Wait Until Midnight (8 page)

"Unfortunately, I cannot be certain of that," she said coolly. "I thought it only prudent to look into the matter personally."

"The devil you say." He folded his arms. "How can you label such an action prudent? It is reckless, foolish and potentially dangerous."

"I had little choice. The situation is already extremely dangerous, in my opinion. It is obvious that you are a very relentless and determined man. After you left my house it occurred to me that if you do not turn up a satisfactory villain, you may decide to revert to your original theory, the one that points the finger of suspicion at my aunts and me"

There was a short, tense pause while he absorbed that. She could tell that he was not pleased with her logic.

"I admit I tried to rattle you a bit," he conceded, "but I thought I made it clear that I am reasonably well satisfied that you and your aunts had nothing to do with the affair."

"Reasonably well satisfied does not sound all that certain to me. Now kindly cease carping. The demonstration is about to begin."

Adam went silent but she knew that he would have a great deal to say later. She made a note to escape the room as quickly as possible after Irene Toller concluded her exhibition.

A small man dressed in a dapper suit accented with a fashionable polka-dot shirt and a striped waistcoat walked out onto the stage. He cleared his throat.

"Mrs. Irene Toller will now give a demonstration of automatic writing," he announced.

There was some scattered, unenthusiastic applause.

A woman emerged from behind a curtain at the side of the stage. Caroline had seen Irene Toller from time to time in the halls of Wintersett House. The medium appeared to be in her early thirties. She was tall and striking in a sharp-featured way. Her dark hair was styled in a profusion of complicated braids coiled around her head.

Irene made her way to the table with a stately tread. In her hand she carried a device composed of a heart-shaped wooden platform supported by two casters and a vertical pencil. Caroline recognized the instrument as a planchette.

It had been invented several years earlier and was designed to allow the medium to write messages from the Other Side while in a trance.

"This would be mildly entertaining if it were not for the fact that murder has been done," Adam said in a low voice.

Irene Toller took her seat and placed the planchette on the table in front of her. She looked out at the small audience for the first time. Caroline was surprised by the forcefulness of the woman's grim gaze.

"Good afternoon," Irene said in a strong, resonant voice. "For the benefit of those of you who have never witnessed a demonstration of the planchette, I shall explain how the device operates. First, you must understand that there is a veil that separates this world from the realm where the spirits of the departed reside. Certain individuals such as myself are endowed with the ability to provide a conduit through that barrier. I am, in effect, only a channel—the medium—through which those who have gone before us can reach back into our mundane sphere."

An attentive stillness settled on the audience. Irene finally had the full attention of everyone present. She positioned the planchette above a sheet of paper and placed her fingertips upon the small wooden platform.

"I must first ready myself so that the spirits can make use of my hands for the purpose of writing out their messages," Irene continued. "When I have gone into the required trance, I will take questions from the audience. If the spirits choose to respond, they will make use of the planchette."

There was a murmur of anticipation. In spite of her own skepticism, Caroline found herself sitting forward slightly. "Be warned, however, that the spirits do not always answer the questions that are asked in these public sessions,"

Irene said. "They often insist that certain inquiries be made in a more private setting."

Adam leaned over to speak quietly into Caroline's ear. "It sounds as if she is drumming up business for the more expensive séances that she holds in her own home in the evenings."

"Please be quiet. I am trying to listen to Mrs. Toller."

On stage, Irene was giving every sign that she was entering a trance. Eyes closed, she swayed slightly in her chair.

"Hark, you ethereal beings who exist beyond the veil that shrouds this mortal world," Irene intoned. "We would learn from you. We seek your guidance and knowledge."

Expectation vibrated across the audience. Caroline could tell that most of those present were only too happy to suspend logic here in this room. They wanted to believe that Irene Toller could communicate with the spirit world.

"A willing audience is always easy to convince," Adam observed softly.

Irene began to make a low, keening sound that sent a shiver through Caroline. The medium jerked several times, shoulders twisting.

The audience was riveted.

Irene's moaning halted suddenly. She stiffened, head snapping back, and then she straightened, somehow appearing taller and more imposing in the chair.

She opened her eyes and stared at the audience with an unnerving gaze.

"The spirits are here," she announced in a hoarse, fear-some voice that was different from the one she had used earlier. "They drift all around us in this room, invisible to the ordinary senses. They await your questions. Speak."

Caroline heard several gasps and low-voiced exclamations.

A man rose a trifle uncertainly from the first row of seats. "Beg your pardon, Mrs. Toller. But I wanted to ask the spirits what it's like over there on the Other Side"

There was a moment of utter stillness. And then, seemingly of its own accord, the planchette began to move beneath Irene's fingers.

Caroline sensed that everyone, with the glaring exception of Adam Hardesty, was holding his or her breath. The audience watched, fascinated, as the pencil fitted into the planchette glided across the paper.

After a moment the automatic writing device ceased moving. Irene looked somewhat haggard from the effort. She rolled the planchette aside, picked up the sheet of pa-per and displayed it to the audience. The glare of the lamp revealed a scrawled message.

"This is a realm filled with light and harmony," Irene read aloud. "It cannot be fully envisioned by those who are still trapped in the mortal plane"

Murmurs of appreciation and wonder rippled across the room.

"I have no talent for the writing of fiction," Adam whispered to Caroline, "but I vow that even I could craft such a script."

"If you cannot refrain from making comments on the demonstration, perhaps you would be so good as to sit in another section of the room, sir," Caroline snapped softly. "I am trying to observe Mrs. Toller. I do not appreciate the distraction."

"Surely you are not taking any of this seriously." She pretended she had not heard that.

Another person rose to ask a question, a middle-aged woman this time. She wore deep mourning. A black net weeping veil concealed her features.

"Is the spirit of my husband, George, here?" she inquired, voice quavering. "If so, I want to ask him where he hid the stock shares. He'll know the ones I mean. I've searched everywhere and I cannot find them. I must sell them. I am desperate. Indeed, I am in danger of losing the house."

Everyone looked toward the stage.

Irene placed her fingertips on the planchette. There was another moment of stillness. Caroline expected the medium to announce that the departed George was not present. But to her astonishment, the planchette began to move beneath Irene's fingertips, slowly at first and then with increasing speed.

The planchette stopped abruptly. With an air of exhaustion, Irene picked up the paper.

"Behind the mirror above the fireplace," she read aloud.

"I am saved," the middle-aged woman cried out. "How can I thank you, Mrs. Toller? You have my most sincere gratitude."

"You must thank the spirit of your husband, madam," Irene said. "I am merely the medium through which he communicated the information."

"Thank you, George, wherever you are" The woman bustled out of the row of chairs and hurried toward the exit. "Please excuse me. I must find those shares immediately."

She dashed straight past Caroline, leaving a trace of lavender scent in the air, and disappeared around the curtain that blocked the light from the door.

"Now that was interesting," Adam said.

Excitement bubbled in the darkened lecture room. An-other man shot to his feet.

"If you please, Mrs. Toller, I have a question," he called loudly. "If the spirit of Elizabeth Delmont is nearby, ask her to tell us who murdered her."

There was a startled silence.

At the front of the room Irene flinched violently. Her mouth opened and then closed very quickly.

For the first time, Adam gave his full and undivided attention to the stage. He leaned forward, resting his fore-arms on his thighs, and watched Mrs. Toller closely.

"I expect that she will claim that Mrs. Delmont's spirit isn't present," Caroline murmured to Adam.

"I'm not so certain of that," Adam replied. "Look. The planchette is moving."

Caroline stared, astonished. Beneath Mrs. Toller's fingers, the device drifted this way and that, drawing the tip of the pencil across a fresh sheet of paper.

Irene groaned. A visible shudder passed across her shoulders. She gave every appearance of struggling valiantly to keep herself erect in her chair.

When the planchette finally halted, no one moved.

Irene eased the device aside and picked up the paper. She gazed at the scrawled writing for a long time. Tension gripped the room.

Irene read the message in her new, raspy voice. "Elizabeth Delmont was a fraud. She angered the spirits with her false claims and tricks. The invisible hand of retribution reached out from beyond the grave to silence her."

As if the final effort had been too much for her, Irene collapsed facedown on the table. Before anyone could move, the single lamp flared violently and then went out. The lecture hall was enveloped in thick darkness.

Someone shrieked. A hubbub ensued.

"Please remain calm. All is well. This, often happens when Mrs. Toller finishes her demonstration. Séances ex-act a great toll on the medium's nerves. I will have the lamp on in a minute"

Caroline recognized the voice of the small man who had introduced Irene Toller.

The lights came up slowly, illuminating the stage. Irene Toller and her planchette had disappeared.

SEVEN

"Enough of these theatrics." Adam took a firm grip on Caroline's arm and urged her to her feet. "Browning had the right of it in his piece `Mr. Sludge, the Medium.' Anyone who claims to be able to summon spirits is a fraud."

"I would remind you, sir, that Mr. Browning's wife was very impressed by a séance conducted by the famous Mr. D. D. Home. Rumor has it that she was convinced that Home not only contacted the spirit world but that he actually caused manifestations to appear."

"With all due respect to the incomparable Elizabeth Barrett Browning, I am certain that she was tricked by Home" Adam steered her toward the door. "But I will admit that she was in excellent company. In his prime, Home managed to make fools of any number of people."

To his great satisfaction, Caroline did not resist his effort to get her out of the lecture hall. But he had miscalculated badly in one regard, he discovered. The gently rounded shape and the enticing, resilient feel of her arm through the fabric of her sleeve proved unexpectedly distracting. He had to struggle against a sudden urge to tighten his hold and pull her closer. This was the first time he had actually touched her. He could not suppress the flicker of excitement that crackled through him.

She was warm and vivid in a tightly laced green gown trimmed with white at the neck and sleeves. The short train of the dress was gracefully hooked up to enable her to walk without sweeping the floor with the hem. The design ex-posed the toes of dainty shoes the same color as the gown. A large, delightfully frivolous green and gold velvet bow decorated the rear of the dress where the skirts had been drawn up and back into a small pouf. Her hair was twisted into an elegant coil. A tiny flower-trimmed hat was perched at a rakish angle over one eye.

She looked good enough to eat, he thought, and he was ravenously hungry.

He guided her along the corridor, intensely, almost painfully conscious of her femininity. The faint, enticing scent of her body mingled with the flowers and herbs of the soap she had used in her bath. The fragrance thrilled his senses. He reminded himself that he was too old, was too experienced and had seen too much of the dark, raw side of life to be so easily overwhelmed by a woman. But there it was. All indications were that he had been struck by lightning.

They made their way down the main hall of Wintersett House, past an office, a large reception room, more lecture halls and a library.

As far as Adam could determine, only the ground floor

had been opened to the members of the Society of Psychical Investigations. The floors above were closed to the public.

The mansion was vast, bleak and quite ugly, in his opinion. It had been designed in the Gothic style with walls of heavy stone. The rooms were vaulted in the medieval manner. Very little sunlight penetrated the interior of the big house.

Just the sort of atmosphere the members of the Society no doubt thrived on, he thought.

When they reached the front hall, he saw two gentlemen engaged in serious conversation. The shorter of the two was a man of some forty or forty-five years of age. Although he was of less than average height, he was fashioned along solid, heavy lines, not unlike the mansion. He projected an intense, scholarly air with spectacles, whiskers, a receding hairline and a rumpled coat.

The short, bespectacled man was brandishing a photo-graph beneath the aristocratic nose of an elegant, well-dressed, rather bored-looking gentleman. The taller man was endowed with the sort of statue-perfect features that never failed to attract the eyes of the ladies. His jet-black hair was highlighted by a startling streak of silver.