed, it must not be broken, for any reason. Anyone who does not wish to take part must leave now, with Mr Platt. If any of you are weak hearted, I beg you, leave now.”
Platt opened the door and stood there for a moment, waiting to see if anyone would join him. When no one moved, he closed the door.
“Form a circle,” Madam instructed. Once their hands were joined, she leaned forward and blew the final candle out, plunging the room into darkness. “Now then-”
Madam Davina sneezed.
“Oh, excuse me, I need my handkerchief.” She sniffed. “Is the circle whole?”
After a moment, a few voices muttered, “yes.”
“Then let us begin.”
This time, Madam hummed, a low pitch and fairly quiet so it could continue for a long while until she needed to breathe again.
As Thea sat there, she could feel the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end and an involuntary shiver ran through her. Cole turned his hand over, palm up, so instead of holding his wrist, she was holding his hand. His thumb began to gently rub her hand, soothing her. She squeezed his hand in silent thanks.
Suddenly there was a noise from behind Thea, soft, hardly noticeable under normal circumstances, but unavoidable in the absolute silence. The humming abruptly ceased.
“They are here,” someone whispered, but Thea didn’t recognise the voice.
Another small noise came, from a different direction. The humming began again and the breeze from under the table returned, but Thea didn’t feel it with the same force as she did before. Others at the table were gasping however.
“Something touched my hair!”
“Oh!”
“Stop!”
“What was that?”
Thea wasn’t sure who was speaking, nor could she tell the direction the voices came from; the darkness had thoroughly disoriented her.
“I’m here,” a soft and feminine voice said.
“What? Who is here? Who is that?” asked a man, possibly Lord Grady.
“It’s me, Mary. Tell them I’m sorry, tell my family I’m sorry, please. Tell them I’m safe, I’m happy and I’m watching over-”
The voice cut off and there was more breeze felt under the table.
“There it is again!”
“Has she gone? Mary, who hurt you? Can you tell us?” The voice sounded like Emily Small.
The humming resumed, then more small noises.
“Son? Son, are you there?” A woman’s voice again, this time with an aristocratic accent.
No one answered.
“Cole, my Cole!”
“I’m here,” Cole answered from beside Thea. She gripped his hand harder, wondering which guest had called for him.
“I forgive you, my wonderful son. I love you, I always have and I always will.”
That answered that, Madam Davina was impersonating the late Mrs Cole.
All the fear that Thea had felt building up inside her was suddenly overwhelmed by anger. How dare she play on the death of his mother to give her parlour tricks credence! How dare she toy with his grief and emotions!
At that moment, it didn’t matter that Madam Davina had fallen for their trick, all that mattered was how little regard she had for his feelings.
Her right hand was balled into a fist, although her father had moved his hand from her wrist and enclosed her fist in his hand. Her left hand was squeezing Cole’s, almost to the point of pain.
“Hush,” Cole whispered, to her. “Relax.”
His thumb kept rubbing her hand but she could take no comfort in the gesture. Rage was clouding her judgement and only a tiny shard of clarity kept her from launching herself at the mystic. She couldn’t just attack the woman, she had to attack her methods and prove her a fraud.
The psychic had clearly taken his soothing words as acceptance of the apology.
“Thank you, my son.”
Silence reigned for a few moments; the only sound Thea could hear was the blood pumping in her ears.
Then there came a high pitched shriek.
Chairs scraped the floor as people moved back, frightened by such a primal scream.
“She is gone, she is gone,” came Madam’s soft words. “You may break the circle. Call Philip, please, I need him.”
The door was visible only by a thin, weak line of light from under it so although disoriented, one of the gentlemen made his way there and opened it, calling for Mr Platt, who rushed into the room and to Madam Davina’s side.
“Are you all right?” he asked, kneeling beside her.
She didn’t reply so using the weak light from the doorway, he reached for the matches and lit the black candle, then handed them to another gentleman to light the rest of the candles.
Her chair had been pushed back from the table and Philip now crouched beside her. She raised her head and a line of blood ran from her nose.
“Oh!” “She’s hurt!” Startled cries came from various people.
One gentleman handed her his handkerchief, which she pressed to her nose. Whisky was produced from somewhere and while holding the white cloth to her nose, she gulped a few mouthfuls down in a most unladylike manner.
“I must get her upstairs to rest,” Platt urged.
“No,” she put the hand ho
lding the handkerchief on his shoulder to stop him. “I must explain.”
“I’ll explain,” he assured her.
After a brief hesitation, Madam wearily nodded her acceptance of his offer, so he stood up, while she pressed the white cotton against her nose again.
“Madame Davina has little control over who takes possession of her voice. The encounters however, take a great toll on her body. If she was unable to contact who you wanted to speak to, she will try again but she must recuperate for at least a day first.”
Thea, Cole and her father were the only ones still sitting at the table, primarily because Thea wouldn’t relinquish her hold on their hands.
“As nice as holding your hand is, Thea, I fear my bones shall be powder if you do not relinquish your hold soon.”
She looked down, only noticing at Cole’s gentle teasing. She abruptly withdrew her hands, as if scalded by something hot.
“I’m sorry.”
“No apology necessary,” he assured her.
Spotting an opportunity to disprove one trick, Thea urged her father to get the handkerchief from the mystic.
***
Cole watched as Lord Copley approached the mystic. Under the guise of concern, he gently pried the handkerchief away from her face. She tried to resist, proclaiming that she was unharmed but Copley was insistent. Rather than cause a scene, she relinquished the square of cloth. He tilted her head back slightly and appeared to examine her.
“The bleeding seems to have stopped,” he assured her with a smile, then attempting to distract her, continued. “Do you often get nose bleeds?”
“I’m afraid so, I am used to them by now.”
“As long as you are well, but I would urge you to consider consulting a physician.”
“Thank you, Sir, I will consider it but my people have their own ways of dealing with illness.”
“Your people?” he asked, slipping his hand with the handkerchief into his pocket, as he offered her his other elbow for support.
Murder at Locke Abbey Page 10