Woman Who Spoke to Spirits Page 15

  Felix turns and strides away.

  He locates Parkside Road, which leads on to St Cyprian’s Road, with the church at the junction of the two. He walks on, managing to locate what he thinks must be the cafe to which Lily followed Leonard Carter and also, he believes, the dwelling house where Leonard rents a room. He finds an observation point where he can stand unobserved in the shade of a plane tree and watches this house for some time. He counts two couples, one with a small child, an elderly man, two middle-aged men and an old couple, the man crippled and walking with a stick, going into the house. He wonders how many rooms there are. He hopes the crippled old man lives on the ground floor.

  His mind is busy with many thoughts. As the hour of his appointment approaches, deliberately he clears it. Then he turns, walks back to Parkside Road and knocks on the door.

  Ernest and Albertina welcome him warmly. He is led into the room to the left of the front door, which is furnished with a small drop-leaf table set against a wall with four chairs pushed under it, a sideboard, a tall cupboard with glass-fronted doors that is sparsely filled with brilliantly patterned plates and a large number of small ornaments on various delicate little tables and tassel-edged shelves. Many of these ornaments have an Egyptian flavour – sphinxes, models of the pyramids, a camel or two, some rather amateurish framed watercolours depicting gods and goddesses – and there is a book on the table about the Egyptian deities. ‘My little hobby,’ says Ernest Stibbins, noticing Felix looking. ‘My beloved wife would say it is closer to being an obsession,’ he adds with a smile, ‘but the world of those ancient people was such a vibrant and colourful one, was it not?’ Felix agrees that it was.

  Ernest picks up an object, box-like with three compartments. It has the ghostly shapes of old painted illustrations on its sides. ‘This is a shabti box,’ he says. He holds it in delicate hands as if it is very precious. ‘Empty now, sadly, but once it would have held little statues of a dead person’s servants, to ensure he or she was as well looked after in death as in life.’ He sighs, a rueful smile on his face. ‘It was sold to me as genuinely old, but I think it is not very likely that it is.’

  Felix nods, mentally altering not very likely to totally unlikely. He feels a stab of pity for Ernest, who is carefully replacing the box on its shelf. Felix resumes his scrutiny. In addition to the many ornaments, and making the modestly proportioned room appear even more cramped, some tea chests stand stacked against the wall behind the door.

  ‘We are a little short of space,’ Albertina says, waving an apologetic hand around the room. ‘But quite soon that will cease to be the case, for my husband has agreed to carry out some much-needed alterations downstairs, which will make a great deal more room and enable us finally to sort ourselves out.’

  Ernest Stibbins gives his young wife the sort of kindly and indulgent smile that husbands tend to bestow when they believe they are being magnanimous in the extreme by acceding to their wives’ more extravagant requests. He says meekly, ‘That’s quite right, dear.’

  Felix is invited to sit down in a wing chair beside the empty grate. Ernest sits opposite in the chair’s pair and Albertina, after pouring tea for all of them and handing round a plate of biscuits, sits on a low stool at her husband’s side. From Lily’s description, Felix knows this is not the room in which the seances are held. Somewhat to his surprise, he is quite relieved.

  After a few courteous remarks about the weather – ‘Warm for the time of year,’ opines Ernest, which probably explains the lack of a fire – Felix puts down his cup and saucer, takes his notebook and pencil from his pocket and says, ‘Now, I should like you to tell me the names of everyone who regularly attends your meetings, Mrs Stibbins, and, if you feel it is not betraying their confidence, something of the reasons why they need your help.’

  Not wanting either of them to notice his already extensive notes on the seance regulars, he has turned to a clean page.

  Albertina has leaned close to Ernest, and they are having a whispered conversation. Felix tries not to listen. After several exchanges, Ernest says more loudly, ‘But, my dear, we have asked for Mr Raynor’s help, and I do feel we must try to comply with his request! Besides, are not our friends as concerned as I that you might be in danger?’

  Slowly Albertina nods.

  Then, turning to Felix, she begins to speak.

  Half an hour later, Felix has learned quite a lot that he didn’t know. It is indeed her late husband whom ‘Dear Mrs Sullivan’ wishes so fervently to hear from, since she is very anxious that she may not have done enough to ease his sufferings in the last days and weeks of life and desperately wants reassurance that she did. Mentally Felix crosses Dorothy Sullivan off the list of suspects, it clearly being vitally important to her to keep Albertina alive. And reassuring. Miss Hobson and her widowed sister attend from largely mercenary reasons, believing as they do that their late father had private means not discovered at his death. These include a savings account with an unknown bank and a jewellery box that he is supposed to have hidden somewhere in the large house in which the sisters live. Since it is clearly in their interest to keep Albertina alive and fully functioning until the dead father has made contact via the spirit guides and informed his daughters of all that they wish to know, it seems very unlikely that either of them are responsible for menacing her either.

  Miss Richenda Malloy is interesting.

  ‘She sings soprano in the choir at St Cyprian’s,’ Ernest supplies. ‘She sang a beautiful solo at Easter, didn’t she, my love?’ Albertina nods. Ernest rests his eyes upon his wife for a moment, eyebrows raised, and she gives another little nod. This appears to be one of permission, for, leaning closer, Ernest says, ‘Dear Richenda is, we believe, a little sweet upon James. James Jellicote. Our vicar,’ he adds.

  ‘Really?’ Felix tries to inject the right amount of interest into his voice, so as to appear somewhere between coolly disinterested and pruriently fascinated. It’s quite a wide spectrum, and he feels he has done all right.

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Ernest smiles. ‘Now this has at times proved a little awkward, since, although my modest wife would not dream of mentioning it, I as her husband feel able to reveal that James Jellicote was in fact more than a little sweet on her before I was lucky enough to make her my wife!’ He leans back, his smile widening, as if to say, what do you think of that?

  Felix, who already knows this, makes suitably astonished noises and makes another note. As he writes he listens to Albertina, muttering in an undertone to her husband. He looks up, meeting her anxious eyes, and notices a soft and becoming flush on her cheeks.

  ‘Mr Stibbins exaggerates,’ she says, ‘for Mr Jellicote was always the perfect gentleman. While it is true that he was courteous, considerate and kindly, he was no more so towards me than to any of the other young women of our acquaintance. Truly!’ The blush intensifies, and Felix, murmuring that he quite understands, remembers the quotation about the lady protesting too much.

  Her small moment of embarrassment over, Albertina next speaks of ‘poor young Leonard’ who misses his mother so acutely – Ernest smiles to himself as she speaks – and of George and Robert Sutherland, the soldier son so dutiful in his attempts to help his father overcome the memories of ‘something very distressing’ that happened in his past.

  ‘Now this is a matter upon which my wife really cannot be as frank as she might wish,’ Ernest interjects, ‘for George Sutherland is a professional man, and client confidentiality is involved.’ He nods solemnly.

  ‘I understand,’ Felix says. He makes a note to try to find out if the senior Mr Sutherland’s firm of solicitors has been involved in some dreadful case, and then listens as Albertina begins to speak again.

  Arthur Haverford, it appears, is a bit of a mystery. He has been attending for nearly a year, yet no clue has been given as to why he comes, nor whether or not he is finding solace in the sessions. Felix draws a large question mark beside the name. Albertina then speaks of several others but, just as he
is about to ask her to repeat the names more slowly and tell him something about each one, she says, ‘But none of them attend Circle very often, and I have the strongest sense that the … the you-know-what –’ her face has paled and it seems she can’t bring herself to mention the menace by name – ‘must surely emanate from somebody closer to me. I don’t know any of these irregulars, not like I know the regulars,’ she adds plaintively, ‘so why should they wish me harm?’

  Felix makes a brief note, then, looking up, once again meets Albertina’s big, frightened eyes. ‘Why indeed,’ he says gently, smiling at her and receiving a very faint but still lovely smile in return.

  ‘And lastly there is the newcomer, Miss Maud Garrett, who was introduced by our faithful Leonard Carter,’ Albertina says after a moment to recover herself. Once again Ernest, at this second mention of Leonard’s name, gives his gentle smile and says teasingly to his wife, ‘Your young swain, my dear,’ to which comment Albertina blushes prettily and shakes her head in modest denial. ‘But since Miss Garrett has only just joined us,’ she resumes, ‘and the – er, the threat has been apparent for some time now, I do not believe she can have anything whatever to do with it.’

  Felix is relieved to hear this.

  He makes one or two more notes, but they are unnecessary and he is merely playing for time. The moment has come, and he must ask Albertina the question which is at the root of this visit: at the root, perhaps, of the entire investigation.

  He says, ‘Mrs Stibbins, I appreciate that this will not be easy for you and I regret causing you distress, but please will you tell me just how it is that you perceive this sense of threat?’

  She flinches. Her husband, aware of this for all that it is a tiny movement, puts a hand on her shoulder and she reaches up her own hand to take hold of it. Then she sits up a little straighter and says, ‘I see blackness, Mr Raynor. It is as if a pall of thick black tar, or something like it, is slowly drawn down over me, over my face, my body. I sense chill, desolation, desperate loneliness, a sort of dank, ancient breath. I see myself lying alone on cold stone, and in some strange way that I do not begin to understand I am both alive yet dead. It is as if—’ But the horror overcomes her, and she can’t go on. Her face falls, tears fill her eyes and she turns in mute distress to her husband. He wraps her in his arms, one hand gently patting her shoulder while he whispers soft reassurances.

  Felix waits for a while, then, as she appears to gather herself together and sits up straight again, says, ‘Mrs Stibbins, please forgive me. It was not my wish to cause you such anguish.’

  She dries her eyes and gives him a brave smile. ‘I realize that, Mr Raynor.’ She pauses, then goes on in a small voice, ‘Did it help?’

  He has no idea if it helped or nor. But, since he would not have her suffer for nothing, he says stoutly, ‘Oh, yes, indeed it did.’

  The following morning, Lily and Felix sit in her inner office, either side of her desk. Lily has asked him to join her in order that together they may review the Stibbins case. And decide what on earth to do next concerning Violetta da Rosa and Julian, she adds silently to herself.

  Felix has made tea for them and now sits with an expectant look on his face, his notebook open. Realizing that it is up to her to begin the proceedings, Lily says, ‘In the light of your conversation with Albertina and Ernest yesterday evening, I believe we now should go through the list of Circle regulars and decide which of them, if any, could be behind the threat to Albertina.’

  Surprisingly he doesn’t instantly begin. Instead he looks at her with almost an abashed expression and, after a moment, says, ‘I do truly believe there is a threat. Whether it comes via her spirit guide is altogether a different matter, but the poor woman is genuinely afraid. She sees a thick pall of darkness, and herself lying on something made of cold stone that sounds horribly like a sarcophagus.’

  Lily does not even try to speak, for she knows that, just now, she is incapable. For what Felix has just described echoed far too closely what she herself felt as she walked past the Stibbins house and saw Albertina reach up to draw the curtains. The heavy black veil descending, the icy chill.

  Felix has picked up that something is wrong. He leans forward, his face concerned. ‘What is it?’

  She is clutching Tamáz’s little bottle, concealed on its long chain under her shirt and her mannish waistcoat. She forces her hand to unclench and release it.

  ‘I experienced something similar,’ she says, trying to affect nonchalance.

  Unsuccessfully, it seems, for he is on his feet and round on her side of the desk. He picks up her teacup, holding it to her lips. This is silly! she thinks, and takes it from him, nodding her thanks. He resumes his seat.

  ‘Sorry,’ he says gruffly. ‘You went so pale I thought you were about to faint.’

  ‘I don’t faint,’ she says repressively.

  ‘So, this similar experience,’ he ploughs on. ‘Was it at the seance? Was it the thing you’re not telling me?’

  ‘Not at the seance, no.’ Deliberately she doesn’t answer his second question. ‘It was after I had been to observe the house on the Thursday.’ She tells him what she experienced.

  ‘Very similar to what Albertina described,’ he murmurs. Then: ‘Do you think you were picking it up from her? In the way you mentioned the other day, whereby some people are able to listen in to what’s at the forefront of others’ minds?’

  But Lily can only shrug. ‘I have no idea.’

  There is silence for a while. Then he says quietly, ‘Shall we proceed with the list of names?’

  Some time later they have finished. Felix has returned to his own desk and Lily is staring down at her notes. They have eliminated Mrs Sullivan, Miss Henshaw and Mrs Philpott, for now at least, and provisionally done the same for the Sutherland father and son, although Felix says he will see if he can find out what this disturbing professional matter could have been. Their list of Circle members with a question mark beside their names comprises Richenda Malloy (on the somewhat slim grounds that she resents Albertina because the man of her dreams, James Jellicote, is sweet on her), Arthur Haverford (because nobody seems to have a clue what he is doing attending the seances) and Leonard Carter.

  Lily reflects that it came as a surprise to both herself and Felix when the other did not rule Leonard out. Lily, who has the advantage of having met and talked to the young man, is uneasy purely because he is so uneasy, with his twitches, his stammer, his pallor and his viciously bitten nails. Felix, when she asked him his reasons for suspicion, said succinctly, ‘If he’s in love with Albertina, he’s under the sway of a very powerful emotion. And she’s married.’

  Lily does not entirely understand why these two factors should make Leonard wish to menace and terrify the object of his love. But then Felix is a man and she isn’t, so, for now anyway she is prepared to take his word for it.

  She hears Felix get to his feet. He comes to stand in the doorway. ‘I’m off to the King’s Road Chronicle and Gazette’s office,’ he announces. It is their local newspaper. ‘I’m going to browse through their back numbers searching for the name of Spencer, Caldicot and Brown, which is—’

  ‘The firm of solicitors where George Sutherland is engaged,’ she finishes for him, just to show she’s digested his notes.

  He nods. ‘See you later.’

  He doesn’t ask what she will be doing, which she appreciates because, for one thing, she is his employer and not answerable to him and, for another, she’s planning to see if she can do a little surveillance of her own on Violetta da Rosa and she’s not going to tell him.

  TEN

  She waits until he has gone and then realizes that she can’t remember the name of the theatre where Violetta is currently rehearsing. It is written down in Felix’s notebook, which is in his inside pocket and by now probably a hundred yards up the road.

  She glances across at the filing cabinet, still shining with newness. She recalls telling Felix at the start of their association tha
t one of his duties would be to transcribe notes taken whilst in the field – she was rather pleased with the term – into the files that would be kept on each client, but she is quite sure that she has kept him much too busy for him to be anywhere near up to date. Nevertheless, she walks across to the cabinet and opens the lower, N to Z, drawer. There is no file in the R section. She checks the upper drawer and under D, finds Da Rosa, Violetta.

  The cardboard file contains quite a lot of papers. Somehow, Felix has found the time to write out every single thing he has discovered. Her reaction to this discovery is complex, and she does not want to stop and investigate it (in no small part because she is already feeling guilty that she’s not paying him nearly enough). She finds what she needs: it is the Glass Slipper Theatre, the play is called Miss Sanderson’s Fortune, and Violetta plays the part of an innocent young heiress who, unsuspecting of her good fortune, occupies herself helping the poor. Lily copies out the bare bones of this and, putting on her hat and picking up her bag, sets out.

  She has been worrying, all the way to Drury Lane, how she will gain admittance to the Glass Slipper Theatre. In the event, it is ridiculously easy, for, observing a sweating man trying to open the double doors whilst bearing a large armchair, she hurries to hold the left-hand door open for him. ‘Thanks, miss,’ he pants, ‘this chair’s a right heavy bugger, and they’re all pissing their pants in there because it’s needed for this afternoon’s rehearsal.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it be easier to take it through the stage door?’ she asks, trying to sound like a theatre professional.

  He shakes his head. ‘Tried that. Won’t go through, it’s too wide.’ He gives the chair, which he has set down while he recovers his breath, a look of sheer hatred. Then, picking it up again, he says, ‘Ah, well, no rest for the wicked!’, gives her a grin and staggers away.