‘We are here tonight,’ Gail said, ‘to speak to one of our number recently departed. Grace Wright was not a young woman, and her passing was expected, but even so, those of us who loved her had hoped for a few more years before we had to say goodbye.’
Grace Wright, Rina thought. Their ghost was called Grace Wright? Somehow she had expected something far more exotic.
‘Grace,’ Gail was saying, ‘we all hope that you are close by and that you can make contact. If you would all please join hands and ask that our sister, now departed from us, has the strength and will to come through the veil.’
Joy still held Rina’s hand. Terry Beal’s palm was oddly rough when she took it, the skin dry and warm. Rina watched as everyone linked hands and then, under Gail’s direction, closed their eyes. She was used to the low light now and could see Tim clearly, camera focused tightly on Gail. Toby seemed to be making little panning shots, taking in the whole company. Rina glared in his direction as he focused momentarily on her face. She saw him smile.
Everyone else had been obedient and shut their eyes, even Rav Pinner, though his lips twitched as though he found the urge to laugh almost too much. Viv looked solemn, or about as solemn as someone with such a smiley mouth could manage to get. Reluctantly, Rina followed their lead and closed her eyes.
The scent of roses was strong now, and she wondered if the flowers were really giving off such an emphatic perfume or if Melissa had used a scented candle. She could hear the soft sounds of the cameras as someone switched focus, heard a metal on plastic scrape, perhaps a ring against a camera body, then the shuffle of feet as they changed position. She was acutely aware of those with her round the table. Joy still tense, breaths sharp and shallow; Terry, breathing deeply and rhythmically as though in meditation. Someone, a man, coughed and muttered an apology.
‘Now, let go of your neighbour’s hands and lay your palms flat on the tabletop, fingers touching those of the people next to you so the link is maintained but you are in full contact with the table.’
Sounds of people rearranging and repositioning themselves. Joy let go of Rina’s hand reluctantly, and Rina could sense the relief of the younger woman once their hands touched on the tabletop. She squeezed Joy’s fingers reassuringly. On the other side of her, Terry Beal’s hands were very large and oddly comforting.
‘Now,’ Gail continued, ‘we all need to focus on Grace. On hearing Grace and welcoming her into our presence. Think about her, ask her to come to us, tell her that we miss her.’
Miss someone who never existed, Rina thought.
‘Even those of you who did not know Grace Wright in her life, please, open your minds to her now. Welcome her here.’
It was as though Gail had read Rina’s mind and for a second or so she was shaken. No more than that though. Rina remembered the performance Gail and Tim had given that afternoon and knew that Gail was as good as Tim at reading, anticipating, guessing the response of her audience.
Cold reading, as Tim called it.
Her earlier feelings of unease had been replaced now by irritation and, if she was honest, boredom. If she’d been creating a ghost it would have a better name than Grace Wright and would have had a far more colourful past than this lot seemed to have invented – an unfair thought, maybe, as she had no idea what life experiences this invented persona was invested with.
‘Grace, can you hear me? Rap the table if you can hear me.’
Oh, please, Rina thought. This is just too silly.
The silence seemed to grow more profound as everyone waited.
Nothing.
Rina relaxed. Nothing would happen because there was nothing to happen. They’d all sit here for half an hour or so, then someone would call time and they’d all go back to eating the food mountain and discussing what might or might not have happened back in 1872, and Rina was now more impatient to fill in the gaps in her knowledge regarding that event than she was to continue with this faff.
‘Perhaps there is someone present who does not want this to happen.’ Professor Franklin’s voice boomed unexpectedly deep and loud. ‘Please, I ask all of you, let your minds be open to the possibility of spirit. Put your doubts and misgivings aside and let us welcome Grace into our presence.’
Inwardly, Rina huffed.
‘Grace, please contact us.’ Gail’s tone was still calm, but Rina heard, or thought she heard, a slight urgency there, as though the girl worried that she could not, after all, make this work. ‘Focus, please. Think about Grace. Want her to be here.’
A small draft annoyed the back of Rina’s neck, and she wondered if the door had been opened again, though she had heard nothing, then the draft transformed into a chill all the way down her back. She wriggled against the splat of the chair, trying to make sense of where the chill emanated from. A movement from Joy told Rina that she was feeling it too.
‘Grace? Is that you?’ Gail’s voice seemed sharper now and, to Rina’s ear, a little doubtful.
Then: thump.
A collective cry of ohs and ahs and a ‘what the!’ from Terry.
‘Rina!’ Joy had hold of her hand again.
‘Please –’ Gail’s voice was insistent now – ‘don’t break the circle. Keep your hands flat on the table. If it moves again, please don’t be afraid. Grace, is that you? Please, Grace, knock once to confirm.’
As though on command, the heavy oak lifted and jerked and then landed with a distinct thump.
‘Yes!’ Edwin was triumphant.
‘Please,’ Gail said, ‘don’t break the bond.’
Then the table jumped again. Two knocks, Rina thought. Does that mean it is Grace or it isn’t? She was intrigued now, but not afraid. She’d seen this sort of thing far too many times in her performing days.
‘Rina . . .’ Joy gripped her hand more tightly, pressing down on the table at the same time so that Rina’s fingers were crushed.
‘It’s all right, Joy, dear. Just ease up on the grip a little, will you?’
‘Sorry.’
‘Was that Grace?’ Edwin asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Gail said. ‘Grace, please confirm that you are here. Just a single rap will do.’
Whatever it is, it isn’t rapping, Rina thought irritably. That was a definite tip, not a rap. Though, she moderated, it was probably a little churlish to be splitting such metaphorical – or should that be metaphysical – hairs at this stage in the proceedings. At least something had happened.
‘It’s cold,’ Joy said, and Rina realized she was right. The draft was back, only this time it was intensified – more chill than mere inconvenience – and there was the scent of damp and snow upon it, as though someone had entered the room and brought the outside with them.
‘Okaay,’ Terry Beal muttered. He sounded a little anxious. ‘What now?’
‘Wait,’ Rina breathed.
‘You’re enjoying this,’ Joy whispered. She sounded very put out.
‘I am now,’ Rina agreed.
‘Quiet, please!’ Professor Franklin was annoyed at their perceived frivolity. ‘Gail, do you know who is with us now? Is it Grace?’
‘Yes.’ Gail sounded triumphant, which jarred oddly with Rina’s knowledge that Gail and the rest claimed to have created Grace.
‘Grace –’ Professor Franklin seemed to be taking over now – ‘are you ready to communicate with us?’
The table jerked again, and it seemed to Rina that it was now in an irritable mood, as though it didn’t think much of Professor Franklin either. She wasn’t quite sure what it was about the man that she disliked so much, but the instinctive suspicion was there. Maybe Grace felt that too – or Gail did.
‘Perhaps we should leave the communication to our medium,’ Edwin said quietly. ‘We don’t want to cause confusion.’
Rina glanced at the Professor and was gratified to see his frown. ‘Gail,’ Edwin said pointedly. ‘Perhaps you would like to ask the questions now?’
Rina caught Rav’s eye. He looked slightly puzz
led, as though only just recognizing the friction between Edwin and Franklin.
‘Grace, we have people here who don’t know you. May they ask you some questions?’ Gail said.
The table tipped again.
‘Mrs Martin, Miss Duggan, perhaps you would ask questions now. Things only you might know, but that Grace can respond to with a simple yes or no. Remember those in spirit often know a great deal about our world.’
Like the half-drunk bottle of pop, Rina thought. She glanced at Joy, who looked far from happy. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Tell me, Grace, do I live far from the sea?’
‘Grace,’ Gail asked, ‘does Mrs Martin live far from the sea?’
A hesitation, it seemed to Rina, and then two thumps of the table.
Rina decided to deviate from the yes/no format. ‘How many people live with me?’
Professor Franklin began to object, but Edwin interceded: ‘I’m sure Grace can count, Professor.’
‘Grace,’ Gail asked, ‘how many people live with Mrs Martin?’
Five thumps of the table appeared to suggest that Grace could indeed count.
Rina was unimpressed. All of this was the sort of random knowledge that a quick conversation with Tim would have established. She thought hard. What could she ask that no one could know? ‘Have I ever visited a medium, Grace?’
Not perfect, Rina thought. There was a fifty-fifty chance of getting it right.
For a moment nothing happened, and then thump. Just the one.
Joy cast a curious glance in Rina’s direction, as did Tim.
‘Is that correct?’ Gail asked.
‘No,’ Rina said. ‘I’m afraid she got that one wrong.’
It seemed to Rina that the table trembled beneath her hands, but if she’d hoped for a more emphatic disagreement, none came.
Joy had calmed down now and put a tentative question of her own. ‘How many brothers do I have?’
Interesting, Rina thought.
One emphatic thump, and then one more tentative. ‘You have one living and one in spirit, so Grace tells me,’ Gail said. ‘She is telling me that you lost the youngest of the two and that you miss him very much.’
‘I do,’ Joy confirmed.
For a few minutes more they put questions to Grace, through the medium of Gail, and most of the answers seemed to be accurate. Rina was still unimpressed. She had once worked as a mentalist’s stooge and for a season in her youth had dressed in skimpy costume and feathers as a magician’s assistant. She was also intimate with Tim’s work. Presently, she had seen no evidence that Grace was other than clever trickery. What Rina had yet to work out was how and who.
The cold draft she had felt on the back of her neck seemed to have returned. Joy put another question to Grace, but this time there was no response.
‘Gail,’ Edwin asked softly, ‘has Grace left us?’
‘She’s still here,’ Gail said. ‘But there is someone else, a Pat or a Patrick. He passed over only a short time ago – months, perhaps. A very violent death.’
Joy gasped, and she gripped Rina’s hand again. ‘Rina?’
‘Hush, dear, it’s all right.’ Joy’s dead brother had been called Patrick, and yes, he had died a violent death, but even the scantiest of background checks on herself and Joy would have revealed that information. It had been all over the papers. She glanced across at Tim. He had lowered the camera and now stared in their direction, a hint of doubt in his eyes. Doubt, and a flash of anger.
‘He says there is someone here he wants to talk to. He says that Grace brought him here. That he was wrongfully killed, a violent, terrible death.’
‘I feel him too,’ Edwin said. ‘Oh, he was very young.’
‘Rina!’
‘That’s enough.’ Rina was furious now. She let go of Terry’s hand and stood up. She could tolerate participating in an experiment, but this was different. This was taking advantage of Joy’s grief, and that Rina would not tolerate.
‘Please,’ Gail said. ‘Don’t break the circle. We are doing so well.’
‘Oh, I’m sure we are.’ Rina’s anger boiled to the surface. ‘Switch on the lights and open that damned door.’
Joy stood beside her now, and Rina could feel her trembling. Tim had put the camera down and took Joy’s arm, leading them both towards the doors. He opened them wide and switched on the library light. ‘Electric isn’t connected in there,’ he said. ‘Joy, lovely, you have to know I had nothing to do with that.’
She buried her face in his chest and gave in to tears.
The heavy door opened again, and Terry Beal came through. Behind him, Gail and Edwin were asking that everyone stay calm and please remake the circle. Terry said nothing, but went past them into the big hall, and when Tim came through with Joy and Rina he had poured drinks for them all. Rina was oddly satisfied to see that he was as pale as Joy.
‘What happened in there? Are you all right?’
Joy accepted the glass and sipped without asking what was in it. She never drank spirits, Rina thought.
‘Patrick was the name of Joy’s brother,’ she said.
‘The one that died? I mean, of course the one that died. I mean . . .’
‘Yes,’ Rina confirmed. She looked closely at Terry, satisfied herself that the man was as shaken as he appeared to be and that he hadn’t been the one responsible for such a mean and cruel trick.
‘Do you . . . do you think it could have been him?’
Rina glared at him, then softened. ‘I doubt it,’ she said. ‘I think someone just did a good job with their research. Patrick’s death made the news all over the country; it wouldn’t be difficult to find out about it. Right.’ She set her drink down and headed for the reception area.
‘What are you going to do?’ Tim asked. ‘Rina, Joy, I am so sorry about this, I had no idea—’
‘I’m going to call Mac and tell him to come and fetch us all. We can spend the night at the B&B; I doubt they’ll be booked up this time of year. Tomorrow you can drive us home.’
‘Rina, it’s too late for Mac to come tonight. It’s gone midnight,’ Tim objected. ‘Anyway, I could drive us.’
‘You’ve been drinking.’
‘Not much.’
‘Enough to be over the limit. Mac won’t mind.’
‘No, but Tim’s right,’ Joy said, seeming to have rallied now. Her glass was empty and her cheeks slightly flushed. ‘I really wouldn’t want him and Miriam driving across that dirt road at this time of night. It’s pitch black out there. And he’s probably had a drink too. They are staying in the pub.’
Terry crossed to the window and drew the curtain back. ‘Actually, it’s pitch black and a white-out all at the same time,’ he said. ‘Look.’
Rina sighed, but looking out through the glass she had to agree. She joined Terry, watching the blizzard, the snow falling so thickly and heavily that it was impossible to see anything beyond the window.
‘First thing in the morning then. We are leaving. Agreed?’
‘Agreed,’ Tim said.
‘What if it was Patrick?’ Joy asked. ‘What if it was and I didn’t listen? What if he really did have something to tell me?’
Rina shook her head. ‘I don’t believe that,’ she said stoutly.
‘And if it was,’ Terry said in a more reasonable tone. ‘If he contacted you this time, if such things are possible, then he can do it again. Leave here, do some research, find a medium you feel you can trust and try again. If it was Patrick, then he won’t be, well, offended, will he?’ He shrugged. ‘Look, this is all new to me, I’m just saying—’
‘And you’re right.’ Rina flopped into a chair and recovered her drink, suddenly deflated and tired. The others joined her, a miserable little knot of humanity in a room not designed for the cosiness they all craved. Instinctively, they drew closer to the fire, and Terry poured them all more alcohol from the closest decanter. Brandy, Rina noted, wondering how it would go down on top of the malt whisky she had just knocked back wit
h unusual lack of caution.
‘You lied, didn’t you?’ Tim asked quietly.
‘About?’
‘About seeing a medium.’
Rina glared at him and then sighed. ‘It was a very long time ago. I only thought about it again when we came here. It was just after Fred died and I felt so terribly alone and I went to one of those public meetings where a medium gives messages. I left only part of the way through. Somehow it all seemed a little odd, not really what I was looking for, though I have to admit other people there did seem to be getting some comfort from it.’
Even if the messages were, to Rina’s mind, hopelessly banal.
‘And it was as though, as though . . . Well, I felt Fred speaking to me outside, telling me I didn’t need any kind of intermediary to chat to him. It was so strange. I’ve never talked about it.’
‘How did you know Rina was lying?’ Terry asked Tim.
‘Oh, just a feeling.’ Tim smiled at her. ‘This was a daft idea, wasn’t it, Rina darling.’
‘Only this part of it; we’ve enjoyed the rest. But I’ve had enough now. I want home and my own bed and all my own things around me and my family. Especially my family.’
‘Chocolate cake,’ Joy said, ‘and dessert in blue bowls with loads of cream and the Peters sisters playing the piano.’ She laughed a little shakily.
‘Can anyone come and eat cake at your house?’ Terry asked.
‘Oh, only a chosen few,’ Tim told him. ‘But I think you’re in with a shot. Rina, you think someone was manipulating the seance. Rapping the table.’
‘Yes, I do. And I think the group didn’t just research their imagined ghost, Grace, they researched myself and Joy. It would be easy enough to do, especially these days when everything is on the Internet. Apparently, I even have a Wikipedia entry. Terry, were you involved in creating Grace?’
The Dead of Winter Page 9