The Imbroglio at the Villa Pozzi (An Angela Marchmont Mystery Book 6) (12 page)

The next morning, Angela was just emerging from the post-office when to her surprise she found herself accosted by Asphodel Quinn, who looked as though she had been waiting for Angela to come out.

‘Good morning, Miss Quinn,’ said Angela, but Miss Quinn was not interested in exchanging pleasantries.

‘Mrs. Marchmont, I want to speak to you about this sitting,’ she said all at once.

‘Oh yes?’ said Angela.

‘Yes,’ said Miss Quinn. ‘We’ve agreed to do it but I don’t like it. Why does Mrs. Sheridan want to see us now? What good will it do her?’

‘Well—’ began Angela, nonplussed at the question. Surely a medium ought to know why a potential client might want to hold a séance. That was Miss Quinn’s business, after all. ‘She is very upset and wants to try and communicate with her husband,’ she said eventually.

‘Is that what she told you?’ said Miss Quinn. ‘But why?’

‘Perhaps you ought to ask her that,’ said Angela, ‘but as far as I understand it, she is very worried that she may, through her own actions, have caused Mr. Sheridan to take his own life, and she is seeking reassurance.’

Asphodel considered this for a moment.

‘Yes, that might be true, I suppose,’ she said. ‘But I still don’t like it.’

Angela was starting to feel quite uncomfortable.

‘Might I ask why?’ she said.

‘Because no good can come of it,’ said Asphodel. ‘I’ve the most awful feeling about it.’

‘What sort of feeling?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Miss Quinn. She evidently realized that this was an unsatisfactory answer, for she went on, ‘It’s difficult to describe without sounding ridiculous, but the best I can do is to say it’s a feeling like hardness under softness.’

‘Hardness under softness?’ repeated Angela, none the wiser.

‘Oh, of course it sounds absurd when I put it like that,’ said Miss Quinn. ‘I only wish I were better at explaining things, but unless you see things as I do then it’s hard to make myself understood.’

‘Does the feeling refer to a person or a thing?’ said Angela.

‘A person, I think.’

‘Mr. Sheridan, perhaps?’

‘Perhaps,’ said Miss Quinn. ‘All I know is that someone is going to get into the most terrible trouble if we do the sitting.’

‘Who is going to get into trouble?’ said Angela, thinking unaccountably of pink camellias.

‘I can’t tell you. But it’s someone who doesn’t deserve it.’

‘Oh,’ said Angela, slightly relieved. She was about to say something reassuring, when Miss Quinn grasped her by the arm and looked directly into her eyes.

‘I’m frightened, Mrs. Marchmont,’ she whispered. ‘I’m frightened that something awful will happen, and that I shall be held responsible for it all.’

Angela was quite disturbed by the intensity of her gaze.

‘But why should you be held responsible for anything?’ she said.

Miss Quinn gave a short laugh but did not quite meet her eyes.

‘Oh, come now,’ she said. ‘You must have heard what people are saying about us. Why, it’s all over Stresa. Everyone thinks we had something to do with Mr. Sheridan’s death. They’re saying we drove him to kill himself because he’d left us some money.’

‘
Had
he left you any money?’ Angela could not resist asking.

Miss Quinn shrugged.

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I doubt it, although I can’t deny it would come in useful if he did. I know what people say about us, but we’ve never asked anyone for anything that wasn’t owed to us, and we had nothing to do with whatever happened to Mr. Sheridan, d’you hear? Mr. Sheridan was a nice man. I liked him and I’m very sorry he’s dead. We’re not in the business of bringing people unhappiness, you know—although I seem to have done a lot of that without meaning to lately.’

‘Do you believe there was something suspicious about Mr. Sheridan’s death?’ Angela said. ‘After all, you said you knew he was dead before anyone had found him. What else do you know, Miss Quinn?’

Asphodel Quinn looked away.

‘Why are you asking me?’ she said. ‘I might have seen something but you don’t believe all that nonsense about visions and stuff, do you? Why, you’d have to be mad, like me. I know people say I’m mad. Mrs. Sheridan told me so to my face when she sat for us last time.’

‘Did she?’ said Angela, surprised.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Asphodel. ‘She got very upset and told me that I was quite—I think “unhinged” was the word she used.’

Angela tried and failed to picture the delicate Mrs. Sheridan being so rude.

‘What did you tell her to make her say that?’ she asked.

But Asphodel shook her head.

‘I foretold trouble for her and she didn’t like it,’ was all she would say.

‘You were right, though,’ said Angela. She saw that Miss Quinn had set her jaw obstinately and went on, ‘Look, I’m not especially keen on the whole thing either. Mrs. Sheridan has only just lost her husband and I’m quite certain that a séance so soon after the event can cause her nothing but pain. However, she was quite determined, and so I agreed to come along with her to provide moral support.’

Naturally she did not mention the real reason for their visit, but she was by now feeling quite uncomfortable about the whole thing, and was convinced that Miss Quinn had seen through their little ruse and was intending to warn them off. She was about to excuse herself and walk away when they were joined by Mrs. Quinn, who until then had been engaged in a nearby shop.

‘Hallo, Mrs. Marchmont,’ she said. ‘I expect Saph has been asking you to try and persuade Mrs. Sheridan not to go ahead with our little sitting this afternoon.’

‘She says Mrs. Sheridan won’t hear of cancelling,’ said Asphodel gloomily.

‘I don’t mind asking her again if you like,’ said Angela, who by this time would have been only too glad to forget the whole thing.

‘Oh, no need,’ said Mrs. Quinn. ‘I know Saph is worried about what might happen, but as I often tell her, you can’t go into this business and expect everyone to be pleased all the time. This Gift is a great responsibility, you know. We’re blessed enough to be able to bring happiness to many people through our work, but sometimes the opposite happens and—well, things don’t turn out the way the client expects. Then we’re usually the ones who suffer for it. It’s all too easy to blame the messenger in these cases.’

‘Does that happen often?’ said Angela.

‘Once in a while,’ said Mrs. Quinn cheerfully. ‘When it does we know it’s time to move on.’

‘We always get driven out eventually,’ said Miss Quinn.

‘Now, Saph, I shouldn’t put it like that. Let’s say that we discover we’ve reached the limits of our ability to help people.’

‘People always stop trusting us in the end,’ said Asphodel.

The contrast between Miss Quinn’s decided gloom and her mother’s ebullient determination to look on the bright side of things might have been comical in any other circumstances, but Angela could not laugh. Instead, to her surprise, she found herself feeling some sympathy for the Quinns and their plight. But remembering her investigation, she quashed the feeling firmly. After all, a man had died in doubtful circumstances and the Quinns might well be connected to the mystery. If so, it was her duty to try and find it out, if at all possible.

Angela bade goodbye to the Quinns and continued on her way. She was becoming increasingly nervous about the evening ahead, since she had already begun to regret having asked Edgar Valencourt to search the Quinns’ apartment, and now it seemed here was another thing to worry about: the possibility that Miss Quinn knew exactly what Mrs. Sheridan and Angela were up to. Angela had the horrible feeling that she was about to find herself in a very tricky situation of her own making. However, since there was nothing she could do to avoid it now, she determined to put it out of her head for a while.

It was an easy enough resolution to make, but not so easy to keep, for shortly afterwards, on her way back to the hotel, she saw the Quinns again on the lake-front. They were a little distance away, standing in conversation with someone Angela immediately recognized as La Duchessa. She was as expensively and showily dressed as ever, and appeared to be holding forth at some length to Mrs. and Miss Quinn, who listened to her politely. Eventually Mrs. Quinn said something in reply, and La Duchessa took a step back as though she had been slapped. Her face darkened and she began to upbraid the Quinns loudly, although the little group was still too far away for Angela to hear what she was saying. Having given her opinion, La Duchessa turned on her heel and stalked off grandly, a furious expression on her face, while the Quinns exchanged glances. Angela passed on, wondering very much what it was all about.

At a few minutes before five o’clock that afternoon, Angela Marchmont and Virginia Sheridan walked together through the streets of the town, heading for the Quinns’ apartment. The weather was growing hot and sultry again, and Mrs. Sheridan was still feeling a little ill and tired, and so they walked slowly to allow her to catch her breath. Angela glanced in concern at the other woman’s pale face. Despite her frailty and Angela’s attempts to dissuade her, Virginia Sheridan had declared herself quite determined to go through with the séance, come what may—and doubly so now, since at Angela’s request she had searched through her husband’s things but had found no trace of any letter from Asphodel Quinn. Naturally, Angela had said nothing about the angry note Mr. Sheridan was supposed to have sent Miss Quinn in return—or about the fact that she had enlisted a tame thief to try and find it while they were sitting—but the idea that Miss Quinn might have warned Mr. Sheridan of the danger he faced before he died was quite enough to make Mrs. Sheridan firm in her purpose.

Angela, meanwhile, was still feeling rather nervous, and was trying to compose herself enough to keep her wits about her during the sitting. Her first duty, she told herself, was to remain on her guard at all times, and to try and ascertain whether or not the Quinns really were using hypnotic powers to influence their clients. Even as she thought it, however, she shook her head. The more she considered it the more ridiculous the idea sounded to her, and try as she might she could not shake off a lingering sympathy for the Quinns. But why was she finding it so difficult to be objective? Were the Quinns really as innocent as they seemed? Or was there something about Italy that made her more susceptible than usual to the artfulness of charming people?

They were now approaching their destination. The Quinns lived on the first floor of a faded red building which stood on the corner of a narrow street some way out of the centre of town. The street led to a dead end and thus was not troubled with large numbers of passers-by. Angela glanced about her involuntarily as they paused at the outer door of the building, but saw no-one. She could not tell whether this was a good or a bad sign, but it was too late to worry about it now. They rang the bell and were admitted by Asphodel Quinn, who greeted them politely and made no mention of their earlier encounter, for which Angela was thankful. She and Mrs. Sheridan followed Miss Quinn upstairs and through a door, which opened into a long hall stretching to the left and right. As they entered, Angela saw that at the end of the passage to her right was a little sitting-room, furnished comfortably with easy chairs and low tables. A blue-enamelled stove stood in the corner, and she could just catch a glimpse of what looked like a writing-desk. The next room along seemed to be a bedroom. Angela judged that the balcony outside ran along between the two rooms, giving easy access to the place—provided a window was open. But was it? How could she find out? Just then, Mrs. Quinn herself emerged from the sitting-room, leaving the door open wide, and Angela saw to her relief that the French windows to the balcony were a little ajar. It ought to be easy enough for Valencourt to get in, then, if indeed he was intending to turn up.

‘I can’t tell you how sorry I am about your husband,’ said Mrs. Quinn immediately to Virginia Sheridan. ‘He was a good man—one of the best.’

‘Thank you,’ said Mrs. Sheridan, who was pale but quite composed. ‘It’s been the most awful shock, of course. As a matter of fact, I still can’t quite believe it.’

‘Well, I promise you that if it’s at all possible we’ll speak to him this evening,’ said Mrs. Quinn, ‘and I hope it will bring you comfort. That’s the most we can wish for at times like this. Now, then,’ she went on briskly, leading them down to a door at the other end of the hall. ‘This way if you please. This room here is where we do our sittings. It’s not very big, but as you can see it’s quite separate and private, and we find it comfortable enough.’

Angela looked round as they entered. As Mrs. Quinn said, the room was a small one and had presumably been intended as a bedroom originally, but the Quinns had fitted it out for their own purposes. It was almost dark, since the small window was covered with a heavy curtain of dark-red velvet, which to judge from its crushed appearance had been folded up and transported many times, and the only light came from a single candle that burned on a little table set against the wall. In the centre of the room stood another table—a round, mahogany one, which was set about with several low easy chairs that looked as though they had seen better days. There were cushions scattered about everywhere, and every horizontal surface appeared to have been clothed in a variety of crocheted mats of all sizes. The room was extremely hot and stuffy.

Mrs. Quinn clicked her tongue and set about lighting some more candles, chatting merrily as she did so.

‘Sit down, sit down,’ she said. ‘Mrs. Sheridan, you look tired, if you don’t mind my saying so. Sit here—it’s the most comfortable chair. Now what do you say to a cup of tea before we start? Saph boiled some water just before you came and it ought to be just right by now.’

Angela was just about to accept when she suddenly remembered something she had once read about a fake medium whose method for convincing her victims of the reality of what they had seen was to put a drug in their drink that caused them to experience hallucinations. She threw Virginia Sheridan a warning glance, and they both refused the tea.

‘I’m sorry we’re not quite prepared,’ said Mrs. Quinn as she bustled about, ‘but we’ve only now got back from a visit to another client, and we were late visiting
her
because we met someone we knew while we were in town today—it was not long after we spoke to you, Mrs. Marchmont, as a matter of fact—and she kept us talking for longer than we liked.’

Here Miss Quinn gave a short laugh but made no comment.

‘Oh, yes, I think I saw you,’ said Angela, pricking up her ears. ‘It was a lady from the hotel, wasn’t it? I believe she is a duchess of some sort.’

‘That’s right,’ said Mrs. Quinn blandly.

‘She might be a duchess, but she hasn’t got the manners to match,’ said the less diplomatic Asphodel.

‘Hush, now,’ said her mother. ‘That’s no way to talk.’

‘I did notice she looked rather cross,’ admitted Angela. ‘Is she another of your clients? I thought you offered your services only to the English people here.’

‘Oh, no,’ said Mrs. Quinn. ‘We’ll do anyone who asks as long as we all speak the same language. There are plenty of Italians who come to us, for instance. They’re great believers in communicating with the after-life, the Italians are.’

‘La Duchessa is not Italian, though,’ said Angela. ‘At least, that is what Mr. Morandi told me. Do you know where she is from?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ said Mrs. Quinn.

‘Wherever it is, she can go back there as far as I’m concerned,’ said Miss Quinn.

‘Now, Saph,’ began Mrs. Quinn, but Asphodel shook her head defiantly.

‘She’d no call to talk to me like that this afternoon,’ she said. ‘I do my best for people and if they don’t like it—well, I can’t help it, that’s all. I answered her questions, and just because they weren’t the answers she wanted she thought it gave her the right to be rude. Well, I shan’t speak to her again.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Angela. ‘I hope she didn’t upset you too much.’ She was dying to ask exactly what had been said but did not know how to do it without seeming impertinently inquisitive.

‘Do you remember what I told you this afternoon, Mrs. Marchmont, about people who don’t take kindly to being given the message, and who like to blame the messenger for it?’ said Mrs. Quinn, nodding significantly. ‘Well, this lady is one of those people.’

‘I’ll say,’ said Asphodel. ‘She’d been asking and asking, and in the end we had to tell her that she wasn’t going to get what she wanted. Some people just want that, you know—they want us to agree that whatever idea they’ve got into their heads is the right one. But we can’t always do that.’

‘No,’ agreed Mrs. Quinn. ‘She was furious, wasn’t she? I’d say someone was in for it.’

During this exchange, Virginia Sheridan had said nothing. Angela glanced at her and noticed that her eyes were closed and she was taking deep breaths as though bracing herself for something, while Miss Quinn watched her with narrowed eyes. Asphodel saw Angela watching her and immediately turned her head away.

‘Are you quite all right?’ said Angela to Mrs. Sheridan, fearful for a second that the Quinns had somehow managed to hypnotize Virginia while her attention had been distracted. But Virginia opened her eyes immediately, and replied in her normal voice:

‘Oh, yes, thank you, Angela. I just felt a little hot for a second. I’m much better now. Shall we begin?’

‘Why not?’ said Mrs. Quinn. ‘I think we’re all ready. Now, I shall sit in this chair here, a little apart, and see what I can’t get for you.’

‘Are you going to summon Thutmose again?’ said Angela.

‘No,’ said Mrs. Quinn. ‘He’s not been back since that day he was so rude to you and Mrs. Peters, but my Roundhead has been about lately. He’s much more respectful, I’m very pleased to say. Let’s see if we can summon him. I thought we might try and get the departed to speak through me today—it can work better that way if they’re so inclined. If not, then we’ll try the talking board again. Now, are we ready?’ Everyone nodded, and she said, ‘Very well, then. I should like everyone to sit quite quietly and try to empty your minds of all thoughts. Mrs. Sheridan, I should like you in particular to bring the image of your husband into your mind.’

Mrs. Sheridan gave a little sob but nodded. Mrs. Quinn smiled reassuringly, then closed her eyes and began to sway in her chair, humming under her breath, just as she had done during the séance at the hotel.

Angela, meanwhile, was trying her hardest to suppress a yawn, which was no easy task in that dark, stuffy room. The heat was stifling and she was beginning to feel sleepy, and after a minute or two she sat up straight and pinched herself hard on the arm.

‘Wake up, you idiot,’ she said to herself, and wondered whether the heat was a tactic used deliberately by the Quinns to confound the senses of their sitters. She glanced across at Virginia Sheridan, who gave her a wan smile. Angela smiled back reassuringly and resolved to stay alert. She was fairly sure that neither of them had been hypnotized so far, but she was determined not to miss any attempt of that sort.

Mrs. Quinn now appeared to be in a deep trance, and Miss Quinn was watching her mother attentively. There was silence for several minutes, and Angela was beginning to wonder whether anything would happen at all when she heard a quiet
thump
, followed by a rap. For a second she thought it must be Valencourt making a noise next door, and her heart beat rapidly in fear, for she was certain that he must be discovered, but then the sound was repeated, and she realized it was coming from somewhere in the room, for it was now accompanied by a hissing sound and a tinkling of tiny bells, which began almost inaudibly but gradually grew louder and louder until it filled her ears. The sound was quite chilling and set Angela’s nerves on edge, and she looked about her, wondering how the Quinns had managed it.

Suddenly Mrs. Quinn’s eyes snapped open and she began to talk.

‘Now is the time,’ she said loudly, and Angela jumped, for the voice was a deep one that was quite unlike her own.

Asphodel Quinn now spoke up.

‘What is it?’ she said. ‘Who speaks? Are you friend or foe?’

‘I am neither friend nor foe,’ said Mrs. Quinn. ‘I am. I am. I am.’

‘What are you? Will you help us?’

‘I am all,’ said Mrs. Quinn. ‘Now is the time.’

‘The time for what?’

‘I cannot help. Cannot help. I am. I am,’ said Mrs. Quinn.

‘Then we do not wish to speak to you,’ said Miss Quinn firmly. ‘You may go.’

There was a pause, then Mrs. Quinn opened her eyes. Angela noticed that the hissing and the sound of bells had stopped.

‘Any good?’ she said in her own voice.

Miss Quinn shook her head.

‘I don’t know who that was,’ she said, ‘and he didn’t seem too certain either. He couldn’t help, though.’

‘That’s a pity,’ said Mrs. Quinn. ‘Shall we do it again, or shall we try the talking board instead?’

‘May we try the talking board, please?’ said Virginia, who was looking faintly horrified at what had just passed.

‘All right,’ said Mrs. Quinn, and Asphodel stood up and fetched it from a drawer in the corner. ‘Now, you’ve both used this before, so you know how it works. Two fingers on the planchette, everybody, if you please.’

Everybody did as they were told, and Mrs. Quinn closed her eyes again. This time the response was almost immediate, for the planchette began to slide rapidly backwards and forwards, then seemed inclined to attempt a revolution.

‘Stop that,’ Mrs. Quinn said. ‘Whoever you are, you are under our command today. Is that Benedict?’

The planchette paused, then shot towards the letter Y. Mrs. Quinn gave a sniff of satisfaction.

‘And how are you today, Benedict? Are you going to help us?’

The planchette jiggled over the Y.

‘Thank you. Then can you tell me whether anyone is there with you?’

There was a pause, then the planchette moved slowly away from the Y. It was hovering uncertainly by the N when it suddenly seemed to change its mind, and shot back towards the Y again.