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“It must be your grandfather then, my dear. He is a fatherly relation.”
“My grandfather is alive and kicking too,” the woman scoffed. “At least, he was when he threw the bedpan at our little Johnny this afternoon.”
Ribald laughter swept across the room and even Mark smiled. Luckily, Madame Humphries’ abject failure seemed to have cured the woman of her complete belief because she now looked wary, and more than a little confused.
“I have a man here who says that you must not take on so about everything your son, Johnny, does. He is a young man and needs to learn through his own mistakes.”
“Johnny isn’t my son,” the woman reported. It was clear that she had begun to rather enjoy being the centre of attention and stood challengingly with her hands on her hips. “He is my little brother and a pain in the proverbial at that.” She looked at those seated around her and looked pleased with herself when the room exploded into laughter again. Everyone turned to Madame Humphries to see what she would come up with next, but the theatrics continued in another direction.
Completely oblivious to her failure, Madame Humphries leaned forward in her seat and began to gasp.
“Here, what’s she doing?” A man called from the back of the room. People closest to the door stood to get a better view and watched the medium rock backward and forward in her seat. The haze that surrounded her turned faintly green. A scream erupted from the back of the room as a hand slowly appeared from behind Madame Humphries’ head. There was no body; just a hand. Mark glanced at Harriett and gave her a wink.
Harriett rolled her eyes and knew that this was the hand she had seen in the carpet bag at Beatrice’s house. She felt strangely sad again and couldn’t quite put her finger on why. She didn’t know whether it was because she had been culpable in leading the members of the psychic circle to these fraudsters, or that they had spent two long evenings sitting around a table, in total darkness, for nothing.
Not only that, but there seemed to be absolutely no spirit world around them whatsoever. No relatives to come forward with their loving messages, no guides, helpers and inspirers who would impart their wisdom to the congregation and make everyone feel a little bit better about their lives. For some reason, it made her acutely angry that Madame Humphries and Miss Hepplethwaite could consider that they could try to fool innocent people into believing they were genuine in the hopes of making themselves some easy money.
The
room remained silent as the hand slowly disappeared.
“I have a message here for Hillary. Is there a Hillary in the house?”
After several moments of silence, a reluctant Hillary, propelled by the people she sat with, stood up. She looked as though she would rather be anywhere else, and blushed mightily at having so many people stare at her.
“I have a message from your aunt. She tells you that you gossip too much and must start to mind your own business.”
Once again, laugher rippled over the crowd who were now warming to the theatrics of the evening.
“I don’t have an aunt,” Hillary replied with a scowl. “I don’t gossip either.” She tipped her chin up belligerently and yanked her hand out of her friends’ when they tried to drag her back down into her seat.
“I have a lady called Charlotte here. Can anyone take a Charlotte?”
“I can,” Hillary replied, “but she is about as dead as that woman’s Johnny.” She pointed to the woman behind her.
“I didn’t say she was dead,” Madame Humphries snapped and gave the woman a baleful glare. “Do you know a Charlotte?”
“Yes I do.”
“Good, then it is you the message is for then.”
“Fine.”
“A lady in the spirit world has come forward and issues you a warning about Charlotte. She is leading you toward too much gossip.”
“No, I do not,” the woman beside Hillary piped up.
“Well, you do gossip a bit,” Hillary argued.
“So do you.”
Mark sniggered. He could sense an argument brewing and he was no clairvoyant. He wondered just who he was going to have to arrest; the women who were on the verge of having a fight with their carpet bags or the fraudulent clairvoyant who had started the debacle.
Hillary began to snivel and glared at her friend who merely looked undeterred. “I don’t gossip. I don’t, and Charlotte isn’t dead, she is here. I didn’t want to come to this stupid thing tonight. I really didn’t, but you all thought it was a good idea.” She glared at Madame Humphries. “It is all your fault. You and your stupid messages.”
Madame Humphries ignored her and began to rock backward and forward in her seat again. She gasped, threw her head back and glared at the ceiling moments before she slumped forward.
“Is she dead?” Someone whispered from the back of the room after several moments when nothing happened.
