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The candles were placed on the mantle and lit before the gas lamps were extinguished. Harriett began to wish that she had never started this in the first place, and took a tiny sip of her sherry in an attempt to steady herself. The warmth of the amber liquid as it hit her stomach did little to soothe her frayed nerves and a heavy sense of trepidation swept through her at the thought of what might lie ahead.
At least you are sitting with your back to the wall, Harriett mused. She gave the darkened doorway behind Madame Humphries a longing glance. At any other time she would have relished the possibility of being able to sidle off to bed and leave them all to it but, after the strange episode of the stool that had topped all by itself, she wasn’t all that sure she wanted to go to bed tonight at all.
“Now then, I demand absolute silence for this part of the proceedings. Please now all link hands and close your eyes. We will get the energy flowing again and I will ask spirit to step forward. Don’t be alarmed if you feel someone move to stand behind you. It is perfectly normal and only your loved ones coming forward to be amongst us. Now, before we begin, does anyone have any questions?”
“Loved ones?” Mr Bentwhistle queried. He looked a little concerned. “You mean my wife may come forward?”
“Your wife, your mother, anyone who was close to you, yes, why, is that a problem?”
“Erm, I am not sure, my dear,” he replied hesitantly. “What do I say to them if they appear?” He glanced uncomfortably around the room for a moment as though he expected someone to pop out from behind the curtains.
“People in the spirit world are essentially the same as they are on the earth. If people were grumpy on the earth plain, or didn’t like specific things, they are exactly the same on the other side. If your wife comes forward, I am sure she will be just the same as she was when she was with us.”
“Oh dear,” Mr Bentwhistle whispered.
“Is that a problem?” Harriett frowned at the man seated to her left, and wondered if she had missed some essential piece of gossip. Something that would indicate why Mr Bentwhistle did not relish a message from his dearly departed wife.
“Well, it is just that my wife, God bl
ess her,” he glanced reverently at the ceiling, “was quite critical of, well, everything really. She liked to nag. Relentlessly and, well, I am afraid that I had more than enough while she was here.”
Harriett smothered a laugh and wondered how he would cope if his wife suddenly manifested behind him and started to chastise him. Mr Bentwhistle looked a little guilty at his confession and dropped his eyes to the carpet a little like a naughty school boy waiting to be told off by the headmaster.
Much to everyone’s astonishment, Madame Humphries, for the first time that night, softened her demeanour a little as she studied him from her seat directly opposite.
“My dear, it takes a lot of energy for the spirits to come forward to talk to us. I am sure that anything your wife has to say to you will be pertinent and to the point. However, should she come forward with relish, I am sure that we can persuade her to move on a little. Now,” she glanced around the room almost challengingly, “if everyone is ready?”
Nobody moved or spoke. After several moments of silence, Madame sucked in a noisy breath through her teeth with such suddenness that everyone jumped in alarm. In true theatrical fashion she threw her head back and glared at the ceiling.
“Come forward, my friends,” she called in a voice that was heavily laced with a foreign accent that was anything but Hungarian. If anyone knew what a Hungarian accent sounded like, it was a far cry from that which Madame Humphries was managing to achieve. Unless Harriett was much mistaken, it still held a hint of cockney twang hidden in the husky depths and it still made her smile. She slide a sideways glance at Mr Montague who was squeezing her hand just a little too tightly for comfort but made no attempt to break contact. That would earn her the condescension of the redoubtable Madame Humphries, and in turn would only delay the closure of the evening. For some reason she felt driven to call a halt to everything and see her guests out.
She jumped when the clock on the mantle behind her chimed ten solemn rings into the silence. If she was apt to allow her wayward imagination to run away with her, they almost sounded like death chimes. She gave herself a mental shake and watched Madame Humphries suck in breath after breath, but for the life of her couldn’t feel anything different in the atmosphere within the room. There was certainly nobody behind her. After several long moments of watching Madame Humphries deep breathe, boredom began to sink in and she struggled not to fidget.
Several seats to her left, she caught sight of the yawn Tuppence tried, and failed, to smother, and the physical shake Beatrice gave herself in an attempt to stay awake. She began to turn her thoughts toward how long they should leave Madame Humphries to her heavy breathing before calling a halt when the lady in question suddenly sat bolt upright in her chair. Her eyes widened and she stared almost transfixed at a spot just above Harriett’s right shoulder. Harriett daren’t look behind her. Given that Madame was staring almost straight at her, Harriett daren’t roll her eyes at the theatrics but struggled to keep her face impassive at the woman’s continued dramatics.
“I come forward to give you a message,” Madame intoned in a voice that was as high-pitched as she could make it without being an unintelligible squeak.
“Who are you, my friend?” Miss Hepplethwaite asked in an encouraging voice.
“My name is Doreen, and I give Minerva my deepest regards,” Madame gasped several times and began to shake. Harriett shared a worried look with Babette, who merely shrugged as though to say ‘let it carry on for now’. Harriett turned back to Madame with a frown and listened. She couldn’t remember much about Mrs Bobbington’s mother, but was aware that her name was Doreen.
“Oh, mother, it is so good to hear your voice again,” Minerva trembled. “Do you have a message for me?”
“Yes, I do Minerva, dearest. You must feed the cat well.”
“Cat? But I don’t have a cat,” Minerva wailed and stared at Madame Humphries in consternation.
“Death comes to Tipton Hollow,” Madame boomed in a voice that had suddenly changed to a deep boom. She threw her head back and, despite the coolness within the room, began to sweat profusely. “Into the darkness beware!”
“What?” Minerva quivered in fear. “I am afraid of the darkness, you know I am,” she quivered and turned fear-filled eyes on the rest of the group in mute search of support.
“No, not you,” Madame snapped in a husky growl. “Into the darkness beware!”
“Beware of what?” Harriett snapped impatiently. She was fairly certain that this was nothing but reasonable acting, and had no intention of allowing anyone as kindly and harmless as Minerva Bobbington, to be upset so unduly. “I demand you stop this nonsense at once. If you are going to give us messages then do so but make sense, otherwise we shall move on.”
“Harriett, dear, you must not talk to them so,” Miss Hepplethwaite remonstrated. Now that Madame was in her ‘trance’, the bird-like woman had seemingly lost her nervous persona and had replaced it with protective arrogance.
“Well, I ask you,” Harriett scoffed. “Into the darkness beware? It could mean anything.”
