Wait Until Midnight

FOURTEEN

The response to the request for a séance came in a very speedy fashion the following morning.

Caroline was still at breakfast with Emma and Milly. All three of them were attired in their new dressing gowns. The fashion for wearing the comfortable, loose-fitting garments down to breakfast had arrived recently from France and was rapidly being adopted by women at every level of society. The ladies at 22 Corley Lane had been among the first to take up the style.

The gowns were modest enough but they were considered extremely daring because they were loose fitting. Critics raged against the trend, seeing it as a harbinger of yet another decline in morals. Some went so far as to warn that husbands would soon lose interest in their wives' charms if those charms were carelessly draped in loose-fitting garments every morning at breakfast.

Few women paid much attention to such ominous prognostications. Certainly no one in this household, where there was a noticeable lack of husbands, cared a jot for the critics' opinions, Caroline thought. Given the discomfort of the stiff, tightly laced corsets and bodices of modern dresses, not to mention the sheer weight of the heavy materials used in them, no female in her right mind was eager to don one any earlier in the day than necessary.

Caroline put down her fork and opened the message from Irene Toller.

"Ah-hah." She waved the note aloft in triumph. "I knew it would not take long to receive an appointment for a sitting. Did I not tell you that Mrs. Toller was eager for new business?"

Milly put down her teacup. "What does she say, dear?" Caroline read the note aloud.

Dear Mrs. Fordyce:

Regarding your request to experience a proper séance, I am delighted to inform you that I will be conducting one this very evening at nine o'clock. I have room for two additional sitters. You and your assistant are welcome to attend. I assure you that you will not be disappointed.

Yrs. very truly, I. Toller

P.S. My sitting fees are itemized below. Payment is due before the séance begins.

Emma put down her spoon very slowly. "Promise us that you will be careful tonight, Caroline. I am still quite apprehensive about this venture that you and Mr. Hardesty have undertaken."

"They will both be fine," Milly assured her cheerfully. "What can go wrong at a séance?" She turned back to Caroline. "Emma and I are engaged to attend the theater with Mrs. Hughes this evening. Afterward we will no doubt play cards until all hours. You will be sound asleep, I'm sure, by the time we get home. But tomorrow we will want to hear every single detail concerning Mrs. Toller's performance"

"Never fear," Caroline said. "I will take notes"

Emma frowned. "What was that business about your assistant? Is that how you identified Mr. Hardesty in your message to Mrs. Toller?"

"Yes." Caroline smiled, pleased with her creative solution to the problem of Adam. "I introduced myself as the author who has been making observations at Wintersett House and told her that I would be accompanied by my assistant. As you can see, she did not hesitate"

Milly raised her brows. "Does Mr. Hardesty know that you have described him as such?"

"Not yet," Caroline said. "I will explain it to him on the way to the séance this evening."

"Now that promises to be a most entertaining conversation," Milly said dryly. "A pity I will not be there to hear it."

Caroline reached for a slice of toast. "Why do you say that?"

"Something tells me that Adam Hardesty is not accustomed to taking orders from anyone."…

At eight-thirty that evening Adam followed Caroline into the carriage and took the seat across from her.

"You told Irene Toller that I was your what?"

"My assistant," she repeated calmly. "What else did you expect me to say? I did not think it wise to claim you as a distant relation for fear that we might stumble over some casual inquiry concerning our pasts and give ourselves away."

"Surely you could have come up with a more elevated position for me."

"I was afraid that any other explanation of your presence might convey the impression that you and I shared an acquaintance of an, uh, intimate nature." She smiled very brightly. "I certainly did not want to embarrass you with that sort of suggestion."

"I see." His initial reaction to the news that he had been assigned the lowly role of assistant to a writer of sensation novels had been mild exasperation tempered by wry amusement. Discovering that Caroline had gone out of her way to ensure that no one mistook him for her lover, however, had a decidedly lowering effect on his spirits.

Evidently she had not responded to that kiss in the carriage yesterday quite the same way he had. The moment of surprising passion had left him with an abiding restlessness and a sense of longing that had only grown more intense with the passing of time.

Tonight Caroline looked enchantingly mysterious in the soft golden glow of the carriage lamps, he thought. Her gown was composed of an amber-colored bodice and reddish-brown skirts. The hem of the dress pooled around her feet. A tiny confection of a hat was tilted at a provocative angle on her gleaming hair.

He suddenly wished that they were not on their way to a séance. He wanted nothing more in that moment than to be en route to some snug, secluded room where they could be alone with a warm fire and a comfortable bed.

"I'm sorry if you are offended by the role I assigned you, sir," she said briskly. "I thought it was a very clever notion" "It was certainly inventive," he allowed.

She frowned. "You did leave the matter of arranging the details of the séance to me, if you will recall."

"It seemed reasonable at the time. In hindsight, how-ever, I cannot help but wonder if it was a rather glaring error in judgment."

Her mouth twitched at the corners. "But surely you see that the position of assistant is the perfect cover for you. It will also ensure that you are not the object of gossip or rumor concerning your connection to me."

So she was amused by her little joke, was she?

"As I said, it was creative." He smiled coolly. "And I do appreciate your concern for my reputation. But as it hap-pens, it was unnecessary for you to worry about embarrassing me."

"I beg your pardon?"

"It would not have caused me any loss of sleep at all if you had chosen to imply that ours was an intimate connection." Her eyes widened. Her lips parted.

"Oh," she said.

Satisfied that he had made her pay with a blush, he folded his arms. "What exactly does an assistant to a writer do?"

"I have no notion whatsoever," she admitted. "I've never had one before."

"Then I shall just have to make it up as I go along, won't I?"

"Well, yes, I suppose so," she said, obviously reluctant to place too much responsibility in his hands. "Now then, regarding the séance, you do realize that the sitters are expected to follow certain rules that are understood by every-one present, do you not?"

"Let me hazard a guess concerning séance etiquette. I'll wager that no one is to question the effects produced by the medium, no matter how bizarre or outrageous they might be. Am I correct?"

"Quite correct."

"Perhaps in my role as your research assistant, I could get away with striking a light or turning over the table to examine the fittings underneath," he mused.

"Do not even consider it, sir." She gave him a quelling look. "May I remind you that we are not attending the séance so that you can have the satisfaction of exposing the medium. We will be there for the sole purpose of providing you with a close look at Mrs. Toller and the interior plan of her house."

He inclined his head. "Thank you for reminding me of my priorities in this affair."

Irene Toller's house was located on a quiet street in a modest neighborhood. Adam noted that the upstairs and most of the ground floor were dark. A pale, eerie glow shone through the decorative glass panes above the door.

"Mrs. Toller evidently does not believe in wasting money on lighting," he said to Caroline.

"Hers is a business that thrives in poor light.^"

The housekeeper, a middle-aged woman of short stature

and compact build, answered the door. She wore a dress of some dull, black fabric that lacked any hint of luster. A white apron and a cap completed her uniform.

"This way, please," the woman said. "You are the last to arrive. The séance will begin shortly. You can pay me Mrs. Toller's fee now."

Adam caught a whiff of lavender scent. There was something vaguely familiar about the woman, he thought as he handed over the money. He did not recognize her face but he was certain that he knew her voice and the set of those sturdy shoulders.

It came to him as he followed her into the parlor. He gave Caroline a quick glance. She nodded, letting him know that she, too, recognized the woman.

Toller's housekeeper had been the widow in heavy mourning at yesterday's demonstration at Wintersett House; the one who had asked about the location of her late husband's missing shares of stock. Evidently, in addition to her traditional duties, she worked as the medium's assistant.

Adam followed Caroline into a small, over furnished parlor. A fire warmed the hearth. A photograph of the queen dressed in mourning hung above the mantel.

Two of the other sitters were women of a certain age. They introduced themselves as Miss Brick and Mrs. Trent. Both were gray-haired and dressed in sensible woolen gowns.

The third person was a fidgety man of about thirty-five who gave his name as Gilbert Smith.

Smith had pale blue eyes and lank, nondescript reddish-blond hair that was almost the same color as his ruddy complexion. His coat, shirt, waistcoat and trousers were ordinary in terms of quality and cut.

None of the three so much as blinked when Adam gave his name as Mr. Grove. He was satisfied that they did not recognize him. Not that he had expected any difficulty in that regard, he thought. This was not the world he inhabited.

There was, however, a small murmur of excitement from the two ladies when Caroline was introduced.

"I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Fordyce," Miss Brick exclaimed, animated and energetic. "Mrs. Trent and I do so enjoy your stories.^"

"Yes, indeed." Mrs. Trent put her hands together in de-light. "That Edmund Drake is such a dreadful villain. I cannot wait to see what happens to him. Perhaps you will have him fall off his horse and tumble down a huge cliff into the sea?"

Adam noticed that Gilbert Smith had stopped toying with his walking stick. He was studying Caroline with thinly veiled interest.

"I rather like the notion of having Drake get shot by the hero, Jonathan St. Claire," Miss Brick said eagerly. "That way you could describe Drake's dying groans and the expression of agony and remorse on his face"

"Thank you for the suggestions,^" Caroline said in a light, polite way that did not invite further advice. "But I already have an end in mind for my villain. I trust it will prove to be a surprise for everyone" She smiled. "Especially Edmund Drake."

Adam felt his back teeth close tightly together. It occurred to him that every time Edmund Drake was mentioned, he clenched his jaw. It was becoming an exceedingly disturbing habit.

He forced a humorless grin. "Perhaps Mrs. Fordyce in-tends to astonish us all by having Drake avoid the usual unfortunate demise meted out to villains."

Miss Brick and Mrs. Trent stared at him as if he had gone mad.

"Talk about your startling incidents," he continued, warming to his own notion. "Only consider the effect on readers if she transformed Drake into the hero who saves the day and marries the heroine."

"I cannot imagine her doing any such thing," Mrs. Trent said with conviction.

"Of course not," Miss Brick added briskly. "Turn the villain into a hero? Unthinkable."

Gilbert Smith gave Adam a speculative look. "May I ask what your interest is in tonight's séance, sir?"

"Mr. Grove is my assistant," Caroline said very smoothly before Adam could respond.

Smith frowned. "What does a writer's assistant do?" "You'd be amazed," Adam said.

Smith gave up on him and switched back to Caroline. "I confess that I am curious to know why an author would wish to attend a séance, Mrs. Fordyce."

"One of the characters who will appear in my next novel is a medium," Caroline explained. "I thought it would be a good idea to experience a few séances and observe some examples of psychical phenomena before I write those scenes."

Miss Brick was impressed. "You are here to do research?" "Yes," Caroline said.

"How exciting."

Smith shot another veiled, searching look at Adam. "And you are assisting her in this research?"

"I find my work extremely interesting," Adam said. "Never a dull moment."

The housekeeper loomed like a spirit manifestation in the doorway.

"It is time," she announced with a suitably portentous air. "Mrs. Toller is ready to begin the séance. Please follow me."

They followed her down another shadowy hall. Adam used the opportunity to note the location of the rear stairs and the entrance to the kitchen.

Midway along the corridor, the housekeeper opened a door. One by one the sitters filed into a darkened room and took their places at a cloth-draped table.

A single lamp burned in the center of the table. It had been turned down as low as possible. The dim light did not begin to penetrate the thick dark shadows that draped the room.

Adam assisted Caroline into a chair and then sat down beside her.

He noticed at once that the heavy cloth that covered the table made it impossible to reach surreptitiously underneath to feel for hidden springs and other devices. In a similar fashion the general gloom prohibited a close survey of the walls, ceiling and floor. Nevertheless, there was some-thing wrong about the proportions of the séance room. The space felt smaller than it should have been, judging by the distance they had walked down the hall.

A false wall and perhaps a lowered ceiling, he concluded. "Good evening," Irene Toller said.

She stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the light. Adam knew that he was no connoisseur of ladies' fashions but, even from his limited perspective, Irene Toller's skirts appeared unusually voluminous. Caroline had explained that there was a common suspicion that fraudulent female mediums used wide, heavy skirts to conceal various apparatuses designed to create the desired effects in a séance.

Irene moved into the room with a stately tread. Adam got to his feet. Gilbert Smith did the same and proceeded to hold the medium's chair for her.

"Thank you, Mr. Smith." Irene sat down and looked at the housekeeper. "You may leave us now, Bess."

"Yes, ma'am." Bess took herself out into the hall and closed the door.

The only light left in the room was the weak gleam of the lamp in the center of the table.

"Will you all please place your hands upon the table as I am doing," Irene instructed. She flattened both palms in plain view on the cloth-covered surface.

So much for having the opportunity to hold Caroline's hand, Adam thought.

"I ask that no one remove his or her hands from the table until the séance is completed," Irene continued. "This ensures that there is no trickery involved."

It did not ensure any such thing, Adam knew. But the others, with the probable exception of Caroline, seemed to accept that having all hands in view at all times was a guarantee against duplicity.

The rappings began immediately, faint pings and a loud thump that caused Miss Brick and Mrs. Trent to gasp.

The sounds came from a variety of locations around the room, including the corners and beneath the table.

"What is it?" Mrs. Trent asked in an awed voice.

"Do not be alarmed," Irene said. "It is only my spirit guide letting us know that he is present. His name is Sennefer. He was once a priest in ancient Egypt. He possesses a vast store of secret, arcane knowledge. I am his medium. Through me he will communicate with you as it pleases him. But first I must go into a trance."

She began to tremble violently, very much as she had at the spirit writing demonstration. She jerked and twitched.

Her head twisted back and forth with sharp movements.

Adam watched her hands closely. They remained firmly planted on the cloth-covered surface. Utterly motionless.

The table suddenly shuddered and rose a few inches off the floor.

"Astonishing,^" Gilbert Smith whispered.

"Good heavens, it is floating in midair." Some of Miss Brick's enthusiasm had turned to anxiety.

"All hands must remain on the top of the table," Irene barked in a deeper, more resonant tone that presumably emanated from Sennefer.

Adam quickly counted hands. All were still clearly in view, including Irenes.

The table descended back to the floor. Irene Toller's fingers were all still in precisely the same position they had been in a moment ago, Adam noticed.

"Look," shrieked Mrs. Trent. "There is something up there."

Adam followed her shocked, wondering gaze toward the ceiling directly above the table. He could just barely make out a silvery, pale, faintly glowing shape floating in the darkness above their heads. It drifted about in a ghostly fashion and then vanished.

"Dear heaven, what is that?" Miss Brick whispered.

A corpse-pale hand had risen up beside the table next to Irene Toller. As they watched, it reached out and gently tapped Miss Brick on the shoulder. She gave a startled little screech.

"Do not be afraid," Irene said firmly. "The spirit means you no harm"

Miss Brick sat very still, her eyes huge in the shadows. The deathly white hand descended back out of sight beneath the table.

"It touched me" Miss Brick sounded awed. "The manifestation actually touched me."

Before anyone else could react, another series of raps and pings ensued. It was followed by the faint tinkle of chimes.

"Sennefer says that was the manifestation of a spirit who wishes to communicate with some sitters at this table." Irene broke off, squeezing her eyes shut. Her face contorted. And then her eyes popped open very wide in a disconcerting stare. "It wishes to send a message to Mrs. Trent and to Miss Brick."

Mrs. Trent was clearly unnerved. "I don't understand." "Who is it?" Miss Brick asked, equally uneasy. The chimes clashed.

"This message is from…" Irene spoke haltingly, in little bursts of words, as though she was attempting to interpret some sort of otherworldly telegraphy. "A friend. Yes, it is the spirit of a friend who made her transition sometime in the past year or so."

Mrs. Trent stiffened. "Oh, heavens, is it Mrs. Selby?" Miss Brick stiffened and peered around the room. "Is that you, Helen?"

There was another series of raps and chimes.

"Helen Selby sends you both her regards," Irene said. More pings and clicks.

"She says that she can offer you some useful advice concerning your finances."

"That would be wonderful," Mrs. Trent said, enthusiastic once more.

"What is it you want to tell us?" Miss Brick asked of the room at large.

Taps, raps and bells sounded.

"You will encounter a gentleman in the near future," Irene intoned. "He will offer you an investment opportunity. If you accept, you will become very rich within the year."

"What is the name of this gentleman?" Mrs. Trent demanded, dazed and excited.

A rapid series of raps ensued.

"I cannot say," Irene declared in her forceful voice. "But you will recognize him because he will tell you that he was once acquainted with Helen Selby. When you identify yourselves as two of her old friends, he will invite you to take advantage of the investment opportunity."

"Helen, we do not know how to thank you," Miss Brick whispered.

Gilbert Smith peered around eagerly. "I say, would there be any objection to my participating in the investment, Mrs. Selby? My name is Gilbert Smith. I realize we were never acquainted while you were alive, but we do seem to have met now, as it were"

A violent clashing of chimes and raps interrupted him. The noise stopped suddenly.

Irene fixed Gilbert Smith with her grim, staring gaze. "Helen Selby's spirit is angered by your greed, Mr. Smith. She says that you will not be contacted."

"I see," Smith muttered. "Well, it was worth a try."

An eerie squeak that sounded to Adam suspiciously like a poorly oiled door hinge echoed from the corner of the room. All heads turned in that direction.

At that moment Adam felt the table once again elevate a few inches into the air. It trembled and then lowered itself back down to the floor. There was a series of quick taps followed by a ripple of the chimes.

"Another spirit wishes to communicate with someone at this table," Irene said. "This one has a message for Mrs. Fordyce."

Adam was aware of Caroline going still beside him. "Who is the spirit?" she asked quietly.

Tiny raps and pings sounded.

"It is not very clear." Irene gave every appearance of concentrating fiercely.

More faint rappings.

"A man, I believe," Irene said hesitantly. "A gentle-man… ah, yes, now I have it. It is the spirit of your late husband."

Caroline sat frozen in her chair.

Rage swept through Adam. The silly game had gone on long enough, he thought. How dare the fraud torment Caroline with so-called messages from her dead husband? He would put an end to this nonsense immediately.

"No, please," Caroline whispered, evidently having guessed his intent. "It is all right. I do not mind. In fact, I am eager to hear what my dear Jeremy has to say. His death was so sudden. We did not have an opportunity to say farewell."

Adam hesitated. His instinct was to take her away from this place at once, but he sensed that she would not come with him willingly. This was her decision, he reminded himself. If she insisted on staying here, he had no choice but to remain with her. She was an intelligent woman. Surely she understood that Irene Toller was playing a distinctly unpleasant parlor game.

On the other hand, grief for a beloved spouse lost to an untimely death could make even the most sensible, level-headed person easy prey for a charlatan such as Toller.

Damnation, he fumed. He had no one to blame but him-self for what was happening. If he had not dragged Caroline into this affair, she would not be here tonight.

After another series of clicks, pings and chimes reverberated through the room, Irene looked across the table at Caroline.

"Your Jeremy says to tell you that he loves you and that he is waiting for you on the Other Side with open arms. Someday you will be together again and know at last the happiness that was denied you when he was taken away"

"I see," Caroline said in an odd voice.

A bell sounded.

Irene shuddered. Her hands trembled on the table. "The spirit says that he is unable to communicate anymore to-night. He will try again in the near future." She stiffened and then writhed again in her chair. "It is over. The spirits have departed. Please leave at once. I am exhausted."

She collapsed forward, facedown on her motionless hands.

The door opened, revealing the housekeeper standing in the hall.

"The séance is over," Bess announced. "You must all leave now so that Mrs. Toller can recover."