Page 28 of When We Touch

The Irishman across from Mireau made a choking sound. “Nell? My Nell?”

“Adrian . . .?” Jane prompted gently.

“Nell . . . yes, she longs to touch her sweet Richard. She is so worried about him, afraid that he will think that he wasn’t home when he should have been, that he might have saved her. She tripped, and it was no one’s fault . . . and she is anxious for the light. One day she will meet her Richard on this side, and she will be there, welcoming him into the light.”

The Irishman let out something that sounded like a soft sob.

“Is there anyone else?” the Duchess asked anxiously. “Oh, please . . . please, please tell me that my dear husband is still there?”

“Touch!” Adrian Alexander’s voice deepened to a rumble.

“Touch?” the Duchess whispered.

“The Duke . . . he longs to touch you . . . longs to say good-bye.”

“Oh, dear God!” the Duchess mouthed.

And there, in the air before them, a white mist began to appear. Then slowly, so it seemed, it began to become substance.

The Duchess gasped.

“Oh, please, yes, please, yes!” she said.

“Don’t break the circle, don’t let the contact slip away!” Jane warned, when it seemed that the Duchess would break free to reach out. “Wait, wait . . . don’t frighten the spirits!” Jane warned.

Don’t break the circle; don’t let the contact slip away.

The mist floating in the air appeared to become a hand. Detailed, down to the ducal ring on the finger.

Marian’s mouth was now formed into one huge O. That was it; this had gone far enough.

Maggie slipped her hand free from Mireau’s subtly, making sure not to lose her hold on the hand of Adrian Alexander.

In a swift movement, she reached upward, grabbing the floating prosthetic that hovered above the candle.

“Frauds!” she cried angrily. “Duchess, these people are frauds, just like the others.”

“What, oh, no! Oh, no, oh, no!” the Duchess cried, her hand to her heart as she stared around her.

“The old bitch is about to have a heart attack!” Jane exclaimed.

“And the other is about to die!” Alexander growled in a furious voice.

“Eh! Now, now, there’s a bit of trickery here, but no need to go calling the very fine ladies here such names!” the Irishman said, rising slowly. “Sure and there’s some good way to make all here happy.”

He rose. Maggie realized with sudden horror that Alexander’s giant “control” was rushing toward the Irishman’s back.

“Sir!” she cried with alarm.

But apparently, the Irishman had heard. He was already swinging around and ducking the tackle that had been intended to take him down. His ducking turn continued in a smooth sweep, and he rose on the return, his fist connecting with the big fellow’s jaw. The man crashed to the table.

The Duchess was on her feet, screaming.

“This is really quite enough!” Maggie said furiously. She picked up the candle and stick, ready to break a window and scream for the police to come quickly. She meant to disappear herself—before the officers could arrive, but she was quite determined that they should come, and come quickly.

The Duchess would bear witness to what had occurred there tonight.

But she never reached the window.