The Dead of Winter (11 page)

‘
Something else is here,' Spinelli almost squeaked. ‘Something terrible.
'

‘
Did you kill Mr Creedy, Mr Spinelli?
'

‘
Did I what? Dear lady, how can you suggest such a thing?
'

‘
Right, that is it. Elizabeth, go to your room.' Albert stood, the table tipped and fell on to its side.

He gave no sign, simply looked on with an expression of grave concern on his face. ‘Mrs Southam, are you feeling quite well?
'

‘
Am I—' Elizabeth was dumbfounded. ‘Mr Weston, you told me that Mr Creedy had spoken Mr Spinelli's name. You said—
'

‘
Mrs Southam,' Weston said gravely. ‘If I have put you under any misapprehension then I am deeply sorry.
'

‘
Misapprehension? You said he—
'

‘
I said merely that Mr Creedy asked for the Reverend Spinelli.' He put gentle emphasis on Spinelli's title. ‘A reasonable wish, I would have thought. Mr Creedy knew that he was a dying man.
'

‘
But—
'

‘
Elizabeth, you've said and done enough. Go to your room,' Albert interrupted.

‘
I'm not a child. You can't order me!
'

‘
Settle my nerves? There is nothing wrong with my nerves!
'

‘
Come now, my dear,' Dr Pym said. He reached out and patted her hand, then turned to her husband. ‘Don't be too hard on her, old man, you know how women can be when they are in a delicate condition.
'

‘
Mr Weston, please.' But even as she begged him to explain what they had done and why, that Weston had heard Creedy's last accusing words, she knew she had been betrayed. Weston would not help her. Weston had his own agenda.

An oddly celebratory atmosphere prevailed when Rina came back down at ten that evening in preparation for the seance. Everyone had dressed for the occasion, men in suits and woman in the best dresses they had with them. Gail had gone ahead of them into the seance room – to prepare and meditate, apparently – everyone else seemed to be drinking and eating again, and Rina began to wonder if Melissa had threatened to lock them all in until some specific volume of the food mountain had been consumed.

‘So,' she asked, approaching Edwin Holmes as he helped himself to another glass of wine, ‘do Joy and I get to know anything about this invented ghost of yours?'

The old man turned and smiled at her, his pale blue, rather watery eyes crinkling at their corners. ‘Oh, no, I'm afraid not. You already know far too much. The two, or should I say four, neutral witnesses on that other night knew absolutely nothing. They fully believed in the process, so I can't tell you more than we already have or it would ruin the whole effect.'

Rina frowned. ‘But we've already drifted miles from the original proposition,' she argued. ‘So far as we know, everyone that night was a believer and, as you say, there was total secrecy when it came to the origin of the phenomena they claimed to be calling up. And,' she emphasized, ‘we don't even know who or what they were claiming to be trying to contact, do we? So—'

‘You are, of course, absolutely right. We have only a limited knowledge of the spirit they claimed to be trying to summon that night, but I'd still like to keep as close as we possibly can to the original experiment, even allowing for all of those variables.' The pale eyes twinkled. ‘Tell me, though, Rina, where do you stand on all of this? Believer, non-believer, or, like our friend Terry, have you not yet made up your mind?'

Rina ignored the question. ‘I thought nothing was known about the 1872 invention?'

‘Almost nothing. I promise, I will tell you everything I know afterwards, but we really don't want to put any of that into people's minds. Tonight, we must focus on our experiment – the comparison with theirs will be made after the event.'

Rina frowned. She hated to be kept in the dark, but she let it lie and tried another attack. ‘You said there were four neutral observers on the night in 1872. I though there were only the two Joy and I are substituting for? Dr Pym and this Reverend Spinelli person.'

‘And two servants, drafted in at the last moment. We have Viv to thank for that detail; she found it mentioned in one of the newspaper clippings Melissa discovered a few days ago.'

‘Oh?' Rina was now intrigued. ‘Where did she find them?'

‘In the seance room,' Edwin said. ‘In a wooden deed box just inside the door. It was as though someone had put them there right before the door was sealed.'

‘I don't recall seeing a deed box in the photographs. And I thought the room had been sealed on the night it all happened.'

‘Well, we had assumed that, but to be honest, if any of us had really thought about it that would have been highly unlikely.'

‘The police would have wanted to see the room,' Rina said, nodding. ‘Even if Pym's death was ruled an accident, any police officer worth their salt would have wanted to check out the background; he'd want to know what made Pym ride off in such an almighty hurry that night. So, where is this box now?'

Edwin laughed. ‘I'll get Melissa to sort it out for you later. I think we're about to go in.'

Rina nodded absently and, with Edwin, went over to where Joy waited for her by the door. Her mind was buzzing, and something was starting to feel very wrong. The photographs she had seen that Melissa had taken spoke of a rapid and final departure. The abandoned glove and scarf; the heavy and rather valuable rose bowl, untouched and locked away as though it had been tainted by events; the shuttered windows, never again to be unfastened, no sunlight or fresh air allowed to permeate the stricken room.

And now the box. Where exactly had it been found? Who had put it there, and when and why? She could understand that Albert Southam might have collected accounts of that night; understand, too, that he might then have thought better of the impulse and wanted the records of such disaster hidden away. But if he wanted rid, why not just burn them? Anyway, it would not have been possible to remove everything from sight or consciousness that might bring a reminder of events. Viv had told them that the investigation and the public interest had rumbled on for the following year.

The other question – a question she should have thought of herself: had the police gone into the little room and poked about, or had they merely glanced inside? And the servants: why hadn't they been questioned about their involvement? Rina had read through almost all of Viv's considerable documentation now and could recall no mention of them, unless . . .

‘Edwin, the servants – the butler, Banks, and the housemaid, Sally Birch. Is that who the other two were?'

He looked surprised. ‘Yes, I believe so. Why?'

‘Because, according to the notes Viv gave us, they left the following morning, with Elizabeth Southam. Before Dr Pym was found and before the investigation began. Three people left this house together. My big question is: why?'

Now, it seemed, was not the time Rina would get her answer: they had entered the little room beyond the library. Thick, velvety darkness enclosed them, the only light a single candle in the centre of the rose bowl. Pale pink blooms cast a soft fragrance into the room. Gail was seated opposite the door with her eyes closed. She did not move as they shuffled in and took their seats around the table, Professor Franklin immediately to Gail's left and Edwin Holmes to her right. Rina, Joy and Terry sat opposite the medium, Rina directly facing the young blonde, whose pale hair and skin now looked silvered in the candle light.

Terry is in on the story, Rina thought. So is Tim and Viv and everyone else. Only she and Joy, the so-called neutral observers, had been shut out of what she was now starting to think of as a conspiracy. Her every instinct told her she should leave, now, take Joy and Tim and go and tell the others, even Terry Beal, just what she thought of them and their silly games.

Worse, she now felt angry with Tim all over again. Her much loved mentee had got her into this and had also been part of the group that had planned and constructed this event – albeit not such a central element, as he had spent Christmas and New Year separate from the main conspirators – but she still felt aggrieved.

The four men filming the seance had taken up their positions in the corners of the room: Tim and Toby behind Gail, and Robin and Jay behind Rina.

Beneath the table, Joy grabbed Rina's hand. Her palms were damp.

‘Are you all right?' Rina asked her softly.

‘No, not really.'

‘Quiet, please,' Professor Franklin chided, and Rina glared at him, then squeezed Joy's hand.

‘We can leave if you want to,' she said, loudly enough for Franklin to hear.

‘No, I'll be all right.'

Melissa was sitting between Terry Beal and Edwin Holmes. Melissa was at the wrong angle for Rina to see her face, but she could see that Terry looked oddly tense and ill at ease. He glanced her way and smiled tightly. Only Viv and Rav Pinner seemed truly at ease, Rav glancing around the room as though looking for trickery and Viv grinning at Rina as though she merely felt excited. Happy, excited, intrigued by life, together these seemed to comprise Viv's default setting, and Rina was oddly glad she was there. Not much would really faze Viv, she thought, and at the moment she felt a real need for calm, unflappable people; Rina found herself feeling anything but calm and unflappable.

Gail opened her eyes, and Rina heard the door behind her snap shut. Too late to back out now, she thought.

‘I feel the spirits are present,' Gail said. ‘So we will begin.'

It occurred to Rina that this young woman was playing a very odd role. It seemed that she really thought of herself as psychic, as being able to act as a medium between the living and whatever else there might be, and yet here she was tonight, behaving as though all of that was make-believe. Did she feel strange, anxious, somehow traitorous, or had she found a way to reconcile these opposite beliefs? Had Elizabeth Southam, all those years ago, also managed to find a way to ease her conscience?

‘We are here tonight,' Gail said, ‘to speak to one of our number recently departed. Grace Wright was not a young woman, and her passing was expected, but even so, those of us who loved her had hoped for a few more years before we had to say goodbye.'

Grace Wright, Rina thought. Their ghost was called Grace Wright? Somehow she had expected something far more exotic.

‘Grace,' Gail was saying, ‘we all hope that you are close by and that you can make contact. If you would all please join hands and ask that our sister, now departed from us, has the strength and will to come through the veil.'

Joy still held Rina's hand. Terry Beal's palm was oddly rough when she took it, the skin dry and warm. Rina watched as everyone linked hands and then, under Gail's direction, closed their eyes. She was used to the low light now and could see Tim clearly, camera focused tightly on Gail. Toby seemed to be making little panning shots, taking in the whole company. Rina glared in his direction as he focused momentarily on her face. She saw him smile.

Everyone else had been obedient and shut their eyes, even Rav Pinner, though his lips twitched as though he found the urge to laugh almost too much. Viv looked solemn, or about as solemn as someone with such a smiley mouth could manage to get. Reluctantly, Rina followed their lead and closed her eyes.

The scent of roses was strong now, and she wondered if the flowers were really giving off such an emphatic perfume or if Melissa had used a scented candle. She could hear the soft sounds of the cameras as someone switched focus, heard a metal on plastic scrape, perhaps a ring against a camera body, then the shuffle of feet as they changed position. She was acutely aware of those with her round the table. Joy still tense, breaths sharp and shallow; Terry, breathing deeply and rhythmically as though in meditation. Someone, a man, coughed and muttered an apology.

‘Now, let go of your neighbour's hands and lay your palms flat on the tabletop, fingers touching those of the people next to you so the link is maintained but you are in full contact with the table.'

Sounds of people rearranging and repositioning themselves. Joy let go of Rina's hand reluctantly, and Rina could sense the relief of the younger woman once their hands touched on the tabletop. She squeezed Joy's fingers reassuringly. On the other side of her, Terry Beal's hands were very large and oddly comforting.