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“It is perhaps an indelicate topic, but I understand that you will provide complete discretion.”
“Of course,” Electra assured. “Anything we say here this afternoon shall remain private and between the two of us. You may speak freely.”
Mrs. Wilson drew in a breath, licked her lips, fidgeted with a ring upon her finger, and said quietly, “My concerns are regarding my late husband’s finances. Phineas was always quite tight-lipped about his business dealings. He did not believe women should have any knowledge of such matters. Wouldn’t even allow me to manage the household accounts.” The lady’s gaze hardened. “I am quite proficient at mathematics and assisted my father with managing his account ledgers. A wife’s role is to manage her household, and I assure you my mind is capable of comprehending such matters.”
“I believe you, Mrs. Wilson.” Electra didn’t doubt the lady’s intellect, but there was more than the matter she mentioned. Something more had caused her to send that letter a week ago, but Electra could not yet divine what it was.
“His brother and the rest of the family insist that he made no provision for me. That he had no will or last testament to speak of, but I don’t believe it.” She glanced at her clasped hands. “I have a solicitor looking into the matter now, but there was a secret his family did not know. Phineas was not a perfect man, but I believe he made provision for me, knowing of his family’s avarice.”
“And how would you like me to help?”
“I have Phineas’s chain from the pocket watch he wore daily. His brother claimed his pocket watch.” Disdain radiated from Mrs. Wilson toward her brother-in-law, even as her mouth curved in a half-smile. “But I thought…perhaps if you touched the chain, you could know if he hid money for me as he vowed he would.”
She cupped the chain in her hands, staring down at the gleaming gold links.
“Phineas once claimed there would be a fortune for me when he died, but where is this fortune now? His solicitor says there was no letter, nothing left for me. I must find those hidden funds, Miss Poole.”
“You say your husband passed on recently?”
Mrs. Wilson swept her gaze to the side and remained silent so long that her hesitation felt odd. “Almost two months ago.”
Electra didn’t understand why a widow would prevaricate over such a question. And she noted that Mrs. Wilson was not wearing mourning black. Her fashionable day dress was a very dark green.
“Will you help me, Miss Poole?”
“I cannot promise the outcome, Mrs. Wilson, but I am certainly willing to try.”
The lady’s shoulders eased the slightest bit. “I am quite relieved. A friend suggested that I hire a medium and try to contact Phineas to ask him outright about the will and the hidden money.” She swallowed thickly. “But that strikes me as far too macabre.”
“I understand.” Electra never spoke to the dead. Indeed, she feared what door might be opened if she attempted to. But her psychic abilities had become popular among a small set in London’s upper crust. She understood relying on one lady’s psychic insights or inexplicable visions was quite different than calling the dead from their eternal slumber.
Electra got to her feet. “It will take me only a moment to prepare the space.”
“Oh? Will we conduct the session here or somewhere else in the house?”
“We’ll sit at this table here.” Electra gestured to the card table she used for her sessions.
Oddly, Mrs. Wilson looked a bit disappointed, as if she was hoping for a more dramatic event than merely moving from the settee to another spot in the drawing room.
Electra had already covered the tabletop with a swatch of black velvet prior to Mrs. Wilson’s arrival, and she went to retrieve a silver box of matches on the mantel to light the candle she’d arranged in the center of the table.
Mrs. Wilson took her seat gingerly, still clutching the chain in one hand.
Electra lit the candle and sat across from her, and Mrs. Wilson immediately slid the chain over the black cloth toward her.
“May I take your hand first?” The impulse came to Electra so strong that she refrained from touching the chain in front of her.
Mrs. Wilson frowned. “Is that normally how you proceed?”
“Yes, sometimes.”
The lady hesitated, her jaw tightening. She slid her right hand forward, but then stopped. “I…have never done this before.”
Electra waited, her own hand flat on the table, palm up.
Finally, Mrs. Wilson’s fingers were cold, the flat of her hand clammy as Electra grasped it. The moment she did, a sensation like the buzzing energy of an electric spark travelled through Electra.
She gasped as her muscles tensed and the room around her faded. A vision possessed her senses. A dimly lit room. The scent and flickering light of a fire in a fireplace surrounded by white marble. The light illuminated a bookshelf full of gilded volumes. A blond man stood in the room, his back to Electra. There was another in the room. Perhaps more than one other person. Electra felt their presence and tried to scan her gaze around to see them.
