Chapter Three #2
“So you contacted Nellie’s ghost,” I say to Madame Paix, and Gray doesn’t quite manage to hide a pained expression that makes me want to kick him in the shin.
It’s Freddie—the brother—who jumps in. “Her ghost contacted us. We had no idea the poor maid was dead.”
“You were attempting to contact someone else. But it was Nellie who came through the veil.”
Madame Paix looks up at this, her blue eyes lighting with pleased surprise as I use what I believe to be the correct terminology for the time. “Yes, that is it, Miss Mitchell. She reached out through the veil to let us know she had died.”
“Did she say how she died?”
“Murder.”
“Yes, but did she mention more? The method of murder?”
Madame Paix shakes her head. “She did not seem to know. She was most distraught.”
“Forgive me for my ignorance, ma’am, but how did this communication take place? Did she speak so everyone could hear? Or so only you could hear?”
A frown tells me I’ve lost points here. Again, I’m faced with the problem of history melding into an amorphous blob in my brain. How did a séance now differ from, say, one in the 1920s? Was this the period of spirit cabinets? Ectoplasm? Levitation?
Right. Focus on what I’ve read with Isla. Definitely no ectoplasm. That must come later.
I pass the medium a wry smile. “I truly know very little of your craft, ma’am, as fascinating as it is. I understand the concept of rapping. Is that how the spirits communicate?”
She relaxes and returns my smile. “It is one method. There are others, such as planchettes and automatic writing. Some mediums even have the spirits speak through them, but that is rare. I have had little luck with those methods. I work best with rapping.”
“So the spirit raps in response to questions.”
“Yes. It begins when I feel a presence. In this case, I would ask whether the spirit is Mrs. Emerson, the recently deceased friend of Lady Adler, and the mother of Miss Emerson here.”
She indicates the young woman who has said nothing during all this, and I feel a pang of sympathy for Miss Emerson.
She came hoping to speak to her dead mother, and instead they allegedly contacted someone else, and now her mother has been forgotten while Miss Emerson is forced to sit politely through this.
Madame Paix continues, “The spirit rapped twice, for no. I would then ask whether they came to speak to someone present. Once for yes. I went around the table, naming the participants and asking again.” She smiles.
“I will not bore you with all the steps. Answers are given by rapping yes or no, and then, when questions become more complex, they rap for letters of the alphabet. That is how we knew she was Nellie, and it is also how we knew she wished for Dr. Gray.”
“Spelling out the names.”
“Yes. First, we identified her. That led to much disconcertion as Lady Adler realized the poor girl was dead. I asked whether it was an illness, accident … and the answer fell on murder. I asked how. No response. I asked who. No response.”
“That is not unusual,” Freddie cuts in. “I have made great study of the science, ever since my sister’s gifts became clear.
Sadly, those dead at another’s hand often do not know who did the deed.
If they did, imagine how much easier police work would be?
Police offices could all have a medium on staff to speak to the dead and ask who killed them. ”
I school my expression not to react to that.
“Whatever the reason,” Madame Paix says, “Nellie would or could not elaborate. She only indicated that we needed to summon Dr. Gray to find her killer.”
“Perhaps she will tell him,” Freddie says. “Dr. Gray, join us. We will contact Nellie again—”
“I believe that is enough for one evening.”
I follow the voice to the man sitting on Madame Paix’s other side. Her husband, Mr. Parsons. He’s rising, his gaze fixed firmly on his brother-in-law.
“Stella has had a very long evening. She cannot be asked to do more so soon.”
“But—”
“Mr.…” I begin. “Parsons, yes? Or did I mishear?”
“It is Parsons for both of us,” Madame Paix says with a sheepish smile. “Paix is a stage name.”
“It means ‘peace’ in French,” her brother interjects. “Stella wishes to bring peace to all, the dead and their relatives.”
“Mrs. Parsons is fine,” she says. “I am Stella Parsons, and this is my husband, Edgar Parsons, and my brother, Freddie Home.”
“Have you heard that name?” Freddie says. “Home?”
“Freddie?” Parsons says, chill warning in his voice. “That is enough.”
His sister pats his hand. “It is, Freddie. Please. Edgar is right that this has been a very long evening for me. We can certainly try to contact Nellie again, but not tonight.”
I expected she’d leap at the chance to perform. While I’m glad I didn’t need to talk her out of it—for Gray’s sake—the fact that she’s demurring suggests she really doesn’t want to do it again. Not in front of a detective, at least, who might scrutinize her methods much more closely.
With this, I decide I have indeed fulfilled step one and made everyone feel heard. Time for step two.