Page 167 of The Siren of Sussex

“He must prepare himself,” Mr. Popplewell said.

Silence grew heavy throughout the room. The candle flames flickered and cracked. Suddenly, a sharp knock rent the air.

Evelyn jumped. She caught Anne’s gaze, brows lifting in question.

Anne gave her a reassuring smile, whispering, “It often happens at a séance.”

“Shh!” Mrs. Inkpen hissed.

“Quiet, ladies,” Mr. Popplewell intoned. “We must all focus our minds.”

Another period of silence stretched between them.

“The veil is thin this evening,” Mr. Lees said at last, his eyes still closed. “I will attempt to walk into the ether to find my spirit guide.”

Anne squeezed Evelyn’s hand.

Evelyn bit her tongue. She refused to laugh. This was a serious matter, if not for her and Anne, then for Lady Arundell and Uncle Harris. The two of them were tilted forward in their chairs, riveted by Mr. Lees’s performance.

The boy’s breathing became more pronounced. His lips moved silently. Suddenly, his body swayed, first to the left and then to the right. All at once, he stiffened straight up like a poker. His mouth fell open on a rattling sigh.

“Whom do you seek?” he asked. But the voice wasn’t his. It was the voice of someone older, with a distinct Scottish accent.

“A highlander,” Mr. Vance murmured. “Astounding.”

“We would like to speak to the late Prince Consort,” Mr. Popplewell said loudly. “Is he there with you, sir?”

“Prince Albert is here,” Mr. Lees said in the same Scottish burr. “He awaits your questions.”

Mr. Popplewell addressed the rest of the table. “One at a time, if you please. I can make no promises for how long his trance will last.”

Evelyn hadn’t thought of anything to ask herself, which was just as well. There was no opportunity to do so. For the next five minutes, the rest of the table peppered Mr. Lees with questions on everything from Prince Albert’s opinions on the afterlife to his views on matters of state.

Only Mrs. Brown refrained. She continued to watch Mr. Lees. “I have a question,” she asked at last, her polished voice breaking through the din.

“Who is that?” Mr. Lees asked. “Is that you, Lady Seymour?”

Lady Arundell and Uncle Harris turned sharply to look at Mrs. Brown.

Mrs. Brown’s face was void of expression. “It is I.”

Lady Arundell gasped. “Upon my word. One of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting!”

Evelyn’s pulse raced. She exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Anne. The Queen had sent a secret representative! And Mr. Lees had identified her!

Uncle Harris couldn’t conceal his excitement. “Does this mean that Her Majesty believes—”

“Silence, please,” Mr. Popplewell said. “Mr. Lees cannot maintain the connection if he’s distracted by the mortal world.”

“What is your question, Lady Seymour?” Mr. Lees asked.

Mrs. Brown—or rather, Lady Seymour—cleared her throat. “Her Majesty wants a name.”

“What name?” Mr. Lees asked.

“The secret name used by the Prince Consort to address her in their private correspondence. You’re to write it down on a slip of paper for Her Majesty’s personal verification.”

Mr. Lees went still. A shuddering breath came out of him. At the end of it, he slumped in his chair.