A FLOWER FROM THE SUMMERLAND

As the year rolled on and the temperature fell, the house sank into shadow and gloom. It was some time since Ellen had found the looming shape frightening. But on days of unbroken dark-grey cloud, she hurried past the camellias and carved veranda posts and into the broad, tiled hall, which remained icy from morning to night.

By late June, the house was as familiar to Ellen as if she had lived there many years. She did not consider it home—that was the cottage in Richmond—but she thought herself a part of the small community that lived there, and felt no reason to move on. No reason except for her guilt at leaving William alone for so long. Each time she visited, he insisted he was managing perfectly well without her, but he had become thinner. He smiled less, too, since Harriet ended their engagement. Ellen hated to see him injured: particularly when she knew there was little she could do to help.

She sat twice more with Caroline. Both times she felt the same pulling sensation that she had experienced towards the end of their first session, but was not able to give herself over to it. ‘It will come,’ Caroline told her. Ellen thought it likely that nothing more would happen until she overcame her own resistance—until she resolved the conflict being fought within her between trepidation and her wish to make Caroline proud. She did not play the piano again at a seance. Instead, she sat always in the circle, her fingers kept warm by the press of Caroline’s left hand. The chair to Ellen’s left was usually filled by Harriet, but occasionally another woman would take her place. Never again had Grace joined them. They had enough sitters without her.

The last Sunday in June was not particularly cold, but a constant, soaking drizzle leaked from low-slung clouds. The fire in the drawing-room hearth was kept high and the lamps were fully turned up, but the dreary weather cast a shadow over everyone. Even Frances—usually so cheerful—seemed dull and listless; Adelaide was not as silent in her complaints.

As the household gathered, Ellen helped Frances to set the candles in their usual places. Once the curtains had been drawn and the gas lamps extinguished, the room felt colder. The fire had been allowed to die down so that it was not much more than smouldering embers; they contributed little in the way of heat or light. There was not the usual creep of light beneath the closed door, nor at the edges of the curtains and where their two halves met. It made the shadows seem denser, somehow: as if Ellen could touch their velvet form just by reaching out her hand.

With the weather as it was, it came as no surprise that no outsiders had joined them for the public meeting. Mrs Rutherford had rallied from a recent spell of weakness, so there was no need for Caroline to call Grace to the table, and it was Harriet who slid into the seat at Ellen’s side. Caroline, as always, was the last to join them, wearing a dress as grey as the day outside.

The meeting began as usual: a few words from Caroline, a hymn and a prayer. Ellen had long since lost her qualms about responding to the latter; she had seen nothing in the house to indicate that Caroline and her congregants were anything but devout Christians. They all lived very moral and upright lives, attending to the charitable duties that befitted their stations, and gathering every Sunday evening in the parlour, where one of the women would read from the Plumstead family bible while the others sewed or knitted. Their only difference from the other women Ellen knew was that, instead of attending Sunday services led by Church of England or Presbyterian ministers, they gathered at the table to attend the teachings of a churchman who had already gone to God.

With the prayer complete and the chorus of amens spoken, the room fell quiet. It was not silent; there was still the soft sound of rain upon the window-glass and the usual creaks and groans of the house. In the hush, it was easy to make out the patter of toenails in the hallway: Prince, no doubt in search of Grace. The library today, Ellen wondered idly, or Plumstead’s study?

A loud cracking sound made them all start. Harriet gripped Ellen’s hand tightly.

‘Just the house settling,’ Margaret said, although she lifted her gaze to the ceiling, as if searching the plaster for cracks.

Ellen couldn’t help but do likewise. She could see no clear sign of damage, but the candlelight revealed only the blunt shape of things and all but the most alarming cracks would be invisible. It was not a reassuring thought.

As she watched the ceiling, the shadows upon it began to dance. She looked down to where the candle flames stretched and flickered, streaks of orange and gold reaching upwards, then dwindling, squat and motionless before resuming their dart and sway. A soft breeze curled around her, neither warm nor cold upon her skin. Ellen was accustomed to this now: to the gathering energies that heralded the coming of the spirits and the accompanying rush of fear and excitement that rose within her. As familiar as she might be with it, however, it could never become commonplace. Even Caroline shone with the magic of it, the thrill still vibrant after so many years.

The breeze fell, and with it the pulsing flames. Ellen looked to the bell in the centre of the table. Slowly, it rose and sounded three times.

Ellen could feel a slight tremble in Caroline’s fingers as the medium spoke. ‘Spirits, are you with us? We welcome you into our home.’

The raps came immediately. Three from the centre of the table, and then three more upon the windowpane, like a sudden burst of hail. They were joined by quieter taps at the ceiling and scattered up and down along the walls. One knock upon the floor near Ellen’s feet was so strong that she thought she could feel it reverberate beneath the soles of her shoes. Across the table from her, Annie gasped at a sharp rap above her head. And then, abruptly, the commotion ceased.

This was usually when Caroline began to speak to individual spirits only she could see, enticing them forward so that their faces became clear to her. Today she remained silent. Ellen turned to her. Caroline’s brow was furrowed and her lips were tight. ‘This isn’t…’ she murmured, her voice so low that only Ellen and Frances would be able to make out the words. ‘Something’s wrong.’

‘Are you all right, hen?’ Margaret leaned forward, her own face marked by her concern. A change in Caroline could never escape her notice.

The table rose from the floor and began slowly to spin.

Adelaide shrieked and rocked backwards on the rear legs of her chair, snatching her hands from her neighbours’ grasp. The circle was broken. Frances looked down at her freed right hand, the table still turning beneath it, a panicked expression upon her face. To Adelaide’s right, Mrs Rutherford looked less concerned.

‘Don’t be silly, love,’ she said to Adelaide. ‘You’d think you’d never seen a table move before.’

‘I haven’t!’ Adelaide’s voice was high and broken. ‘Not without anyone pushing it.’

‘Well, you’ve seen it now.’ Mrs Rutherford extended her gnarled left hand; Adelaide took it, and offered her other hand to Frances, but left her chair exactly where it was. Seconds later, the table ceased its spinning and sank back onto the carpet.

‘What happens if the circle’s broken?’ Ellen asked. She had thought nothing of it until she saw Frances’ reaction. A frightening thought occurred to her. ‘Will it let in evil spirits?’

‘Not at all, my dear.’ Caroline’s calm voice was reassuring, although she, too, seemed surprised by what had occurred. ‘The circle helps to concentrate the energies in the room. In less familiar surroundings, it also acts as a proof to the sitters, because they can see where the medium’s hands are and what they’re doing.’

It was a relief to hear her say it, but Ellen remained uneasy. She had begun to feel comfortable with all that she had experienced since joining the Church of the Spirit; now something new had thrown her off balance.

It was the first time she had admitted, even to herself, that joining the church was exactly what she had done. At some point she had stopped being a curious onlooker and become a true member of the group. There had been no moment of decision, no conscious choice to join them, but there could be no denying the fact that her mission to remove Harriet from the church’s influence had resulted only in her becoming embroiled herself.

How had things changed so greatly in such a short space of time? Certainly she had seen things here that she could not explain logically, but the spirits alone would not have tempted her. She had stayed because leaving would have meant turning her back not only on Harriet but also on the friends she had made since coming here. Frances and Adelaide, Annie and Margaret; even Caroline herself. It would also have meant acceding to Grace’s aim of driving her away.

The mood in the room remained unsettled. The table’s movement had been so unexpected that the usual course of the public meetings seemed no longer to fit. Caroline must have felt it too. She waited until the members of the circle had composed themselves, then addressed the disruptive spirit directly.

‘Spirit, we thank you for giving us such a powerful sign of your presence. Please identify yourself so that we can know more about you.’

There was no sound nor movement for some time and then, finally, came a series of soft, staccato taps. Ellen counted ten, followed by a long pause and then one single rap.

‘James?’ Annie sounded torn between wonder and fear.

This time the three raps sounded almost immediately. Annie looked as if she might be about to faint. Never in the time Ellen had been attending seances had James Glenn spoken through Caroline, nor even spelt out a message for Annie through raps. His communications had only ever been conveyed by Reverend McLeod, and even these had been brief and lacking in detail. Ellen had never heard Annie complain about this, but several times she had expressed her hope that James might one day gain the strength to speak with her directly.

It now appeared that he had found the required strength, and a great deal more besides. Caroline was rarely emotional at meetings, viewing herself as a guide and conduit, not a participant. Ellen had never before seen her flustered—had never noticed her hesitate or appear to be even the slightest bit unsure. Now, however, the solemn, deliberate tone of her voice was gone, replaced by a note of perturbation. Ellen found this far more disconcerting than the movement of the table.

‘You’ve grown far stronger since you last came to us,’ Caroline said.

Three more raps sounded in response. Annie started at the first of them, but remained silent. She did not look happy so much as overwhelmed. No matter how wanted this had been, Ellen thought, it had obviously given Annie a terrible shock, and who would blame her? If it had been Bella…Even the thought of it made Ellen feel ill.

‘Do you have a message for Annie?’

Three swift raps.

‘You may spell it, if you wish.’

This time, there was no reply. Ellen could see curiosity and tension on the faces of the other women in the circle, except for Adelaide, who had recovered from her fright and now looked enthralled. Finally something had happened during a meeting that she couldn’t dismiss as boring, and she was enjoying every moment. Annie, on the other hand, seemed to become paler every second. Ellen could see that she was clutching the hands of Harriet and Margaret so tightly it must surely hurt.

Just as she was beginning to think that there would be no further communication from James Glenn, Ellen heard Margaret gasp. ‘That draught,’ she said. ‘It’s icy.’ She looked towards the door.

Ellen turned, half expecting the door to have fallen open, but it was tightly closed. She couldn’t feel the draught herself, but she was several feet away from Margaret. She turned back around…just in time to see a single deep-red rosebud land in front of Annie.

Against the white tablecloth, the hue of the rose seemed particularly rich. Its short stem was the pale green of new growth and appeared to be thornless. There could be no mistaking it for a silk flower; even from where Ellen was sitting, she could see the velvety texture of the still-furled petals. She didn’t know where it had come from, but she knew the rosebud was real.

Annie’s breaths were too shallow and too fast. ‘Like I wore on our wedding day,’ she choked out and then fell sidewards in a faint. It was only Harriet’s grip on her hand that prevented her from dropping like a stone, and held her awkwardly until Margaret could help ease her to the floor. Sarah shrugged off her knitted shawl and draped it over Annie as a makeshift blanket.

‘Find Grace,’ Caroline said. ‘She’ll know what to do.’

Harriet left and returned with Grace soon afterwards. Prince followed them through the doorway, sniffed Annie’s motionless face and settled at her side.

‘What happened?’ Grace asked, dropping to her knees beside the spaniel and placing her palm on Annie’s forehead. She left it for a moment then reached for Annie’s pulse. ‘Very slow,’ she muttered, looking to her mother for an explanation.

It was Harriet, however, who answered. ‘It was James,’ she said. ‘He sent her a rose.’

‘A rose?’ Grace’s eyes were still fixed upon Caroline. Ellen had the sense that something was passing silently between mother and daughter that she could not interpret.

‘It was unexpected,’ Caroline said.

‘Truly?’

‘Truly.’

Caroline’s hand trembled, reminding Ellen that they were still joined together, even with the chain so clearly torn apart. She turned to the medium and found her looking grey and dazed. ‘Annie will be fine,’ she said. ‘It’s only a faint.’

‘It’s not that,’ Caroline muttered; then she collected herself and some of her usual colour returned to her face. She released her grip on Ellen’s hand and stood, looking down at the women who remained seated. ‘I think today’s meeting is over,’ she said, her voice almost back to its usual calm strength.

Adelaide reached across the table to where the rosebud lay, still untouched. Ellen half-expected her fingers to pass right through it, but the flower was as solid as it looked. Adelaide raised it to her nose and inhaled deeply. ‘It smells like a rose,’ she said, clearly disappointed. ‘I’d hoped it might smell of the spirit world.’

Frances leaned in to smell it. ‘Perhaps it does.’

Annie was still pale and quiet but, as Ellen eased herself down onto the carpet beside Harriet, she thought she saw her fingers twitch. Grace had undone the buttons at the high neck of Annie’s dress, allowing her to breathe more freely, and continued to watch over her.

‘Does she need smelling salts?’ Harriet asked.

‘No,’ Grace replied. ‘She’s beginning to wake up. Perhaps a glass of cool water?’

As Harriet nodded and left the room, Annie moaned. Her eyelids fluttered and then opened. ‘What?’ she said indistinctly, and attempted to sit up.

‘Shh,’ Grace told her, gently guiding her back down upon the cushion. ‘You fainted. Don’t try to get up just yet or you’ll fall right back down again.’

Annie made a soft grumbling sound, but did as she was told. When Harriet arrived back with the water, Grace looked to Ellen for the first time. ‘Help me raise her up a little so she can drink this.’

Ellen scooted closer to Annie’s head. She was so small and delicate that helping her was almost like caring for a child. Carefully, Ellen propped her up and held her while Grace fed her sips of water, and the colour slowly returned to her face.

This was a new side of Grace that she was seeing, and Ellen couldn’t help being impressed by her competence. She had watched Grace take care of Caroline when she was exhausted after a seance, but this was more than that. Grace had known immediately what Annie needed and had ensured those needs were met. A faint was hardly a medical emergency, but Ellen thought it likely that Grace would be no less capable in a more serious situation. Perhaps the characteristics that made her seem aloof in social gatherings allowed her to excel when others were unsure.

Ellen didn’t realise she was staring until Grace looked up and caught her gaze. In the glow of the candlelight, her eyes were warmer, less eerie, and for the first time Ellen saw that they were not black, but the darkest shade of brown. Intelligent eyes, Ellen thought, more so than her mother’s. Sober and cautious, but not uncaring, despite what Ellen had believed of her.

Grace didn’t look away. To ease the tension, Ellen risked a hesitant smile. Grace’s response was immediate: an answering smile and a slow flush of colour that brightened the pallor of her cheeks. Ellen’s throat tightened; she quickly looked away.

Annie was beginning to look more lively. With Ellen’s assistance, she was able to change her position so that she could sit up and hold the water glass. ‘I feel such a fool,’ she said, her voice still weak. ‘I’m not usually the fainting type.’

‘You had a shock,’ Ellen reassured her. ‘No one blames you for that.’

Annie started at her words and looked towards the table. ‘The rose?’

‘You didn’t imagine it and it hasn’t disappeared. It’s waiting for you, once you’re well.’

‘I’m perfectly well now,’ Annie argued. She struggled to her feet, swaying.

‘You don’t look it. Here…’ Grace helped her over to her seat at the table and lowered her carefully onto the chair.

Ellen couldn’t see the rosebud from where she was sitting but the expression on Annie’s face told her it was there. She looked thrilled and yet somehow sorrowful. What would it be like, Ellen wondered, to have someone love you so deeply that they sent you gifts from beyond the grave? She found it difficult to imagine. Love like that was not the domain of women like her. She might love ferociously, but would only ever be offered friendship in return. She looked at Harriet, who was keeping a watchful eye on Annie while she spoke quietly with Margaret, and then back to where Grace stood at Annie’s shoulder in case she grew faint again.

The floor was cold, Ellen realised, and she hastened to her feet. She was not needed any longer—if, indeed, she had ever been needed at all.

‘Come, Prince,’ she said, and left with the spaniel trotting at her heels.

Grace found her in the garden. The courtyard used for drying their washing was bordered on two sides by the bluestone walls of the house and paved with clay-coloured bricks. Beyond it lay several overgrown garden beds. One was still home to a tangle of perennial herbs: leggy mint, sprawling thyme and a rosemary bush that was doing its best to become a tree. The others had once been filled with vegetables, but now produced only a thriving crop of weeds. This had been bothering Ellen for some time. For all the years she had lived in Melbourne, part of her would always be a farm girl, and she hated the thought of good soil going unused.

She knew that house and garden were neglected not through laziness or reduced means, but as a response to Margaret’s bereavements. For years, all had remained as it had been when Robert Plumstead received important men in his study and the shouts and laughter of children filled the rooms and halls. In Margaret’s eyes even the slightest change seemed a slight on their memory.

Slowly, however, she had become more receptive to the other women’s suggestions. Grace had been allowed to neaten the front garden; Annie had bought new china to replace chipped plates and cups. The furniture and curtains remained shabby, but Ellen felt optimistic that, one day, Margaret would gain the strength to let these go as well.

In the meantime, she had sought Margaret’s permission to restore the kitchen garden to a useful state. This she had received more readily than she had expected—possibly because she wasn’t changing it so much as taking it back in time. Eventually, she would sow neat rows of seeds and hope that they would germinate, but first she needed to clear out the weeds and turn the soil. It was so hard currently that she could barely shift it with her trowel.

She was glad to be using her body again. The house had its advantages, but it kept her too much inside her own mind. Ellen considered that unhealthy—perhaps not for quiet people like her brother, but certainly for herself. She was happiest when active, and if that activity took place outside, better still. Prince, it seemed, agreed with her. She could hear his contented snuffles from yards away as he sniffed at every blade of grass and fallen leaf. After the morning’s rain, the garden was muddy and she knew she would have to wipe him down thoroughly before allowing him inside. She would likely not fare much better herself. It was poor weather for gardening, but the events of the morning had left Ellen with a dull and pensive feeling that only useful activity could banish.

When she heard the back door open, Ellen did not look up from her weeding. She was making good progress on the first of the beds, but her back was beginning to ache and straightening it needlessly would only make it worse.

‘You have mud on your forehead.’

Ellen automatically touched two fingers to her face, realising too late that her gloved hand was coated with soil. Annoyed, she looked up to tell Grace exactly what she thought of her unhelpful observation, but the strained look on Grace’s face as she tried not to laugh was too comical for Ellen to react with anything but a smirk of her own. ‘Did that fix it?’

Grace’s contained mirth escaped in a snort. ‘Not entirely.’

Ellen clambered to her feet, her back and hips protesting the injustice. She slid her hands from the muddy gloves and scrubbed at her forehead with a relatively clean part of her apron. ‘Better?’

‘Wait.’ Grace retrieved a white cotton handkerchief from between the folds of her dress. ‘Clean, I promise.’ She cupped Ellen’s cheek, then wiped at the traces of dirt on her face. From this close, the difference in height between them was particularly evident. Ellen tilted her chin upwards and saw the look of concentration that narrowed Grace’s eyes. ‘That’s better,’ she said finally, stepping backwards.

The air felt icy against Ellen’s cheek where Grace’s hand had rested. ‘Thank you.’ Her voice sounded strange to her—a trick, no doubt, of the wind. She cleared her throat. ‘You can clean up Prince next if you like.’

Grace looked down at the spaniel. He was soaking wet from his feet to his belly and his legs were speckled with mud. She scratched the top of his head, which was relatively dry, and smoothed the fur of his ears. ‘I’d hate to deny you that privilege.’

‘Such selfless restraint.’

They fell into a silence that was not comfortable, but remained a step away from awkward. Ellen fussed with the hem of one glove, rolling it in upon itself and then straightening it until it retained the curl even when released. Grace was not usually a fidgeter, but Ellen could see her shifting her weight from foot to foot.

‘I wanted to talk to you about what happened this morning,’ she said finally. Her voice was loud after the period of quiet.

‘I doubt I can tell you more than you already know.’

Even if she could, Ellen wasn’t sure she wanted to. She had come outside to avoid thinking about the seance.

‘The table spun and a rose appeared from nowhere, then Annie fainted.’

‘Yes,’ Grace said, but she was looking towards the doorway and not at Ellen. When she turned back, Grace’s eyes were troubled. ‘Can we…?’ She nodded towards the lemon tree that grew in the furthermost corner of the yard.

Curious, Ellen followed her away from the house. ‘Why the secrecy?’

‘I’m sure I’m being foolish.’ She glanced back at the building. ‘But until I have a better understanding of this morning’s seance, I’d rather we weren’t overheard.’

‘I doubt anyone cares enough about my opinion to eavesdrop. I’m not even sure why you care, to be honest.’

‘That’s exactly why I care.’ When Ellen responded only with a look of confusion, she explained, ‘You’re honest.’

Ellen wasn’t sure whether to feel flattered. ‘Honest or not, I don’t think I’m the person to ask. You’d be better off talking to your mother.’

‘I have.’

‘And?’ Ellen prompted when she failed to say more.

‘And I still don’t know what happened.’

‘I’m not sure this is the sort of thing that you can expect to make perfect sense.’

‘Everything makes sense if you have the knowledge to understand it,’ Grace said. ‘Please—tell me what you remember of the seance.’

There was no way to deny the request without seeming rude so she summarised quickly all she remembered of the seance: from its unremarkable beginning through to the materialisation of the rose and Annie’s response. Grace listened without commenting until she was finished, and remained silent for some time afterwards, her brows furrowed. ‘I can’t explain what happened,’ she said finally, ‘and neither can my mother. That worries me. She’s usually thrilled by anything she can attribute to the spirits, but this caught her completely unawares.’

‘I might have thought spirits would always be unpredictable.’

‘Spirits?’ Grace gave a wry smile. ‘Perhaps. But my mother’s abilities have changed very little over time. To go from trances to plucking flowers out of nowhere…Well. It’s concerning.’

‘She’s said that the current circle is particularly conducive to spirit communication,’ Ellen said. ‘Could that be it?’

Grace held her gaze, and Ellen could see the apprehension in her eyes. There was something else there, too, an emotion more difficult to place. ‘Are you asking me whether I think this is your doing?’

Ellen had not taken the thought so far. It was true that Caroline had spoken highly of Ellen’s innate talents, but that’s exactly what she said they were: natural, unpractised—undeveloped. She couldn’t entice so much as a single rap from the spirits; it was inconceivable that she might empower them to lift furniture or bring gifts of flowers. And she didn’t want that kind of power. The manifestations this morning had been frightening.

‘I wasn’t,’ she said. ‘And I certainly hope it’s not.’

Grace looked pleased with her response. ‘I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I intend to find out what caused this change but, in the meantime, I suggest you look to logic and common sense instead of trusting without question all you might encounter.’

Not so long ago Ellen would have laughed at the idea of the medium’s daughter encouraging her to be sceptical. Even now, a part of her found it ridiculous, but she had to admit that things had changed greatly since Harriet had first told her about Caroline and the church. It was a sobering thought. She’d spent so much of her first week in the house trying to expose Caroline, but it had been some time since she had last so much as questioned anything she had seen or heard.

The communications from Bella had been the turning point; this was clear with hindsight. She had found it impossible for Caroline to have known all that Bella had spoken of and from that point Ellen had, much to her surprise, started to believe. But should belief in one thing automatically lead to belief in all others? The old Ellen would have scoffed at the thought.

‘It seems strange for you to suggest I should distrust your mother.’

Grace didn’t return Ellen’s smile. ‘Have I not been warning you to be careful?’ She turned and glanced up at the windows overlooking the backyard. ‘My mother is my greatest concern, but she is not the only woman who lives here, and not the only person who stands to gain from a heightening of her powers. I’m telling you that there is something very peculiar about what happened this morning; it’s up to you whether you want to make anything of that.’

‘And if I choose to do so?’

‘Remain watchful; that’s all.’

‘So this isn’t another attempt at frightening me away?’

Grace turned back to her, the corners of her mouth twitching with an unexpected smile. ‘Would it work?’

‘It hasn’t in the past.’ A question had been bothering Ellen for some time and now seemed a good time to ask it. ‘Why do you want so much for me to leave? Why me, and not any of the others? You told me once that you didn’t despise me, but I can see no other reason for you to be so unhappy with my presence.’

‘I don’t…’ Grace raised a hand slightly, but appeared to think better of it. Her arm fell back to her side. ‘I’m not unhappy. Or, rather, it’s not you who makes me so, far from it. And that’s why I don’t like to think of you being consumed by this place—by your faith in my mother—like all the others were.’

Her pale face was open, guileless; her eyes wide and lustrous. A knot within Ellen loosened. It was not that she cared about Grace’s opinion specifically, but it was never pleasant to feel disliked. Particularly so when the person hostile towards you was intelligent and capable and someone you might well have esteemed greatly if things had not taken an ill turn from the start. Generally speaking, of course , she thought.

‘I’m glad,’ she said aloud. ‘And I’ll try to be less credulous. It isn’t my natural state.’

That night, the spaniel was restless. He had endured a bath with fortitude while Ellen cleaned up the mess he’d made of the kitchen. Grace, disconcertingly, offered to help, but Ellen turned her down politely and found release from her thoughts in vigorous floor-scrubbing. Later, in the parlour, Prince was as content and sleepy as usual.

But once Ellen and Harriet retired to bed, he failed to settle. Most nights, he would form a nest of an old blanket and sleep until morning. An especially loud creak or howl might provoke a twitch of his long ears, but he was no longer starting at every little noise.

So it was unexpected when, not long after Harriet had blown out their candle, he lurched to his feet and rushed to the bedroom door. The room was too dark for Ellen to see him, but she could hear the soft pant of his breath as he stood near the foot of the bed. After a minute or two, he let out a quiet grumble and returned to his blanket.

Ellen’s thoughts were just beginning to sink into dreaming when Prince’s growl jolted her awake. He did not go to the door this time, but moved closer to where she was lying. She untangled her left arm from the blankets and reached down to him. He licked her fingers and whined once, as if trying to explain the cause of his anxious watchfulness.

‘It’s all right, Prince,’ she said. ‘Probably just a possum on the roof.’

He did not need to understand her to find the sound of her voice calming. Ellen heard the thud of his tail against the bed frame and then a sigh as he eased back onto the carpet. She lay for some time without moving, but she could hear no sound that might have bothered him, not even the patter of raindrops or the moan of a swirling wind.

Eventually she slept, waking only when Margaret screamed.

Harriet started awake beside her, hair falling upon her shoulders in smooth auburn waves. Ellen knew from experience that her own hair would be a messy tangle, but she didn’t pause to tame it as she threw a gown on over her nightdress and thrust her feet into the slippers she had tucked beneath the bed. Harriet rose and pulled a shawl about her shoulders, but neither of them spoke.

At the door, Ellen turned to her and they exchanged a frightened look. There was no honour in hiding, however. Ellen turned the doorknob and pulled the door open, Prince pressed firmly against her leg.

The hallway was full of anxious women shivering in gowns and nightdresses. Just enough light was seeping through the stained-glass window above the staircase for Ellen to make out each woman’s face. Sarah and Frances were waiting outside the door to Margaret’s bedroom, as if unsure whether to enter. Neither would be any threat to an intruder, so Ellen thought it her duty to step forward. She was stronger than the other women and, more to the point, she had Prince.

She raised her hand to open the door just as it flew open and Margaret staggered into the hall. The older woman’s face was grey and her expression greatly distressed. ‘There was a man,’ she gasped. ‘In my bedroom.’

Ellen could hear the sound of the congregation’s collective horror behind her, but she didn’t turn away from Margaret. ‘Are you hurt? Is he still in there.’

‘No,’ Margaret said, and the word was dull, as though weakened by her shock. When she spoke again, her voice was stronger and, as she met Ellen’s worried gaze, there was a look of utter wonder in her eyes. ‘It was Robert.’