CHOSEN

By the time Ellen reached the bottom of the stairs, Harriet’s screams had drawn the rest of the women from their bedrooms. Harriet was silent, now, but she made no attempt to leave the step on which she was standing, her face frozen in an expression of horror and grief. As Ellen knelt down beside the crumpled body lying at the base of the staircase, she was joined by Margaret, whose bare feet betrayed the fact that she had left her bedroom in a hurry.

‘Oh, dear Lord,’ she murmured. ‘Whatever happened here?’

Jane Rutherford lay with her face turned towards the ceiling, her faded eyes fixed and unblinking. There was a small wound on the bridge of her nose, but otherwise there was nothing visibly wrong with her—beyond the fact that she was dead.

This was so obvious that Ellen felt foolish checking for a pulse, but she did so anyway, because it seemed the right thing to do. The elderly woman’s wrist was cold beneath her fingers: too cold even for the chill of a wintry morning. Ellen shook her head at Margaret, who closed Mrs Rutherford’s eyes with a trembling hand.

Others joined them. Frances was clutching a blanket, which she stretched over the old woman, leaving her face uncovered. ‘I know it’s silly,’ she said, ‘but I hate the thought of her being cold.’

Ellen remembered another blanket and another body, much smaller than the one now before her. That blanket had done nothing to warm the limbs that lay beneath it, nor the ice that had run through Ellen at the first sight of the too-pale face, the tangles of dripping hair. Bile burned the back of her throat.

‘Someone should go for a doctor,’ Sarah said. She made no attempt to hide the tears that streaked her face.

‘It’s a little late for that,’ Annie said, shivering in her nightdress.

‘Not to…not to help her,’ Sarah explained. ‘To find out what happened.’

‘And to write a certificate. We’ll want to get a policeman here as well.’ Margaret’s joints clicked as she rose from the floor. ‘I’ll send Amy.’

Ellen remained at Mrs Rutherford’s side until she felt a tentative hand on her shoulder. She looked up to see Grace regarding her with cautious eyes. ‘Come on, now,’ Grace said. ‘You can’t do anything for her.’

‘I think I heard her,’ Ellen said. She felt sick with the guilt of it. ‘Falling, or crying out. Something woke me, but I didn’t know what it was. I should have helped her, but I just went back to sleep.’

Grace released her and Ellen had time enough to think her repulsed by Ellen’s admission before she stretched out the same hand to help Ellen to her feet. ‘By the time you woke, it was already too late,’ she said. ‘See how peaceful her face is? You don’t need to be a doctor to know she died immediately. Perhaps even before she fell.’

Their hands were still linked together, Grace’s long fingers warm against Ellen’s skin. The contact was calming, even if Ellen found it difficult to believe Grace’s words. ‘But what if she didn’t? What if she was frightened, but no one came?’

Grace led her into the parlour, where she took a seat on one of the sofas and drew Ellen down beside her. ‘Now,’ she said, her whole body angled so that she was facing Ellen, ‘is this about Jane Rutherford…or is it really about Bella?’

Her words made Ellen’s throat tighten. She tried to pull her hand away, but Grace simply gripped it with unexpected strength. The pressure was almost painful, but Ellen welcomed the chance to focus on something other than the turnings of her mind.

‘Ellen?’ Grace’s voice was quiet but there was a power behind it that Ellen had not noticed in the beginning, back when she was no more to Ellen than Caroline’s awkward daughter. She had thought Grace passive because she was so often silent, but now she knew that she was simply guarded: reluctant to reveal the parts of her that so often had been scorned. She had allowed Ellen to glimpse what she usually kept hidden.

‘When my father carried her into the house, I thought she was sleeping. That she’d been waiting so long for us to find her that she’d nodded off. But my father’s face…’ Ellen swallowed, but her mouth remained dry. ‘And then I saw that one of her shoes was missing, and her dress was soaking wet. I knew, then. I knew I’d killed her.’

‘Ellen,’ Grace said again and her eyes were so full of pity and kindness that Ellen had to look away. ‘I know you believe that. But I believe there’s no part of you that’s responsible for what happened.’

‘You can’t know that.’

‘I can.’

‘Because of the spirits?’

‘Because of who you are.’

Ellen couldn’t help but look up. ‘You barely know me.’

‘I know you came here for your brother and for Harriet, while the others all came for themselves.’

Had her motives been so obvious? Ellen had thought she’d successfully hidden her reasons for entering the house—reasons that had so quickly been forgotten once the church had accepted her into their fold. Grace didn’t look angry, however, nor even accusing.

‘It’s obvious you care deeply for your family,’ she continued. ‘I know that you would never have done anything to harm Bella—not even through neglect.’

‘I wish it were that simple.’

Grace smiled, but her eyes remained sad. ‘To me, it is.’

Perhaps she would have said more, but at that moment Harriet entered the parlour.

‘Oh, there you are,’ she said, before taking in the women’s position on the sofa and their hands, which were still entwined.

A flush coloured her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry to intrude, but the policeman’s here and he wants to speak to you. Because we were the ones who found her—it’s not that he suspects you of anything. He says there won’t even be a need for an inquest, given Jane’s age.’

That was something, at least. Ellen would be very happy if she never attended another one of those.

‘Go on,’ Grace said, releasing her. ‘You’ll feel better once you see that there was nothing you could have done.’

Ellen wasn’t sure about that, but she managed a quick smile before rising and following Harriet from the room. However, Harriet stopped her before she could enter the drawing room, where the policeman was holding court. She studied Ellen carefully, her eyes examining her face as if it might tell her what she wished to find out. Finally, she gave up and just asked her question outright.

‘Is this…with Grace…is it anything like it was with me?’ She looked embarrassed to be speaking of it, but equally determined to do so. ‘Because, Ellen, you know it isn’t possible. What you want…it’s more than any woman can give. I don’t want to see you hurt again.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Ellen said quickly, jumping in before Harriet could say anything more. ‘Grace and I are barely even civil to each other. And I mustn’t keep this policeman waiting.’

She pushed past Harriet, doing what she could to ignore the concerned look in her friend’s eyes and the feeling of desolation that filled her to her core.

Ellen had not been close to Jane Rutherford. Her death was sad only in the sense that the death of anyone known to Ellen would be. In the following days, Ellen learned that Mrs Rutherford would have turned ninety-two on her next birthday. The doctor who had examined her that morning had not been able to say whether her heart had stopped before or after her fall, but he thought it likely that it had been the former, given her age and general state of health. He agreed that there was no need to hold an inquest, and so the church was free to arrange Mrs Rutherford’s funeral and her interment in the grave in the Melbourne General Cemetery long occupied by her husband. Her two sons did not make the journey from Adelaide, but both sent long letters thanking Caroline and the church for making their mother’s final days so comfortable. Caroline herself packaged up Mrs Rutherford’s things and arranged for them to be sent to South Australia.

With Mrs Rutherford gone, Sarah had their shared bedroom to herself. Harriet had thought it might make her more content in the house, but Ellen was not surprised when she continued to talk of missing her husband, along with her former life. Still feeling a little guilty for having ousted Sarah from Caroline’s unofficial inner circle, Ellen made an effort to include Sarah whenever possible. She endured the embarrassment of being beaten regularly at whist, she and Harriet being no match for the combination of Margaret and Sarah. She encouraged Sarah to play the piano, too, a greater sacrifice. The stilted notes would always sound painful to Ellen, but she knew herself how comforting music’s companionship could be.

Mrs Rutherford had been found on a Saturday, and Ellen worried that the usual Sunday meeting would focus on her death. She was still feeling unnerved, and would have struggled to maintain her composure if Caroline had so much as mentioned Mrs Rutherford. The task of controlling the thoughts and feelings that threatened to overwhelm her was made no easier by having Grace beside her since, with Mrs Rutherford gone, the circle would otherwise number only seven.

It was clear that Caroline felt this loss deeply. She had spent much of Saturday shut up in her bedroom, the door closed to all but Margaret and Grace. When she emerged at suppertime, her nose and eyes were red and she looked entirely spent. She was brighter the next morning, but Ellen could see her grief in her clumsy movements and the way her eyes dulled when she thought no one was looking. Grace fretted over her mother and cared for her with practised skill. She was so gentle that Ellen was struck with the realisation that, as warmly as Caroline might nurture her congregation, it was Grace who cared for her. She felt a pang of deep sorrow for Grace, knowing that it had probably always been that way.

The seance that day had been uneventful, much to Ellen’s relief. Eight at the table or not, it was clear that the atmosphere was conducive to little more than a brief appearance from Reverend McLeod. The spirit activity elsewhere in the house was similarly subdued. Sarah woke one morning to find a yellow daisy outside her bedroom and Adelaide misplaced a ribbon and blamed it on her grandmother, but there was nothing like that first rosebud emerging from thin air.

That all changed the following Sunday.

For the first time in weeks, an outsider attended the public meeting. She was a stranger to Ellen but had attended a seance six months earlier, before embarking upon a tour of Europe. She was a loud woman who talked at length on the annoyances of travel, but she was otherwise inoffensive and her presence meant that Grace did not need to be called upon to take the final seat. When Grace learned that she would not be required, her expression was so plainly one of gratitude that Ellen couldn’t help but giggle.

‘You’re a poor advertisement for your mother’s business,’ she said.

‘Don’t let her hear you call it that,’ Grace said, grinning back.

The newcomer, Mrs Vine, took Mrs Rutherford’s seat and announced that she was there to seek her late husband’s blessing for something that had taken place in Florence. It did not take much intuition to guess the event of which she was speaking, given that Caroline had greeted her as Mrs Blunt. Ellen understood the desire to hold back information in order to test a medium, but it worked best if that information wasn’t obvious to everyone in the room.

Ellen offered to take over from Sarah at the piano, since it was some time since she had sat in the circle. She looked doubtful until Caroline pulled out the chair to her left that had become Ellen’s, then slid into it with a look of cautious pleasure.

Ellen was not sad to relinquish her place. Her heartbeat had begun to race as soon as Caroline walked into the drawing room and taken her seat at the table. No matter how much the other women marvelled at the signs of Caroline’s growing power, Ellen was unable to set aside a feeling of imminent danger. The thought of spirits moving unchecked through the world of the living was not as agreeable to her as to Annie and Margaret. Even Harriet thought Ellen overly cautious.

Just sitting at the piano, however, was a help. It was such a small thing, but that made Ellen even more thankful that she had this source of comfort. She glanced over the sheet music for the hymn Caroline had chosen; there was nothing there that would trouble a pianist of even intermediate skill. Harriet and Frances were attending to the candles, so Ellen simply waited for the seance to start.

Caroline said a few words of greeting, then turned to smile at Ellen: her cue that it was time for the hymn. Ellen played the opening bars of ‘God Be With You Till We Meet Again’ and the remaining tension in her body eased as her fingers moved over the keys. The candlelight cast long shadows over the music, but the melody was so simple that there was no need for her to squint. This was when she felt closest to God, she thought, not when in communion with the spirits.

When the last notes had sounded, Caroline said the usual prayer calling for the gift of communication with those who had entered the Summerland. Today, however, she included a brief mention of Mrs Vine’s wish to speak to her late husband. Ellen opened her eyes long enough to see that Mrs Vine looked suitably appreciative, then shut them until the amens had been said.

The room fell silent. The weather that morning was unusually mild for August, and there was no wind to howl about the eaves, nor any rain to cover the windowpanes with crisp, staccato sounds. There was not even the patter of Prince moving through the house; he was fast asleep at Grace’s feet in Robert Plumstead’s study, and unlikely to rouse himself without good cause. With none of the usual distractions present, the wait felt particularly long.

As she watched, the candles on top of the piano flickered, then went out. Around the room, the other candle flames were darting and quivering, buffeted by a fierce breeze that had sprung up abruptly. Gone was the warmth of previous meetings; this felt like an icy wind circling Ellen’s legs. By the time it eased, three more candles had gone out, leaving the room in an eerie twilight. From her seat at the piano, Ellen could see the startled expressions of Annie and Adelaide, who jumped as the bell on the table rose and sounded its first note.

After the third peal, Caroline spoke her usual words of greeting. ‘Spirits are you with us?’ Her voice was clear and assured. ‘We welcome you into our home.’

She was immediately answered by three loud raps, which seemed to come from the centre of the ceiling, followed by the usual cacophony of taps from all corners of the room. None came from the piano itself, Ellen noticed, glad not to have to imagine invisible spirits so close. It was different sitting in the circle surrounded by other solid beings, with the warm grasp of hands to bind her to the living world. Alone at the piano, Ellen felt that if she didn’t concentrate she might be pulled into the void between here and the Summerland.

When the chorus of raps ended, the room felt particularly still. Ellen shivered a little. The chill breeze had blown all the heat from the drawing room and the barely glowing coals in the fireplace did little to replace it.

Someone gasped. The table was rising from the floor: not smoothly, like it had done on the previous occasion, but in broken, upward jolts. It ascended about a foot into the air and then thudded back to the ground with an impact that shook the whole floor. It quivered, as if contemplating another movement, but nothing came of it and after a few shocked moments, the women lowered their linked hands back onto the damask cloth. The bell had toppled over and now lay with its brass skirts lifted obscenely to reveal the clapper. If it had chimed on toppling, the sound had been muted by the noise of the table itself.

Caroline leaned forward and peered into the shadows beyond Mrs Vine’s head, seemingly unaffected by the table’s movement. Ellen supposed something like this had been expected; she didn’t think she would ever become accustomed to such things.

‘There is a man standing at your shoulder,’ Caroline said, looking at Mrs Vine. ‘He wears an expression of great kindness.’

‘Matthew?’ Mrs Vine asked, glancing behind, then turned back to Caroline. ‘Is it a tall man? A little thick at the waistline?’

‘He is very imposing,’ Caroline said, gazing beyond her. ‘In form, that is, not manner.’

‘That’s him, all right.’

‘He is not strong enough to speak through me,’ Caroline said, ‘but if you ask simple questions, he might consent to answer them with raps. Three for yes; one for no; two if the answer isn’t clear.’

Mrs Vine nodded. ‘Are you angry with me, Matthew?’ She directed the question at the space over her right shoulder.

There was a pause, and then one crisp rap. Mrs Vine seemed to be waiting for more to follow and, when the silence extended, Ellen could see the tension leaving her form.

‘Are you sure?’

Rap rap rap .

‘I did it for the children,’ she said. ‘They needed a man to protect them now you’re gone.’

Rap rap .

Mrs Vine looked down. Even in the dim light, her pinched expression was clear. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘There’s more to it than that. I needed a protector, too. It’s difficult for a widow alone. Is it so wrong of me to want to feel secure?’

The response was a single rap this time and Mrs Vine let out an audible breath of relief.

‘I know it’s a lot to ask,’ she said, ‘but I came here today hoping for your blessing. Might you be kind enough to give it to me?’

Three raps, a pause, and then a flurry of knocks. Mrs Vine looked to Caroline for an explanation.

‘I think he wants to say more,’ she said, and then, to the spirit, ‘We’re listening. I’ll call out the alphabet; tap when I say the letter you want.’

Through this method, a message was slowly spelt out: BE HAPPY TOGETHER. Mrs Vine was crying long before the last letter was known and she let out a soft sob when Caroline said that the spirit had retreated and then faded away.

‘He was a good man, my Matthew,’ Mrs Vine said, her voice shaky. ‘I’ll not forget him.’

With the main objective of the seance achieved, Ellen thought that Caroline might choose to end it, but instead she lifted her head and called, ‘Are there more spirits who wish to communicate with someone at the table?’

There came no raps in response, but instead a strange rattling that seemed to come from the walls themselves. It ceased abruptly just as Frances gave a yelp of surprise.

‘Look!’ She pointed to the corner of the room.

Everyone turned. Ellen was not the only one who gasped at the sight of a glowing form hovering about six feet off the ground. It was roughly oval in shape and it shone with an even, hazy light in the darkest corner of the drawing room, where not one of the candles had withstood the breeze. Oddly, it did not illuminate any of the area around it. If anything, the shadows became deeper in contrast to the floating light.

‘It’s a face,’ Annie said with wonder in her voice.

‘It’s a spirit ,’ Margaret corrected her. ‘Praise the Lord!’

Ellen couldn’t see the face they were referring to, perhaps because she was viewing the shape from a different angle. The longer she stared, the more she thought she could see the blurry lines of something in the light, but even with a face in mind, she couldn’t make the lines become eyes, nose and mouth. When she turned to see Caroline’s reaction, the echo of its glow stayed with her, and she had to blink several times before it began to fade.

Caroline did not look awed, like the women on either side of her. Her expression was one of fierce excitement, and she gazed at the shape with unblinking eyes. She looked triumphant, Ellen realised. As if something long dreamt-of had finally come to pass. It was a moment of joy; and yet Ellen could not cast off a lingering sense of dread.

A series of taps on the tabletop demanded the women’s attention. From her position, Ellen couldn’t see what had caused the noise, but it became clear moments later, when Frances said in an astonished tone, ‘Sweets. The spirits brought sweets for me.’ Her voice cracked. ‘And they’re pear drops. My mother’s favourite.’

Ellen looked back to where the floating light had been. All that remained in the corner was darkness.