She had tried not to think about the seance, which had ended with the startling materialization of David Holmes's face, cloudily crystalline as ectoplasm. The experience had been frightening – and yet it had had a certain fascination. Marianne had not been quite truthful about her own experiments with the occult. The encounter she had mentioned had been only one of many such attempts; table turning was a popular parlor game, with the additional thrill of the mysterious and forbidden. Marianne had also read all the articles on the subject in the newspapers and periodicals to which the squire had subscribed.
Not that anything had ever happened. Once, indeed, when she had tried to involve Billy and Jack in a midnight seance near the graveyard, they had been transfixed by a series of unearthly howls from the direction of the Ransom monuments. Jack had collapsed in a fit of speechless terror. Billy, a born skeptic, had investigated and found Mrs. Jay's cat atop a tombstone, summoning prospective lovers.
Yet Marianne had never quite given up a belief in the spirit world. Mrs. Jay, to be sure, denounced the practice as heretical. But Marianne could not see why. The Christian faith taught that the soul survived in a better world; why was it impossible, or evil, to reach such spirits? Perhaps she herself had psychic powers, even if she was not David Holmes's daughter.
She was interrupted at this point in her reasoning by the arrival of the Duchess, exquisitely attired and glittering with diamonds, who asked if she was ready to go downstairs.
The questions Marianne had been asking herself were fermenting in her mind. She did not dare interrogate the Duchess directly, so she tried an oblique approach.
"Are your guests coming for dinner, ma'am?"
Even that seemingly innocuous question had an unfortunate effect. The Duchess's brows drew together.
"Two only. The others will join us later."
"I beg your pardon for asking. I only wondered -"
"And you had every right to wonder." The old lady's sunny smile returned. "I was not vexed with you, child. My dear old Gruffstone has put me in a bad humor, and I hate being at odds with him. If only he were not so blindly prejudiced!"
"Oh, dear," Marianne said involuntarily.
Perhaps deliberately the Duchess misinterpreted her exclamation of distress.
"There is no reason for you to be disturbed. The other dinner guest I asked on your account, after Gruffstone had insisted… Well. Can you guess who it is?"
It was not difficult for Marianne to guess. Her circle of acquaintances in London was very limited and she could not imagine that the Duchess would invite her former landlady or her former employer to dine.
"Mr. Carlton," she said.
"How clever you are! Aren't you pleased? Don't you think him very handsome?"
"He is certainly handsome."
"And he admires you. I saw that from the first."
"You did?" Marianne stared.
"Oh, yes. Like so many young men he affects a cynical manner that does not do justice to his good heart. But I could not be mistaken about his feelings. I know the dear lad too well. He is the son of one of my best friends."
"I see. Is that how he became your legal adviser?"
"It was quite the other way around. His mother was actually a distant connection of mine – a cousin. When she died I naturally took an interest in the boy, who was only six years old at the time. Later he showed some aptitude for the legal profession and I was able to apprentice him to my husband's solicitor. He has done very well."
A tall footman flung open the drawing room doors.
The gentlemen were waiting. Carlton, looking indeed very handsome in evening clothes, rose to greet them. Marianne tried to catch his eye and succeeded, but found in his blank countenance no answer to the question she tried to project. The doctor was obviously ill at ease, and the coolness of the Duchess's greeting made him look even more hangdog. Finally she relented enough to allow him to offer her a glass of sherry and he brightened visibly.
Sipping her own wine, Marianne tried to think of a way to get Carlton aside and ask whether he had had any success in tracing Maggie or discovering whether it had really been Bagshot she had seen at the opera. The opportunity did not arise before dinner was announced. It was an uncomfortable meal, since at least three of the diners were preoccupied with their own thoughts, and conversation was spasmodic.
Marianne tried to nerve herself to speak to the Duchess. After all, if she was to be expected to take part in some sort of psychic performance that evening, she had the right to be told in advance. She hoped to find an opportunity when they returned to the drawing room, leaving the men to their port; but before she could begin, the Duchess asked her to play.
"Some of those charming ballads you do so nicely. I feel a slight headache; your music always relieves me."
Marianne had no choice but to do as she was asked. For once her good behavior was rewarded. The gentlemen were prompt to join them, and Carlton came at once to the piano.
"Ah, here is one of my favorites," he said, turning over the sheet music. "Do play it for me. I will turn the pages."
The selection was a Chopin polonaise; and Marianne suspected that its chief charm for Carlton was its volume. She played it rather badly, but did full justice to the fortissimo markings, and under cover of its passionate strains Carlton was able to say in a low voice, "He was there, all right. A friend of mine saw him too. No, don't stop! I am convinced the event was pure coincidence."
"But he knows where I am – with whom I am staying!"
"You little fool, that is your surest protection. No man in England would dare attack any dependent of the Duchess's. She has connections in the highest circles. Oh, I don't say that if our friend met you wandering the streets alone at night he might not try to carry you off, but I trust you will do nothing so foolish. So long as you behave properly you could not be safer in a cage."
"I wish you would not use that word," Marianne muttered. She brought all ten fingers down in a crashing chord.
"How interesting that you should feel that way."
The piece was coming to a ragged but resounding conclusion. There was very little time. Marianne said quickly, "The woman I mentioned to you – Maggie – have you found any trace of her?"
"I have not been looking," Carlton replied calmly.
"Then do so!" She did not dare look up from the music, she was playing badly enough with its aid; but she felt his reaction of haughty rejection. "If you do not," she continued rapidly, "I will speak to Her Grace about it. I owe that woman more than my life, and I have been inexcusably remiss in repaying her. She may be ill, she may be dead -"
"Calm yourself," Carlton said harshly. "I will do as you ask if only to prevent what you threaten."
Marianne's hands dropped in a crashing discord.
"Good gracious," the Duchess said gently. "What a strange sort of music that is! Give us something quieter, my dear."
Marianne spun around on the piano stool, ribbons and curls flying. The exchange with Carlton had worked up her courage.
"Duchess, I will play until my fingers drop off if it pleases you. But – forgive me – I am somewhat disturbed in my mind. What is it that you want of me this evening? Surely I can better assist you if I am prepared."
Even as she finished speaking she was afraid she had gone too far. But the Duchess did not appear to be angry.
"You have every right to ask," she said. "Please don't blame me, Marianne. It was at Gruffstone's insistence that I kept silent."
"And mine," Carlton added. "I too felt that if you insist on proceeding with the performance tonight, Miss Ransom should have no chance to prepare herself for it."
Marianne realized that her conjectures had been right. This disturbed her less than she had thought it would. Indeed, in her anger she wished that she were skilled in sleight of hand or some other form of trickery. Not that she would ever stoop to such deceit – but oh, what pleasure it would give her to confound the skeptics, to humiliate them as they wished to shame her. In her mind's
eye she saw tables rocking, tambourines and trumpets and other mystic instruments flying through the air, shrouded spirit forms advancing on Carlton, who cringed and cried out in terror.
She tried to think of something profoundly cutting and sarcastic to say, but of course did not succeed. The Duchess said worriedly, "My dear child, I never doubted you. This was not my idea, I was forced into it by that ridiculous Clarabelle Morton. For years she has cherished the absurd notion that she was David's closest friend. She pursued him and bothered him mercilessly when he was in London."
"And," said the lawyer, "she entertained him lavishly when he first arrived. There was a certain gold cigar case, I remember, and a set of diamond studs…"
"He returned those," the Duchess said quickly.
"After you had given him -"
"Enough," the doctor said, with the authoritative manner he could assume when he spoke professionally. "I will not have this unseemly bickering, Roger. No use crying over spilled milk; whatever Lady Morton's methods or reasons, she is coming here tonight, and I suppose we are in for it. I did my best to prevent it, heaven knows."
"You told me yourself that Marianne is in perfect health," the Duchess said.
"It is not her health that concerns me."
"Well, I assure you, mine will suffer more from being thwarted than from anything. Come now, Horace, don't be an old bear. They will be here at any moment -"
"Too late, they are here," Carlton intoned dramatically, as the door burst open. In Lady Morton's usual impetuous manner she had outrun the footman, whose scandalized face appeared behind her.
The two other visitors, who were some distance behind, were among those Marianne had met at the opera – Lord Ronald Limpetry-Theobald, an extremely emaciated old gentleman who looked as if he had scarcely strength enough to hold the quizzing glass through which he stared at her; and the Honorable Miss Ditherson, a lady whose mind had apparently become petrified at the age of seventeen, though her body most certainly had aged since that far-off day. It is no wonder that Marianne had only the vaguest impressions of these two, since neither of them got a chance to say more than three consecutive words all evening.
Lady Morton refused her hostess's offer of refreshment. "No sense in wasting time. We all know what we have come for, so let us get to it at once." The blank white eye and its more mobile companion aimed themselves in Marianne's direction. "Can't see the slightest resemblance myself," Lady Morton said forcibly.
"But her hair," Miss Ditherson exclaimed.
"And her eyes," Lord Ronald whispered.
"Common as dirt," Lady Morton shouted. "You've been taken in again, Honoria; if you had consulted me I could have warned you. But that is just like you; you don't look stubborn, but you are stubborn, and no one knows that better than I. How many times have I -"
"Lady Morton." It was Carlton who spoke, and although his lips retained the faint smile that spoke of his contempt, his eyes were no longer amused. "Should we not, as you suggest, get to the business at hand?" '
"Certainly. That is precisely what I have been saying. You young rascals never pay any attention -"
Carlton grasped her arm and assisted her to rise with such vigor that she staggered. He led her out of the room.
The others followed. Marianne, side by side with the Duchess, could not help but admire Carlton for defending his patroness; but one word Lady Morton had used stuck in her mind. "Again." Again? Was she not, then, the first young girl whom the Duchess had taken in, under the impression that she was the child of her dear departed David? One delusion, based on a certain degree of physical resemblance, may be forgivable eccentricity. A series of such delusions smacked of something far more serious.
She was diverted from these thoughts by the sight of William the footman scampering (if a person of his impressive size could be said to scamper) along the hall, trying to keep ahead of Lady Morton. He just managed it, opening the door before the lady threw herself against it.
The white drawing room sparkled like an ice cavern. A blazing fire burned on the hearth, but its glow was lost in the dazzle of dozens of gas jets reflected from crystal and silver surfaces. No matter what the temperature, Marianne thought, this room would always be cold.
It was clear that all the guests were familiar with the room and the procedure. They took their places; Marianne, directed by the Duchess, took the chair at the lady's right. She did not need to be told that this had been David Holmes's accustomed place.
In the rustle of movement that accompanied these proceedings Marianne realized that her stomach was experiencing the same sensation she had sometimes felt just before performing. She turned impulsively to the Duchess. "I don't know what to do," she whispered.
"There is nothing to be afraid of." The Duchess's face was rapt; her voice seemed to come from a great distance. "Only open your mind to the influences that will come."
The curtains had already been drawn. The sound of the rain was a distant murmur, with the hiss of the burning logs as counterpoint. No one spoke until the doctor said heavily, "I must insist, Honoria, upon the usual precautions."
"Very well." The Duchess extended her hands, one to Marianne, the other to Lord Ronald, who sat on her left.
"Hold tight," said Carlton, on Marianne's right. "Your Grace, you will forgive me for mentioning the word, but… feet?"
"Feet?" Marianne repeated. Carlton winked. She wanted to exclaim aloud at this effrontery, but somehow the lawyer's open amusement made the whole business more endurable. The others were so solemn!
"Feet," Carlton repeated cheerfully. As he spoke, Marianne felt a pressure on her left shoe and knew it must be the foot of the Duchess that touched hers. "Put your foot on mine," the lawyer went on. "We touch feet as we touch hands, around the circle. You would be amazed, my dear Miss Ransom, if you knew what a stockinged foot can do in the way of producing psychic phenomena!"
"Must that person be present?" Lady Morton demanded, glaring in Carlton's general direction. It was difficult to tell precisely where she was looking, but no one doubted to whom she referred.
"He is quite right," the Duchess replied. "David was always the first to agree to such controls. You should know that, Clarabelle."
"Humph," said Lady Morton.
Once these arrangements had been made, the silence descended. It seemed to continue for an interminable time. Marianne's nose began to itch. She felt she would go mad if she could not scratch it but did not dare ask to have her hand freed for that purpose. She sensed that everyone was watching her, either covertly or, in the case of Lady Morton, without concealment; and she felt all the discomfort of a performer alone in the spotlight who has no notion of what is expected of her.
After what seemed eons the Duchess said, "I think we had better extinguish the lights."
"But David never -" Lord Ronald was not allowed to finish the sentence.
"David was the master," the Duchess said. "I know of no other medium who performed in full light. The vibrations are painful to the spirits."
"Fair enough," Lady Morton said. "Let's give it a try."
Marianne was surprised at the lady's acquiescence until she realized that the one good eye was gleaming with anticipation. Lady Morton would not mind seeing her old rival's protegee fail, but she desired even more the thrill of communication with the dead. Marianne wondered what it was the woman sought – what message from the other side. Or was her interest only the sickly, feverish fascination of the unknown?
At a nod from the Duchess Dr. Gruffstone obediently rose to carry out the suggestion. The light diminished slowly, as if one veil after another were being dropped before their eyes. When finally the Duchess said gravely, "That will do, Horace; thank you," the room was enveloped in shadows. There was light enough to see the outlines of forms, limned in startling fiery silhouette where the fire was behind them. Details and expressions were lost in the gloom.
The doctor took his place again. The circle was resumed.
The Honorable
Miss Ditherson let out a faint cry. "I felt something…"
"Um," Lord Ronald agreed.
The table began to sway.
"David!" Lady Morton emitted a whoop that made them all jump. "David, are you here? Speak to me, David!"
"You needn't shout, your ladyship," Carlton drawled. "Mr. Holmes was never hard of hearing."
"Hush," the Duchess said sharply.
As if in agreement, the table gave a coy little leap upward, against the hands resting on its top.
"Honoria," the doctor began. "I beg you -"
"Horace, hold your tongue."
"But," the doctor said piteously, "this is such absolute balderdash…"
There was no transition, no gap in time. The doctor's last words had scarcely died away when Marianne heard him continue, in startling non sequitur, "Her pulse is normal. Speak to me, Miss Ransom."
"Marianne, my dear, can you hear me?"
The voice was that of the Duchess. Marianne turned politely toward her, blinking because the lights were so bright.
"Certainly, ma'am. Why do you ask?"
Then the truth struck her. The lights… Who had turned up the gas jets – and when?
So far as she knew she had not moved from her own seat at the table. But Carlton was no longer beside her; he was on his feet, staring in wide-eyed amazement. From across the table the visitors stared too; their open mouths and wide eyes gave them an absurd look of having been duplicated. Dr. Gruffstone held one of Marianne's hands. His fingers were pressed against her wrist.
Marianne's eyes returned to the lady at her left. The Duchess was the calmest of all those present, yet her face disturbed the girl most. Exultant, triumphant passion had taken the color from her cheeks and added a feverish luster to her eyes.
"Has something happened?" Marianne asked.
"You remember nothing? You do not recall what you said?"
"Said?" Marianne repeated stupidly. "The doctor said… something about nonsense… Then all the lights were on."
The Duchess struck her hands together.
"What did I tell you?" she cried. "I was right; I was right! Oh, David, my darling – found at last!"
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