Haunted (21 page)

Ash had never witnessed an individual sitter singled out this way before, and was intrigued.

‘Jeremy wants you to stop worrying,’ Brotski told the sitter. ‘He’s happy where he is, but he would like you to visit him this way more often, he has lots to tell you. Will you do that for Jeremy, Clare?’

Clare nodded eagerly, tearfully.

‘He says to tell you he feels no more pain, not even from his leg. You both worried so much about that, didn’t you, Clare?’

Another eager nod, tears trickling freely now.

‘Jeremy will have more to say to you next time. Just don’t worry, and now that you’ve made contact, don’t leave it so long next time.’

‘I won’t,’ said the sitter, her voice quivering throatily when she repeated, ‘
I won’t
. . .’

Clever, if not very subtle, admitted Ash. One new recruit, perhaps a member for life – her natural life, anyway. Were there set dues, he wondered, or were contributions purely voluntary and at guests’ discretion? It mattered little: emotionally satisfied customers were usually generous with their offerings.

‘I have an elderly gentleman here with white hair and a rather lovely beard,’ the ‘medium’ announced. ‘He wishes to speak to someone called . . .’

And so it went on, the spotlight (which Ash noticed was operated by a shadowy figure standing beyond the ‘medium’ and who moved the mounted light from time to time for a better position) singling out each sitter when their turn for conversation with the ‘other side’ came around. The stage-management was clever but obvious; what puzzled the investigator was how the woman in black knew so much about her ‘guests’ and their departed loved ones. She had to have had information about them beforehand.

Brotski engaged her individual ‘guests’ seemingly at random, the spotlight picking them out each time, creating the impression that there were only two people present in the room of any significance. It was a very physical way of helping two minds concentrate on each other. The messages from the dead were mostly mundane –
visit the doctor about that persistent backache, dear, he’ll put it right, you’ll be holidaying abroad this year and you’ll meet someone who’ll have something very interesting to say to you, don’t worry about me, I’m fine, tell Granny Rose that her Tom is here with me and he’ll be ready to meet her when her time comes, I always loved you even though sometimes you thought otherwise and I still love you now, be careful of that new stove you’ve bought, you’re quite right, those headaches are brought on by a leaky connection, please don’t grieve for me any more, it’s been five years, time to pick yourself up and get on with your life, but please come and talk to me again, yes, of course I miss you, that builder hasn’t made a good job of the back porch, have it checked out, you’re right about your boss, he doesn’t like you, time you found yourself a new job, my girl
– but they were obviously deeply meaningful to the persons at whom they were directed judging by the responses, some tearful, some full of joy.

The very banality of the proceedings made it all the more convincing. Yet Ash was far from convinced.

Not everyone in the room had been served with news from beyond – and that included Edith and Ash, himself. Would the ‘medium’ provide such communication only for those on whom she already had information? If she dealt with a reasonable number of sitters, the others would still be impressed. Did it take two or three visits before the ‘lines’ were open, giving this woman and her aides time to gain a little background knowledge on her new followers? Ash wondered just who would engage him in conversation after this meeting broke up. Well, he was prepared for that; he had some nice bits of false information to gi—

The light had picked out Edith.

Ash was startled. They knew nothing about her, not even her real name. Why should the phoney medium, who was pointing at Edith as if she had directed the light, have singled out a stranger?

It seemed that a long silence had followed, although in reality it was no more than a few seconds. Edith shifted uncomfortably in her seat and looked across at Ash.

The other woman’s face tightened into a grimace of rage. Then she shifted her gaze to the investigator.

Even though he was still in shadow, Ash felt vulnerable under her glare.

‘
Get them out!
’ Brotski shrieked.

Everyone present, and in particular Edith and Ash, was shocked rigid by the vehemence of the outburst.

‘
Those two!
’ The ‘medium’s’ hand wavered between the intruders.

One of the helpers hurriedly approached, peering into the gloom to locate the second interloper, and Ash rose from the bench, stepping over it, the flat of his hand held out to ward off the other man, who looked to have murder in his heart.

Ash swore under his breath. This wasn’t the idea at all. He’d had no intention of having a public confrontation with the bogus medium; he’d planned to have a private word, warn her that unless she ceased her devious practices, he would expose her publicly as a fraud, giving full details of how she had duped her ‘guests’ as well as mentioning the wealth she had accrued in doing so. Such a threat had worked often enough in the past, for once found out, most charlatan clairvoyants found it nigh impossible to establish credibility thereafter. Better to retire gracefully, find some other form of chicanery.

So much for planning, Ash thought wryly as the aide drew nearer. He received a jolt that caused his body to sag briefly. Perplexingly, it was not a physical shove – the helper was still yards from him. Ash swung his head back to Brotski.

She was visibly trembling, her eyes blazing at him. He felt more than resentment pouring from her; there was loathing in that look – and there was fear. Fear of him. He felt it so strongly, so
powerfully
, and he could not understand how. It was not in the way someone might sense the disliking or distrust of another from the way in which that person acted; this hatred was
inside
Ash’s own mind, as though her very look could invade his head. Ridiculously, he imagined
sci-fi
gamma-rays emitting from her eyeballs, punching through his skull, the
splat
of an exploding thought. At once he realized how this woman performed her tricks. And further realized that although she was a fake clairvoyant, in another sense she was very, very genuine.

Hands grabbed at him. ‘Okay you – out,
now
.’ The helper’s voice was low, but there was no mistaking the menace.

Ash pushed the hands away. ‘You don’t talk to the spirits at all, do you?’ he calmly said to the woman who was still seated at the end of the two rows, the spotlight giving full display to her fury. The other ‘guests’ were shifting in their seats in agitation, looking from their host to the man who was now speaking, then back again. Someone grumbled and others joined in. Their vexation was directed towards Ash.

‘It’s time these people were told how you manage to give such a good performance,’ Ash went on, undaunted.

The helper tried to get hold of him again and Ash shoved him away more forcefully. ‘You’re gifted all right,’ he said over the increasing babble of indignation, ‘but not in the way you pretend.’

The second helper had begun to make his way towards the investigator.

‘She’s telepathic,’ Ash said to the shadowy faces around him. ‘She has a great gift, but she’s using it to deceive unfortunate people like yourselves.’ He hadn’t been sure, although the assertion was not just a guess; her thoughts had pushed their way into his own and he had felt that in a very real way. But now her expression confirmed everything he had said, for it had become sly, her eyes skittish, darting from him to the people who were turning towards her. She resembled, and only for a moment, an animal at bay, one that had not yet lost its cunning.

‘
No!
’ someone shouted.

‘She’s using it to make money out of you,’ Ash insisted.

There were more cries of denial, of disbelief, from the gathering.

‘Listen to me,’ Ash said patiently. ‘I was sent here from the Psychical Research Institute to investigate this woman. Her claims of clairvoyance have been under suspicion for some time.’ If Kate McCarrick had been present, she would have groaned aloud. This really wasn’t the way the Institute cared to conduct its investigations, and in truth, Ash, himself, was surprised by his own lack –
slanderous
lack – of discretion. Perhaps the threatening approach of the aides, who were acting more like ‘minders’, had provoked the outburst; or perhaps the vicious probing of the woman’s thoughts (which somehow felt unclean, like a molesting) had shocked him to outrage.

‘You’re wrong. You don’t know what you’re talking about.’ The protest came from one of the sitters and others around the man voiced their agreement.

‘She’s helped me,’ another called out. ‘She’s given me peace of mind!’

‘She’s brought our son back to us!’ cried someone else.

‘No, she hasn’t!’ Ash insisted. ‘She hasn’t done anything of the kind. I’ve checked out her background and I can tell you she’s not what she seems. Ask her about the cult religion she started nine years ago in Leeds, which closed down in such a hurry when police began to make inquiries about the strange goings on behind closed doors, rituals that required naked young girls to commit certain unsavoury acts with older men. Ask her about the widower in Chester who paid her handsomely every week for a handwritten letter from his dead wife.’

The protests from those around Ash grew in volume.

‘Get her to explain why she had to leave Edinburgh in such a hurry,’ he went on. ‘The authorities there don’t take kindly to
clairvoyants
’ – he sneered the word – ‘who persuade infirm old ladies to sign over their estates to them in the promise they’ll be found a better home in the next world with all their long-departed friends and relatives there to greet them on the great day.’

‘
Don’t listen to this madman
,’ Brotski hissed. ‘Most of you know me, you know what I’ve done for you. Would you take his word against mine?’ Still she sat as if rooted to her chair, her hands clenched whitely over the edges of the wood.

‘Those of you who’ve been invited here before – how much have you paid for the privilege?’ Ash asked. ‘Think about it. Just how much has it cost you to talk to the dead?’

Now both helpers were upon him. They pulled at his arms, trying to propel him towards the door. He resisted and one of the men whispered close to his ear, ‘If you know what’s good for you, you’ll go quietly. Yours won’t be the first pair of legs I’ve broken personally.’

A rough hand clamped over Ash’s mouth as he tried to reply. Angrily he brought his elbow back sharply into the softness below his assailant’s chest and had the satisfaction of hearing an explosive wheeze. The hand over his mouth fell away.

‘Someone turn the lights up,’ an anxious voice demanded. ‘I can’t see what’s happening there.’

But the lights remained dim. The only pool of brightness was that in which the black-clothed woman sat. And now, it was noticed by some, she was staring frozenly into the horseshoe of figures. Staring at one person in particular, even though that person was indistinct in the gloom.

Her mouth slowly dropped open. Her eyes hardened into a gawp of unease.

Others in the room became aware of the sudden hush.

It was almost a wail, nearly a lamentation. ‘Nooooo . . .’ said the woman in black. Everyone heard the low-moaned cry, and everyone became silent.

Hands still grasped Ash, but they were slack, powerless.

Ash recognized the next voice, even though he could barely see Edith Phipps among the sitters, the mobile spotlight now extinguished.

‘
Leave us in peace
,’ Edith said in a harsh whisper that somehow carried around the room as if the words had been shouted.

Ash shook himself free of the man holding him, meeting no resistance at all. No one moved. The voice from the shadows had an uncanny quality, as if the message had been whispered by someone standing close to every individual in the room. Yet still they were aware it belonged to someone among the ‘guests’, someone seated on one of the benches.

Someone who was breathing in terrible dry gasps.

The voice again: ‘
We’re nothing to you, leave us alone
.’ A woman’s voice . . . that somehow wasn’t.

One of the sitters screamed, a short, piercing sound; she felt as if something terribly gelid had brushed by her, then passed on its way.

‘
We don’t want to be here, not with you.
’ A subtle change in the voice, although it remained intrinsically the same, was still the unseen woman’s. ‘
You can’t use us this way, it torments us, it draws us back.
’

‘Edith?’ said Ash, stunned. He could see her shape, could make out the rise and fall of her plump shoulders; her face was shaded though, her features obscure.

She spoke again, although it was hardly her voice at all this time, the gruff tones masculine and raised in anger. ‘
Let them remember us as we were. It’s wrong of you, don’t
. . .’

‘. . .
don’t you understand? It’s so wrong of you!
’

Heads turned as one towards the dark-clothed ‘medium’ under the spotlight, for it was she who was now talking, the voice that of the man who had spoken through Edith Phipps. Her eyes were moving without coordination, like a blind person’s; her tongue flicked over rouged lips, wetting them, making them glisten.