evening. You are indispensable to the séance . ”
Pierre rather liked the unusual idea of being indispensable to anything, I think. He arose with a laugh. “Very well. I go, then. You will tell me all the passings in the world when I return, Valerie.”
“That will be the obituary column you must read,” Mr. Sinclair mentioned over his shoulder as he turned to leave. “Lively entertainment for you.”
I kept the paper up before my eyes for a few moments after they left, in case anyone should return. It was not my plan to go to the window till they had had a few minutes to settle down. I did not peruse the obituary notices, but the social page. It was a London paper. The carryings on at St. James’s were not of much interest to me. I read with some trace of interest the gala parties going forth in the city, then turned my attention to the engagements. The words jumped off the page and hit me in the eye. Mr. and Mrs. Edward J. Milne were pleased to announce the engagement of their daughter Mary to Mr. Welland Sinclair, of Hereford, cousin to and second in line to the title of Lord St. Regis, of Tanglewood, also in Hereford.
I folded the paper carefully, found a pencil to circle the announcement, and laid it aside. Now I had an unexceptionable excuse to mention to Mr. Sinclair my great joy at his match. It did not say a single thing about Mary, other than the name of her parents. I was curious to hear the girl described.
When a suitable length of time had elapsed, I tiptoed down the hallway to ensure the door to the feather room was closed, indicating the stance was safely underway. I went out the side door, round to the window, and the ladder. I was careful to make a minimum of noise as I jiggled it into place, then climbed carefully up. A narrow band of light showed me my trick of leaving the curtains slightly open had not been detected. The séance had reached that stage where the heads were bent, the fingers splayed round the table’s edge, but they did not quite touch. This would be due to the smaller number of sitters.
After a moment, Madame’s head rose, then fell back. Her snorts and grunts were not audible through the windowpane. She opened her mouth to say some quiet words, then all the heads at the table suddenly rose from their respective chests, as though on ropes. They turned and looked toward a corner of the room. I could see only an edge of the apparition, but certainly the half of a face I saw looked remarkably like Uncle Edward, as I remembered him, and more particularly as I remembered seeing his portrait in the gallery. It was a pale, insubstantial, floating thing, not quite white, but slightly pink, like one of my aunt’s chiffon robes. If it was not a ghost, it was a very good imitation of one. It was floating, bobbing along quite merrily across the room. I pulled my eyes away from the apparition, with the greatest difficulty, to observe those at the table. Aunt Loo had gone into a complete trance, slumped forward on the table, her brindled hair catching the candlelight. Pierre was smiling in happy surprise, Dr. Hill looked astonished, Madame Franconi sat with glazed eyes, not even seeing the ghost, and Mr. Sinclair wore his green glasses as usual, robbing me of any reading of his expression. His head was stiffly erect, at attention.
My aunt’s collapse brought the séance to an abrupt end. As soon as Dr. Hill noticed her, he jumped up. Madame finally roused herself to attention, and simultaneously the others came to an awareness of Loo’s faint. There was a general hubbub of jumping up. The apparition, when I glanced back, was gone. There was chaos in the room, with arms raised, mouths open wide in exclamations of shock, but of course I witnessed only the visual aspects of the scene. I scooted down the ladder, tossed it into the bushes, and darted back into the house. Fearing movement in the hallway from the sitters, I entered by the kitchen door, causing some little alarm to the
Pierre rather liked the unusual idea of being indispensable to anything, I think. He arose with a laugh. “Very well. I go, then. You will tell me all the passings in the world when I return, Valerie.”
“That will be the obituary column you must read,” Mr. Sinclair mentioned over his shoulder as he turned to leave. “Lively entertainment for you.”
I kept the paper up before my eyes for a few moments after they left, in case anyone should return. It was not my plan to go to the window till they had had a few minutes to settle down. I did not peruse the obituary notices, but the social page. It was a London paper. The carryings on at St. James’s were not of much interest to me. I read with some trace of interest the gala parties going forth in the city, then turned my attention to the engagements. The words jumped off the page and hit me in the eye. Mr. and Mrs. Edward J. Milne were pleased to announce the engagement of their daughter Mary to Mr. Welland Sinclair, of Hereford, cousin to and second in line to the title of Lord St. Regis, of Tanglewood, also in Hereford.
I folded the paper carefully, found a pencil to circle the announcement, and laid it aside. Now I had an unexceptionable excuse to mention to Mr. Sinclair my great joy at his match. It did not say a single thing about Mary, other than the name of her parents. I was curious to hear the girl described.
When a suitable length of time had elapsed, I tiptoed down the hallway to ensure the door to the feather room was closed, indicating the stance was safely underway. I went out the side door, round to the window, and the ladder. I was careful to make a minimum of noise as I jiggled it into place, then climbed carefully up. A narrow band of light showed me my trick of leaving the curtains slightly open had not been detected. The séance had reached that stage where the heads were bent, the fingers splayed round the table’s edge, but they did not quite touch. This would be due to the smaller number of sitters.
After a moment, Madame’s head rose, then fell back. Her snorts and grunts were not audible through the windowpane. She opened her mouth to say some quiet words, then all the heads at the table suddenly rose from their respective chests, as though on ropes. They turned and looked toward a corner of the room. I could see only an edge of the apparition, but certainly the half of a face I saw looked remarkably like Uncle Edward, as I remembered him, and more particularly as I remembered seeing his portrait in the gallery. It was a pale, insubstantial, floating thing, not quite white, but slightly pink, like one of my aunt’s chiffon robes. If it was not a ghost, it was a very good imitation of one. It was floating, bobbing along quite merrily across the room. I pulled my eyes away from the apparition, with the greatest difficulty, to observe those at the table. Aunt Loo had gone into a complete trance, slumped forward on the table, her brindled hair catching the candlelight. Pierre was smiling in happy surprise, Dr. Hill looked astonished, Madame Franconi sat with glazed eyes, not even seeing the ghost, and Mr. Sinclair wore his green glasses as usual, robbing me of any reading of his expression. His head was stiffly erect, at attention.
My aunt’s collapse brought the séance to an abrupt end. As soon as Dr. Hill noticed her, he jumped up. Madame finally roused herself to attention, and simultaneously the others came to an awareness of Loo’s faint. There was a general hubbub of jumping up. The apparition, when I glanced back, was gone. There was chaos in the room, with arms raised, mouths open wide in exclamations of shock, but of course I witnessed only the visual aspects of the scene. I scooted down the ladder, tossed it into the bushes, and darted back into the house. Fearing movement in the hallway from the sitters, I entered by the kitchen door, causing some little alarm to the
Similar Books
