The phantom woman bent her head and appeared to whisper in the professor’s ear, her face still turned toward me. Wisps of white vapor undulated around them like foam on the surface of the sea. As if she were drowning and pulling him down beneath the water with her.
“What is it?” Roderick whispered. He was watching me with concern.
“Don’t you see?” I whispered back, and he knitted his brow as he looked in the direction I was staring.
“I think I do,” he said presently. “I see something whitish, like fog.”
“It’s ectoplasm!” exclaimed the woman to his left, her eyes wide. One hand clutched the brooch at her throat. “It’s all around him!”
“You don’t see a woman?” I whispered to Roderick. “With her arms wrapped about him?”
Confused, he shook his head. “Just wisps of whiteness all around him.” Then his face lit up, and he exclaimed in a whisper, “That means that it’s real, doesn’t it? A genuine spirit?”
Almost reluctantly, I nodded. I had been disappointed so many times that I was almost afraid to believe my own eyes.
Across the table, Martinus’s forehead was drawn in lines of suffering. The phantom’s hold had slid up toward his neck, and he raised one hand as if to loosen its grip. To the others it must have looked only as if he were loosening his collar. But the ghostly figure clutched him tightly, its lips moving as though it was speaking inaudibly into his ear all the while, and as I watched he went into a trance.
His eyes became fixed and glazed, and all expression dropped away from his face. When his mouth opened, it was not his voice that spoke.
“I am Aurelia,” said a woman’s voice, and I felt a little thrill of excitement and shock. This was not a false voice. It was too different from the medium’s own to be a thing of artifice. It was the voice of someone still young, I thought, but with a gravity that spoke of what she might have endured on earth that had ended her time here.
The voice said now, “Speak to me of those you seek.”
Until now, in my search for a legitimate medium I had encountered only charlatans who earned their pay by imparting messages that those gone before were at peace in paradise and wanted those they had left behind to be comforted with the knowledge that earthly cares no longer troubled them. This was different. “Aurelia” offered no words of saccharine, anodyne comfort.
Rather, to my fascination, the messages were of unfinished business and earthly anxieties that had followed the departed into the afterlife. To one elderly widow Aurelia gave terse, detailed instructions on where to find a missing hoard of valuables. One young widower was told that his wife, who had died in childbirth, grieved piteously over their parting but took comfort from the fact that she and the miscarried child were together while they waited for him to join them. That made me shiver, and the young man looked shaken. No doubt he had hoped for comfort of the sort that most mediums would have offered, but Professor Martinus and Aurelia did not seem to operate in that wise. I began to wonder how the professor earned his keep if he did not offer reassurance to his clients.
Then Professor Martinus and the ghostly Aurelia both turned their faces toward Roderick and me.
“Whom do you seek?” asked the spirit guide through Martinus’s lips.
Because Roderick had surprised me, I had not come with a prepared story, as I generally did when testing the powers of a medium who was new to me. My belief was that if mediums had genuine powers, a false story would produce no results from whatever spirit response they were able to summon. After all, how could a ghost locate a nonexistent person? I glanced helplessly at Roderick, and he cleared his throat.
“A relation of mine,” he said. “Alcott Lammle. Is he, er, happy?”
Aurelia’s pinpoint gaze was unsettling. Locks of her hair undulated about her head, like Medusa’s serpents. Then her lips opened, and she said through Martinus, “There is a matter that worries him, a matter that prevents him from finding complete peace.” The pinprick eyes moved from Roderick to me, and my breath caught in wonder. The woman’s voice said, “He worries about his widow, Sybil, who is here today. He feels that with his death he abandoned her.”
My eyes met Roderick’s. Looking as startled as I felt, he gave a baffled shrug, as if to say that I was better fit to respond than he.
I said to the phantom, “If you can convey a message to Alcott, please tell him that I am quite well.”
The wraith said nothing. She seemed to be waiting for more.
I decided that I might as well be forthright. The Alcott I remembered would have appreciated that.
“You may tell him that I am well looked after,” I said. “In fact, Alcott inadvertently brought me together with his stepson, and the two of us have found great happiness together. I—er—hope that will put his mind at ease.”
Aurelia gave me a solemn nod. “He is pleased to hear it,” said the unearthly voice. “He wishes you and Roderick a long and happy life together.”
Then, to my relief, she turned her bright, strange gaze upon someone else. I needed to collect myself. I had never imagined that I would be speaking to my late husband in a séance. It had never crossed my mind to try to contact him, but if his spirit truly had been restless because of this concern, I was grateful to the professor—and Aurelia—for granting me the chance to bring him peace of mind.
When all was concluded and the housekeeper drew the drapes to permit light into the room, the other supplicants crowded around Professor Martinus with money and thanks. Roderick and I conversed in low voices, watching the medium, who seemed weary but courteous as he shook hands and exchanged parting words.
“What do you make of it?” he asked. “It was damned unsettling getting a message from Lammle—whether it was genuine or not.”
“I think the message was real,” I said, though I shared his feeling of strangeness. “At any rate, it was certainly plausible.”
“The ghost did seem to know who we were,” Roderick conceded. “Of course, this Martinus could have seen us in the newspaper and recognized one or both of us. Our likenesses have appeared in the papers on more than one occasion.”
That was certainly possible, although it would have meant the medium knew enough about us to recognize the name Lammle and to remember just how Roderick and I had met—and that was not information we had been free with.
“But the fact that you couldn’t see the full manifestation proves she was genuinely supernatural,” I said. “And besides, only a real spirit can disturb me as she did.” Too, I remembered the current of grief emanating from the medium that had washed over me and knew that this was no parlor trick.
But that in itself gave me a pang of sorrow. “I hate to think of Alcott’s spirit being troubled all these months,” I said. “If he really was, I hope he can find peace now.”
Roderick nodded, but his expression was not entirely convinced. “I hardly think he was in great torment, or else wouldn’t he have been haunting us?”
“Possibly,” I said slowly. “But I don’t think there are hard and fast rules about these things.”
I was wildly curious to hear what the professor might have to say on the subject, so I was all the more pleased when the man himself approached us.
“Miss Ingram, Mr. Brooke,” he said with a kind of sad geniality as he shook our hands in turn. Either he had been given our names by the spirit guide or he had in fact recognized us from newspaper accounts. “I should be honored if the two of you would stay and join me for tea. I often need a bit of sustenance after a séance, and it would give me great pleasure to catch up with an old friend.”
He directed these words to me, and I was embarrassed that their significance eluded me. “I’m sorry, have we met before?”
“It was a long time ago, to be sure—so long that someone as celebrated as you are now will surely have forgotten a long-ago fellow trouper.”
The careworn brow and cultivated voice finally sparked a memory that still lingered like a nightmare—of a
man trying to play a part onstage while the phantom of a woman clung to him, her arms wrapped around his unwitting form. “Martin Maudsley!” I cried. “Great heavens, how unexpected. Forgive me for not recognizing you.”
The twisting of his mouth was too heartrending to call a smile. “I am much changed, I know, since the last time you saw me.”
“That was the night that—that—”
“That Aurelia’s spirit attached herself to me,” he said. “I did not have the power to see her, not at first, but you! I saw from your face that night that something was dreadfully wrong.”
“And I know you felt her with you,” I exclaimed. “You were bent under the weight of her sorrow and pain. That must have been why I felt such sorrow at the start of the séance today.” Belatedly I turned to Roderick. “Dearest, this is Martin, whom I once told you about. You remember—he was with my troupe for a time when I was new to the theater, and—” I broke off, fearing that it would be appallingly insensitive to remind Roderick in Martin’s hearing exactly what I had related about him.
But Martin just nodded. “My sweetheart was murdered by her husband,” he said, and the words carried a dreadful resignation, as if he had spoken them so many times that the pain had almost become commonplace. “I only knew something had happened when her spirit found its way to me while I was onstage that night.”
When I had first told Roderick the story during our time at Brooke House, he had expressed skepticism, but now his face showed that the horrible truth of it was making itself felt in his heart. His expression was grave as he said, “Please accept my deepest sympathies, inadequate though they are.”
Again came that smile that was more of a flinch. “Thank you,” Martin said, and I started as a wisp of white waved from behind him like an errant hair ribbon, showing that Aurelia was still with him.
Perhaps she never left him. That was too disturbing an idea for me to entertain just yet.
At that moment the housekeeper announced that tea was ready, and Martin led us into a surprisingly cozy parlor. Roderick and I settled on a plush-covered divan with our host across from us in an armchair, while the housekeeper poured tea before retiring to leave us to our conversation.
“I thank you for your kind sympathy,” Martin said to Roderick. “Ours is a most peculiar love affair... I say is, since in a sense death did not part us.” He gave a hollow laugh. “But it changed us, oh yes. It changed us.”
Unthinkingly I reached over to cover his hand with mine. “How can you bear it?” I asked. “The suffering you must have endured—must endure still. Like Tantalus you are always in the presence of what you most want but cannot attain it.”
Roderick passed me a plate of sandwiches, forcing me to withdraw my hand from our host’s. “Perhaps you find it beneficial to hold séances,” I said to Martin, helping myself to a cress sandwich. “It’s often said that helping others can ease one’s own pain.”
Our host sat back against the tufted leather chair, idly stirring his tea. “Bringing solace to others can be uplifting, yes, but on other days I must confess it only serves as a reminder that Aurelia and I are barred from such simple comfort. I hope you will not judge me too harshly for that, Miss Ingram.”
“Of course not. And you must call me Sybil, as we are such old acquaintances. Speaking of which, are you still friendly with any of our old troupe?”
His shake of the head was resigned. “Our paths diverged too greatly. I left England soon after the night Aurelia was murdered, thinking to put distance between myself and my grief, and it was in the States that I began to work as a medium. Tell me, how are our old comrades?”
I hesitated, torn. “While I would be happy to give you all the news another time, right now I’m eager to discuss our common gift and learn from you what I can, since you have so much more experience than I. I am now a medium too, though much newer to it than you. I daresay it sounds quite selfish, but this is a rare opportunity for me.”
“Not selfish at all,” he said warmly, leaning forward. “I can think of nothing I should enjoy more. What do you wish to know?”
“Well—for a start, there’s the message Aurelia gave from my late husband. She said that he had been unable to find peace. But Roderick pointed out that in many such cases, if not most, the departed will manifest as a ghost. Yet Alcott has not haunted me. Do you know why some unhappy spirits haunt those on earth and some don’t?”
Martin took a sip of tea. “That is indeed an intriguing question, and one I’m afraid I can’t give you a definite answer for.”
“Hasn’t Aurelia told you how the afterlife works?” Roderick asked. His tone was suspiciously artless, and I gave him a warning look. Now was not the time for chaffing.
Martin, fortunately, did not seem to notice this interplay. “She hasn’t disclosed much,” he said gravely. “Despite my repeated questions. I’m not certain whether she is trying to protect me or whether some scruples prevent her from disclosing these matters to a mortal. What I have gleaned over the years is that spirits who are not sufficiently determined or tormented to haunt the living may yet linger in a kind of liminal or in-between space—a sort of waiting room of the afterlife, if you will—and can still be contacted. When a spirit is perfectly at peace, on the other hand, it seems to pass into another realm, one that is almost entirely out of Aurelia’s reach—and therefore mine.”
“That must be hard for business,” Roderick observed, but this time he seemed to be sincere.
“Sometimes,” Martin admitted, with a wry smile. “I might be a rich man if only Aurelia and I could reassure our visitors with messages about how happy their departed loved ones are. Visions of fields of flowers and golden wings, you know. It’s true that I’ve had clients stalk off in a fury when they don’t receive the comfort they expect.”
“But by the same token,” I said, “I expect that your reputation for complete honesty has stood you in good stead. After all, your renown has reached my ears, and Roderick’s too, or else he wouldn’t have brought me here today.”
“That’s good of you to say. But please tell me of your own gift and how it made itself known to you. What adventures have you had in the spirit world?”
He was fascinated by my tale of how Roderick’s mother’s spirit had made itself known to me and had used me as a medium to accuse her murderer. He wanted to hear about the vengeful and restless spirits I had encountered since then, and how I had tried to find peace for them. For my part, I asked him question after question about his gift, his experiences, and the emotional toll they exacted upon him.
It was a rare pleasure to be able to compare notes with a genuine medium. Martin had acquired the gift of second sight far earlier in life than had I, and I was captivated by all he told me about it—both its peculiar satisfactions and its lurking pitfalls. At the same time, his gift was quite different from mine in that Aurelia was the only spirit with which he had direct contact. I drank in all he had to tell me, and he, seemingly pleased to meet a kindred spirit in whom to confide, was unstinting in his knowledge and advice.
So absorbing was our conversation that it was not until I heard Roderick stifle a yawn that I glanced up at the clock. We had been lingering over our tea for nearly two hours, and for much of that time, I realized in a rush of remorse, I had neglected my husband entirely.
“I’m so sorry,” I said to our host, “but I quite lost track of the time. I’m certain you must have other business to attend to. Roderick and I must be on our way.”
“Do call again,” Martin urged as we rose, and reached out to take our hands in turn. “We have not even begun to trade theatrical reminiscences, and I’m certain you have many exciting stories to tell on that subject.”
Roderick’s eyebrows drew together at that, so I was careful not to commit definitely to a future meeting, though the idea was delightful.
My husband was unusually silent as we left the house and took our seats in the carriage, and his eyes were stormy. I felt a pang for having ign
ored him.
“I hope you didn’t feel completely left out of the conversation,” I said. “I was so thrilled to finally meet a genuine medium that I’m afraid I quite forgot everything else.”
“It’s quite all right,” he said. “I’m happy that you finally met someone with whom you can speak of ghostly matters.” Then he added irrelevantly, “I never could understand why women make such a fuss about that type of man.”
“What type?”
With his arms folded across his chest, he twitched his shoulders in a shrug. “That brooding sort. For whatever reason, that inner turmoil seems to give them a kind of glamour that women find irresistible.”
I could not repress a smile. “I do believe, Mr. Pot, that you have taken a dislike to Mr. Kettle.”
“What?” That brought his head around, and he looked at me in genuine surprise. “When was I ever brooding?”
This time I laughed outright. “You can’t have forgotten already, my darling. When we first met, you stalked about with thunderstorms in your eyes, tormented by what you thought was the blackness of your soul. You were the most devastating brooder I had ever seen. If the queen awarded honors on that basis, you would be a knight by now at the very least.”
He had the good grace to laugh, and he put his arm around my waist to draw me close. “I suppose I had forgotten, thanks to you. You’ve made me so happy that the unpleasant parts of my past seem like a dream.”
“Now, that is a pretty compliment indeed, and almost worth putting up with some jealousy for.”
His eyes dropped, and he rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. “Devil take it, I loathe the idea of being a jealous husband. I promise to be better. Only it made me feel a bit irrelevant to see the two of you conversing about something that you have in common, something you are passionate about, that I can’t take part in.” His eyebrows were drawn together again, but this time his temper was directed against himself.
“I understand,” I said. “Rather like the way I felt when we met Julia and she kept bringing up details of your past together as lovers.”
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