AN INVITATION

Ellen had not planned to attend another meeting, but being warned off by Grace roused her natural defiance. She didn’t like to think herself contrary by nature, but there was something about Grace that was like a burrowing itch beneath her skin.

The apology had changed nothing; it certainly didn’t alter Ellen’s opinion of the medium’s daughter. Ellen considered herself quite likeable, and it irked her to meet someone so clearly immune to her charm. To be fair, it had not been much on display on that first meeting, but it was Grace’s responsibility as host to make her comfortable, not Ellen’s duty to remain agreeable in the face of animosity. And it was not as though Grace had warmed to her since then.

Perhaps she was aware of the possibility that Ellen would expose her mother, in which case the attempt to drive her away was only reasonable. But if that was her intention, she had been unsuccessful.

And so Ellen attended the Church of the Spirit for the second Sunday in a row, leaving William sighing and shaking his head. She knew he thought her foolish for persisting in her plan to expose Caroline; equally, there was a part of him that was pleased she was doing her best to protect Harriet now that he could not.

It was with this in mind that she approached Harriet once Sarah—looking much brighter today—had ushered her into the drawing room. She found Harriet deep in conversation with Grace, who stopped speaking mid-sentence and gaped at her. Had she really expected Ellen to stay away? Her puzzled frown suggested that she had.

‘Don’t let me interrupt,’ Ellen said with a touch of smugness.

‘Ellen!’ Harriet embraced her tightly. ‘I didn’t realise you were coming today.’

‘I decided to give Will a reprieve from my fussing.’

Ellen was delighted to see Harriet’s cheeks flush at the sound of William’s name.

‘I’m sure he’s very grateful,’ she said, her cheery tone a little forced.

‘Oh, he’s miserable, but he’s making a valiant attempt to hide it.’

Harriet’s smile faded. ‘Don’t, Ellen.’

‘He wouldn’t stop you coming here, you know. He’s not like Doctor Corrigan.’

‘I know.’ Harriet sighed and looked away. ‘But it’s not that simple.’

Grace had been observing this exchange silently, looking from one woman to the other as each of them spoke. Her gaze landed on Ellen, awaiting her response. She had pinned her hair up surprisingly neatly today, Ellen noticed, and the styling emphasised the jut of her cheekbones and the delicate line of her jaw.

‘Very few things are, I find.’ Ellen met Grace’s dark eyes and smiled.

Grace’s lips twitched upwards as if by reflex, then resumed their usual austere line. ‘I…I should see if my mother needs me,’ she said, then all but sprinted from the room.

‘You make her nervous, I think,’ Harriet said, clearly eager to change the subject.

She should be nervous , Ellen thought.

There were no unfamiliar faces at the meeting. The room was set up as before, with the furniture pushed aside to make way for the round table. The curtains were closed and the flicker of candles made the shadows stretch and dance. The lady bell sat in the table’s centre; eight chairs were evenly spaced around it. Sarah was once again seated at the piano and Grace was absent. The only major difference was that this time both Frances and Ellen were included in the circle.

It had not been Ellen’s intention: she had assumed that she would watch the proceedings from a sofa again. But since there were no outsiders, there were places free at the table this time—and she supposed it would be easier to judge whether Caroline was doing the rapping if Ellen was sitting beside her. As it turned out, Frances and Mrs Rutherford took the chairs next to Caroline, but Ellen was able to claim a seat with a clear view of the drawing-room door from which she’d be able to see if Grace crept back into the room while the other women were distracted.

Once seated, the women joined hands. Harriet, sitting to Ellen’s left, gave her hand a quick squeeze. ‘Thank you’ she whispered, then turned her attention to Caroline. On the other side, Frances was radiating excitement so fiercely that Ellen felt her skin prickle with countless tiny sparks.

The first piano notes sounded: ‘Nearer, My God, to Thee’, and Ellen sang along loudly to distract herself from Sarah’s painful accompaniment. If she continued to attend these meetings, she would have to do something about that.

She frowned. The idea of her becoming a regular here should seem preposterous. But there was a strange sense in it. She would be able to look after Harriet and ensure that Caroline’s influence didn’t estrange them, as it had with William. And she could remain watchful, waiting for the inevitable mistake that would expose the church’s trickery. It would be far easier to do as a trusted ally than as an outsider.

The hymn ended and Caroline gave the same brief prayer as she had at the previous meeting. There was a chorus of amens, and then the room became still. There had been a tension last week that was not present today and Ellen wasn’t sure whether the change came from within her, or whether it was simply the absence of any strangers. This time the wait felt peaceful, almost dreamlike. She could smell the thin trails of smoke ascending from the candles and the dull musty scent of the house. Harriet’s and Frances’ hands were warm, and the table beneath them formed a smooth, unyielding contrast.

A sudden draught teased the soft curls of hair at her temples. Ellen looked towards the door, expecting to see it standing ajar, but it had not moved since Sarah closed it. The draught became a swirling breeze and the candle flames leapt and fluttered; a windowpane rattled as though shaken by a gale.

The movement ceased. Ellen could feel her heart pounding in her chest, and she concentrated on the in-out of her breath. Around her, the circle twitched and settled. As she stared at the brass bell in front of her, the air itself seemed to shimmer slightly. She blinked several times, but still there was the same subtle shifting—a trick, no doubt, of the light.

And then, as Ellen watched, the lady bell floated upwards into that same, rippling air.

Her mouth fell open and a soft gasp escaped from deep within her throat. The bell pealed—once, twice, three times—the sound of it clear and musical in the hush of the expansive room. It sank back onto the damask tablecloth and only then did Ellen think to look for a string or other mechanism. She could see nothing to explain the bell’s movement, but perhaps she had missed her chance.

‘They’re here,’ Frances murmured. She clutched Ellen’s hand tightly, her head turning as she looked around the room.

‘Spirits, are you with us?’ Caroline’s voice formed a soothing contrast to Frances’ feverish energy. ‘We welcome you into our home.’

There was a pause and then three raps sounded from the tabletop. Frances let out a soft sigh as the raps were echoed somewhere behind Ellen, then seemingly on the ceiling and from all parts of the room. It was a frantic cacophony: loud and then soft again, rapid and then slow. When the noise finally faded, the silence was stifling.

Caroline’s gaze was fixed on a point above Annie’s shoulder. ‘Come closer, sir,’ she said. ‘Let me see your face more clearly.’ A pause. ‘Yes, that’s much better. Welcome, James. Annie will be glad you’re here.’

The small woman’s face was aglow with happiness. She glanced at the empty space behind her, then turned back to Caroline, eyes glittering with unshed tears. ‘I think I can feel him,’ she said, her words hushed. ‘His hand…upon my shoulder.’

Caroline nodded. ‘He’s becoming more powerful. Soon he’ll be strong enough to speak through me.’

‘Does he have a message?’

‘James?’ Caroline prompted. ‘If you wish, you may use the alphabet.’

There were three new taps on the table. Ellen couldn’t judge where they came from—not directly in front of her; nor, apparently, from anywhere near Caroline. As the raps began the tortuous process of spelling out their message, Ellen focused on the placement of the sounds. But no; the taps seemed somehow to be everywhere and nowhere at all.

‘I love you,’ Annie breathed, deciphering the message, and her cheeks were streaked with tears.

Ellen was not heartless. Annie’s joy was touching, even if it was the product of a lie.

The candles flickered again and Caroline lifted her face towards the ceiling. ‘I sense our teacher’s arrival,’ she said. ‘The spirits are strong today. The conditions are always favourable when only family are here.’

Ellen tamped down the urge to protest. Her place at the table relied upon Caroline’s opinion of her. And the more she trusted Ellen, the more likely she was to become complacent and slip up.

She remained watchful as the flickering grew more frantic and a light scent of flowers permeated the room. A gentle breeze accompanied the fragrance, sunshine-warm against her skin, but the door to the drawing room remained closed and there was no other sign of movement in the room. Sarah still sat at the piano, but she had turned to face the circle, hands folded in her lap and ankles crossed beneath her stool. She was so well lit by the pair of tarnished candlesticks on the piano that Ellen couldn’t see how she could possibly be responsible for any of the changes.

At the table, the chain of linked hands remained unbroken. What if someone was working some kind of mechanism with their feet? But that seemed almost as unlikely as the idea that it was all the work of spirits…

At that moment Caroline jerked forward against the table so violently that Ellen felt the surface shudder beneath her hands. Caroline’s body was flung back again, just as roughly, and her eyes were wide. Then all the force abruptly drained from her and her head lolled forward, her shoulders slumped and her chin fell onto her breast.

When she spoke, it was in the same deep tone as last time. ‘Greetings from the Summerland,’ she said. Her voice, although quiet, was rich and clear. ‘Today, I bring tidings from those who love you, and a message of undying hope. For the Lord has granted all who believe in him the gift of eternal life and the opportunity to atone and grow more godly both in this world and the next. The Holy Spirit is with you always, and it is through the One Spirit that all spirits take voice. Those who listen to the spirits and surrender to their teachings are blessed. They will know the Lord more truly than those who do not accept His wondrous gift.’

‘Thank you, reverend,’ Margaret said. ‘We’re grateful for that gift. Do you have any messages for us today?’

‘There is a spirit with me who wishes to speak, and the conditions are such that she may do so, although she is not yet powerful. I will leave you now, lest too great a strain is placed upon my wife. Farewell!’

Ellen wondered who Caroline would pretend to be next. She had not expected to hear the voice of a second spirit; up until now, all of that had been conveyed in raps or reported messages. It made sense. It would be much easier for Caroline to imitate a circle member’s loved one with only yes or no answers. Ellen was curious to see how she would handle an actual conversation.

She did not have to wait long. Caroline lurched again and then swayed sharply to the side, as though tugged by an invisible cord. She remained like that for a few seconds, trembling, before slowly returning to her original position. ‘Hello?’ she said in a new, softer tone. ‘Can you hear me? Poppy, can you hear?’

Beside Ellen, Harriet let out a strangled sound that conveyed both agony and joy. ‘I hear you, Mama!’

‘My dear, dear Poppy. I’m so very proud of you. Your father and David are too.’

‘I’m glad, Mama. I’ve done all you asked of me. Are you happy in spirit-land? I think it would be easier if I knew that you were.’

‘We are all happier now that you’ll always be near to us.’ Caroline’s accent was still discernible, but less so. She didn’t sound at all like Harriet’s mother, yet Ellen had to admit there was something in her enunciation that was more Elizabeth Kirk than Caroline McLeod. ‘We worried for you, living in that big house on your own.’

Ellen didn’t know whether there was an unstated seance etiquette that controlled these situations. But she had not been told to remain silent, and surely, she thought, if it was expected someone would have said so. Harriet, knowing Ellen so well, certainly would have.

‘Mrs Kirk?’ she ventured. She ignored the several faces that turned towards her, keeping her own gaze on Caroline’s downturned head. ‘May I ask a question?’

A pause, then: ‘Yes, Ellen? It pleases me to see you here with my daughter.’

‘Why did you ask Harriet to break things off with my brother? He wouldn’t come between you. He’d let Harriet attend as many meetings as she liked.’

‘Ellen, please,’ Harriet murmured, but Ellen wanted to hear Caroline’s answer.

‘At first, perhaps,’ came the response. ‘Eventually, he would become jealous and want her always at his side. And then we would lose her a second time.’

‘If you believe that, then you didn’t know William as well as I thought.’

‘Are there more questions? I feel myself growing weaker.’

‘No,’ Harriet said, looking pointedly at Ellen. ‘I don’t want you to tire yourself. Thank you for coming today.’

‘Thank you, my dear, for being here.’

Ellen paid little attention to the rest of the seance, only rousing herself to mutter ‘amen’ when it was expected of her. Was it proof of fraudulence that the alleged Mrs Kirk knew so little of William’s character? He was never jealous, never demanding. Ellen couldn’t think of a man less likely to expect his wife to be his shadow. If he had a fault, it was to be too good-natured—too quick to accommodate those he loved. The real Elizabeth Kirk knew that. Why else would she have been so pleased with the match?

And yet…She had never heard the Kirks say what they thought of William, merely watched them interact. She had assumed that his good humour and kindness must be obvious to all who knew him, but perhaps her judgement was biased. Harriet had not dismissed as outlandish the idea of William constraining her. Was it because she so desperate to believe, or did she actually find it credible? Either way, Ellen would not easily be able to change her mind.

In which case it was Caroline whose mind Ellen must change. If she could convince her that William was no threat to Harriet’s loyalty, then perhaps Caroline would be less wary of the marriage. Surely it made no difference whether Harriet lived with her fellow church members or with a husband, as long as she attended meetings and gave donations.

Caroline looked exhausted now that the seance was over. This time Ellen was less convinced it was an act, because what might it achieve? Probably Caroline simply had a weak constitution that wasn’t up to the physicality of the performance and the intense focus needed to read those around her. Even Ellen found the tense atmosphere tiring, and she had been required only to sit and observe.

Margaret assisted Caroline to a seat on one of the sofas. It was a strange sight, given that Margaret was fifteen or twenty years older, but she supported Caroline with an efficiency born of practice. The other women bustled about: folding the damask tablecloth, opening the curtains, blowing out the candles.

Ellen helped Harriet and Frances move the table back to its corner, and took the opportunity to surreptitiously feel underneath for a hidden mechanism. All her fingers met, however, was the same smooth wood of the top. Once the table had been repositioned, she muttered something about wrinkles in the carpet and dropped to her knees, ostensibly checking the rug but also searching for anything that looked out of place.

Nothing. She dusted off her skirts and tried not to feel disappointed. Perhaps the table was too obvious; after all, it was the first place she’d thought to look.

Meanwhile, Caroline had regained a little colour and was talking to Annie in a voice that was growing stronger. Soon, however, her attention was drawn to Ellen.

‘What is it, my dear?’ she asked. ‘You look like something’s troubling you.’

‘You recovered more quickly this time. I’m pleased of course’—Caroline smiled at that—‘but I was wondering… Is there a pattern to how it affects you? Or do you begin each time not knowing how ill you’ll be at the end?’

‘So perceptive. Harriet always said you were intelligent.’

‘I think she’s terribly biased.’ Ellen smiled at her friend to show that the compliment was appreciated. ‘My school teachers would gladly tell you how often I had my hand caned.’

‘Intelligence is nothing to do with being a good student. Some of the wisest women I’ve met had very little schooling at all. It takes more from me when the conditions are poor—more vitality, more concentration—and I feel quite spent at the end. But if they’re good, the energies in the room combine and it’s easier.’

‘And they were good today?’

‘Excellent, in fact.’ Caroline held her gaze, almost without blinking. Her eyes were tired but as startling as always, so deep a blue in this light that they were practically indigo. Looking into them felt dangerous, like standing too close to a cliff’s edge. ‘You brought a new vigour to the circle. I shouldn’t be surprised if you turned out to have mediumistic abilities yourself.’

Ellen laughed, but the sound died when she realised Caroline was serious. ‘I think that’s extremely unlikely.’

‘Either way, your presence was valuable. I hope you’ll consider coming here regularly. Perhaps even moving into the house. There was power in today’s circle that I’ve not experienced for many years. The Lord looked down on us and I think He was pleased.’

‘You would be very welcome,’ Margaret added. ‘We’re a little short on bedrooms, so you’d have to share, but I’m sure Harriet wouldn’t mind.’

Harriet had grown visibly excited as she had listened to them speak. ‘Of course not.’

‘That’s very kind of you— all of you—but I have my brother to think of. I keep house for him, you see, and if he’s to remain unmarried, he’ll need me with him.’

Harriet’s face fell. ‘I hadn’t thought about that. Of course he will.’

Caroline turned to Harriet. ‘May I beg a favour?’

‘Of course.’ Ellen had never seen Harriet so pleased to be useful. ‘What do you need?’

‘I’m feeling a fraction light-headed. Would you mind bringing me a cup of sweet tea? I’d go myself, but…’

‘Don’t be silly. It’s no trouble at all.’

Ellen watched her go. The other women had left them to their conversation and now only Ellen, Caroline and Margaret remained. A week ago, she would have felt uncomfortable but time and increased familiarity had eased the tension.

Caroline waited until Harriet’s footsteps had faded before speaking. ‘I wanted to speak to you alone.’

Ellen glanced towards Margaret.

‘Oh, Margaret knows everything.’ Caroline’s hand fluttered dismissively. ‘It’s Harriet I’m worried about.’

‘Worried?’

‘She tries so hard to remain cheerful, but I’m afraid she’s finding it more difficult than expected adjusting to her new home. She’s lonely, Ellen. She’d never admit it, of course, but it’s hard being the newcomer. If she had you here with her…’

‘I’m sure she’ll adjust in time.’ Ellen rather liked the thought that she might not. She wasn’t having much luck finding proof of Caroline’s fakery. It would be so much easier if Harriet simply chose to leave.

‘Perhaps. But I hate to think of her being unhappy. I feel responsible, in a way.’

She would not receive a better opportunity to raise the subject of William, Ellen realised, but she would need to choose her words carefully. It took an effort not to blurt out the fact that if Harriet was lonely it was no one’s fault but Caroline’s.

‘She was happy with my brother,’ Ellen ventured. ‘Grieving deeply for her parents and her own brother, but glad of the prospect of a new family.’

‘It’s obvious she cared for him.’ Caroline’s words were equally measured.

‘And he for her. I don’t think y—’ Ellen caught herself. ‘I don’t think Harriet’s mother realises just how much.’

‘We care for her too,’ Margaret said. ‘Why, she’s like a daughter to me. And to Caroline.’

Caroline nodded. ‘And Grace loves her as she would a sister, had the Lord granted me another child.’

Ellen had not seen any sign that Grace was capable of loving anyone, except perhaps her mother. She seemed too aloof to value any sort of affection, too self-contained to accept any true emotional exchange. But perhaps she was capable of greater feeling than Ellen realised. If she were jealous of Ellen’s friendship with Harriet, it would explain her animosity to Ellen.

‘It’s not entirely the same.’

‘Of course not!’ Caroline did not appear at all offended by the comment. ‘Which is why it’s so important that she stay here, where her true family can speak to her through me.’

‘I suppose I’m just not sure why she needs to live here. William would never prevent her coming to meetings.’

‘And between meetings? What if her mother wishes to speak to her and Harriet isn’t here?’

‘Does that happen often?’ Ellen had assumed that the spirits convened only at the weekly public meeting.

‘Not infrequently. Through the talking board, mostly, but occasionally I’ll fall into a trance without warning. You were here last time it happened.’

This made things more complicated. No wonder Harriet had been so eager to move into the house. Even if she were allowed to resume her engagement to William, Harriet would never agree to marry him knowing that it would mean less time with Caroline. At least not while her grief was still so fresh.

‘It wouldn’t need to be permanent,’ Margaret said. ‘Staying here, I mean. You could engage a girl to cook and clean for your brother, and stay here with Harriet until she’s more comfortable on her own.’

Caroline clapped her hands, much as a pleased toddler might do. ‘Margaret, you’re a marvel.’

Ellen felt as if her fate was being decided without her. ‘I’m not sure…’

‘Think about it, at least.’

*

When Ellen left the house some time later, she congratulated herself on having avoided the odious Grace almost completely. It was amazing how much more pleasant it was to visit Harriet when Grace wasn’t glaring at her from across the room. And everyone else in the home was so friendly in comparison, seeming genuinely to value Ellen’s presence and enjoy her company. Perhaps Caroline herself might have an ulterior motive, but others, like Frances and Annie, had no reason to affect warmth they did not truly feel. And as for Caroline…surely she realised that Ellen was a poor source of income. She might have assumed Ellen and William possessed similar means to Harriet but, even so, an unmarried woman with living parents would not have much freedom to spend those means. No, it was Harriet’s fortune that Caroline was interested in. And Harriet…well, she could be just as stubborn as Ellen when it came to admitting that she had been wrong. She would not abandon the Church of the Spirit without good cause.

Ellen was starting to consider whether accepting Caroline’s invitation to join Harriet in the house might be for the best as she descended the front veranda steps, made slippery by the same drizzle that now dampened Ellen’s cheeks. She was startled by a sudden movement to one side and her foot slid out from beneath her. She cried out, certain that she would fall, but just in time an arm reached out to catch and steady her.

‘Thank you,’ she said, then realised the identity of her rescuer. ‘Although I’m not sure I should thank you for frightening me half to death.’

Grace’s hand still gripped Ellen’s shoulder with surprising strength for a woman of such slender build. Her arm was stretched across Ellen’s upper back, firm against her shoulder blades even though Ellen no longer needed its support. It was almost like being embraced, Ellen thought. From this close, she could smell Grace: a sharp scent of lemon and bergamot and beneath it a hint of something that was entirely her. She was warm. Ellen had been so sure that Grace’s skin would be as cold as the snow it resembled; it was strange to think that blood flowed through the blue veins that crossed the tendons of her wrists, that beneath her breast there was a heart that beat like any other. If Ellen reached out, she could press her fingers to the place beneath Grace’s jaw where her pulse was strongest.

In the street, a passing child began to wail. Slowly, Ellen’s mind cleared and irritation bloomed again. She looked pointedly at Grace’s fingers, which still clung tightly to Ellen’s shoulder, and cleared her throat loudly.

‘Sorry.’ Grace released her grip, cheeks reddening as her arm dropped. ‘I was weeding,’ she said and only then did Ellen notice the smear of dirt on her shoulder that Grace had left behind.

‘So I see,’ she said. ‘Lord knows the garden needs it, if you want this place to look more like a place of religion than an abandoned house.’

‘Margaret doesn’t like us to change anything, but Mother finally convinced her to let us tend the garden.’

Curious despite herself, Ellen looked back at the house. In the gloom the windows looked like black, glaring eyes. Like Grace’s eyes, she thought. ‘Is that why it looks like the clocks stopped a decade ago and no one thought to wind them?’

‘When Margaret’s last son died.’

‘Ten years, and she’s still wearing mourning.’ The thought of it saddened Ellen—not just the loss itself but the inability to let it pass. And these people had raised a church to it. She said as much to Grace.

‘If it makes them happy, where’s the harm in it?’

There’s harm in the lie , Ellen thought, but she couldn’t say that to Grace. ‘Your mother asked me to join you,’ she said instead.

Grace’s expression didn’t change, but Ellen fancied she could see a new intensity in her gaze. ‘I thought she might. Remember what I told you.’

‘You can’t stand the idea of me living here, can you?’ Ellen smiled, but it didn’t hide the bitterness in her voice. ‘It must annoy you terribly, seeing your friends and mother being so welcoming.’

‘It bothers me, yes. Not for that reason.’ A strand of Grace’s hair had come loose and fallen over one eye. She brushed it behind her ear reflexively and, in doing so, painted her forehead with a dark streak of muddy soil. She showed no awareness of having done so, her eyes staring past Ellen to the looming expanse of the house behind her. ‘I’ve seen it before, you know. Countless times.’

‘It’d be a poor church with no congregation.’

‘And my mother would be a poor leader if nobody followed her.’

‘I thought your father was the true leader.’

Grace smiled. ‘Ah, yes, the Reverend McLeod.’ She looked back at Ellen. ‘But I know you’re too clever to believe that. He might be the minister, but my mother’s the reason people stay.’

‘And now you’re worried I’ll stay.’

‘Yes.’ She held Ellen’s gaze a moment longer, then blinked and looked away. ‘And also that you won’t.’

Ellen didn’t know what to make of that. Did Grace think Caroline would blame her if Ellen chose not to join the church? She kept looking towards the house, as if concerned that someone might be listening. Or was it simply that she feared Harriet might leave? Harriet spoke of Grace as she would a friend, and Ellen couldn’t imagine Grace had friends enough to suffer the loss of one lightly…

Grace was jealous!

No wonder she felt such animosity towards Ellen—she saw her as an obstacle to her friendship with Harriet. Perhaps she even felt as Ellen did…or, at least, as she once had. Of late, that burning flame had finally guttered. It was a relief, yes, but she sometimes missed the pain.

Well, if Grace wished to come between Harriet and Ellen, or between Harriet and William, Ellen would just have to stop her. And if that meant moving into the house…

‘You know,’ she said, drawing Grace’s eyes back to her, ‘I think I might accept Margaret’s kind offer—temporarily, at least.’

‘What about your brother?’

If only she knew how much of what Ellen did was for his sake. ‘I’m sure he’ll manage without me,’ was all she said.

The lock of hair had fallen forward again. Ellen’s fingers twitched to tuck it back into place. The drizzle had darkened it almost to the shade of the smear of dirt beneath it. Her own hair was wet too, she realised, and her dress was mottled with drops of rain. How long had she been standing here getting soaked? As if in answer, a distant church bell tolled.

‘I should go,’ she said, yet she paused a moment longer.

Grace’s lips parted; but she merely nodded silently and went back to her weeding, careless of the rain’s damp fingers caressing the pale line of her neck.