2

The atmosphere in the house changed. Now there was a strong sense of religious fervour—without the requirement of faith in the intangible. The women had witnessed the actions of the spirits, had held the gifts they brought, and now had even been allowed a glimpse of a spirit’s face. There could be no doubting that those lost to this world lived on in the Summerland. And yet…

Ellen felt increasingly uneasy in the house. The more the other women rejoiced in these marvels, the more she feared that the spirits might no longer be under Caroline’s control. Every night, now, objects were moved around the house. Flowers appeared; possessions vanished. There was no indication that any of this was done with malicious intent, but there was something unnerving about the thought of unseen actors meddling with their things.

Unnerving also was the women’s veneration of Caroline. They had always been devoted, but now they treated her with a kind of reverence. Even the most minor decisions called for her opinion: whether to order beef or mutton; what should be done about a chipped tile in the downstairs hall. The women went to her with more personal questions as well, and Ellen often found her with a congregant in the parlour discussing matters of faith, grief and self-doubt. And why not? The medium’s perceptiveness and kindness made her wise. But Ellen wondered when the church members had ceased to exist as individuals and had begun to act as a unified whole. Only Grace and Sarah remained separate. At times even Ellen found herself doing as the others did.

On those occasions, she sought Grace’s companionship. She could always be counted on for her pragmatism and she, of all the women, was least comfortable with the heightened feeling for her mother. When the weather allowed it, they walked or worked together in the garden. At other times they sat reading quietly in the library. Once, Ellen was invited into Grace’s attic room.

She had not known of the attic’s existence until she had been in the house for several weeks. Ellen had simply assumed Grace shared a room with Adelaide—a foolish thought with hindsight, given that Adelaide was not at all the sharing type. Not to mention that the attic could only be reached through a door in the scullery that Ellen had thought led to a storeroom. It had once been the bedroom of the Plumstead children’s nursemaid and was therefore considered part of the servants’ area of the house, along with the kitchen, scullery and laundry, and a network of hallways formerly used by the Plumsteads’ maids. Ellen glimpsed them on her way to Grace’s bedroom, branching from the narrow stone staircase that wound up to the attic; they looked as dark and claustrophobic as the stairs themselves.

The attic was cramped and windowless, with a ceiling so low Grace could only stand upright in the very centre of the room. There was no space for much furniture. Even the bed was too tall to be pushed against a wall, and squatted instead in the centre of the room, with a small table placed on either side of it. One held what looked like a gentleman’s shaving stand; the other, a candlestick and a pile of books. There was no wardrobe, but two squat chests of drawers and a large wooden trunk. There was no fireplace, either. Ellen shivered at the thought of enduring the winter nights without it.

‘Aren’t you terribly cold in here?’

Grace looked surprised by the question. ‘It’s not too bad, actually. The heat from downstairs seems to seep through the floorboards, so as long as the fires are lit in the bedrooms it’s quite cosy. It’s a furnace in the summer, though. No windows.’

An image of Grace lying upon the bed in a summer nightdress flashed, unwelcome, into Ellen’s mind. She felt her cheeks redden, and turned away.

‘Could you not sleep in your mother’s room on the hottest nights?’ she asked. There was a strained note to her voice.

‘I’ve done so when it’s been particularly bad. She thrashes about in her sleep, though, so I’ll often do better up here regardless of the heat.’

‘Do the spirits trouble her at night?’

Grace’s laugh was so unexpected that Ellen turned back to face her before her cheeks had fully cooled. ‘More like she troubles me ,’ she said. ‘She’s always been a rough sleeper. Having my own bed here…well, it’s a wonderful gift, and never mind the warmth.’

It made Ellen feel a little guilty to think of how she’d come to the house with the intent to expose Caroline, no matter what harm that did to the people who surrounded her. She had been so certain the others would come to value the truth as she did that she had not even considered the cost of revealing it. Not only the emotional cost of losing loved ones a second time, she now realised, but the very physical cost of home and means as well. If Caroline was ousted, then Grace would be too. It seemed a disproportionate punishment for simply being Caroline’s daughter.

Ellen’s motive for staying had changed drastically since then, but had she changed? She would have liked to believe herself more thoughtful, but she was not sure that was the case. If it turned out after all this time that she had been lied to, she thought her response might be even more fiery than her initial reaction to Harriet’s defection. But that was not going to happen. Ellen believed in Caroline.

It was only when Grace cleared her throat that Ellen realised she was staring. She could feel the blush threatening again, but Grace did not look annoyed nor amused—merely hesitant. For a moment, it seemed as if she might step closer. Then a burst of laughter floated up the staircase from the kitchen, and Grace smiled shyly and looked away.

‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’ Frances trailed a finger over the surface of the planchette, her lower lip caught between her teeth.

‘Why wouldn’t it be?’ Adelaide slid her chair closer to the parlour table.

‘Well, with the spirits so active now…’

Adelaide dismissed her concern with a wave of her hand. ‘That just means it’s more likely to work. Right, Margaret?’

Both women turned to look at Margaret, who had just returned from the dining room with an additional chair. ‘I’m no expert, hen, but it seems likely.’

‘There’s room for you if you’d like to join us.’ Frances turned her attention to Ellen, her fears easily allayed.

Ellen gave a sigh of pure martyrdom. ‘Much as I might like to, my mother will report me dead or missing if I don’t get this sent off today.’ She nodded towards the half-filled page on the writing slope in front of her. ‘Never mind the fact that I can’t even remember the last time William sent more than a telegram stating when our train was due.’

‘It’s different with boys,’ Margaret said.

‘Yes,’ Adelaide agreed. ‘You can’t count on them for anything. My brother would forget his own name if it weren’t written inside his schoolbooks.’

‘It seems unfair that he’s the one headed for the university when you’re clearly the better scholar.’

Adelaide looked at Ellen as if she was mad. ‘Unfair? Perhaps to him. I can think of nothing more tedious. Would you want to waste your life listening to the endless drone of old men?’

‘I can think of few things worse,’ Ellen admitted.

‘Exactly. Bertie can have it. I’d rather live .’

‘I should think so,’ Harriet said as she walked into the room in time to hear Adelaide’s last sentence. She set the chair she was carrying down between Frances and Margaret. ‘We have enough dead people in this house already.’

‘There’s a thought,’ Adelaide said. ‘Do you think Jane might come back to visit?’

‘Not if you continue to speak so lightly of her death,’ Margaret said. Her voice and words were stern, but Ellen could see the grief in her eyes. ‘Give the poor woman time to settle into the Summerland before you start trying to summon her back.’

‘I wasn’t intending to—’

‘Shall we begin?’ Harriet jumped in before an argument could spark.

Adelaide placed her fingers on the planchette. As soon as the other women had joined her she called, ‘Spirits, are you with us?’ in a voice so loud that Ellen thought Grace would hear it in the attic.

Despite the unfinished letter, Ellen found herself watching. A part of her wanted nothing more than to be sitting at the table with Harriet. Another still felt the urge to remove her friend to a place of safety. Not, now, due to the threat of trickery, but rather the threat that it was all too real.

She watched the unmoving planchette for some time. Then, just as she was about to return her attention to the letter, it jerked several inches across the talking board and landed upon the painted YES . She swallowed a nervous giggle and forced herself to take slow and even breaths.

‘To whom are we speaking?’ asked Margaret, and Frances snickered at the formality.

There was another pause, then the planchette slowly began to move again, more smoothly. It slid first to the R , then on to the E and V before Harriet guessed the spirit’s intent.

‘Reverend?’

The planchette darted back to the YES .

‘Another minister?’ She looked to the other women, who seemed just as surprised. The planchette moved across to NO . Harriet frowned. ‘No-o-o…’ she said, drawing the word out, as if thinking aloud. ‘Reverend McLeod, then? But it can’t—’ She broke off as the planchette slid back to YES .

‘Reverend McLeod? No,’ Margaret argued. ‘He’s Caroline’s control. He wouldn’t come to us. Not without her here as well.’

The planchette quivered in its place.

‘It seems pretty certain,’ Frances said.

Margaret pursed her lips, unconvinced. Ellen didn’t blame her. It seemed quite ridiculous that the Reverend, of all people, would convey a message through the talking board when he could speak to them directly through Caroline. There was a feeling of discomfort, also, in speaking to the medium’s late husband without her there. It seemed almost an act of betrayal.

‘Do you have a message for us, Reverend?’ Adelaide asked. If she had qualms, she gave no sign of it.

Again there was a pause before the planchette began to move, its progress slow but deliberate. MY WORK , it spelled out, IS COMPLETE .

‘Your work?’ Harriet asked.

The planchette darted to YES and then quickly onward, its pace increasing with every word. MY WIFE NO LONGER NEEDS ME. THE LORD HIMSELF GUIDES HER NOW.

Frances said each word aloud as it was traced upon the board. By now, Ellen had given up all pretence of letter writing; her eyes were fixed on the planchette and its gliding motion. When it finally stilled, it took some time before she felt able to look away.

‘That’s…a big statement.’ Harriet seemed dazed.

‘Big? It’s enormous,’ Margaret said. ‘A lady minister’s all but unheard of.’

‘She’s always been our leader, though.’ Frances looked thoughtful. ‘The Reverend gave sermons and taught us about the Summerland, but it’s Caroline we’re here for. She’s the one who calls the spirits to us, not him.’

The planchette jolted unexpectedly, causing Harriet to lose her grip. As soon as she placed her index fingers back on its surface it darted the rest of the way towards YES .

‘But why tell us now, instead of speaking through Caroline at the next meeting?’ Margaret wondered.

‘Isn’t it obvious?’ Adelaide seemed remarkably unruffled by what the spirit board had said. ‘This way, Caroline can’t be accused of fabricating this in order to elevate herself.’

‘But we would never do that.’ Frances looked horrified at the mere thought of it.

‘We wouldn’t, no. Outsiders might.’

‘I’m not sure about this,’ Margaret said. ‘I’m not doubting Caroline’s abilities. But Reverend McLeod has always been her guide, as well as ours. Why stop now?’

Even before she had finished speaking, the planchette was moving. THE LORD HAS GRANTED HER THE POWER TO REVEAL HIS WONDERS TO THE WORLD. SHE IS HIS . MY WORK IS COMPLETE. The planchette stilled after the last statement was repeated, but then quivered and moved to the painted GOODBYE at the bottom of the talking board, where it came to rest.

‘His chosen,’ Frances breathed. ‘And we know her.’

‘More than that,’ Adelaide said. ‘We’re her first followers. That makes us special too.’

Ellen exchanged a glance with Harriet, who looked stunned by what the talking board had said. She did not wear the same awed expression that the other women did, but rather a look of confusion—perhaps even disquiet. Did she share Ellen’s uneasiness? The Church of the Spirit was changing; that much was certain. And its members were changing as well.

That night, Ellen was utterly exhausted by the time she slid beneath the covers of her bed. Adelaide had reacted to the talking board’s revelations much as Ellen had predicted she would: becoming increasingly theatrical and self-important until one might have thought it was she, not Caroline, who had been named the Lord’s chosen. Clearly, she no longer thought the church boring but was imagining the accolades she would surely receive as one of Caroline’s most devoted followers—and, no doubt, planning the perfect outfit to receive them in.

The other women were less self-assuming, but equally excited by the turn of events. The only one to take the news poorly was Grace, that night at dinner. She stared at her mother for a time, then left the dining room without saying a word. Ellen considered following her with the barely started meal Grace had abandoned, but was not sure whether the gesture would be welcomed. When Annie muttered ‘jealous’, however, Ellen was quick to respond with a glare. Grace had devoted her whole life to caring for her mother; to interpret her reaction as envy was unfounded and unkind.

Caroline herself took the news with calm acceptance, but Ellen was sitting too near to miss the slight shake of her hands as she ate. She spoke little during the meal, but when Ellen asked her directly what she thought of the talking board’s statements, she simply smiled and said she was the Lord’s servant and would remain so, regardless of what title she held.

Ellen was glad when she could retire to the library, which was blissfully empty. She stayed there until it was a reasonable time to say her goodnights and retire to her bedroom. She found Prince in the kitchen, warming himself in front of the range, and enticed him upstairs with the promise of a morsel of beef saved from dinner. Before all the nocturnal spirit activity she might have left him to his cosy sleeping spot. Now, however, Ellen wanted him in the bedroom with her.

She had expected her mind to be too agitated for sleep, but as soon as Harriet had blown out the candle Ellen felt herself begin to sink. Her dreams were feverish—full of grotesque creatures and garish colours—and when she started awake it took several seconds before she realised that the white form drifting out through her bedroom doorway was not another creation of her mind. It was only Prince’s low growl that convinced her otherwise. In the low light, she could see him standing close to the bed with his gaze fixed on the doorway. She reached down to rest a hand on his neck; his hackles were raised and his muscles tense. It was enough to jolt Ellen into full wakefulness, and she sat up in time to see the white shape disappear from view.

Ellen got out of bed with her heart pounding, careful not to wake Harriet. The door had been closed when they went to bed, she had no doubt of it. They closed it every night before undressing and it remained that way until morning. So focused had she been on the figure, she hadn’t realised that the open door alone would have been cause enough to worry.

One hand resting on Prince’s back, she stepped out into the hallway. If it had been an intruder that had woken her, she was being extremely foolish, regardless of the spaniel’s presence. But she knew she would not be able to go back to sleep without investigating, and if she were about to be horribly murdered, she thought she’d prefer it to happen when she was awake and able to defend herself.

She automatically turned to the right and looked towards the staircase, then realised the form had been moving in the opposite direction. She spun around. No; nothing unexpected. Merely closed doors and the dark oil portraits on the walls. Not wanting to startle anyone, she did not look into the bedrooms, but she checked both of the bathrooms and found them empty. There had been a light, floral scent in both her bedroom and the hallway, but the bathrooms smelled only of damp and soap.

Prince seemed less tense now. He had sniffed his way around the bathrooms—to be expected, given that he was rarely allowed into them—then returned to wait beside her. But Ellen knew she had seen something , even if she didn’t know what. A spirit? Her mind shied away from the thought. So far, neither she nor Harriet had experienced any of the manifestations the other women were reporting. Harriet found this frustrating, but Ellen was all too happy to have the spirits leave her and her possessions alone.

She walked back down the hall, pausing only briefly at her bedroom to close the door. Perhaps she had been mistaken, she thought; perhaps the white shape had gone towards the staircase after all. There was very little light to see by; it was not impossible that she had got it wrong. The doors to the right of her bedroom were closed just as all the others were, so instead she made her way to the staircase and slowly began to descend. All too mindful of Jane’s fate, she felt for each step carefully and kept one hand on the wall for balance. Downstairs, the house remained dark and silent. She checked each room, but saw nothing out of place. Finally, she reached the concealed door to the working areas of the house. Pulling it open, she stepped inside and yelped as she ran into a solid, warm, and altogether human body.

The body let out a similar noise of surprise, and it was then that she recognised Grace.

‘What are you doing here?’ she hissed.

‘I could ask the same of you.’

Ellen’s initial fright was subsiding, replaced by a flush of anger at Grace for having alarmed her. ‘ I was chasing an intruder,’ she said, her lowered voice doing little to hide her annoyance. ‘And it’s more than a little suspicious that you’re wandering about down here, instead of being upstairs, asleep in your room.’

‘Suspicious?’ Grace sounded no less irritated than Ellen was. ‘I heard you crashing about and thought you were a burglar.’

‘Crashing? I was being perfectly quiet,’ Ellen argued.

‘So quiet I could hear you all the way up in the attic.’

‘I find that highly unlikely.’

‘Yes?’

‘Yes.’

Ellen glared up at Grace, pulse racing from the combination of shock and her subsequent anger. In the weak moonlight seeping through the kitchen windows, Grace’s features were softer, the shadows smoothing the normally sharp lines of her jaw and cheekbones and emphasising the plump curve of her lips. Her eyes were coal black beneath the frowning jut of her brows, and her indignation gave them a fiery glint. She had never looked so alive, Ellen thought, and at that she realised how close Grace was: so close that she had to tilt her head back to meet Grace’s gaze. They were not touching, but the slightest movement would allow it. Without so much as stepping forward, Ellen could wrap her arms around Grace’s waist.

Grace’s frown faltered and something shifted in her eyes, perhaps in reflection of a similar change she had observed on Ellen’s face. Her gaze flickered down and then up again and Ellen saw in the tension of her body a wild animal unsure whether to freeze or run away. The same choice lay before Ellen, along with a third possibility that was too outrageous to even entertain. And yet it refused to be vanquished. Not while Grace was standing so very close to her, with that strange, troubled look in her eyes.

‘Grace, I—’ Her apology was left unspoken as Grace wrapped cool fingers around Ellen’s neck to draw her closer, then bent to kiss her full upon the mouth.

She drew back and, even in the dim light, Ellen could see the blush blooming on her cheeks. Grace looked frightened, but defiant—as if she regretted nothing, no matter what came next. Her bravery overcame the last of Ellen’s resistance. She closed the gap between them and rose to reclaim the warmth of Grace’s lips.

The final pieces of Grace’s guard crumbled. With a wordless murmur of wonder, she drew Ellen even closer, one arm curling around Ellen’s back and the other hand burying itself in Ellen’s hair, which had escaped its usual night-time plait. Ellen was only too glad to succumb to her embrace, her own hands clutching at the cotton of Grace’s nightdress as she kissed her again and again.

The kitchen floor was icy beneath her bare feet and the air was not much warmer, but Ellen was barely aware of the chill. She was warm where her body pressed against Grace’s; heated further by the flames that sparked within her and burned to her very core. Grace had always looked fragile to Ellen, but the strength of her kisses rivalled Ellen’s own, and her arm was a firm support at Ellen’s back. Twice, Ellen swayed beneath the force of their kisses. Twice, Grace caught her before she fell.

They spoke little—merely kissed and clung together until the sound of Amy coming in to light the range startled them apart.