The Spiritglass Charade (Stoker & Holmes 2)

“I suppose the light is harmful to them,” I managed to say without sounding terribly sarcastic.

“I’ll sit next to you, Miss Fenley,” Miss Ashton said eagerly. Despite an increasingly thin face drawn with weariness and strain, she looked lovely but fragile today. Her hair was arranged in a soft knot that allowed gentle curls to spring free near her temples, and her pale blue eyes sparkled with enthusiasm and hope.

We arranged ourselves around a small table thus: Miss Fenley, Miss Ashton, Miss Stoker, Espasia, and then myself on Miss Fenley’s other side. I surreptitiously attempted to move and shift the piece of furniture to determine how easily this could be accomplished. To my surprise, it seemed to be fixed to the floor.

“Please take the forearm of the person to your left, thus creating a powerful circle that will allow the spirits a safe place to gather,” Miss Fenley told us.

I offered my right arm to Miss Fenley and took hold of Espasia’s left one, at the same time asking, “But where is the spiritglass, Miss Ashton?” For wasn’t that the reason she had contacted Miss Fenley in the first place? I had anticipated it being in the center of the table, the highlight of this séance.

“Excuse me, I must dim the lights a little more.” Espasia stood as Miss Ashton replied to my question.

“I neglected to tell you that after my initial consultation with Miss Fenley, we decided to attempt to contact Mother without the oracle—er, spiritglass this first time. But I’ve left it safely in my chamber for now in case we decide we would need it.”

I was not surprised at this explanation. The spiritglass was merely an excuse for our villain to redirect Miss Ashton to another medium of her—or his—choosing. I was certain the cornerstone of the plot against her was that Willa Ashton continue her experimentation with spirit-talking.

“Now then,” Espasia said from my right side as she settled back into her seat, “we must settle into a quiet and respectful mood so the spirits can manifest.”

In the near darkness, she offered me her forearm. I grasped it once more . . . and realized it was not the same limb she had previously extended. No person is completely symmetrical, and there are slight differences in our bodies, such as one limb being slightly more muscular than the other. Aside from that, the sleeve on this arm had an uneven seam on it and a loose bit of lace, and the other one hadn’t.

A prickle of anticipation sizzled through me as I realized what she’d done: twisting in her seat so that her left hand, which she reached over to hold Miss Stoker’s arm, was of the same limb extended to me to grasp. No one would notice her odd position and the angle of her arm. This trick left Espasia with a free right hand, hidden in the dark, able to do whatever must be done in order to conduct the séance.

I grinned. I would let the performance unfold for the time being, for I am always appreciative of good showmanship. However, I would be speaking with Miss Fenley in short order.

“Now, let us become quiet,” said the medium in an atmospheric voice. “And ask the spirits to join us.”

Silence descended over the parlor.

In our dimly lit chamber, everything was still but for the soft sounds of breathing. I identified Miss Ashton’s as the shallow, desperate one. In the far distance, I could hear the sounds of the city: rumbling cart wheels, horses clip-clopping, the hum of machinery and self-propelled vehicles, voices shouting, calling, shrieking.

Miss Fenley stiffened next to me, and then I heard a sharp rap. “They are here,” our medium said. “They’ve accepted our invitation.”

“Is Mama here?” Miss Ashton asked.

Rap, rap.

“Yes, she is present.”

Suddenly, the table moved, lifting and tilting sharply. I nearly sprang from my seat.

Miss Ashton gave a little shriek as Espasia exclaimed, “Do not release your grasp! Hold tight!”

“Look!” cried Miss Ashton. “Above!”

As if guided by an unseen hand, a square object floated through the air. At the same time, I heard a sharp, discordant note from a violin. I spun to look in that direction, but saw nothing. Another jarring shriek emitted from an out-of-tune violin.

Something clattered onto the table next to me and I looked over to see a slender object rolling from where it had landed on the table. A writing implement. And, blast it, I’d been staring in the other direction when the pencil appeared. I’d fallen for the common technique of distraction.

The floating white object came nearer, hovering over our heads. The table jolted once more, causing Miss Ashton to gasp.

“Why is she so angry? What’s wrong with my mother?”

“Remain calm.” Espasia’s voice lashed out. “The spirits will speak . . . but only to Louisa. And only if you remain silent.”

A rush of cold air blasted through the room, and I turned quickly to see one of the filmy wallpaper coverings fluttering. The eerie chill that had settled over my skeptical self eased when I realized how that effect had been accomplished. A gust of wind from behind the silk or through a hole. Louisa and Espasia must have a partner, or some sort of automated mechanism.

When I turned back, I saw the floating white object had settled itself in the center of the table. It appeared to be a piece of paper.

“The spirits wish for me to write their messages,” said Miss Fenley. “They have given me the tools. Espasia, please raise the lights slightly.”

When Espasia stood to do this, Miss Stoker and I released her arm (which was, of course, the same arm due to the woman’s manipulations in the dark). As I expected, when she returned, she offered each of us different arms—me her right one, and Miss Stoker her left one, now that we could see in the light.

“You may release Louisa,” the assistant said. “She’s going into her trance. Please do not make any sudden movements or sounds or the connection may be broken . . . and she could be injured.”

The young medium closed her eyes, holding her hands straight out in front of her, resting them on the table. The pencil rolled toward her right hand. She reached out and caught it before it careened off the table.

I knew how she’d done it, and I watched to see what would happen with the paper. Louisa’s body went rigid. Her eyelids fluttered and her arms began to vibrate as her breathing became rushed and audible.

Suddenly, Espasia’s arm tightened, then her whole body jolted. I had to turn from Louisa to Espasia, for she’d begun to shake violently. I knew better than to be distracted, but the poor woman seemed to be having a seizure.