by Lisa Tuttle
As the armchair enveloped him, Mr. Chase seemed to disappear into its dark mass.
Then the chair rose slowly off the ground. There were gasps of awe and surprise. Distances were harder to judge in the darkness, but it must have been hovering at least four feet above the carpeted floor when it ceased to rise.
“Stay where you are and remain quite still.” This instruction, in the medium’s calm, high voice, was hardly necessary, for I am sure we were all too astonished to move.
“Do not be alarmed. I am quite safe, supported by the spirits, and will remain so as long as everyone in the room is calm and still. Whatever happens, remember this: We are all surrounded by love. The spirits are with us.”
His face began to glow with an eerie, greenish light.
There were even more gasps, and a few small cries, but his steady, monotonous voice repeating that we were not to be alarmed, that he was safe, that we must stay still and calm, worked as a sedative draft. Even I felt peculiarly calm—although it did not strike me as peculiar at the time. I felt clear-headed and observant, but also detached, almost removed from the scene.
“The spirits tell me that some of you have questions, and they are pleased to answer, using me. There is no need for anyone to speak or identify himself. The spirits know all. If you have a question you want to put to them, you need only shape it in your mind. You may ask anything, in perfect freedom, quite as if you were alone. I am merely the conduit. I do not know who asks the questions, or why. I will simply repeat the words of the spirits. You may recognize their significance to you, or you may not. But they will be true answers, so keep them close to your heart, and someday you may understand. Let us begin.”
An even greater hush now fell over the darkened room, as all eyes fixed upon the eerily glowing, moonlike orb scarcely recognizable as the ordinary face of Mr. C. C. Chase.
When he next spoke, his voice, like his face, was changed. It was louder and lower in pitch, and his delivery was less fluent, somewhat hesitant and jerky, like that of a student who recites a lesson without understanding.
“First question. The answer. There is someone who has recently become very close to you. This person is not to be trusted. Take care. Be cautious, circumspect. Remember, old friends are the best. Do not entrust your secrets, no, nor any material treasures to someone you have known for scarcely a year.”
He fell silent again for at least a full minute. I noticed how the glowing light extended in wisps and hairlike tendrils all around his face.
“Second question. The answer. You will find that which you have lost. It is in your house, but in an unexpected place. Do not despair. Keep looking. Seek and ye shall find.”
The medium continued to spout similar platitudes and vague advice in response to another six questions. If people recognized their own mentally transmitted questions in these answers, I could not guess. Apart from an occasional gasp or subdued sob, the audience stayed as still and quiet as he had commanded. With the waiting silences in between each “answer,” it must have taken about a quarter of an hour to get through all of the questions. It felt longer to me. Once the novelty of the floating, glowing medium wore off, I was not impressed. Although I could not imagine how he had made his chair lift off the ground, and must admire his swift and effective use of the luminous paint he must have had hidden in the chair, I found his “mediumship” to be no more original or imaginative than that of any run-of-the-mill medium on the present scene. Anyone might have cobbled together such answers—particularly after the chance to speak with members of the audience beforehand.
I leaned forward, straining my eyes against the darkness, wondering if I only imagined the change I was seeing. It seemed to me that the glow was fading from the medium’s face and migrating to form another shape a few inches to the right of his head. Yes, I was right—a ball of glowing greenish-white light had appeared.
It looked like a head…For a moment, I thought I was mistaken and Chase had simply moved, but, no, I could still make out his form in the chair, including his head, even as it ceased to glow. And now the other glowing object was quite clearly the head of a woman—a distinct personage, with open eyes, undeniably real and alive. There was something familiar about the face, although I could not think how I knew it.
She blinked and turned from side to side, looking, searching for something—or someone. Emotion positively radiated from her features, a mixture of love and sadness. Then her lips moved, and we heard her speak, in a voice that sounded nothing at all like that of C. C. Chase. It was a musical voice and undeniably womanly, thrillingly low and warm as she said, “My dear…where are you? Oh, my dear…why do you call me back?”
A shiver ran through me, and I’m sure the yearning emotion in her voice affected all who heard it, but no one as much as Lord Bennington, who gave a choked cry: “Lorna!”
I realized then why the disembodied head had looked familiar to me. Lady Lorna was Lord Bennington’s late wife, and although I had never met her in life, I had seen her portrait.
“Dearest, do not mourn,” she said. “I have gone to a better place now, and we will someday be reunited—you, and I, and our children. Until then, think of me fondly, but do not grieve. Live your life, care for the children, do good, and let me go.”
“Lorna—Lorna—I miss you so!” His voice cracked and broke. He stood up, a hulking figure in the shadows.
“I know, my dear,” the gentle voice replied. “But I am closer than you know. Remember that—remember—but let me go.”
He swayed, then I realized he was moving forward, awkward amid the seated guests in the dark, crowded room, pursuing the ghostly, floating head. “Wait—wait—please, let me touch you. I must know…if only I could feel…Oh, stay. Just one kiss?”
The woman’s head bobbed, and then it was gliding through the air, flying toward Lord Bennington. They were on a collision course—they came together—the woman’s head struck Lord Bennington’s, halting him. As soon as contact was made, the disembodied head collapsed; it became a ball of silvery smoke, then dissipated into a shower of bright fragments.
The room was in an uproar; someone shrieked, I heard someone else weeping, and a man reciting the Twenty-Third Psalm. In what faint light remained, I saw Lord Bennington put a hand to his mouth, feeling for the imprint of ghostly lips on his.
Chapter 14
A Spirited Exchange
“Light. More light.”
The words came out in a croak, but they were from Mr. Chase, and they reached the servants through the general uproar. When light was restored to the room, Lord Bennington could be seen slumped on a sofa, his head in his hands, Lady Florence standing over him, patting his back and murmuring endearments.
The medium was still in his chair—now once more on the floor—head thrown back, eyes shut, face very pale.
Light returned, shock subsided. Weeping, shrieking, and prayer were all out of place at this fashionable London gathering, and after an awkward interval the low murmur of voices increased in volume as awe and fear were transformed into a heady excitement. Lady Lorna’s ghost! Only a few of them had known her in life, but we had all seen her…There could be no doubt, no mistake about it…The spiritualists had it right. Death was not the end; there could be communication between our world and the realm beyond…Lord Bennington’s wife had come back to tell us all.
Eventually, pale and subdued, our host recovered enough to stand up and offer formal thanks to Mr. Chase, who opened his eyes, but otherwise remained unmoving.
“As we can see, Mr. Chase is, quite understandably, exhausted by his wonderful efforts on our behalf,” said Lord Bennington, beginning to choke up again. “Wonderful…but let us not speak of it yet.” He cleared his throat. “What I mean to say is—let us leave Mr. Chase to recover from his exertions and repair to the dining room for a light supper.”
In an instant, the medium was on his feet, confounding any impression of him as a spent force. He positively exuded vitality. His eyes we
re bright, his cheeks had a healthy flush, and he bounced a little on the balls of his feet as if the energy he contained would not let him be still. He might have just come in from a gallop across open land, I thought, the sort of exercise that might have left his horse lathered, but merely sharpened his appetite for an evening of dancing.
“Not so fast, your lordship,” he cried. “The show’s not over yet.”
We all stared at him.
He laughed. “Oh, it is true that the spirits have done with me for now. But I’m not the only talented person here. Didn’t I promise to give the signora a chance? I don’t forget my promises. I’m sure no one will mind waiting a little longer for their supper.”
Signora Gallo looked more than half asleep, listing slightly in her chair. At her side, Gabrielle gave her arm a surreptitious pinch and smiled sweetly at Mr. Chase.
“Most kind. I’m afraid Signora Gallo dozed off for a few moments…the darkness, you know…I almost nodded off myself.”
His eyes flashed. “I hope you weren’t bored?”
“No, no, certainly not,” she replied with smiling malice. “It was all most interesting, I’m sure. Signora Gallo was quite stunned by the power of your imagination.”
As accomplished as she at the use of innuendo, he replied, “I think perhaps some other type of spirits are to blame for the little lady’s indisposition?”
She gave him a murderous look. “Someone else might take that as a libel. And she is awake now. Aren’t you, dear? That’s right—a wee bit drowsy, I know. It has been a long day, but you’re going to show all these lovely people—and Mr. Chase—how the good spirits have blessed you.”
“Take my place,” urged Mr. Chase.
Gabrielle rose and hauled the little medium upright beside her. After a brief pause to make sure she really could stand on her own, she guided her to the chair recently vacated by Mr. Chase, then spoke to the room.
“I hope you will allow me a few words of introduction. Fiorella Gallo comes to us from Italy. She has been learning English since her arrival on these shores, a matter of only a very few months, and although she is very intelligent, her fluency lags behind her understanding. Thus, I will act as her translator. Signora Gallo has a very remarkable talent. She is a psychometrist. That is, she has the ability to read a person’s history or emotional states and concerns from almost any precious, valuable object they possess. She is also able to exert a magnetic attraction to such objects, particularly to items made of precious metals.”
She was still buying time for Fiorella to recover from her strange stupor, and, as I took in the drooping eyes and dullness of her usually lively face, I wondered if Mr. Chase’s insinuating comment had been right. But surely Gabrielle, so careful in her management, would never have allowed her charge to get drunk.
At last Gabrielle could string out her introduction no longer. It was time for Signora Gallo to perform—if she could. Seconds passed, with agonizing slowness, and still the little woman in the chair, the recipient of everyone’s attentive gaze, did nothing more than shift her weight a little and moisten her lips. She looked bewildered. Then she closed her eyes, and frowned, as if trying to remember some complicated formula.
There was a faint tinkling sound, as of a glass lightly struck, from the other side of the room, and then a small object passed overhead. Something like a necklace, silver glinting in the lamplight, flew straight toward Signora Gallo, then dropped, landing on her bosom.
She gave a start, her eyes popped open, and she fumbled and took hold of the object and peered at it in a puzzled way. It was, I saw, one of the silver labels that are hung on the neck of decanters. Signora Gallo held up the chain, and we could all see the large silver letters spelling SHERRY. Already the tinkling of glass from the top of the drinks cabinet warned of another just before the WHISKY label fell into her lap. This was followed by PORT striking her shoulder and then sliding to the floor, and concluded as MADEIRA landed on her head, tilting like a tipsy crown. By that time the room was in an uproar, everyone laughing at poor befuddled Fiorella.
Well, nearly everyone. I did not laugh, nor did Mr. Jesperson, nor Mr. Chase, although his lips were curved in a smile as he gazed intently. Gabrielle stood rigidly still and silent until all four decanters had been relieved of their labels. Then she gave her head a rebellious toss and glared until the audience calmed. She took a deep breath. “What an unpleasant joke. I wonder what these objects may have to tell us about it?” Turning toward the medium, she froze when she saw what the rest of us had already noticed.
Sound asleep, head fallen back, mouth open, snoring, bedecked with labels, she might have been a moral illustration warning against the evils of drink.
There were a few uneasy titters from the audience, but I believe almost everyone felt more discomfited than amused. Lady Florence rescued the situation with her usual grace by reminding us about supper and starting a movement toward the dining room, rounding up stray guests like an elegant sheepdog. She gave me a meaningful look, so I stayed behind with Mr. Jesperson, Gabrielle, and her sleeping charge.
A minute or two passed in silence, apart from the occasional snore. Gabrielle’s expression invited neither question nor comment. It was a relief when Lady Florence returned and asked Mr. Jesperson if he would see Gabrielle and Signora Gallo safely home.
“My pleasure.”
“You’ll take my carriage. Afterward, I hope you will return and have supper.”
“That is very kind. But I have a job to do.”
“Of course! I suppose detectives cannot keep bankers’ hours.” Still smiling at him, she seized my hand. “But I hope you can spare Miss Lane for a little while.”
“With difficulty,” he said gravely.
I knew he would not need my help in watching over Arthur Creevey and assured Lady Florence that I was happy to stay. She gave me a more intimate smile and warmly pressed my hand.
In response to her conventional expressions of regret that she should have to leave so soon, Gabrielle gave a haughty stare and said bluntly, “Signora Gallo is not an inebriate.”
“Miss Fox! I never imagined for a moment—”
“Nor is she a fraud, nor evil-minded—unlike Mr. Chase. You think he’s wonderful, but I see through him.”
“Of course, of course,” murmured Lady Florence, with a pained smile, as one who puts off an unreasonable child. “We must speak again very soon, Miss Fox. I hope your friend feels better in the morning.”
Mr. Jesperson lifted the sleeping woman easily and carried her from the room. The butler was waiting in the hall and the carriage was already at the door.
After draping Fiorella’s coat over her like a blanket, Gabrielle turned to me with a brooding look, her mouth tensed reproachfully. “Enjoy your supper.”
I felt a pang, knowing she considered my staying an act of betrayal. “I am sorry…Good night, Gabrielle.” Swiftly, I leaned forward to embrace her. This was not our usual practice, and it took her by surprise. As I made to kiss her on the cheek, I whispered, “We will speak tomorrow.”
She looked happier when we drew apart. “Good night, my dear. Thank you ever so for the loan of your Mr. Jesperson. Such a useful gentleman! Thank you for the carriage, Lady Florence. We’ll send it back for Miss Lane.”
“Not too soon, I hope,” said Lady Florence, smiling and waving them goodbye before she steered me away to the dining room where the others waited.
I would not have presumed to think they waited for me, but as I entered arm-in-arm with Lady Florence, Mr. Chase made it clear he had been anticipating my arrival by the way he indicated the empty seat at his side.
“I am so glad that you were able to stay, Miss Lane. It is too bad about the foreign lady, but at least she has a friend to look after her. I believe you were at one time a very intimate friend of Miss Fox?”
There was nothing unacceptable in the words he used, and his delivery was bland enough, yet it put me on my guard. As neutrally as possible, I agreed that this w
as so.
“How did the friendship break? Some people have speculated that the reason you parted was your discovery of some sort of imposture or fraud in which she was complicit—”
“Mr. Chase.” I interrupted him deliberately, my voice and manner chilly. “Why do you imagine I should wish to hear unpleasant and unfounded gossip about someone you know to be my close friend?”
“So there was no break?”
I turned to the gentleman on my other side, but he was too deep in conversation with another lady to offer an escape. “I cannot fathom why such personal details should interest you.”
He smiled, his pale blue eyes boring into mine. “Who can say why one particular person exerts a peculiarly strong fascination over another? I only know that it is so for me.”
“Then you had better question Miss Fox, although after the events of this evening, she is unlikely to be sympathetic.”
“It is not Miss Fox who fascinates me.”
At that moment one of the servants who had been moving around the table with a silver serving dish reached my shoulder, allowing me to break eye contact. After slices of cold beef and chicken had been transferred to my plate, the man moved on without offering any to Mr. Chase.
“You don’t eat meat?”
“As the spiritual sense develops, the body is more refreshed by a diet restricted to healthful fruits, grains, and vegetables.”
I smiled down at my plate. “I’ve heard you travel with your own cook.”
“So you are interested in me!” He gave a delighted chuckle. “I was beginning to fear my feelings were doomed to be unrequited.”
His words gave me an odd flutter inside, and, feeling it would be unwise to meet his eyes again, I kept mine fixed firmly on my plate as I replied lightly, “Everyone is interested in you, Mr. Chase. After you have displayed such powers, how can you be surprised? But is it true that you travel with such a large retinue that they require a separate house?”
