THE BOARD TALKS

I still don’t understand why you’re doing this.’ William helped the driver load Ellen’s two overstuffed carpet bags into a cab. Prince attempted to help by sniffing at them and managed only to get in the way.

‘I’m not entirely sure I understand myself. But I won’t change Harriet’s mind from a distance.’

‘Perhaps that’s a sign that you shouldn’t be changing it at all.’

‘I know you don’t believe that.’ Ellen took a last look at the cottage she loved so dearly, then set her shoulders and turned back to her brother. ‘Will, it’s only temporary. I’ll be home before you have a chance to miss me and I’ll bring Harriet home as well.’

William dropped his voice so that the cabman could no longer hear his words. ‘As long as you do come back,’ he said. ‘I don’t want them stealing you away too.’

‘See, you do care for your bossy sister,’ she teased. ‘But you’ve nothing to worry about. Can you imagine me falling for all that nonsense?’

‘I wouldn’t have expected it of Harriet, either. Just…be careful, all right? And I think you should take Prince with you, just in case.’

‘The invitation was for me, not me and a fully grown spaniel. I’d rather you kept him with you, Will. I’d feel better knowing you had the company.’

‘And I’d feel better knowing you were safe. Please, Ellen.’

Ellen sighed. Her brother didn’t often set his mind on something, but when he did he was immovable. ‘Come on then, Prince.’ She patted the cab floor, and the dog leapt eagerly inside. ‘Be good, little brother,’ she said, then climbed into the cab without assistance and took her seat beside an ecstatic Prince.

‘You too,’ William muttered and raised a hand to wave her off.

To Margaret’s credit, she was unperturbed by the extra guest. ‘Of course you must have your dog with you,’ she said, while Prince was investigating every inch of the front veranda. ‘I want you to feel at home, and you won’t do that if you’re worried he’s fretting.’

‘You’ll be the man of the house,’ Ellen told Prince, who appeared oblivious of the duties that role involved.

‘Better him than most.’ Margaret ushered Ellen inside and kindly ignored the trail of wet footprints she and Prince left on the hallway tiles. ‘Harriet’s waiting for you upstairs.’

Prince and Harriet renewed their acquaintance with much ear-scratching and face-licking, then he wandered off to sniff at the curtains, leaving two damp paw prints on Harriet’s black silk dress.

‘You don’t mind, I hope,’ said Ellen. ‘Will insisted I bring him along.’

‘I would have thought he’d want to keep Prince for the company.’

‘I certainly would have preferred it. I feel bad leaving Will alone.’

‘You mustn’t,’ Harriet said. ‘You’ve looked after him for all these years. It’s only fair that you think of yourself now.’

It was not a comment Ellen would have expected Harriet to make. Unlike Ellen, she’d always been a dutiful daughter who anticipated the needs of others and met them without grumbling. Under the influence of Caroline and her congregation it seemed that she had become less self-effacing; Ellen wasn’t sure whether to feel glad of this or not.

‘You’ve not brought much with you,’ Harriet said now, indicating the bags that Ellen had been obliged to haul up the staircase by herself.

‘A few changes of clothes and a dog.’ Ellen laughed as Prince looked up. ‘I couldn’t bring the thing I most wanted to, so I’ll have to make do with the piano downstairs. Do you think Caroline would mind my playing?’

‘Better you than Sarah. You might consider relieving her occasionally at the meetings. It would give her the chance to join the circle…and, well…’ She looked sheepish.

‘And relieve our ears as well?’

Harriet suppressed a giggle, glancing at the open door. ‘Oh, Ellen,’ she said. ‘You don’t know how glad I am to have you here. It’s not that the others aren’t wonderful, but it could never be quite the same. You know all the beastly things about me, but they’re yet to learn of them.’

‘If they’re bothered by your tiny faults, I hate to think how they’d cope with mine.’

‘They all think you’re wonderful. Caroline’s convinced you’re the reason the seance went so well on Sunday, and Margaret’s been anxious for your arrival all week.’

‘They don’t all think it,’ Ellen said, an image of Grace in her mind.

‘Well, Adelaide and Jane don’t really know you yet, but I’m sure they’ll love you too.’

‘I was thinking more of Grace.’

Harriet frowned, confusion clear on her face. ‘But you’re always talking to her.’

‘I don’t know how you got that impression.’ Ellen didn’t wait for a reply, but knelt to open the first carpet bag and pulled out a crumpled petticoat. ‘I suppose I should start unpacking.’

‘Shall I help you? I can move my summer dresses. Going by the rain this week, I won’t need them for a while.’

‘No need. I brought three dresses and I’m wearing one of them. The rest is nightdresses, shawls and underthings. Are you scandalised?’

‘Only if you intend to wear the nightdresses to dinner.’ She held out her hand for the petticoat and tut-tutted at the wrinkles, then opened the wardrobe doors and began storing Ellen’s life inside.

When they were done it was almost time for afternoon tea. Ellen offered to prepare the spread, eager to show Margaret and the other women that she intended to do her part, but Harriet wouldn’t hear of it. ‘Not on your first day,’ she told Ellen. ‘We’ll have you working soon enough.’

In this, at least, Ellen had to admit the church’s influence had been advantageous. It seemed that Harriet was a much better housekeeper already than she’d been a few weeks ago. She had been so accustomed to having servants around her that there had been little need to learn how to do even the most basic of tasks. And now she was using the big range in the kitchen as though she’d been boiling kettles all her life.

The household took afternoon tea in the parlour. When she entered, it was not Ellen who drew the most attention.

‘Oh, look: a dog! How darling!’ Adelaide had not said a word to Ellen before, but now she patted the space on the couch beside her and commanded, ‘You must sit here, next to me.’

Ellen felt drab in comparison to the younger woman, who was dressed in a glossy blue silk adorned with fine lace that seemed too elaborate for the afternoon. Ellen wondered what she would wear to a night at the theatre; something quite spectacular, no doubt. But despite her appearance, Adelaide turned out to be not at all affected. She fussed over Prince without giving the least impression that she might be fearful for her dress, even when he pawed at her knee demanding pats.

‘Please tell me if he’s bothering you,’ Ellen said, and was rewarded with a dazzling smile.

‘He’s not the least bit of bother. He’s positively delightful and I won’t hear a word against him.’

Not all of the church members had assembled in the parlour, for which Ellen was grateful. Caroline was there, of course, sitting in a tall armchair reminiscent of a throne, with Margaret, as usual, close beside her. Mrs Rutherford was present too—remarkably bent and wizened—along with Sarah and Annie. There was no sign of Grace.

By the time Harriet arrived with a tray full of china, Adelaide had lost interest in Prince and was talking about an invitation to a forthcoming ball. Ellen helped herself to a slice of fruitcake and gladly let the conversation flow around her.

‘I do believe my father’s intention is to lure me home,’ Adelaide was saying. ‘It annoys him terribly, my being here, away from his control.’

‘And you enjoy antagonising him.’ Harriet passed her a cup of tea.

Adelaide shrugged. ‘It’s simply a consequence of my doing what I want to do, instead of living the life he’d planned.’

‘It’s brave of you to forge your own path,’ Margaret said. ‘I wouldn’t have dreamt of defying my father’s wishes. That’s why I married Duncan, you know. My first husband,’ she added, for Ellen’s sake. ‘My father thought it a good match and I trusted him, but if I’d known we’d be off to the colonies so soon after we were married…’

‘You should see the men he thrusts at me. Not a one of them handsome and all of them closer to his age than mine. Why, it’s amazing I put up with those endless dreary dinner parties for as long as I did, making conversation with the bores he had my mother place on either side of me.’

Ellen was beginning to understand why Adelaide was one of the few members of the Church of the Spirit not dressed in mourning. She appeared less interested in renewing relationships with late friends and relatives than in the excitement of the seance itself. Perhaps she didn’t plan to antagonise her father, as Harriet had suggested, but she was clearly eager to rebel. And what better way to do it? From what Will had said of Albert Forsyth, he would be appalled by his daughter’s flouting of convention.

‘You won’t be going to that ball, then,’ Harriet said.

‘I rather thought I would.’ Adelaide looked surprised that anyone might suggest otherwise.

‘You said your father forwarded the invitation solely to tempt you.’ Margaret’s tone was remarkably reminiscent of Ellen’s mother’s whenever she disapproved of Ellen’s actions but was endeavouring not to show it. ‘It would seem an astute decision.’

‘It’s just one night. I don’t even need to speak to him.’

‘He will wish to speak to you,’ Caroline said. She had been listening to the discussion silently until now. ‘He intends to harden your heart to us, and he’s chosen the perfect occasion. You’ve always struggled with our quiet life here; now, he’s offering the very thing you’ve been missing.’

‘Do you think me so frivolous that my head can be turned so easily?’

‘I think you’re human. Human and flawed, and vulnerable to temptation…just as we all are.’ Caroline’s tone was gentle. ‘One ball leads to another, and another after that. How long until you turn from the spirits entirely?’

‘You make me sound so disloyal.’ Adelaide pouted, as a small child might. The expression was clearly at home on her face. ‘If you think it best, I’ll send an apology. Just…I do miss dancing. So very much.’

‘Ellen plays the piano.’

Ellen turned towards the new voice. When had Grace entered the room? She moved so quietly—it could have been seconds, or minutes. She was wearing the plum dress Ellen had seen before, and her hair hung loose and shining almost to her waist. She had spoken with confidence, but now that she had the women’s attention, she faltered.

‘I…I know it’s not the same as a ball, but perhaps she might play for you, Adelaide, and you could dance.’ She turned to Ellen, meeting her eyes only briefly. ‘The other day, at the piano, I could tell you love to play.’

Ellen ignored the look Harriet was giving her. ‘I do,’ she said, and then to Adelaide: ‘and I’d be happy to attempt whatever tune you might like.’

‘A kind offer,’ Adelaide said, ‘if it weren’t for the tragic lack of handsome young gentlemen for me to dance with.’ But the glum expression on her face was fading and Ellen could see the hint of a smile.

‘You can dance with me,’ Sarah offered. ‘Alexander gets lost in a ballroom, so I had to learn how to lead.’

Even Grace had to laugh at that.

It was strange trying to sleep in an unfamiliar room. Ellen did not consider herself particularly sensitive to such things, but there was something about the shadowy house that heightened her senses, alerting her to every subtle creak. She was also unused to sharing a bed. She had done so often as a girl, visiting schoolfriends at nearby farms, but since she came to Melbourne it had only rarely been necessary. Most of her friends now were married women, and lived only a short cab ride from her home. But Ellen had fond memories of the nights when she and Harriet had declared it unthinkable to part, even for slumber, and had spent much of the night exchanging whispered secrets and fancies.

There were other nights, too, nights that didn’t occupy the same uncomplicated area of her mind. These were the times she remembered most clearly: the brush of soft lips and the heat of hands upon skin. And yet she knew Harriet saw those nights differently. To her, the embraces—the caresses—were expressions only of devoted friendship.

Ellen did not understand why a touch between woman and man was given more meaning than the same touch shared by two women. But she knew now that it was, and it tainted memories that had once meant a great deal to her. She felt foolish for having believed her love was reciprocated and ashamed of herself for misinterpreting innocent kisses. Harriet did love her—Ellen realised that now—but her love was different from Ellen’s and always would be.

This had pained Ellen greatly for a long time. It had felt unbearable to be near Harriet and to know that this space would always exist between them. Oddly, however, her courtship with William had made things easier. Ellen had thought she would be overwhelmed by jealousy, but instead it was more like a relief. She had been holding open a door that Harriet would never walk through and once William closed it, finally, Ellen was able to heal.

It did not happen quickly. Even two months earlier, Ellen would have baulked at the thought of sharing a bed with Harriet. Now, however, she was able to lie beside her without feeling the urge to slide a little closer beneath the sheets. Nor had Harriet hesitated when Margaret had first suggested the arrangement. Knowing that Harriet trusted Ellen and, indeed, did not condemn her for her nature, made things much easier. So, too, did the change in Ellen’s own feelings: a change that she had noticed only recently, but which must have been taking form for quite some time. For the first time in years, when Ellen looked at Harriet she saw her dearest friend and nothing more.

It was not Harriet’s presence, then, that kept Ellen wakeful; simply the new surroundings. She was glad William had insisted she bring Prince with her. It was comforting to know that he was stretched out on the floor beside her and to hear the soft panting of his breath.

Harriet had fallen asleep almost immediately after blowing out their candle, leaving Ellen to interpret the house’s creaks and sighs herself. There was no pale wash of moonlight to reassure her; the same clouds spattering the window with raindrops were ensuring the night’s darkness was complete. With nothing but endless blackness surrounding her, Ellen could have been anywhere, but there was a heaviness to the air that she had felt only in this house. If she had been more credulous a person, she would have blamed the presence of Caroline’s spirits. As it was, the only ghosts she could countenance were the ones the members of the church held within themselves. Perhaps grief itself had a presence, she thought.

As she was finally drifting into slumber, Ellen heard the sound of muffled footsteps in the hallway. She listened as they grew closer and then ceased entirely in front of the bedroom door. Ellen held her breath without meaning to, her heartbeat quickening. The silence continued, until she felt sure she would have to cry out to break it, and then Prince growled a warning and the footsteps hurried on.

She reached down to the unseen warmth of him and eventually fell asleep with her fingers buried in his fur.

In the daytime, it was easy to dismiss the sounds of the house settling and pay no heed to the wind shaking the windows and doors. Ellen breakfasted with Harriet and Annie, then chose a book from the musty library and ensconced herself in the parlour. She was joined by Mrs Rutherford, who had interest only in her knitting, and then, to Ellen’s dismay, by Grace. She seemed just as alarmed to find Ellen there, glancing back at the door before resigning herself to their unplanned proximity. There would be little sense, Ellen supposed, in fleeing from this encounter; there would be countless others now that they were sharing the same home.

Grace, she noticed, had also brought a book with her: a small, leather-bound work with a frayed ribbon marking her place. She sat in the chair furthest from Ellen and opened it to a page about a third of the way through.

It became clear that Grace had no intention of speaking to her, which made Ellen want to be contrary and insist that they must talk. She controlled the urge for several long, painful minutes before finally blurting out, ‘Good book?’

Grace looked up immediately, her eyes as wide as if Ellen had shouted the words. ‘What?’ she said and then, gathering her composure, ‘It’s a little overwrought, but readable. Yours?’

Ellen looked down, realising that she had been staring at the same page for some time without taking in any of the words. ‘I’ve only just started it.’

‘You’ll find a lot of rubbish in the library, if that’s where you found it. I think Plumstead was the sort to care more about the quality of the binding than anything written inside.’

It seemed a rude thing to say about their host’s late husband. ‘And you’re more particular?’

‘I would be, if I were in his position. As it is, well…’ She shrugged. ‘It’s not as if I’ll ever have a library of my own.’

‘Perhaps when you marry…’

There was no humour in Grace’s laugh. ‘I find it difficult to judge whether someone is mocking me or merely trying to cheer me with a lie.’

‘I never lie,’ Ellen said, then realised how that sounded. ‘I didn’t mean to mock you, either. I simply assumed…well. Most women marry.’

‘Most women are not my mother’s daughter. Most women wear pretty dresses and pin up their hair.’

‘You could do that.’ Ellen was growing accustomed to the sight of Grace wandering about the house with her hair down and it no longer unsettled her, but it would be simple enough for her to put it up every morning if that’s what she desired.

‘I hate it,’ Grace said, an unusual strength of passion in her voice. ‘I can always feel the pins, even if they’re not hurting me. Even a plait is terrible: like someone’s endlessly pulling my hair.’

Ellen raised a hand to her own hair. It was unruly enough even when coaxed into something approaching neatness, the thick brown waves escaping from their fastenings at the slightest hint of a breeze. It didn’t trouble her, though, not in the way that Grace described. ‘That sounds awful.’

‘It’s all right. I don’t much like men, either.’ This time her laugh sounded more genuine. ‘They tend to be loud.’

‘My brother would say the same of me.’

‘A woman’s loud is different.’

It wasn’t something that Ellen had ever thought about, but she had to admit that Grace had a point. Before she could say anything, however, Adelaide swept into the room in a flurry of lace and velvet, followed by Frances, carrying a wooden board about the size of a tea tray. A second piece of wood rested on top of it: carved into a heart shape and supported by three pointed legs.

‘Ellen! I’m glad you’re here,’ Adelaide said, as Frances placed the board on the centre table. ‘You must try the talking board with us. It doesn’t usually work without Caroline, but it’s always a wonderful lark.’

‘What about you, Jane?’ Frances added. ‘We can push the table close to your chair, so you won’t have to kneel on the floor.’

‘No, no,’ Mrs Rutherford waved her knitting. ‘Stockings to finish.’

‘Grace?’

‘I…’ She glanced at Ellen. ‘Perhaps next time.’

Adelaide looked as though she was about to protest, but something in Grace’s face stopped her. ‘Just the three of us, then.’ Apparently Ellen had no choice.

The talking board was a slim piece of polished maple with two concentric arcs of letters painted in black upon its surface. In the top left corner was the word YES and on the right was the word NO . Beneath the letters was a simple painting of the Holy Cross and, below it, the word GOODBYE . This last thing seemed odd to Ellen: that the end of a conversation would warrant its own place upon the board, but the start of it would not. But then, it was all strange really. If the dead truly had the ability to cross between the afterlife and the living world, why communicate in raps, or by spelling words letter by letter? Why would they possess the power for this but no more? There was no logic in it.

Ellen was nonetheless willing to join Adelaide and Frances at the table. She liked Frances and found Adelaide amusing, even if she didn’t think it likely that they would conjure up a spirit. They knelt beside the table and Ellen moved to join them, concerned less about what the worn carpet might do to her own plain dress than the fate of Adelaide’s ruched velvet skirts. She watched as the other women lightly placed their fingertips on the smaller wedge of wood and then did her best to mimic them.

‘It’s called a planchette,’ Frances said, correctly interpreting Ellen’s hesitance as unfamiliarity with the process. ‘Some of them have a little pencil stuck in them, so the spirits can write or draw things, but using a talking board is more likely to work without a medium.’

‘Why do we all have to touch it?’

‘The spirits use our energy. I think that’s how Caroline explains it. It’s a bit like them speaking through her when she’s in a trance, but this feeds off all of us.’

‘It works better at night time, with the lamps turned down low,’ Adelaide added, ‘but I was feeling bored.’

Grace’s book still lay open on her lap, but she was paying it little attention, her eyes frequently rising to watch the small group at the table. Why, Ellen wondered, had she refused to join them? Was she unwilling to take the chance that their fingers might touch?

She was released from these thoughts by the clear sound of Adelaide’s voice. ‘Spirits,’ she called, ‘are you with us?’

For a long while the room was still, save for the rhythmic click of Mrs Rutherford’s needles, but then the planchette began to move. Its progress was slow but smooth as it slid over the board and stopped with its narrow edge pointing directly towards the painted YES .

Frances let out a squeak of pleasure. ‘Will you please tell us your name?’

There was a drawn-out pause before the planchette resumed its unhurried motion, gliding from letter to letter until a name had been spelled.

‘Isabella?’ Adelaide said, her brow furrowed. ‘I don’t think we’ve had an Isabella before.’

Ellen stared down at the talking board. Her hands were shaking, she realised, and causing the planchette to tremble as well. She wanted to pull away, but her limbs were frozen. Her mouth felt dry, the tongue clumsy and thick within it. ‘This is a bad idea,’ she whispered, the words as arid as her throat.

‘It’s all right,’ Frances said breezily. ‘We get strangers from time to time. Do you have a message for us, Isabella?’

The planchette jolted beneath Ellen’s fingertips and traced a new path across the board. It was faster, now, more determined. It jerked from letter to letter and Adelaide spoke them aloud each time it paused. When it stilled, two words had been formed.

HELLO SISTER

A strangled sound escaped from Ellen’s throat as she reeled backwards, snatching her hands away from the board. Her breath was caught within her and she felt like she was choking. She gulped at the air, lungs burning, until finally her throat loosened and she could breathe again. She could feel her body shuddering but, as much as she tried to still it, the shivering would not stop. In her distress, she was only vaguely aware of Grace standing and leaving the room.

The talking board forgotten, Frances and Adelaide fussed about her. Adelaide took up Ellen’s discarded book and used it to fan her, while Frances patted her trembling hands.

‘She’s hysterical,’ Adelaide announced, almost gleefully, but Ellen shook her head.

‘Just…need to catch my breath,’ she forced out.

Her heartbeat gradually returned to normal, although her blood threatened to rush again each time the spirit message circled back into her mind. She kept her thoughts as clear as possible, focusing on the sensation of air upon her face and the calming motion of Frances’ hands. There was no point in allowing the message to distress her when there was no possibility that it was real. It could only have been a trick to relieve Adelaide’s boredom. She must have heard Ellen and Harriet speaking of Bella and decided it would be a tremendous joke to have the planchette spell out her name. And yet…

‘Shush,’ Frances murmured. ‘Let yourself rest. It’s always frightening the first time.’

As she grew more aware of her surroundings, Ellen’s eyes were drawn to Grace’s empty chair. Had she been irritated by Ellen’s heaving breaths? Even Mrs Rutherford had ceased her knitting and was watching Ellen with concern clear upon her face.

Ellen’s indignation proved an excellent distraction and she was feeling almost herself again by the time Grace re-entered the parlour clutching a thick-stemmed water glass.

‘I thought you might need a drink.’ She thrust it abruptly towards Ellen and a quantity of water splashed out.

Ellen stared down at the glass, still precariously full, and raised it to her lips with great care. She had not thought herself thirsty, but the water was cool and it soothed the residual ache in her throat. ‘Thank you.’ It was an apology as much as an expression of gratitude.

Grace, of course, had no idea of the blame Ellen had apportioned her. She merely took the glass and muttered something indecipherable before returning to her chair.

‘We should talk to Caroline.’ Satisfied that Ellen was not dying, Adelaide had risen from the floor and was now brushing dust and wool fibres from her skirts. ‘I met someone at a dinner party once who spoke to all manner of strange spirits through a talking board and some turned to be most unfriendly. He had to have his house exorcised.’ Her eyes widened as she spoke the last word.

Frances looked about the room, as though looking for the spirit. ‘Do you think this Isabella is evil?’ She shivered and Ellen wondered if it was from fear or from excitement.

‘I think Adelaide’s friend at the dinner party was overstating things to impress her,’ Grace answered. She did not look up from her book, which had been reopened and was resting again on her lap. ‘Mother’s never been bothered by evil spirits, so I shouldn’t trouble your mind.’

‘But if she wasn’t evil, who was she?’ Frances wondered aloud. ‘And what did she mean by that message?’

Ellen glanced towards Grace, but her head remained lowered. ‘I…I had a younger sister,’ she admitted. ‘Her name was Isabella.’