“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?”
In Like Flynn (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #4)
Rhys Bowen's books
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