Madame continued the extraordinary two-handed conversation. “What is your name, spirit? Give your name to the general that he may know you.”
The voice was fainter now. “Sim—Sim,” came the distant reply. The voice paused, and the moment stretched out, the anticipation mounting.
“Simpson?” cried the general.
“Simpson,” the spirit finished, almost inaudibly. “Fare well!”
Madame spoke. “I have nothing more from Simpson. He has vanished in a burst of light, the light of the Spirit’s love. He has gone to the other side now, and will not speak again.”
The general subsided into a series of noisy snuffling sounds, and I marvelled. A general would command a goodly number of men. It was an excellent guess that one of them might bear the surname Simpson or Simmons or any of a dozen other variations. Or perhaps it had not been a guess at all. If the general had made his appointment with a few days’ notice, Madame Séraphine would have had more than enough time to investigate his record of service. The newspapers detailed all of the trials and tribulations of the army. It would have been the work of a few hours to find something that would have touched a tender spot with the general, even to find a name. The logic of this was inescapable, but I had to admire her performance. The delivery was impeccable. The two halves of the conversation had been seamless, very nearly overlapping at one point, and when she meant to convey the spirit’s withdrawal, she had given the impression of such impassable distance, of a veil dropping over to conceal the worlds between. It was superbly done, and I had little doubt she would have made an excellent actress had she chosen to tread the boards.
The general at last lapsed into sniffles again, and Madame passed on.
“Some new spirit has come forth. Speak, spirit!” Again a dramatic pause, and then a new voice, this one high and girlish.
“Papa!”
The tall, sour gentleman gave a start. “Honoria?”
“Yes, Papa! I come to watch over you all. I am at peace.” The gentleman cleared his throat hard, and I smothered another sigh. It was all too maudlin for words. But I do not know what else I might have expected. Those who consulted mediums always did so because their dead did not rest easily. They looked for forgiveness, for absolution, and Madame gave it them.
“Honoria, I must know. Did you compromise yourself with your sister’s fiancé? Did you take your own life?”
I blinked in surprise, but the bluntness of the questions did not throw Madame from her purpose. The high, girlish voice continued. “I am beyond such things, Papa. It is so beautiful here, I cannot think of where I have come from.” It was a clever answer, neatly skirting the question.
But the father was not satisfied. “Honoria, do not witter on. I must know if you betrayed your sister’s faith and if you took your life. Your mother insisted we bury you in the family plot, but by God, I will have you removed if you disgraced us,” he thundered. Whatever sympathy I might have felt towards this miserable parent was smothered with that last bit of cruelty. I could well imagine him as a father—intolerant, impatient, unforgiving—and I was rather glad poor Honoria was done with him.
Madame Séraphine must have felt the same, for she cut in, still employing Honoria’s voice, but lit with a new fire.
“Enough, Papa! In the spirit world I am perfected, and you have no power here. Leave me be and mend your unkindness lest you fail to join me here.”
He gasped and closed his mouth with a sharp snap of the jaws. Next to me, the ginger-haired young man gave a snort—of suppressed laughter, I suspected. I wondered if the spirits had a message for him, but Madame’s head suddenly dropped forward.
“I have a message from a dark lady. Will you speak aloud, spirit?” She paused and cocked her head, as if listening intently. “She will not. She begs that I will speak for her. She says that all things will come right in the end. But one must act with generosity of spirit to achieve one’s aim. She is very close now, so close to understanding. She needs only a little encouragement from one who sits at this table.” Madame gave a little start forward, her eyes still closed. “She is withdrawing behind the veil and I have nothing more from her.” Madame settled back into her chair again.
“Speak to me, spirits,” she intoned in her own voice. A long moment passed, a very long moment, in fact, and I felt a prickle at the back of my neck, as if the hairs had stood right on end. The atmosphere was eerie, and I felt in that moment as if anything at all might happen.
I turned to Madame, whose grip upon my hand tightened. She began to rock back and forth, the humming rising once more from her chest. She bent forward at the waist, as if she were sick, but the humming never faltered. It gave way to a low moaning, her head turning from side to side, and suddenly, horribly, out of her mouth came a filmy white substance.
“Ectoplasm!” cried the general.
The white substance hovered in the air, glowing a little in the darkness. There was a sudden terrible shudder from Madame, and the ectoplasm vanished. “The spirits call upon you to believe and to speak of what you have seen this night!” she pronounced. She opened her eyes and fixed them upon each of us in turn. “You must speak the truth and say that you have seen the world beyond the veil, that Madame Séraphine has communicated with the dead. That is all, the spirits have gone.”
With that, she dropped our hands and rose, drooping as if exhausted. Agathe materialised and took her sister’s arm, supporting her from the room. At the door, she turned back.
“It has been a difficult evening for Madame and she suffers from exhaustion. If you wish to come again, Madame will be receiving the spirits tomorrow night. She bids you adieu with her blessings and those of the spirits.”
Madame lifted a pale, trembling hand, and they were gone. The lady and gentlemen at the table rose, doubtless as startled by Madame’s sudden departure as they had been by what they had seen. The veiled lady took her leave immediately, and I was not surprised. The general had been less than cordial to her, and she might not have wanted to linger in his company. For his part, the general daubed at his eyes with a handkerchief as he left the room, followed hard upon by Honoria’s father. The ginger-haired young man made to leave just as the handsome fellow stepped to the door. What followed was a pantomime of exaggerated politeness as the ginger-haired younger man moved aside. The handsome fellow then paused to check his watch and pat his pockets for his cigarette case as the ginger-haired young man cooled his heels, clearly regretting his own good manners as he made his way through the door at last. I followed him, wondering where I should next look for Brisbane. Just as I reached the door, hands, hard and unyielding, clamped about my mouth and upper arm and I was dragged backwards into the spirit cabinet. The velvet curtain fell, entombing me with my assailant in the stuffy darkness.
The FOURTH CHAPTER
Glendower: I can call spirits from the vasty deep.
Hotspur: Why, so can I, or so can any man.
But will they come when you do call them?
—Henry IV, Part One
I would have cried out, but his hand was fast over my mouth, his body pressing hard against mine as we wedged into the narrow cabinet. He bent to my ear, whispering harshly.
“I knew there was one chance in a thousand I was going to get you safely out of town, but this is entirely too much, Julia. I ought to take you home, strip off that ridiculous costume and beat you senseless.” I wriggled against him and Brisbane clamped his hand tighter. “Unless that is an invitation, keep still. Agathe will return in a moment and she must think you have gone with the others.”
I prodded his hand, and to his credit, he trusted me enough to remove it. We waited in silence then, although I could feel the slow, rhythmic thunder of his heartbeat,