Chapter Twenty

A séance in a cell

By the time I returned to the cell the day was ending. A dusky light filtered through the bars, casting a grey shade over the faces of the women inside.

‘Ah, you’re back,’ said Angela. ‘I reckon we can start now.’

‘Start what?’

‘Why, the séance, of course.’

‘What was it this time?’ asked Abigail Stokes with a sneer. ‘Swapping recipes with the sergeant?’

I could not repress a shudder at the thought of Sergeant Givens. ‘No, it was my employer.’

‘Been fired, have you?’

‘No, he has hired a lawyer to defend me.’

‘Blimey,’ said Abigail, looking genuinely taken aback. She turned her back on me, but I thought I heard her mutter, ‘that’ll set the cat among the pigeons.’

It occurred to me then that perhaps giving the impression I might be out of there soon might put me in danger. I mentally shrugged off the idea. After all, I had seen nothing on the day of the march and hopefully whoever was Aggie Phelps’ partner-in-crime knew that. I found myself reconsidering the women in the cell in the light of what Richenda and I had discussed. It seemed most likely Abigail Stokes would be the culprit. Although I could not rule out Angela Blackwood, but she was an odd fish and I could not rightly pin down her motivations.

‘In a circle, please, ladies,’ said my odd fish.

‘Oh, Eunice, do you think we should?’ wavered Jasmine. ‘I doubt Father would approve.’

‘Then if Miss Blackwood really can contact the dead perhaps he will come through and tell us so,’ said the practical Eunice.

Miss Blackwood flashed Eunice a smile. ‘Who knows what spirits are liable to come this way? I have no control over the dead. I can only petition that they speak to us.’

Mary Hill settled herself on the floor, arranging her skirts neatly around her. ‘I am quite content to join the experiment, Angela,’ she said, ‘but I have to tell you I am not a believer.’ I sat down next to her.

Abigail sighed and said obscurely, ‘In for a penny’ and joined us. The Pettigrews were fussing, sweeping aside space on the floor for themselves to sit.

‘So unladylike,’ muttered Jasmine. ‘Our dresses will be quite ruined.’

‘Sister, I hate to tell you,’ said Eunice, ‘but when we are released we will need to burn these clothes. I fear mine are already infested.’

‘Aw, Gawd,’ said Abigail, ‘I should have bleedin’ known it! Fleas.’

‘It was really only a matter of time,’ said Mary Hill. ‘This place is most insanitary.’

Martha Lake stood hesitating on the edge of the circle. Angela looked up at her. ‘I need everyone if this is to work. Do you have a moral objection, Mrs Lake?’

‘No, not as such,’ said Martha. ‘I too wonder if it right to tamper with such things, but I am aware it is not unusual for séances to be held in the best drawing-rooms.’

Abigail gave a crack of laughter at this. ‘Let’s hope the spirits don’t mind coming down a bit in the world.’

‘They are beyond such things,’ said Angela haughtily. ‘Now, if you would take your seat, Mrs Lake. I can begin. I warn you that this is not a light undertaking and there are dangers –’

‘Oh dear,’ wailed Jasmine.

‘But,’ said Angela, raising her voice to speak over her, ‘if you follow my instructions no harm will come to anyone in this room.’

The rest of us looked up expectantly at Martha. She sat down in the space left between Angela and Eunice. ‘Now, if you could all hold hands,’ said Angela. ‘It is not quite as dark as I would like …’ Even as she said it the light level dropped and the air turned a little colder. ‘Ah,’ said Angela, ‘good. If you wish you may close your eyes. Especially if it helps you concentrate. Once we begin at no time must the circle be broken. Hands are only to be released when the spirits had been banished once more.’

‘So you do send them away?’ asked Jasmine.

‘Yes,’ said Angela.

‘But I thought you said they were always with us,’ commented Mary. She said this in an enquiring sort of tone rather than a sarcastic one, but Angela’s eyes flashed.

‘They are indeed always with us, Miss Hill, but it is only with the help of a medium that they can transcend into a communicative state. It is from that state I will banish them when we have concluded our business.’

‘Oh, that sounds so unpleasant,’ said Jasmine. ‘To be wandering the earth, seeing all, but being able to speak to no one.’

‘That is why people such I as exist,’ said Angela, her tone becoming increasingly acerbic. ‘Now, let us begin. I will call upon the spirit of Maisie and ask her to come to us.’

‘So you do not have a spirit guide,’ asked Martha. ‘I thought that was quite the fashion.’

‘I do not need one,’ snapped Angela. ‘I am in harmony with the other side.’

‘How uncomfortable,’ muttered someone.

‘Ladies! Please! We are here to avenge the death of a poor young girl. Let us take this situation seriously. Unless, one of you has good reason not to wish tonight’s séance to work?’

‘Like being the murderess?’ said Abigail Stokes. ‘I’m game. Call ’em up.’

The other women all nodded. The coldness of the cell was increasing. I told myself that this was only because we were seated, and not moving around as we were wont to do to keep warm. ‘I warn you my voice may change,’ said Angela, ‘but do not be afraid. Others may speak through me.’

Jasmine suppressed a little squeak as a glance from Angela quelled her. ‘Now to begin with, if you could all close your eyes and concentrate on the face of Maisie.’ I closed my eyes and lowered my head so I could peek, hopefully unseen. Angela’s eyes were open and she raised her head to the ceiling. Why, I wondered, do mediums always look at ceilings. If we were outside under the sky it would make sense, but inside surely the spirits would not be hiding among the ceiling plaster.

‘Is there anybody there?’ she said in a deeper voice than she was wont to use. ‘I am calling to the other side as my grandmother and mother did before me. I am Angela Blackwood and I am using my gift to open the channel between worlds. Is there anybody there, who wants to speak to anybody here?’

There was silence. I felt a shiver run down my back, but I was more concerned it might be a flea than a spirit. My left leg was beginning to ache. None of us gently bred ladies were used to sitting on the floor. I straightened my shoulders and adjusted my posture to a more correct attitude. As I did so I could have sworn I felt a light touch on the nape of my neck. My head shot up. My eyes open, ready to spot the trickery. Everyone in the circle was still present. Indeed with the exception of Angela, whose eyes appeared to have rolled back in her head, everyone else had their eyes tightly closed.

‘OMMMM!’ said Angela in a deep voice. ‘OMMMM!’

I observed Jasmine Pettigrew screw her eyes even tighter shut, so her face resembled nothing less than a pickled walnut. Abigail Stokes heaved a large sigh. Mary’s face was calm. Martha had her head bowed like mine. Was she too sneaking a glance around the circle? She looked more as if she was at prayer.

‘I feel you,’ moaned Angela. ‘I feel you! Someone is coming through.’ Jasmine gave another little smothered squeak of dismay. Honestly, her lips were almost touching her eyebrows now. She looked grotesque. Could this be a sign of guilty fear or simply superstition? I would have expected a schoolmistress to have a cooler head,

‘Here she comes,’ wailed Angela is a high-pitched screech that made me wince. Though I remained rather colder than before, I did not believe this was caused by any wandering spirits. To me Angela’s theatrics were almost comical. I had no doubt she was a fraud. Why on earth was she doing this?

And then it dawned on me, as bright and clear as when the sun breaks through the clouds, that the only way Fitzroy would have allowed me to stay in a cell with a murderess would be if he already had someone on the inside. Someone, who like me, was attempting to stir things up and get a response from the killer. A woman who also realised our time here was limited. I might appreciate Hans’s attempts to get me out, but I did not want the potential shadow of a crime hanging over me for the rest of my life. If no murderess was caught then people would always wonder.

Angela had to be Fitzroy’s plant! I decided to give her a little moral support.

‘Ohhh,’ I said softly, ‘does anyone else feel the temperature dropping? I have the most dire sense of foreboding.’ Mary Hill opened one eye and gave me a quizzical look. I added a shiver in for extra conviction. I lowered my voice. ‘I’m serious. Something is happened.’ Mary gave a little shrug and closed her eyes. In the background Angela continued her low moans. ‘M-m-m-Maisie,’ she was now calling. A real shiver did go down my spine as I recalled finding the poor girl’s dead body, lying cold and twisted on the cell floor. It had been dawn and at the time I had not been able to see her clearly, but now my imagination was filling in the missing details, her eyes pale as cornflowers staring sightlessly, the pinched aspect of her pretty face that told of so many missed meals, but above all I remembered how she had looked little more than a child. Richenda’s adopted daughter came from lowly stock, if her life had taken a different turn, she could so easily have ended up like Aggie, poor, over worked and scared. In my mind’s eye little Amy aged and became Maisie. I had felt despair and pity when Maisie died, but now I felt fury.

And then for no reason at all I heard myself say, ‘I never take sugar with China tea.’