A Spirited Conspiracy
Charlotte Wren
What you leave behind you is not what is engraved in stone monuments but what is woven into the lives ofothers.
Pericles.
Chapter One
London 1847
Miriam gazed upat the black door; more specifically, the brass number displayed upon it.
Thirty-Three.
This was the place. Thirty-Three Stonefeather Road. A smart, red-brick terraced house, identical to every other terraced house on this unremarkable London street.
Anticipation and guilt, like two willful entities, were fighting a tug-of-war with Miriam’s conscience. She glanced left and right, seeing no one, then stepped up to the door and gave it four solid raps with the brass knocker. The door opened almost immediately, and a tall, thin silver-haired man of advanced years swept a dark-eyed gaze over Miriam.
“Your name?” he asked.
“Thornleigh,” she replied, cheeks warming slightly as the lie left her mouth. “Miriam Thornleigh.”
“Do you have your coin, Miss Thornleigh?”
Miriam reached into her small purse, retrieved the silver crown, and pressed it into the man’s outstretched palm.
“It’s the door at the end of the hall,” he said, stepping back. “Go on through. You don’t need to knock.”
Miriam gave another brief glance over her shoulder, then entered the house and continued down the hall. She pausedbriefly at the door and took a breath before daring to turn the handle. The door swung open with the creak one might have expected. The room beyond, curtains drawn, lay in near darkness, the only light coming from a single candle, which flickered at the center of a large oval table. Miriam felt the curious stares of those already seated at the table. Six of them, two men and four women. Only one chair remained empty.
“Miss Thornleigh, I presume,” one of the women said, and patted the empty chair to her left. “Come. Sit, please. We are about to begin.”
Miriam entered and closed the door behind her, causing the candle flame to dance for a moment before settling back into a steady burn. As bidden, Miriam took her place next to the woman who, by nature of her greeting, had to be Miss Rosalind Grey, the host.
Miss Grey did not, however, remotely resemble the image Miriam had conjured up in her mind. The lady’s hair wasn’t a glossy, raven black, but more the color of ripe wheat, each ringlet perfectly styled. Nor did she present an austere countenance, but one that reflected cordiality. And, whilst she was obviously older than Miriam, it was not by too many years. A dozen at the most. As for Miss Grey’s attire, it was more suited to an afternoon tea-party than a gathering of this sort. In short, Miss Rosalind Grey did not remotely represent Miriam’s idea of a woman who professed to communicate with the dead. Nevertheless, she took the seat as bidden.
“Now that we’re all here,” Miss Grey began, “please join hands that we might unite our energy and allow the spirits to approach. They will speak through me, and I would ask that you remain silent as I open both mind and heart to them.”
There followed sounds of throats being cleared and chairs creaking as everyone joined hands. Miriam, stomach aflutter,took Miss Grey’s hand with her right and a gentleman’s hand with her left. Miss Grey closed her eyes and the room fell silent.
“I sense a presence,” Miss Grey said, after a moment, her hand tightening around Miriam’s. The man’s hand tightened briefly as well. Miriam held her breath.Please, Mama. Let it be you. Please.
“A man, I think,” Miss Grey continued, and Miriam’s heart sank. “Yes, definitely a man. His name… his name is… Edward? No, not Edward.Edwin.”
One of the women let out a squeak. “My husband! Edwin, my love, is that you? Is Mary with you?”
“She is,” Miss Grey replied after a moment, her hand still squeezing Miriam’s. “Edwin says you are not to worry. Mary is with him and no longer suffering.”
“Oh, thank God.” Eyes soft in the candlelight, the woman glanced around the table. “My eldest girl, taken by a fever barely two months ago.” She regarded Miss Grey once more. “And is Mother with them as well?”
“Indeed she is,” Miss Grey replied.
Fascinated, Miriam listened as the exchange continued. It was early yet, she told herself. There was still plenty of time for her own mother to speak. Even as Edwin’s wife scrubbed tears away, Miss Grey announced the arrival of another presence. A woman, this time.
Miriam held her breath.
“Elizabeth,” Miss Grey said, and the man’s hand squeezed Miriam’s again, harder this time. “But she was known as Beth,” Miss Grey continued. “She passed very young. Childbirth, I… think? Yes, childbirth.”
