“Ah, I remember Bea. She was always kind. I believe she went back to Guernsey to get married. I think one of your ghosts is Gabriel. Pulling your covers off at night and such. Sounds like something he would do. He would have fancied you.” Sarah gazed at her through half-lidded eyes. “He was keen for a ginger cat.”
“I found his funerary portrait the other day, tucked into a book. It startled me.”
“Fastest wake in all of Hampshire, that one,” Sarah said, taking another draw off her cigarette. “Straight to the tomb after an hour. People implied it was because Malcolm murdered him before the fire even happened and he didn’t want people staring at the corpse too long. Not a hair was singed on his head.”
“It was likely the smoke that killed him. I suppose a funeral was a lot for Malcolm to manage on his own. I’ve buried my family. It’s something you’re only halfway present for.” An image of her parents’ wake flew through her memory, their coffins raised on crepe-shrouded plinths in the front parlor of Anaquitas, white lily petals against their jaundiced, swollen skin. She shuddered, eager to turn the conversation away from funerals and murder and back to ghosts. “Won’t Freddie beconcerned about your being in the same house as the ghost that toppled him, Polly?”
“Freddie may not want to set foot inside your house ever again, butmycuriosity must be satisfied. What he won’t know, he can’t forbid.” Polly smacked her palms down on the table. “It’s settled, then. An All Hallows’ séance. We’ll get soused on rum punch and consult the spirits.”
CHAPTER 34
Lit by hearth fire and candlelight, the front parlor leapt with long shadows. Eliza looked out at the lowering sky through the fog-shrouded window and pulled her shawl tight over her shoulders. Thunder rumbled steadily in the distance. Though glum, the dreary weather had set a perfect mood for their séance.
They’d arranged a summoning table in the middle of the room, an octagonal spirit board with an alphabet and Roman numerals at its center. Eliza poured herself a steaming mug of spiced rum from the samovar and sat, warming her fingers as she drank.
Sarah fidgeted in her chair. A look of uncertainty flitted over her usually cheerful face. “Are we so sure this is wise? Without having a true medium present?”
Eliza thought of Lydia’s admonitions. “My sister would say it’s not. She believes trifling with spirits without proper knowledge is incredibly foolish. She may well be right.”
“Don’t be silly. We’re only having a bit of fun,” Polly said. “Besides, I’m happy to play medium.” She was dressed like her idea of a mystic, her blond curls covered by a black lace scarf, her dark-purple caftan a parody of a fortune-teller’s costume. She lit a bundle of herbs and bustled through the room, waving the smoke to waft through the air.
“Isn’t the veil supposedly thinner on All Hallows’ Eve?” Sarah asked, lighting up a cheroot. She was dressed in smart tailored brown wool, a scarab brooch pinned to her lapel. She’d cropped her hair to her chin since their night at the Rose, her chestnut waves gleaming with brilliantine. “Who knows who might come through tonight?”
Eliza drew a Sobranie from her dress pocket and Sarah lit it. The combined smoke of herbs and tobacco wreathed the table in swirling eddies.
“Let’s begin, Polly,” Eliza said. “Duncan and Turner won’t be at the pub all night.”
“Oh, all right. Fuddy-duddies. I was only trying to create some atmosphere.” Polly smudged out the crackling bundle of herbs and sat. “Join hands and close your eyes.”
They did as she asked, Sarah gripping Eliza’s hand as Polly began chanting nonsense about portals and parting the veil. After a few moments, they opened their eyes. Nothing had changed.
“What now?” Sarah asked.
“We rest our fingers on the planchette, and we take turns asking it questions,” said Polly. “I’ll go first.” They placed their fingertips on the teardrop-shaped piece of wood. “Who is here?” When she received no response, Polly gave the planchette a shake and wrinkled her brow. “If there are any spirits about, tell us your name.”
Nothing happened. Not even a wiggle.
“Can I have a turn?” Eliza asked.
“Right,” said Polly. “Couldn’t hurt.”
“Ada, are you here?” For a brief second, the planchette quivered beneath their fingertips. Eliza gasped, looking across to Polly and Sarah. “Did you feel that?”
“Yes—give it another go!”
“Ada, are you here?”
The planchette jerked and slid across the board, landing on the wordno.
“Oh my God,” Eliza said, a laugh escaping her lips. “It’s working.”
Sarah’s eyes widened. “Heavens. It seems to only want to talk to you, darling. Ask it something else.”
“Did you die here?”
The planchette slid smoothly toyes.
“Quick! One of you fetch paper, so we can mark the answers as they come,” Eliza said, her heartbeat stammering.
