The Lammas Curse by Anna Lord

were
going to be any supernatural shenanigans at this séance he wanted
to be able to spot them and call their bluff.
    This was a fact little known
about the good doctor but as well as being a member of the Micawber
Club he was also a member of the Ghost Club. He belonged to the
Ghost Club not because he believed in ghosts, but because he did
not. The name of the club was chosen deliberately for its ironic
value. Members were called in whenever someone was convinced their
house was haunted or they themselves were the victims of
supernatural forces. In every case, there was a human hand behind
the paranormal happenstance – hidden wires, fuzzy photographic
images, invisible chemical vapours and diabolical imaginations.
    Mr Bancoe hovered behind his
chair, puffing on a pipe and tugging at his cuffs as he shifted
uncomfortably from foot to foot, giving the impression of a man
whose shoes were the same as his suit - one size too small.
    “I’m, er, I’m sorry, Lady
Moira,” he stammered nervously, “but I cannot be a party to
supernatural soliciting. My father was a Methodist minister and he
deplored all things to do with the dark arts and Lucifer and his
evil minions. Once the gates of Hell are opened they cannot be
closed. My conscience will not allow me to participate in this
hocussing and pocussing,” he finished gruffly, spinning on his heel
and rushing from the room, flushed with self-righteous
embarrassment.
    He was moving so swiftly he
almost collided with his golfing partner.
    Mr Larssensen glanced back over
his shoulder as the other whooshed past him like a wayward golf
ball with a mind of its own.
    “Are you alright, old salt?” Mr
Larssensen called with some concern. When he didn’t get an answer
he shrugged his substantial Viking shoulders and joined the two men
in the alcove.
    “Where did you disappear to
after dinner?” put his lordship somewhat bluntly as he tossed back
a decent measure of whiskey. “We could have used a good snooker
player. That god-son of mine is utterly hopeless. Fortunately he
didn’t hang around for long.”
    “I needed forty winks,” replied
the Viking, adjusting his white tie which he suddenly noticed via
the overmantel mirror was sitting slightly askew. “I played a
shocker today, six over par. I think I need to cut out the late
nights and all the rich food.”
    Just then the double doors
opened at the opposite end of the library and in sashayed Miss
O’Hara. Irish eyes flew down the length of the room, scanning the
faces of those present before settling on her beloved. “I hope I’m
not late,” she offered breathlessly, as she smoothed back her
voluptuous red hair.
    Lord Cruddock flashed an
indulgent smile. “Not at all, darling. Did you decide to have a lie
down after dinner?”
    “No,” interrupted Carter Dee,
speaking for the actress as he followed in her glamorous wake and
quietly closed the door. “She was with me. We both had the same
idea about checking the costumes for the play. Seyton’s costume
should fit Dr Watson without the need for any adjustment but the
witch’s cloak for Countess Volodymyrovna may need the hem taking
up. Isn’t that what we decided?”
    “Yes,” Lola smiled agreeably.
“That’s it in a nutshell.”
    “Let us proceed,” interrupted
the dowager impatiently. “This is not the time to discuss costume
fittings. Remove the extra chair, Carter. Finish your whiskey,
Duncan. Everyone else, take your seats as you please and remain
silent. I sense that the spirits are restless. They wish to
communicate with the living and they will not be denied. Join hands
and then place them on the table so that the sceptics amongst us
will have no cause to doubt that what they are about to witness is
genuine and real. Whatever happens, do not speak.”

9
The Séance

    Ten pairs of hands joined up
and rested on the table as instructed by Lady Moira who closed her
eyes and began to hum plaintively. Gradually, the mnemonic humming
turned into a