by Rhys Bowen
“I'm willing to chance it,” Justin said.
“And what do you hope to achieve with this?”
“Justice, Miss Murphy.”
“My name is Gaffney, sir. I'm sorry your eyesight is so poor and that I remind you of someone else you once knew.”
“Hartley, don't stand there flirting with the lady,” Cathers shouted over to him. “Be a good chap and give us a hand.”
I took the opportunity. “I'm almost home, Mr. Van Gelder. Shall I not walk ahead and ask the Flynns' chauffeur to come out and help you with the tire?”
“I'd be much obliged, Miss Gaffney,” Roland’s red and sweating face appeared over the bonnet of the auto. “Much obliged.”
“Then I'll take my leave, gentlemen. Thank you for the lift.” I nodded and made my exit. I had escaped from Justin Hartley this time, but for how long?
I came home to find the Misses Sorensen going into the music room with swathes of black cloth to prepare it for the evening. I made up my mind that I was not going to miss what could be my last chance to find out the truth about them. After all, this was the one job I was actually being paid to do. I had to find a way to get into that room. Then it came to me. Just before dinner, I became suddenly unwell. I told Theresa that I must have come down with the chill she caught earlier. My head was swimming and I felt too nauseous to come to dinner. The only thing for it was sleep—uninterrupted sleep.
Theresa looked most concerned. “I am so very sorry, Molly dear. It means you'll miss the seance, too.”
“Oh dear,” I said. “But in the circumstances I think it’s more sensible that I keep away, just in case I'm contagious.”
“Let me have the maid bring you up a cup of beef tea, or some calves foot jelly at least,” she insisted.
“Really not, thank you all the same. I'm sure 111 be justfineby morning.”
I felt deceitful as she walked away. She couldn't have been kinder to me since my arrival and I was planning to prick her bubble of hope.
I watched from a vantage point on the landing as they all went in to dinner. Then I sneaked down the back stairs. Luckily there was no lock on the room where the stance was to be held. I entered, leaving the door just wide enough open to get my bearings, then I closed it and made for the piano in the comer, now disguised under its black swathe. I squeezed underneath and adjusted the cloth so that I could look out. I wasn't sure how much I'd be able to see, but I couldn'triskturning on an electric light. Then I sat and waited. My stomach growled with hunger and I wished I'd been sensible enough to ask for that cup of beef tea to keep me going. Now I had to pray that a similar growl wouldn't give me away during the seance.
Dinner lasted a long time. I became cramped and uncomfortable. My left foot went to sleep. Then at last I heard voices coming down the hallway. The door opened. The light was switched on and Miss Emily and Miss Ella came into the room first. They looked around and I held my breath, just in case they somehow sensed my presence. Had I replaced the folds in the cloth exactly as they had left them? What excuse would I give if I were unmasked?
At that moment Theresa, Clara and Belinda arrived and there was a scraping of chairs and whispers as they were seated around a black-clothed table with the two spiritualists completing the circle. The lone candle was lit and the electric light was extinguished. For a long time nobody moved, then suddenly there came the loud rap we had heard before. I jumped and barely escaped banging my head against the piano keys. Wouldn't they have been shocked to hear a sound they hadn't created or planned?
The rap came again. Even though I was sure they were somehow manufacturing it, I still felt those prickles at the back of my neck.
“Are you with us, Chief Ojuweca?” Miss Emily asked in her sonorous voice.
“I am here,” came the deep reply and I could swear again that it came from somewhere above our heads.
“Do you have any messages for this company tonight?” Miss Emily asked.
“Perhaps,” said the deep voice.
“Will you show yourself to us tonight?”
“There are other spirits that seek a chance to materialize so that unbelievers may believe,” Chief Ojuweca’s voice said. “They are all around us. All around us.”
Then there was a gasp. A flimsy white shape flitted through the air and vanished. Clara uttered a scream. “Ectoplasm! Look, Theresa, ectoplasm!”
I watched with fascination as some kind of substance oozed out of Miss Emily’s right ear. It was greenish, luminous, billowing, and as we watched it formed itself into the image of a face. It was hard to determine whose face, but it was young, with large dark eyes and a plaintive expression. It hovered about Miss Emily’s ear for a moment before it too vanished.
“They are all around us,” Miss Ella said.
I have to confess my heart was thumping. I had seen that face with my own eyes. I began to question whether the Misses Sorensen were indeed the real thing.
“Whose face did we see?” Theresa asked with quivering voice.
“Her name is Angelique. She is a spirit guide. She tells me she has brought someone with whom you wanted to communicate. Go ahead, my dear. Speak. Invite the spirit in.”
“Brendan?” Theresa could barely speak the word. “My baby, my dearest boy, are you with us?”
“Mama?” Again it was the smallest of voices.
“It’s him! Brendan, it’s your mother who loves you, who has wept for you every day since you left us.”
“Mama, do not grieve for me. I am an angel now.”
I could swear it was a small child talking and I thought I saw something whiteflutteringagain.
“I must go back now. I love you.”
“I love you too, darling boy with all my heart!” The words came out between sobs. “Don't go, please stay longer.”
“I can't. Must… go …” The little voice faded away as if it was floating up through the ceiling.
“That was most gratifying,” Miss Emily said. “I think we must thank Chief Ojuweca for bringing your son back on a visit.”
“Oh yes,” Theresa attempted to collect herself, dabbing at her eyes with a white lace handkerchief. “Of course—please thank the Chief for me,”
“Thank him yourself He is still here.”
Theresa took a deep breath that shuddered through her whole body. “Thank you, dear Chief Ojuweca,” she said in a shaky voice. “Ill never be able to thank you enough for hearing my son’s voice again and to know that he is happy. What a miracle. What a blessed miracle. If only Bamey had been here to witness it.”
“Your husband does not believe,” the chief’s voice said. There are others who still do not believe. Others in this room. And I am notfinishedyet. I have a message from another child for someone in this room. Here she comes now—she’s dressed ail in white, and she’s wearing a veil and carryingflowersand a prayer book.”
Clara gave an excited squawk. “First communion. Now who do we know who would be dressed for herfirstcommunion?”
“What about Cousin Emmaline’s daughter, Fanny,” Belinda suggested. “Didn't she die right before she was about to receive the sacrament?”
“You're right,” Theresa spoke in a hushed voice. “She did. She caught diphtheria the week before herfirstcommunion and they buried her in her communion dress. I went to the funeral; so did you, Clara.”
“Be quiet, ladies,” the chief’s voice said. “The little girl wants to say something.”
'Don't worry about me. I'm with my mother and I'm happy.” The voice this time was of an older child, but soft and sweet enough to make you cry.
“She’s with her mother, God bless her,” Clara said in a cracked voice. “Emmaline died last year, and now they're together, praise the Lord.”
I felt strangely moved by the young voice, even though I knew it had to be a trick that one of the sisters was pulling off. No more spirits appeared and the seance soon came to a conclusion. Theresa still seemed shaken and needed the support of both Clara and Belinda to escort
her from the room. As they left, I suddenly saw theflawin my plans. If the Sorensen Sisters decided to strip the roomrightnow, they wouldfindme hiding under the piano. I held my breath and looked for a way of escape. Of course there was none.
But luck was with me. Theresa paused in the doorway, her manners and upbringing winning out over emotion.
“Do come and have some strawberries and cream, Miss Emily and Miss Ella,” she said. 'You did not have time tofinishyour supper because of my impatience, I fear.”
“We don't usually eat late at night,” Miss Ella said. “Bad for the digestion.”
“However, strawberries and cream does sound delightful,” Miss Emily interrupted her sister. “And on this one occasion I think we might just.…”
Yes, why not,” Miss Ella agreed. “We will join you as soon as we have composed ourselves.”
I watched as they stood up, holding my breath in case they decided to strip the drapes immediately. Instead, I watched Miss Ella lean behind a chair and pick up something from the floor. It went into a pocket so quickly that I couldn't see what it was, but it was white and flimsy. They looked at each other and nodded.
“A satisfactory evening, I would say,” Miss Ella muttered.
Miss Emily nodded. They left the room. I came out of my hiding place and gave the room a quick going over before creeping undetected up the back stairs to my bedroom. But I found nothing incriminating.
Twenty-two
When I woke on Tuesday morning, I considered breaking into the sisters' cottage while they were at break-fast, but missing dinner last night had given me a ravenous appetite and I wasn't prepared to forego that meal my-self. In fact, I got through a large helping of oatmeal followed by eggs and ham and toast.
“Molly, I am amazed and delighted to see you so quickly recovered,” Theresa exclaimed as she watched me tuck in to my food.
I had all but forgotten that I had been an invalid the night be-fore and blushed. “I have a good constitution, Cousin. With me it’s one evening of sickness and then I'm on my feet again.”
“How fortunate you are, Molly How I wish I had your blooming good health.”
“Maybe you'd feel better if you didn't take all those confounded patent medicines and headache powders,” Barney said as he came into the room, followed by Joseph Rimes.
“If I didn't take my medicines I should feel even worse,” Theresa said coldly.
“Did you ever stop to think that the medicines might be negating each other?” Barney asked. “Powders to make you sleep, powders to wake you up, tonics to keep you regular, tonics to stop you going too often.”
“Really Barney, I must protest,” Theresa said sharply. “Such talk at the breakfast table.”
“I've never understood why talk of bodily functions is so taboo in polite society,” Joseph Rimes said, piling his plate with food as he spoke. “Everyone has to do them even Queen Victoria had to visit the smallest room occasionally.”
“Mercy me!” Clara fanned herself. “Mr. Rimes, I must remind you that there are ladies present.”
Joe Rimes laughed.
“You do it deliberately, Joe,” Barney said, also grinning. “You enjoy making other people squirm, don't you?”
“One needs a few simple pleasures,” Joe Rimes said, “and I've had to abandon most of them in the cause of getting you elected to Congress and keeping you there.”
“And I'm most grateful to you, as you know.” Barney sat beside Miss Emily. “And how are you ladies this morning?”
“Well, thank you, Senator. We had a most successful séance last night.”
The grin vanished from Barney’s face. “You went ahead with a séance, after I specifically forbade you to?” he roared.
Theresa stuck out her chin defiantly. “Miss Emily had a message from her spirit guide. He asked me to attend last night and it was a good thing that I did because Brendan came and talked to me.”
“You saw him?” Barney’s voice was still sharp.
“No, but I heard him. His dear, sweet little voice. He told me he was an angel now and I shouldn't grieve.”
“For God’s sake, woman, he was a baby when he died. Not even two years old. He could hardly say two words. How can you possibly believe it was he who was talking to you?”
“But don't you see, he has continued growing as an angel. He’s now seven. A dear little precious seven-year-old angel and he told me he loves me.” Theresa started to cry.
Barney glared at the two sisters, who pretended to be very busy eating toast and jam.
“Well, let’s hope you're now satisfied and this is an end of it,” Barney said to Theresa. “No more séances, do you hear? They're not making you feel better, but worse.”
“Don't send dear Miss Emily and Miss Ella away, I beg of you.” Theresa reached out to grab his hand.
“I am concerned for the health of your mind, Theresa. No good can come of this ridiculous communication with a dead son.”
“Maybe we should pack our things immediately if we are no longer wanted.” Miss Emily rose to her feet. “We are snowed under with invitations from people who want our help. Perhaps it would be wise to move on to a place where we are welcome.”
“Look, now you've upset them.” Again Theresa started to cry into her handkerchief.
“Dammit, woman, I want you to be well again,” Barney shouted.
“I want a normal wife. Is that too much to ask?” He left his food untouched and walked out of the dining room, slamming the door behind him.
The rest of us sat uncomfortably. The Misses Sorensen stood up. “I really think it might be wise for us to leave, Mrs. Flynn. Spirits will not come where there is such hostility to their presence.”
“At least you spoke with Brendan once,” Clara said. “You heard his dear little voice.”
Theresa stretched out her hand imploringly. “Please don't go. Let me reason with him. I'm sure I'll make him understand and appreciate what you've done for us. Please, don't be hasty—just in case my son wants to contact me once again. I couldn't bear it if he tried to contact me and I wasn't there.”
“We only want to do what is right for you, Mrs. Flynn,” Miss Emily said. “But I do sense the most hostile of vibrations coming from your husband. We will never make a believer of him.”
With that they made their exit. I got up too. There was no time to be lost. If those sisters were about to pack up and leave, I had work to do. But before I could leave, Theresa grabbed at my sleeve. “Don't you desert me too, Molly. I need your comforting presence beside me at a time like this. You are becoming my rock, Molly I shall cling to you.”
So naturally I couldn't escape after an appeal like that, could I? Instead, I had to sit listening to Theresa play the piano and then share a book of poems with me all morning. I managed to keep a look of calm composure on my face every time she smiled at me, when I was just itching to rush out to that cottage before those sisters could pack up their things.
Just before lunch I feigned feeling sick again.
Theresa shook her head. “I didn't think it wise at the time when you ate such a big breakfast. I've always found one must treat the stomach most delicately after episodes like yours.”
“I suppose I'm not as robust as I thought I was,” I answered. “But if you will excuse me, I think I'll forgo lunch today. The sight and smell of food will only make me feel worse.”
“But you will at least take some beef tea in your room today?”
“Later,” I said. “For the moment I think I'll just lie down quietly. I may feel well enough to join you for tea.”
I went upstairs and dutifully laid down on my bed, just in case she decided to check on me. Then, when the lunch gong sounded, I watched and waited until Miss Emily and Miss Ella arrived and they were all safely in the dining room. Then I crept down the stairs and out of the front door. Instead of taking the most direct route to the cottage, which would be up the driveway, in full view of the dining room windows, I went around the other side of
the house, past the Senator’s study and the library and then the back wall of the kitchen where Clara had attempted to plant her sorry-looking flowers.
From there I cut across the kitchen garden, finding a path between tall rows of beans and peas. It came to me that Bertie Morell, or whoever took the child from the house, could have taken the boy this way without being observed from any of the rooms except the nursery or the other back bedrooms, in which Belinda and Qara now slept.
The cottage door opened with a simple latch, like ours at home, and I tiptoed inside. I don't know what I expected to find— a den of black magic perhaps. I do know that my heart was thumping alarmingly. I think part of me still believed in that Indian chief and the floating spirits and the ectoplasm. And with all that inbred Irish superstition of fairies, ghosts and goblins, part of me also believed those spirits might be inhabiting this house.
Instead, it was a perfectly neat and tidy room that met my eye. It was comfortably furnished in a country cottage style, with a big whitewashed fireplace in the middle of one wall, two chintz-covered armchairs and a gate-leg table in the window. Apart from a book and a pair of spectacles on the table, there was no sign that the place was inhabited. A door at one side opened into a kitchen that the sisters had obviously not used, apart from a kettle on the stove, and off a narrow hallway behind it was the bedroom on one side, a bathroom on the other. These, at least, showed signs of being lived in. There were hairbrushes and pins and face powder on the dressing table and a pair of black lisle stockings over the back of a chair. The dresser and wardrobe both contained items of clothing—black silk evening dresses, shawls, shoes, all very ordi-nary things.
I went through one drawer after another, finding nothing. No walking hands, magic lanterns or any other devices for carrying out magic tricks. I rooted around some more, but came up with nothing.
The strange thing was that there was no sign of any trunks or suitcases. Surely they must have traveled with luggage? I prowled the cottage once more and even looked into the lean-to at the back, but found nothing. I was about to admit defeat and consider the possibility that the Misses Sorensen might be genuine spiritualists who really did communicate with the dead, when I noticed a trap door in the ceiling of that dark and narrow hallway I pulled on the cord that hung from it and a crude ladder unfolded. I hoisted my skirts and climbed up into a dark and musty attic. Above me was the thatched roof, probably infested with all manner of creepy crawlies. One dormer window provided enough light for me to see my way and to make out shapes around me. There were various humps and bumps hidden under dust sheets.
