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“I think that we all need to take a deep breath to compose ourselves and have a little break. I suggest we all have a drink and then we can do the circle, demonstration thing,” she replied smoothly and made circling motions with her hands.
“I think we should carry on while we are getting messages.” Madame Humphries adopted an almost mulish look that warned everyone she was not about to be deterred without a fight.
“Quite,” Miss Haversham added. “We have waited long enough for things to get started. It seems silly to stop now, especially when it is only just starting to get interesting.” She ignored Madame’s offended huff and glared around the table in search of anyone who dared argue with her.
Mr Montague glanced at Mr Bentwhistle for masculine support. “I agree with Madame Humphries. I think we should carry on while the glass is moving. It took us long enough to get this thing going, it seems silly to give up now.”
Harriett sighed and fought to keep a hold of her impatience. She stared at Babette and silently willed her aunt to object, but Babette merely shrugged and turned her attention back to the glass.
“If everyone is happy to continue then I think we should carry on, for the time being at least,” Babette replied smoothly, completely unaffected by the last few minutes. “I don’t know about everyone else, but I think we should find out a bit more about this last message.”
“Well, if everyone else is happy,” Harriett sighed, “I will sweep up the mess. Babette, if you would like to get another glass?” She didn’t wait for Babette’s reply and hurried out of the room in search of a broom. The small hairs on the back of her neck prickled as she stalked through the sitting room at the back of the house toward the kitchen. Keeping her eyes firmly facing forward, she hurried to the cupboard, removed a dustpan and brush and stomped back to the parlour.
She had not realised just how palpable the tension in the house had become until she returned to the now darkened parlour
. Every instinct she possessed screamed at her to call a halt to the evening and insist that everyone have drinks and then leave, but she knew that would be incredibly rude, even if she could get Miss Haversham and Madame Humphries to comply. She was somewhat relieved to be able to close the door behind her and quickly resumed her seat between the reassuring solidity of Messrs Montague and Bentwhistle. Nervous expectation settled over everyone as they each placed their forefingers tentatively on the glass in the centre of the table.
Harriett jumped when Madame Humphries sucked in a huge, very loud breath through her teeth.
Nobody had sought fit to close the parlour curtains. The room was now cast in a rather eerie glow that did little to offer anyone reassurance, let alone comfort.
Mr Montague’s face, once so gentle and familiar to her, was now shadows and hard edges that defined the almost inset eyes and over plump lips. It gave him a rather hideous look of macabre intent that made her glance away quickly. She turned her gaze firmly to the glass and silently willed it to remain where it was. If the wretched thing didn’t move again then maybe everyone would be willing to call it a night. She briefly contemplated exerting a little pressure on the glass to stop its flow around the table, but couldn’t discount the notion that the messages they had received this evening might really have been from the spirit world. The last thing she wanted - needed - to do was upset any spirit who may have a thirst to give her a sound ticking off.
“Dear friends, please accept our apologies for our anxieties earlier.” Madame Humphries glared at Tuppence’s disparaging snort.
“Do you really think we should carry on Augusta?” Miss Hepplethwaite twittered. She ignored Madame’s instructions and removed her finger from the glass long enough to wipe a hand across her brow.
Harriett frowned at the woman. She could see that the psychic’s assistant was scared, even if she discounted the fine tremors in her hands that even she could see through the darkness. If Miss Hepplethwaite, who dealt with these matters on a daily basis, was frightened, surely they all had a reason to be concerned, didn’t they?
“Oh Gertie, don’t be such a ninny,” Madame snapped. “The spirits won’t hurt you. We are getting somewhere at last. Now pipe down and let me continue.”
Harriett shared a grin with Constance, whose white teach flashed in the gloom. The reputedly Hungarian psychic suddenly sounded rather cockney; East End, if Harriett was any judge. In the ensuing silence, Harriett, took the opportunity to gather her usual pragmatic self around her and consider the events that had unfolded with a more jaded eye. She couldn’t explain what had happened with the stool, but the glass could have flown off the table because Mrs Dalrymple, who was seated opposite, had inadvertently pushed it. Beatrice and Tuppence, who were sitting on either side of her, would never do something so underhand as to deliberately mislead everyone by pushing the glass to give false messages.
“Can you come forward for us again, my friends? We need you to bring us your messages,” Madame Humphries continued to breathe deeply and loudly.
Once again, the glass began to move slowly around the table in a small circle. The speed it moved was considerably slower than before but nobody sought to question it. Silence descended as they waited to see what it would do.
“Bring us your message,” Madame urged, her voice laced with impatience and glee. She was clearly revelling in the success of the evening, while everyone else was filled with nervous dread. “Go on, tell us,” she demanded.
The glass began to move slowly.
H-I-S-H-I-S-H-I-S-H-I-S-H
“Well, that’s clear,” Babette announced dryly and peered down at the notepaper on the table before her. Even through the gloom she could tell it was nothing but jibberish.
“What does it say?” Beatrice demanded, too far away to read what Babette had written.
“His, over and over again apparently,” Babette replied, peering down at her hastily scribbled words with a frown.
“It could say H-is again,” Mr Bentwhistle suggested.
“Who is H though? I mean, it could be any one of us,” Harriett replied in disbelief. Not for the first time that evening, she began to wonder if someone was playing pranks and the messages were from one of the ladies who had a penchant for gossip. If it was, it didn’t explain how the glass could have flown off the table so rapidly, or why.
The glass started to move again.
H-I-S-I-N-D-A-N-G-E-R.
“Who is ‘H’, my friends?”
