SHAPE AND SOUND

Ellen was careful not to wake Harriet as she slid back into the bed they shared. She felt certain that Harriet would be able to see all that had happened written plainly on her face. In this, Harriet knew her better than anyone did; not even William had been entrusted with the dreams and desires Ellen kept hidden from the world. She did not think he would judge her for how she was made, but it would worry him to think her unhappy—and how could happiness in love be possible for a woman such as her? It seemed so foolish, now, to have thought she had found it with Harriet.

Before then, she had known only that talk of men and marriage felt stifling. She had thought herself broken: lacking the feelings other women seemed to find so natural. Perhaps she was made wrongly—many, she knew, would think it—but her misguided infatuation for Harriet had shown her that her feelings were not lacking, merely different. And if so, perhaps other women felt different in the same way.

Harriet believed it was impossible. Ellen wondered if this was due more to her guilt at inadvertently toying with Ellen’s affections than to any real understanding of the world. Anyway, there was no need for her to feel guilty. Ellen had forgiven Harriet, and she had forgiven herself for continuing to love her. That love had changed, now, had become something quieter and more sisterly. Harriet knew it too; Ellen had seen it in her eyes.

And now that same sparking madness threatened to reignite. There was already a smouldering within her, as much as she had tried to deny it. How long had it been there? A day? A week? She couldn’t think of a time in the house when she hadn’t been acutely aware of Grace’s presence. She had dismissed all thought, all feeling, that unsettled her, labelling it as justified dislike. When, she wondered, had it become something different? It was strange to realise that, for all her talk of honesty in the Church of the Spirit, she had been deceived most adeptly by herself.

She lay tired but sleepless, until Harriet began to stir. They washed and dressed as they did every morning, but Ellen could feel her cheeks burning at the thought of Harriet being able to tell what she and Grace had done. In the end, it was Ellen’s awkward behaviour that made Harriet pause in the middle of buttoning her shoes and fix Ellen with a narrow-eyed gaze. ‘Something happened.’

Ellen opened her mouth to blurt everything, as she had always done with Harriet, then remembered why she had left their bedroom in the first place. Her mind had been so filled with the feel of Grace’s arms around her that she had completely forgotten the mysterious white shape.

‘Someone—something—was here,’ she said. ‘It woke me up, so I followed it, but by the time I left the room it had gone.’

‘Something? What do you mean?’

Ellen explained what she had seen, up to the point where she entered the kitchen. Harriet didn’t interrupt, but her expression while listening changed from curiosity to clear apprehension. ‘Do you think it was a spirit?’ she asked, when Ellen stopped speaking.

‘Would a spirit need to open the door?’

‘If it had fully manifested, perhaps.’ Harriet looked as unsure as Ellen. ‘The alternative isn’t pleasant.’

‘An intruder, you mean.’

‘Or one of the others.’

Ellen was surprised. Harriet had never before shown any real sign of scepticism about anything involving the church. She had not responded particularly fervently to the recent changes, but neither had she questioned the spirit activity.

‘Who would do that, though?’ she asked. ‘Not Caroline, surely?’

Harriet shook her head. ‘Never.’

Ellen chewed her lip. ‘What if it was a spirit?’

‘I hope it was; and it seems the likely answer.’

‘Doesn’t it frighten you?’ Ellen glanced towards the door. ‘The thought of spirits coming in here and watching us sleep?’

‘I’d like to know that my parents were still watching over me…’

Ellen hadn’t thought of it like that. Her encounters with Bella had been too harrowing to draw any comfort from. It was different for Harriet, who harboured no guilt for her family’s deaths and was eager to receive their messages.

As selfish as it might be, Ellen hoped they would have no further night-time visitors. Waking once to an intruder was excitement enough.

She slept poorly for the next few nights, but despite waking often, she did not see the white figure or anything like it. Every morning she checked to see whether her possessions had been moved, and each time she found everything just as she had left it the evening before. The other women continued to tell their stories at the breakfast table—Sarah’s framed photograph of her daughter had gone missing, only to be returned the following day. Margaret had received a single purple iris, while Adelaide’s books had been disturbed again; she had woken to find them lined up along the floor.

Grace alone had no gifts nor visions to report. The women had ceased asking her directly and she was not the type to boast of flowers from the Summerland, so Ellen did not know whether she was merely being circumspect until she questioned Grace herself, but in the days following their late-night encounter, they were never alone together. Caroline was suffering from a feverish head cold and kept to her bedroom; Grace rarely left her side for more than a few moments. They even took their meals upstairs, so Ellen was forced to content herself with an occasional cryptic smile in the hallway or a few words while Grace was brewing tea. Even once Caroline felt well enough to move downstairs to the parlour, Grace continued to cosset her with hot drinks and knee blankets. It was only when Caroline kindly but firmly declared herself fit that Grace consented to leave her mother to the devoted attentions of her acolytes: a term that Annie had first used jokingly but which had soon been adopted almost unanimously.

She found Ellen in the library. As Ellen watched her enter, she realised the days of caring for Caroline at the expense of her own comforts had taken a toll on Grace. Her hair had lost its usual sheen and the delicate skin beneath her eyes was bruised from lack of sleep. She was thinner, too; Ellen was sure of it. Grace’s constitution was not delicate, but she was slender even when she was eating heartily. Ellen made a mental note to speak to Amy about increasing the women’s portions. She would happily let out the seams of her own dresses if it meant Grace would put on flesh.

‘You look exhausted,’ she said.

Grace all but fell into her usual chair by the window. ‘I feel it.’

‘You’re a wonderful daughter. Caroline’s lucky to have you.’

‘And yet…’ Grace’s smile twisted. ‘I worry too much, apparently. About her, about this chosen one nonsense…’ She glanced towards the open door. ‘I shouldn’t have said that here.’

‘It’s not a popular sentiment, but that doesn’t make you wrong to think it.’

‘No? If you would believe some of the others, it’s practically blasphemy. They’d think me a traitor if I so much as suggested that things are getting out of hand.’ When she turned back to Ellen, there was a new intensity to her gaze. ‘Would you agree with them?’

Ellen gaped at her for a moment. ‘Of course not! Anyone can see you’re devoted to Caroline.’

‘To my mother, perhaps, but to the church?’

‘The answer is no, regardless. You’re not a traitor. You’re just careful and thoughtful, and too intelligent to get caught up in every little excitement.’

Realising that she was becoming excited in manner herself, Ellen fell silent. Grace was not watching her with scorn or amusement, however. ‘You truly think that of me?’

Ellen nodded, her cheeks hot.

‘No one has ever said such nice things about me.’ There was a new heat in Grace’s eyes, a different kind of darkness that made Ellen’s pulse quicken and her bones ache. ‘I hope you know by now that I think equally well of you.’ She smiled: shy and playful at the same time.

Ellen could feel the throb of her heart in her throat. ‘I’m not sure that’s possible,’ she said.

Her voice sounded dry and distant. There was so much space between them—too much—and yet she feared what might happen if she drew nearer. As long as they remained separate, seated in their straight-backed chairs, she could believe herself in control.

‘If we were alone…’ she began, but the momentary surge of bravery left her and she didn’t dare to finish her thought.

Grace did not turn from her, however, although her cheeks had turned a vibrant shade of pink. ‘No one is ever truly alone in this place,’ she said. ‘Perhaps…’

‘Yes?’ Ellen prompted.

‘We could do something,’ Grace said, her words falling over each other in a nervous rush. ‘Together. Away from here.’

‘Yes,’ Ellen repeated. ‘ Yes .’

Grace’s smile began as a mere twitch of her lips, then grew until it brightened the entirety of her face. ‘Yes.’

‘As soon as Caroline’s well enough for you to leave her for the day.’ Ellen felt bold, now: almost as if she were capable of anything. ‘Somewhere we can lose ourselves.’

‘The Exhibition.’

Once Grace said it, it seemed obvious. An excuse to leave, and a crowd to render them anonymous. ‘The Exhibition,’ Ellen agreed. It was decided.

The thought of it was both a thrill and a torment over the following week. Daily, Ellen would convince herself that she had read more into Grace’s behaviour than was warranted—that Grace, like Harriet, wished only for her friendship—and daily Grace would give her cause to hope anew. The smallest gesture gained a greater meaning: a smile across the dining table; a brush of arms when passing in the hall. Ellen’s throat would grow tight when first she saw Grace, and the restless flames within her were betrayed by her flushed cheeks. When she saw her blush mirrored on Grace’s face, she felt joyous and invincible. Never before had Grace’s pale face been so often alight with colour; even her dark eyes seemed to gleam with a new fiery light.

Of course Harriet noticed the change in Ellen almost immediately; she had experienced this part of Ellen once before. Ellen had expected a lecture, but when Harriet drew her aside after a particularly awkward breakfast, all she said was, ‘Be careful.’

It was not the optimism Ellen might have hoped for, but it was better than she had predicted, and that was good enough.

By Sunday, Caroline was well enough to lead the public meeting. The tip of her nose was still pink and raw and her voice was a little hoarse, but she was eager to resume her work. The manifestations had been less frequent when she was unwell, but had not ceased entirely. Her powers had been dulled by sickness, the other women decided; now that she was almost recovered, there was a sense of feverish anticipation in the room.

Sarah had reclaimed her seat at the piano, so Ellen returned to her usual chair at the table. Grace was needed today, since no strangers were present; she took the seat to Ellen’s left, while Ellen remained next to Caroline.

‘We never sit together,’ Grace told Ellen while the room was being prepared. ‘At first, it was so no one could accuse us of working together to trick the strangers in the circle. That was when Mother still gave dark seances. If a medium sits next to a confederate, she can use that hand to do whatever she wants: raps, table lifting—even playing musical instruments. When she began working in the light it wasn’t really an issue any more, but by then we were used to sitting apart. And I can see her face better from elsewhere at the table, watch for signs of trouble.’

‘Becoming too tired, you mean?’

Grace glanced towards her mother. ‘Not just that…’

Ellen didn’t have the chance to question her further, because it was time for the meeting to begin. She had been very aware of Grace since they had taken their seats, but that prickling sensation was nothing compared to the nervous pleasure she felt reaching for Grace’s cool fingers. Ellen risked a gentle squeeze, which Grace echoed so quickly that Ellen did not have time for fear, and she stroked the back of Grace’s forefinger lightly with her thumb. Even from the corner of her eye, she could see the rise of Grace’s shoulders as she drew a shaky breath. She didn’t dare turn to her in case her expression betrayed everything to the circle.

The seance began as it usually did. The hymn, the prayer, the increasingly electric atmosphere in the room. When the wind rose, it was fierce and wintry, and Ellen thought longingly of the warm breeze that had accompanied her first seances; the way it had teased the candle flames instead of buffeting them. This time, only a few candles remained lit once the cold wind ceased to blow. Two were positioned near to the table, which meant that the circle itself remained well illuminated even while the rest of the room had sunk into shadow. Ellen could easily see Frances’ wide, expectant eyes and, beside her, Adelaide fidgeting as she waited for something more novel to occur.

The bell rose from the table and rang three times, but instead of descending slowly as usual, it dropped onto the table with such a thud that the clapper sounded a muted fourth tone. It wobbled for a second before settling upright, but Ellen was uneasy, sensing a wildness in the drawing room today that worried her. The tight grasp of Grace’s hand suggested something similar.

Caroline’s face showed no sign of concern, however, when she called out her standard invitation to the spirits. Ellen waited for the raps, expecting them to be similarly intense, but if anything they were more subdued than usual. The three taps that answered Caroline’s question were swift and sounded loudly from the ceiling above Ellen’s head. Those that followed them were less distinct: a pattering rhythm at first, then something more disjointed, as if the noise was ricocheting about the room. When they tapered away the room was not quite silent. There was a low, continuous creaking that persisted for close to a minute, like the house itself moaning a long reply.

Ellen turned to watch Caroline, who was looking about the room as if searching. In the candlelight, her eyes were indigo, flecked with bright reflections of the flames. Her eager expression betrayed no hint of any weakness lingering from her illness. In fact, Ellen had rarely seen her look more alive—she was radiant, almost regal, as she awaited the appearance of the spirits.

Margaret gasped. The circle turned first to her and then to where her gaze was pointed. In a dark corner of the drawing room, a glowing white shape was hovering about six feet above the floor. It was more ovoid than spherical, and its whiteness was not uniform, with some sections appearing more luminous than others. Beneath the bright shape was a much larger form—if, indeed, one could describe something so insubstantial as a form. It, too, was white but it did not glow, and it appeared to be completely transparent. It brought to mind the drapery often seen on marble statues, although they were clearly tangible, while this, it seemed, was not.

Ellen turned to see how Grace was reacting to the apparition, but was distracted by the strangled sound of Margaret’s voice. ‘Robert!’

There was a peculiar mix of apprehension and excitement on Margaret’s face, but no doubt at all. Margaret was leaning forward so far that the edge of the table must have been cutting into her stomach, but she showed no sign of discomfort. Her eyes did not move from the place, several feet behind Frances, where the white form floated as though suspended in the air.

‘Can you speak to me, Robert? Just a word or two. Please?’

There was no response from the spirit; Ellen had to look away from Margaret before hope turned into disappointment.

Ellen had felt the tension in Grace since the white form had materialised. Her hand gripped Ellen’s and her whole body looked rigid and alert. Now, Ellen met her gaze, and was struck immediately by the lack of wonder or excitement in Grace’s expression. Instead, there was only something akin to dismay. She managed no more than a preoccupied smile in reply to Ellen’s raised eyebrows.

‘Can you hear him?’ Margaret asked Caroline.

The medium looked surprised by the question. She looked to the spirit and then back at Margaret. ‘No,’ she said finally, her voice hesitant. ‘Perhaps with more practice…’

Something in the way she said it made Ellen realise that Caroline knew no more than the other women about these new manifestations. She was clearly thrilled by each heightening of her powers, but the actions of the spirits seemed as unexpected to her as they did to Ellen. If she were truly God’s chosen, the role came with no unique insight. Which meant that they were all operating on supposition—and trusting that the gifts and visions were benign when they had no way of knowing that at all.

A cold feeling of dread settled in Ellen’s stomach.

She turned back to look at the spirit. Was it moving, she wondered, or was it only a trick of the eyes? The lightness of it against its shadowy backdrop made it appear to shimmer, but it had come no closer to the table, for which she was glad. Ellen could hear Margaret’s breath hitching behind her, as if she were crying, but she did not repeat her entreaty to the spirit. Perhaps it was enough to see his face—although Ellen still could not make out his features, no matter how long she stared at what she supposed was his head.

She looked at the form without blinking until it became a blur, and she squeezed her eyes closed to stop their stinging. At the precise moment she reopened them, the sound of a high-pitched giggle came through the still-closed door to the hall.

The spirit form was forgotten as the circle members and Sarah turned towards the sound. Ellen had not imagined it, then—the carefree giggle of a small child, entirely unexpected here in a house where children had not lived for years. As they all listened in expectant silence, the laugh was repeated and quickly followed by the sound of childish footsteps running down the tiled hall towards the kitchen.

When all was still again, Ellen turned to Margaret. The other women, she noticed, were also looking to her for an explanation of what they had heard.

It was Annie who asked the question they all were thinking. ‘Is there a child here that I don’t know about? Amy’s daughter, perhaps?’

‘Amy’s daughter is grown and married,’ Margaret said, ‘and so are her sons.’

‘A grandchild, then,’ Annie persisted.

‘All wee bairns still in their mothers’ arms.’ Margaret shook her head. ‘I’ve no answer to give you, hen. None from this world, at least.’

Annie looked over to Sarah, seated at the piano. ‘Could it have been your Millie, do you think?’

Sarah’s expression was guarded, but there was a hint of sadness in her voice. ‘Too young to be her,’ was all she said.

‘Then one of your girls, Margaret,’ Annie said. ‘Perhaps she came with Robert.’

Ellen realised that she had quite forgotten about the other spirit. She turned back to where the white form had been, only to find the darkness of the corner unbroken. There was no sign of Robert or, indeed, of any other spirit. While the women’s attention had been focused on the unseen child, their first visitor had left them. Nothing remained to suggest even that he had ever been there.

‘Came and went,’ Margaret said, her voice bitter. ‘No, I didn’t recognise her.’

‘Ellen…’ Harriet ventured.

Ellen did not look at her. ‘No.’

Grace squeezed her hand, and Ellen realised she had been gripping her fingers too tightly. She loosened her grasp a little, then gave a quick squeeze to acknowledge Grace’s gesture. She could do no more at that moment.

Caroline cleared her throat. ‘Perhaps that’s a good place to leave it for today.’

Unwilling—unable—to discuss what had happened yet, Ellen gave Grace a look of silent apology that she hoped would convey a little of what she was feeling, then made her way quickly to the door. When she opened it, however, her escape was interrupted by the sight of the tiles that lay before her. The lamps in the hallway were lit, and their flickering light revealed a line of glistening footprints, extending the full length of the hall. Wet footprints, Ellen realised. The footprints of a child.

When Ellen’s legs crumpled beneath her, Grace was there to break her fall.