THE FIRST SEANCE

The next day when Ellen returned to the house there was a small card affixed to the front door, below the knocker.

Church of the Spirit.

Meeting Today at 11 a.m.

Members of the Public Welcome.

She was a little early: unusual for Ellen, who frequently lost all track of time and blundered into her engagements fifteen minutes late. She had woken early that morning, however, and it was not yet light when she washed and dressed. She had hesitated over her choice of clothing. It seemed strange, even impious, to wear her Sunday best to a seance, but she thought it better to be overly formal than to have the likes of Grace McLeod looking down on her. And the group did call itself a church, going so far as to hold its meetings on Sunday mornings as if it were no different from the Church of England congregation further along the road.

At breakfast, William had been unusually pessimistic. ‘You’re not going to convince Harriet to change her mind by joining those people yourself.’

‘And I have no intention of doing so. Can you really see me getting caught up in all that nonsense?’

‘No, but if you’d asked me a month ago, I’d have said the same of Harriet.’

She patted his hand across the table. ‘You won’t lose both of us, I promise. Either of us, if I have my way.’

‘And if you make things worse by your meddling?’ he asked. ‘What then?’

‘I’m not meddling. I’m investigating.’

‘I don’t think it’s as simple as you make it out to be.’ He shook his head. ‘Just be careful, Ellen.’

‘Don’t worry,’ she reassured him. ‘I’ll be fine.’

She felt less confident now, standing on the doorstep of the gloomy house. What if she gained the proof of trickery she was searching for, but Harriet couldn’t be convinced? Ellen had no doubt that deceit of some sort was involved in the spiritualists’ meetings—the alternative was quite preposterous—but Harriet had good reason to cling to her beliefs. There was a chance, she knew, that Harriet would resent her for destroying the fantasy Caroline had created; so much so that friendship might turn to enmity. But that could happen anyway, as long as she was under her new friends’ influence; the broken engagement was proof enough of that. Better to risk it than to do nothing at all.

She took a breath, squared her shoulders, and knocked three times.

It was not Margaret Plumstead who answered but an unfamiliar woman who stood no taller than Ellen’s shoulder. She appeared similar in age to Ellen, with delicate features and soft blonde curls. The black wool of her well-cut dress indicated that she was in mourning, but she welcomed Ellen with a cordial smile.

How odd, Ellen thought, that the owner of such a grand house would not have a housekeeper—or at least a maid—to open the door. Frugality? Or a desire to keep secret all that went on inside?

‘Is Miss Kirk in?’ she asked. ‘She invited me to this morning’s meeting.’

‘Oh, you’re Harriet’s friend!’ The woman’s smile broadened. ‘I was sorry to miss you yesterday. You were all she spoke about at supper. I’m Annie. Annie Glenn.’ She held out one fine-fingered hand and Ellen duly shook it.

‘Ellen Whitfield. Pleased to meet you, Miss Glenn.’

‘Mrs,’ she said, gesturing to her black dress with a wry look, ‘but you must call me Annie.’

‘Annie, then.’ It was easier with a woman close to Ellen’s age than it had been with the aged Jane Rutherford. ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’

‘Thank you.’ Annie stepped back for her to pass, as Ellen waited for some kind of reference to the late Mr Glenn’s spirit, but none eventuated.

It was refreshing to meet a church member who seemed relatively normal—or who at least didn’t reveal her peculiarities right away. She didn’t like the thought of Harriet being surrounded only by women like Grace. Annie seemed a more appropriate companion, even if she had also been duped by Caroline McLeod’s trickery.

The drawing room looked different today, with the sofas and chairs all pushed back from the room’s centre, along with the occasional tables that had sat between them. In the very middle of the room now stood a large round table surrounded by the chairs from the dining room.

As far as she could see, however, there was no additional piece of furniture or curtained structure that might act as a medium’s cabinet. In the newspaper articles she had read there was always a cabinet—ostensibly used to isolate and contain the medium, but more realistically a hidden place where she could engineer her tricks in secret. Ellen had always been amazed that people fell for it, but every time the papers reported a new spiritualist fraud, there seemed to be a cabinet at its centre. Someone would grasp a ‘spirit’ and find them no less corporeal than any living creature, then fling open the door of the cabinet to find that only the medium’s discarded clothing remained inside. Such unmaskings seemed to happen remarkably frequently, and Ellen couldn’t help but wonder whether people wanted to be fooled.

The round table had been here yesterday, Ellen remembered, but it had been pushed almost into one corner and shrouded with a nondescript cloth. Today, it was covered in starched white damask and empty but for a brass lady bell—sitting slightly off-centre—that looked almost identical to one owned by Ellen’s mother. It seemed unlikely that it would be used to summon a servant—not when the door was answered by the women who lived here. Something to do with the seance, then.

The thought of it made her uneasy, so she turned to look at the piano instead. It had been a beautiful instrument in its prime, Ellen realised, before it had grown dull through years of obvious neglect. Was it even in tune? Her fingers ached to touch the keys. It was criminal to allow such a fine piece to go unplayed.

Preoccupied with her curiosity about the piano, Ellen took a moment to notice the woman standing beside it, where the room was most shadowed. Her hair was carefully twisted, plaited and pinned today and she was dressed in a dark shade of indigo, but there was no mistaking the spare figure or the ghostly pallor of her skin.

Their eyes met and she realised that Grace had been watching her. Angry, no doubt, that Ellen had returned as she had promised and scrutinising every movement. Ellen’s first instinct was to glare right back at her, but instead she forced herself to smile. It was remarkably effective. A faint flush coloured Grace’s cheeks and she dropped her gaze. Only then did Ellen let herself look away.

They were not alone in the room. Annie had gone to fetch Harriet and there was no sign of Caroline McLeod, but five women and a man stood in two small clusters by the windows. Ellen recognised only Margaret Plumstead; the others were all strangers to her. And they were a peculiar party. The sole man looked as if he should be rounding up stock on horseback rather than making small talk in a grand drawing room, while one of the younger women was dressed so extravagantly that Ellen wondered if she had mistaken the seance for a ball. The others were less extreme in appearance, but wildly disparate in age. One was barely more than a girl, one bent and wrinkled; one perhaps a decade older than Ellen. It was difficult to imagine these people coming together in normal circumstances, but their conversation didn’t seem stilted and Ellen could see no outward signs of snobbery or undue deference.

Indeed, there was a level of informality here that Ellen didn’t quite know how to deal with. William would laugh, she knew: she had often complained about society’s tiresome rules in the past. But at least they gave one a script to read from. In her usual circles, for example, it would be unthinkable to leave a guest alone like this without ensuring they were familiar with at least one other person who was present. Perhaps Annie assumed she had spoken more than a handful of words to Margaret the previous morning. Or perhaps such things truly didn’t matter to the church’s members and it would be perfectly acceptable for Ellen to join one of the groups with neither invitation nor introduction. She didn’t much fancy the thought.

She was saved by the arrival of Harriet, who looked pale but happy. She looped her arm through Ellen’s and guided her further into the room. ‘It’s good to have you here with me, Ellen. I hope William isn’t unhappy with you.’

‘He’s unhappy,’ Ellen said pointedly, ‘but not about this.’

Harriet’s smile faltered. ‘I wish—’

The room fell quiet before she could finish her thought. Caroline McLeod had arrived.

Others had joined the group while Ellen and Harriet were speaking. Ellen could see Annie beside the rustic man in his worn clothing, and Mrs Rutherford on the arm of a pretty black-haired girl who looked like she was the only thing holding the old woman upright. All were looking at Caroline.

‘Thank you for coming today,’ she said, ‘and welcome to our newcomers.’ She nodded at Ellen and the man in turn. ‘We’re a relatively small group today, so there will be room at the table for you if you wish to take part in the seance instead of merely observing from outside the circle.’

Ellen spoke without thinking. ‘You allow spectators?’

‘Of course. Our public meetings are open to all who wish to attend them, but too many people at the table changes the atmosphere and the spirits are less likely to come.’

‘But I thought—’ Ellen cut herself off. She might invite suspicion if she continued to question the church’s methods.

But Caroline simply smiled at her, a knowing look in those startling eyes. ‘You thought mediums controlled the room more carefully?’

Ellen nodded, embarrassed.

‘Many do,’ Caroline said. ‘It’s far safer to allow only the circle if you have something to hide. You should never trust a medium who insists that all who are present must be seated at the table. Especially those who operate only in the dark. There are a lot of imposters about.’

Ellen was surprised that she would admit it so openly, then reasoned that this was Caroline’s way of saying that she herself was trustworthy, even if not all others were.

The man appeared to be duly convinced. ‘I’d like to sit at the table,’ he said. ‘I’m willing to pay.’

‘This is a church, not a business, Mister…?’

‘Abbott.’

‘Mr Abbott. This ministry was my husband’s calling, and I do what I can to continue his work. You may join our circle: not as a customer but as a child of God.’ Abbott thus chastised, she turned to Ellen. ‘And what of you, Miss Whitfield? Do you have a question for the spirits?’

Ellen could think of nothing she wished to ask non-existent spirits. ‘I’ll just watch, if that’s all right.’

‘Of course, my dear.’ Ellen could detect no uncertainty in her expression. ‘I’ve nothing to hide.’

With this, the stillness of the room was broken. Annie led Abbott to a seat at the table and took the one directly to his right. Caroline sat across from them, flanked by Mrs Rutherford and Margaret.

Harriet’s gaze fluttered back and forth between Ellen and the circle, and it was obvious that she itched to join it.

‘I’ll be fine,’ Ellen said. ‘Go.’

Harriet moved to claim one of the empty chairs. The others were taken by the elderly stranger and the young woman she had been speaking to. Once all were seated, the black-haired girl darted around the room lighting candles, then drew the curtains—so dull was the room normally that it now appeared brighter, although the shadows had lengthened as well.

The remaining woman took a seat at the piano as the girl showed Ellen to one of the couches pushed against the wall. She sat, then realised that Grace was gone from her place near the piano and was nowhere to be seen. When had she left the room? Or was she hidden somewhere, waiting to conjure fake spirits for her mother?

‘I’m surprised Grace isn’t here,’ she said to the girl, trying to keep her tone casual.

‘She doesn’t always stay; she must’ve seen it all a thousand times.’

She didn’t always disappear, then. That didn’t mean she wasn’t involved; just that she wasn’t crouched beneath the table ready to raise it from the ground. Ellen would need to watch her more closely.

‘I’m Frances.’ The girl stuck out her hand. ‘Frances Amoy.’

From this close, it was clear that Frances was not as young as Ellen had thought. She had the small, stocky body of late childhood and her glossy black hair was twisted into a simple plait, but her face looked closer to twenty than fifteen. She seemed cheerful in this moment, and she was one of the few women in the room not dressed in mourning attire, but something about her dark eyes hinted at grief.

Ellen introduced herself, but further conversation was prevented as the medium began to speak.

‘For the benefit of our guests,’ she began, ‘a few words to explain the way we do things in our church. You’ll find our meetings different from what you’re used to—whether that be traditional religious services or spirit circles formed for profit. We begin always with a hymn, and end with the Lord’s Prayer. More advanced spirits may speak through me; lesser ones might speak in raps or give messages to Reverend McLeod to convey. There’s the talking board, too, but not today. We are too large a group.’

‘The reverend was Caroline’s husband,’ Frances whispered. ‘He’s her—what’s it called?—her control. He says the most beautiful things.’

Caroline took the hands of the women sitting beside her, and the rest of the circle formed a chain of hands around the table, resting upon the white cloth so that every link could be seen. If the room had been darker, Caroline might have been able to free her hands without the others noticing, but there was no way she could do so in the bright glow of the candles. That had been one of the things Ellen had planned to watch for; now she wondered how else the medium might produce the raps she had mentioned. Tapping her shoe on the floor, perhaps? The carpet would muffle the sound, but if she had placed something beneath the table…Ellen would have to find a way to examine it after the meeting.

The opening bars of ‘In the Sweet By and By’ sounded from the piano, and Ellen looked over to watch the woman seated there picking out the hymn. It was obvious that she was no great pianist. Her movements were clumsy and she stumbled over the more complicated runs of notes. Ellen ached to take over from her; it pained her to see a once-fine instrument so abused. Instead, she added her voice to the others rising around her, as much to drown out the sound of the piano as to fit in.

Caroline followed the hymn with a brief prayer. ‘Lord,’ she intoned, ‘we gather here as your humble servants. Shine your light on us so that we may witness the wonders of your great creation. Draw back the curtain between this world and the next. In the name of the Holy Spirit, amen.’

‘Amen,’ Ellen echoed from habit, then felt immediately uneasy. Singing a Christian hymn was one thing; joining in with Caroline’s strange prayer was another entirely. She couldn’t imagine a real vicar speaking those words.

The room was silent now—so silent that Ellen could hear the distant rattle of a carriage and the soft twittering of birds outside. Beside her, Frances was leaning forward, her expression tight with anticipation. The members of the circle sat motionless, as though time had halted, freezing them in place. Ellen fought the urge to fidget. She found it hard to sit still at the best of times and the current tension only made things worse.

Just when she decided she could remain still no longer, all of the candle flames flickered at once. It was as though a wind had swept through the room, but Ellen hadn’t felt so much as a draught. There was a wave of expectant movement around the table and Ellen took the chance to shift her limbs. As she settled back against the sofa cushions, the brass bell on the table sounded three times.

Ellen’s attention had been focused elsewhere, but she was certain she would have noticed if anyone seated at the table had rung the bell. And, indeed, if it had moved at all, it had been returned to the exact place she had last seen it: slightly to the right of the table’s centre, beyond the reach of most of the circle unless they stretched forward. Only Abbott, perhaps, might have grasped it more easily, but his hands still clasped those of the women on either side.

A mystery. But Ellen had no doubt that there was a logical explanation; she really needed to look under that table.

Caroline broke the renewed silence. ‘Spirits, are you with us? We welcome you into our home.’

Nothing. Then three sharp raps at the table, followed by the staccato rhythm of softer raps and taps responding from all over the room, almost as though the sound was ricocheting from one place to the next. One seemed to come from directly above Ellen’s head; she looked up instinctively, but there was only the flat stretch of the ceiling. Beside her, Frances giggled, and the noises slowly faded until the room became quiet once more.

‘Are there spirits here who wish to convey messages to the members of our circle?’ Caroline asked.

Three more raps from the table.

‘Come closer, then, so that I might see you.’ Her gaze darted around the room then came to rest on the space between Abbott and Annie. ‘Yes, that’s much better. Thank you.’ She turned her attention to Abbott, whose jaw was working silently, apprehension and hope both clear upon his face. ‘Mr Abbott, I see a woman at your shoulder. Forty, perhaps, and handsome with…some kind of jewellery at her neck.’

He looked around, but obviously saw no more than Ellen could, because he quickly turned back to Caroline. ‘My wife,’ he said. ‘She often wore her mother’s brooch. Is she…Does she look happy?’

‘She looks peaceful, but I can tell she worries about you.’

He looked distraught. ‘Can you ask her why?’ He turned and directed a second Why? at the empty air.

‘She’s too weak to speak through me. No—it’s nothing to be concerned about,’ she added, seeing his expression. ‘I mean only the strength of her connection to our world. No one sickens or suffers in the Summerland. If you asked a more specific question, she might be able to answer by tapping, or—’ She was interrupted by three loud raps, which seemed to come from Abbott’s side of the table. ‘Of course, dear,’ she said to the space above Abbott’s shoulder, then returned her gaze to the man. ‘Three taps means yes; she would like to speak to you that way.’

Abbott still held the hands of Annie and the elderly stranger, but he had turned as far in his chair as he could and was now watching the empty space beside him with narrowed eyes, as if willing his dead wife to appear. ‘How do I…?’

‘Simple questions are better,’ Caroline told him. ‘Those that need only a yes or no response are best of all, because there is no need for the spirit to sap the energy needed to remain here by tapping out the alphabet.’

Ellen had to suppress a smile at that. Undoubtedly it would be taxing, too, for a medium to fake so many taps. Not to mention that yes-or-no answers would be far more simple to predict.

If Abbott was similarly sceptical, he didn’t show it. ‘Are you happy?’ he asked and was immediately answered by three swift taps. ‘Are you in any pain?’

One tap this time. ‘No,’ Caroline translated. ‘Three taps for a positive reply, one for the negative. Two indicates uncertainty, or that the question cannot be answered.’

He nodded without looking at her. ‘Mrs McLeod says you look worried.’ Rap-rap-rap. ‘About me, or the children?’ A pause, then three more raps. He frowned and paused, then asked, ‘Both?’ Rap-rap-rap. ‘No need for that, Elizabeth.’ His voice was falsely cheery and a tight smile curved his lips. ‘We all miss you, but we’re doing fine.’ One rap. Silence, then two raps followed by more silence, then two raps again. The smile faded. ‘I don’t understand.’

Caroline spoke up. ‘Can you spell it?’ Three raps. ‘A?’ Three raps again. She spoke each letter of the alphabet in turn, stopping only when the raps indicated she had said the correct letter and then repeating the process until a full word had been formed.

‘Alone?’ Abbott asked. Rap-rap-rap. ‘But we’re not alone, Elizabeth. There’s the four of us and my mother helps with the little ones when she can.’ A single, particularly loud rap that resonated in the quiet room. ‘I don’t…’ He looked to each member of the circle in turn, as if seeking the answer in their faces.

‘A nursemaid?’ Harriet suggested. ‘Perhaps she thinks you should hire someone.’ She was immediately answered by a single sharp rap.

Several other suggestions were made and answered in the same way then, finally, Margaret spoke. ‘A wife! She wants the wee bairns to have a new mother.’ Three loud taps indicated that she had given the correct response. She smiled broadly, looking extremely pleased with herself.

Abbott looked more doubtful. ‘Remarry? But we’re still in mourning for you, Elizabeth.’ He turned back to address empty air. ‘Surely it’s far too soon.’ Rap. ‘I…I suppose it would be good to have someone to take care of the children when I’m away from the house.’ Three more raps.

‘She’s smiling at you,’ Caroline said. ‘Can you feel her hand on your shoulder?’

He blinked down at his shoulder, which appeared unchanged. ‘I…Perhaps a slight pressure.’

Ellen was certain he could feel nothing of the sort, but wanted to believe he could.

‘She’s stepping back into the shadows, now.’ Caroline’s eyes moved as though watching the spirit depart.

If Abbott’s hands hadn’t been tightly held, Ellen thought, he would have reached out to a woman who had never been there.

She could see now how simple it would be for Caroline to convince believers that they were truly speaking with their family and friends. The limitations of the raps meant that Abbott had revealed a good deal of his family’s circumstances through his responses and the need to restrict himself to the most simple of questions. A few other details would be enough to convince him that he had truly been speaking to a spirit, and it would be easy to learn those details if Caroline had known his plans to attend. A few words to his hotel chambermaid or an overheard conversation would provide enough to satisfy a willing mind. Ellen had seen him speaking to others before the seance. She would have assumed one of them had conveyed information to Caroline if she weren’t so certain that they’d had no chance to do so. None had left the room before Caroline had arrived.

Grace, however…

She hadn’t looked like she was eavesdropping on Abbott’s conversation, but years of practice would have made her cunning. She had a way of fading into the background—how had she disappeared without Ellen noticing?—that made her the ideal person to gather information. But was she too obvious? A newcomer like Abbott might not know to suspect her, but the church regulars would not be so naive. They would watch what they said in Grace’s presence, and recognise anything said by the so-called spirits that could have been relayed by Grace. At least, Ellen would. Perhaps she was wrong to assume others would act the same way.

With Abbott’s encounter over, the room became quiet, as all awaited whatever might come next. Most of the members of the circle remained all but motionless—a minor shift in position; a slight turn of the head—but the overdressed woman was not as patient, rolling her shoulders and shifting in her seat. No one so much as glanced at her. Abbott looked preoccupied and the others were clearly used to her fidgeting. Even she stilled, however, when Caroline spoke.

‘I feel our good teacher approaching,’ she said, and raised her gaze towards the ceiling. A nice touch, Ellen thought, but a little practised.

The candles flickered. As Ellen watched, the flames grew taller and brighter, until the drawing room was filled with light. There was a faint scent of flowers—rose, lavender and jasmine—brought by a gentle warm breeze. She blinked twice, and then the flames were as they’d always been, the air once more thick and musty. She could hear Frances’ soft breath.

The candles flickered again, and then Caroline’s whole body jerked violently. Her eyes grew wide, then relaxed into a heavy-lidded stare. Her shoulders slumped, and her head nodded lazily. Concerned, Ellen looked towards Frances, but the girl didn’t seem anxious, nor even surprised.

When Caroline spoke again, it was in a lower, more resonant tone. Her own voice, but somehow different. It made Ellen uneasy: something didn’t feel right.

‘I bring greetings from the Summerland,’ Caroline said, her face still lowered. ‘I am pleased to see the Church of the Spirit prospering in Melbourne, just as it does in Sydney, and in England, where my ministry began.’

‘Reverend McLeod,’ Frances whispered.

‘Humankind has entered a time of great enlightenment,’ Caroline continued. ‘Today, believers are mocked and slandered, but soon all will be brought into the wondrous communion of the living and the dead. It is only then that man will truly understand the goodness of the Lord and all that he has given us. For there is no death that does not end in life; no sadness that does not end in joy. You are the Lord’s new disciples: his chosen and his beloved. When the time comes to join us in paradise, do not be fearful. You will sleep only briefly before awakening in the verdant garden of the spirit world, and you will be rewarded for your resolute belief.

‘Pray with me: Lord, we thank you for your greatest creation—the gift of eternal life. Grant courage and tenacity to these your most worthy believers, so that they may resist those who would lead them from your chosen path. In the name of the Holy Spirit…Amen.’

This time, Ellen remained silent while those around her repeated the final word. There was no one part of Caroline’s speech she could label unchristian, but she felt guilty for listening to it and for feeling momentarily enlivened by the words. Caroline had spoken with such authority that Ellen could understand how those more susceptible to trickery might believe her to be the mouthpiece of an ordained minister.

‘There are others here with me today.’ Caroline’s tone was warmer now, less imperious. The sermon had been delivered and now the congregation were free to talk. ‘The power is limited, so they will not be able to speak for themselves, but I have several messages to convey. Robert Plumstead wishes Margaret strength on the anniversary of their daughter’s birthday and reminds her that Agnes is happy by his side. James Glenn sends love to his little Annie. Elizabeth Kirk is pleased with Poppy’s actions. Richard Ward reminds his wife to have the chimneys cleaned, as there is the danger of a fire.’

‘May I ask a question?’ Abbott looked around the circle for permission, and continued when Margaret nodded her head. ‘When we enter the spirit-land, are we reunited with the people we’ve lost?’

‘They greet us on our arrival and ease the transition to eternal life.’

‘But what if we remarry?’

‘Then there will be twice the love awaiting you. The beauty of the Summerland is too great for the minds of the living to comprehend.’

Abbott seemed reassured, but Ellen shuddered at the thought of spending eternity with two husbands. One would be tiresome enough.

No one else had questions, so the supposed reverend gave the group his blessing and bade them all farewell. There was silence. Then Caroline jolted upright, gasping and coughing as though she had been caught underwater. Her eyes were wide and startled as she looked about the room. ‘My husband?’ she asked. Her voice had reverted to its usual tone.

‘Aye,’ Margaret told her. ‘You look exhausted.’

‘A little.’ Caroline smiled weakly. ‘It’s always more tiring when we have newcomers; their energies are different.’

Caroline emerging from her trance seemed to be the signal for the seance to end. Margaret began the Lord’s Prayer and her voice was joined by the others in the room. Ellen recited the prayer alongside them, glad for the opportunity to look like a willing participant in the meeting without doing anything religiously dubious.

With the seance concluded, the members of the circle rose from their seats and stretched their stiff legs and arms. Caroline was the last to stand, leaning heavily on the back of her chair. If her exhaustion was an act, she was a very fine actress, Ellen thought. She truly looked as though her strength had been sapped entirely by the performance. The colour in her cheeks had vanished and her eyes were dark and dull.

Ellen was not the only one to notice this. Margaret turned to Caroline, took the medium’s arm and guided her over to the empty sofa next to Ellen’s. Caroline dropped onto it with a sigh, and Margaret took a moment to arrange several cushions behind her before looking up at Frances. ‘Some tea, hen,’ she said, ‘with plenty of sugar. And see if you can find Grace while the kettle boils.’

Frances nodded and darted away. Her presence next to Ellen had been reassuringly cheerful compared to the overall tone in the room, and Ellen felt unsettled with her gone. The feeling only increased when Caroline pushed herself a little more upright so she could look at Ellen. ‘You must forgive me, my dear,’ she said. ‘I’m not usually so melodramatic.’

‘It takes a lot out of her,’ Margaret said, fussing with the cushions. ‘Especially when the conditions are less favourable.’

Ellen remembered Caroline’s comment about newcomers and wondered whether she was expected to apologise for her presence, when Caroline herself had encouraged it so earnestly the previous day. She made a few non-committal noises that the women could interpret however they wished, and was relieved when the arrival of Grace drew their attention away.

‘You must be more careful,’ she said, sinking down beside her mother. She took Caroline’s hands in her own and squeezed them. ‘Ooh, you’re icy.’ Grace shrugged off her own shawl and wrapped it around Caroline’s shoulders. ‘Frances is fetching you some tea; that’ll warm you up.’

It was odd seeing the surly Grace ministering so tenderly to her mother. Part of the act, perhaps? But Grace’s expression showed genuine concern. The emotion sat uneasily in place of her usual frown. Not entirely heartless, then; but still unpleasant.

Frances arrived with the tea, and Ellen took her chance to leave. Her back and her shoulders felt like they had turned to marble. She wanted nothing more than to breathe fresh air and loosen her joints on the walk back to the cottage, but she knew she couldn’t leave without speaking to Harriet.

She found her friend deep in conversation with Abbott, who was looking quite dazed by the whole experience. Ellen waited for a break in their discussion before making her apologies to him and drawing Harriet aside.

‘Wasn’t it wonderful?’ Harriet asked.

Ellen avoided the question. ‘Is it always like that?’

‘Sometimes others speak through Caroline. My mother once.’ Her smile was bittersweet. ‘A message isn’t quite the same, but I’m glad she’s pleased with me.’

‘You don’t think it’s all just a performance?’ Ellen kept her voice low. ‘The raps…well, I can’t explain those, but pretending to be controlled by a spirit would be simple enough.’

‘But the reverend knows things that Caroline never could. Come again and I know you’ll see it for yourself.’

‘I’ll come,’ Ellen said, ‘but it will be for you. Not to be convinced.’

Harriet didn’t let this dissuade her. ‘At first, I thought it was all a trick too. You’ll see.’

Ellen was certain she would not.

On her walk home, she thought she heard the sound of footsteps behind her. When she turned, however, there was nobody there.