Chapter One
Miriam gazed up at the black door; more specifically, the brass number displayed upon it.
Thirty-Three.
This was the place. Thirty-Three Stonefeather Road. A smart, red-brick terraced house, identical to every other terraced house on this unremarkable London street.
Anticipation and guilt, like two willful entities, were fighting a tug-of-war with Miriam’s conscience.
She glanced left and right, seeing no one, then stepped up to the door and gave it four solid raps with the brass knocker.
The door opened almost immediately, and a tall, thin silver-haired man of advanced years swept a dark-eyed gaze over Miriam.
“Your name?” he asked.
“Thornleigh,” she replied, cheeks warming slightly as the lie left her mouth. “Miriam Thornleigh.”
“Do you have your coin, Miss Thornleigh?”
Miriam reached into her small purse, retrieved the silver crown, and pressed it into the man’s outstretched palm.
“It’s the door at the end of the hall,” he said, stepping back. “Go on through. You don’t need to knock.”
Miriam gave another brief glance over her shoulder, then entered the house and continued down the hall.
She paused briefly at the door and took a breath before daring to turn the handle.
The door swung open with the creak one might have expected.
The room beyond, curtains drawn, lay in near darkness, the only light coming from a single candle, which flickered at the center of a large oval table.
Miriam felt the curious stares of those already seated at the table.
Six of them, two men and four women. Only one chair remained empty.
“Miss Thornleigh, I presume,” one of the women said, and patted the empty chair to her left. “Come. Sit, please. We are about to begin.”
Miriam entered and closed the door behind her, causing the candle flame to dance for a moment before settling back into a steady burn. As bidden, Miriam took her place next to the woman who, by nature of her greeting, had to be Miss Rosalind Grey, the host.
Miss Grey did not, however, remotely resemble the image Miriam had conjured up in her mind.
The lady’s hair wasn’t a glossy, raven black, but more the color of ripe wheat, each ringlet perfectly styled.
Nor did she present an austere countenance, but one that reflected cordiality.
And, whilst she was obviously older than Miriam, it was not by too many years.
A dozen at the most. As for Miss Grey’s attire, it was more suited to an afternoon tea-party than a gathering of this sort.
In short, Miss Rosalind Grey did not remotely represent Miriam’s idea of a woman who professed to communicate with the dead.
Nevertheless, she took the seat as bidden.
“Now that we’re all here,” Miss Grey began, “please join hands that we might unite our energy and allow the spirits to approach. They will speak through me, and I would ask that you remain silent as I open both mind and heart to them.”
There followed sounds of throats being cleared and chairs creaking as everyone joined hands. Miriam, stomach aflutter, took Miss Grey’s hand with her right and a gentleman’s hand with her left. Miss Grey closed her eyes and the room fell silent.
“I sense a presence,” Miss Grey said, after a moment, her hand tightening around Miriam’s. The man’s hand tightened briefly as well. Miriam held her breath. Please, Mama. Let it be you. Please.
“A man, I think,” Miss Grey continued, and Miriam’s heart sank. “Yes, definitely a man. His name… his name is… Edward? No, not Edward. Edwin.”
One of the women let out a squeak. “My husband! Edwin, my love, is that you? Is Mary with you?”
“She is,” Miss Grey replied after a moment, her hand still squeezing Miriam’s. “Edwin says you are not to worry. Mary is with him and no longer suffering.”
“Oh, thank God.” Eyes soft in the candlelight, the woman glanced around the table. “My eldest girl, taken by a fever barely two months ago.” She regarded Miss Grey once more. “And is Mother with them as well?”
“Indeed she is,” Miss Grey replied.
Fascinated, Miriam listened as the exchange continued. It was early yet, she told herself. There was still plenty of time for her own mother to speak. Even as Edwin’s wife scrubbed tears away, Miss Grey announced the arrival of another presence. A woman, this time.
Miriam held her breath.
“Elizabeth,” Miss Grey said, and the man’s hand squeezed Miriam’s again, harder this time. “But she was known as Beth,” Miss Grey continued. “She passed very young. Childbirth, I… think? Yes, childbirth.”
The man let go of Miriam’s hand. “My wife’s name was Elizabeth,” he said, his voice weak with obvious emotion, “but she was known as Beth. She died giving birth to our son.”
Miss Grey nodded. “Neville,” she replied, and the man gasped.
“Yes, Neville,” he replied, his voice breaking. “He’s a fine boy! Can Beth see him? Is she with him? With us?”
“Of course she can see him,” Miss Grey replied.
“And yes, the spirits are always with us. Beth is telling me what a wonderful father you are. She loves watching you and Neville together. She also thanks you for the flowers you placed on her grave yesterday.” Miss Grey smiled. “Lillies. Her favorite.”
The man gasped again. “This is remarkable,” he said, drawing mumbles of agreement from the others. “I miss you, Beth. We miss you.”
Miriam continued to listen as three more spirits made themselves known to those around the table.
Her fascination continued, but so did her disappointment and frustration.
Why had her mother not come forward? Given their closeness, she would surely have made an effort.
Miriam gathered as much will as she could, and focused her mind on what she wanted.
Her mother, here. Speaking to her through this medium, reassuring her.
Mama, I miss you so much. Please talk to me!
I need to know you’re still with me. I have no desire to marry Mr. Paget, but Silas has threatened to put me out if I continue to refuse.
He gets angry whenever I try to speak of it.
You know how he is! I’m frightened and helpless and have nowhere to go. Can you—?
Miriam opened her eyes as Miss Grey announced the presence of yet another spirit. Had the moment come at last? But no. It seemed Edwin had returned again, this time with his mother, Mabel.
“I cannot imagine why he brought her here,” Edwin’s wife said, looking affronted. “She and I never got along.”
“Acrimony does not exist on the other side,” Miss Grey explained.
“Well, I’m not on the other side yet,” the woman retorted. “Mabel was a vile woman when she was here. I find it difficult to believe she’s any different now she’s over there. In fact, I’m surprised she’s not in that…” her voice changed to a whisper, “other place.”
Miriam stifled a sigh as her hopes continued to dwindle.
She had put her name down as an attendee on impulse, driven by a desperate need to speak to someone she loved.
Someone who had loved her. But now she began to regret it.
Perhaps Silas was right, and the claim of “talking to the dead” was nothing more than a sham.
A sad parlor trick. Worse, a sin and a blasphemy.
Indeed, Miriam knew she’d be in deep trouble if he found out where she’d been.
As for the silver crown, the coin had been given to her as a child by her grandfather.
She had treasured it all her life, kept it safely in a small box at the back of her dresser drawer.
And now it was gone and likely all for naught.
She silently cursed her decision as another “spirit” showed himself. Yet another husband.
Disillusioned to the point of tears, Miriam drew a slow breath… and held it. For a fleeting moment, a floral scent infused the air, a scent so familiar it brought tears to her eyes. Mama? At the same time, Miss Grey’s hand tightened on hers again as the interaction with the male spirit continued.
Miriam exhaled and the scent vanished instantly, not a trace remaining. Had she imagined it? Was it wishful thinking? No one else around the table appeared to have noticed it. They were too busy listening to the exchange with the current spirit.
A while later, Miss Grey proclaimed the male spirit’s departure and then fell silent.
The silence continued for several minutes, those around the table fidgeting as the time went on.
Miriam paid little attention. She was still wondering if she’d imagined her mother’s scent, at the same time regretting her decision to partake in these blasphemous proceedings.
At last, Miss Grey spoke. “It appears, ladies and gentlemen, that the veil between worlds has descended and the spirits are no longer in reach.” She released Miriam’s hand.
“I hope those of you who connected found comfort in the experience. For the rest of you, do not despair. Just because your loved ones did not step forward tonight does not mean they aren’t with you.
I assure you, they are. I urge you to watch for signs of their presence, such as objects in your home being moved or disappearing, only to reappear later, or finding feathers or coins in unlikely places.
Please talk to your departed loved ones.
Share your hopes and dreams with them. They will hear you, I promise.
” She got to her feet. “I appreciate your participation and bid you a good day.”
Mumbling their thanks, the guests rose and began to leave. Miriam stifled another sigh and waited for the room to clear before stepping out. “Thank you, Miss Grey,” she said, and moved toward the door, only to be halted by a hand on her arm.
“Please wait a moment, Miss Thornleigh,” Miss Grey said, in hushed tones. “There is something I must discuss with you.”
Miriam’s stomach tightened. “Discuss?”
“Yes.” Miss Grey gave Miriam’s arm a gentle squeeze and went to close the door. “Have a seat, please.”
Miriam took the nearest chair, her heart rattling. “What is this about?”
“No need for concern.” Miss Grey smiled and sat beside Miriam. “Far from it, actually. It’s about Evadne. Your mother.”
Miriam gasped. “Mama is here?”
Miss Grey shook her head. “Not anymore.”
“What do you mean?” Miriam glanced around the room. “Was she here?”
“She was, yes,” Miss Grey replied. “I had a feeling there was a solitary presence lingering in the background throughout the scéance, but she didn’t step forward until several minutes ago, when she insisted on privacy.”
“Privacy?” Miriam gaped at Miss Grey as she absorbed the revelation. It made no sense. Why would her mother have insisted on privacy?
“Perhaps it had something to do with your identity, Miss Thornleigh,” Miss Grey said, as if reading Miriam’s chaotic thoughts. “Or perhaps I should say Miss Sinclair.”
Miriam gasped again, and a flush of warmth crept into her cheeks. “Mama told you that?”
Miss Grey inclined her head. “There are no lies beyond the veil, my dear. Duplicity is purely a mortal trait.”
Miriam winced. “There is a reason for my deceit, Miss Grey.”
“The fear of being found out by your guardian? What is he to you? I couldn’t quite grasp it.”
“He is my stepbrother,” Miriam replied. “I threw myself on his mercy when Mama died. A man of the cloth possessed of an ugly temper.”
Miss Grey sighed. “Yes, I sensed your mother’s dislike for him as well as her desire to protect you.
Maternal protection is one of the strongest forces under Heaven on both sides of the veil.
However, I also sensed her chastisement of you.
Coming here, albeit with good intent, is a risk she does not want you to repeat.
Your guardian, if he found out where you’d been this morning, would be angry. ”
“He’d be furious,” Miriam replied. “I am not deceitful by nature, Miss Grey. I changed my surname because I feared he might come to hear of my participation in the scéance. I just wanted to know Mama was still with me. Without her, I feel completely alone.”
“Rest assured, my dear, you are not alone,” Miss Grey replied. “Your mother is always with you. Nor did she make her presence known to me simply to scold you. She actually had a message for you, though I confess I don’t quite understand what it means. Perhaps you might make sense of it.”
Miriam tensed. “What message?”
“That each morning you must go to where she rests and wait for the angel to appear. You will then be afforded protection.”
“An angel?” Miriam shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“Nor I,” Miss Grey replied. “But I trust it and so must you.” She paused. “Who is Alice?”
“Alice.” Miriam pondered. “I cannot say. The name means nothing to me.”
“Hmm, well, it was a vague presence. In the background, so to speak. I heard only the name, but it seemed to be connected to all of this. Where does your mother rest?”
“Highgate Cemetery. And I already visit her most mornings.” Miriam heaved a sigh. “I must say, Miss Grey, I really didn’t know what to expect today, but it was not this. Nor can I begin to guess what Mama means by it all.”
“It is unusual but, like I said, you must trust it.” Miss Grey cleared her throat. “There is one more thing, Miss Sinclair.”
Miriam raised her brows. “Yes?”
“Your mother asked that I return your silver crown. It has sentimental value, I believe.”
“Oh! Yes, it does, but to return it would not be fair to you.”
“I shall return it, nevertheless,” Miss Grey replied, “but my fee will then be a debt owed and has a stipulation attached to it.”
“A stipulation?”
Miss Grey nodded. “That you keep me informed about the outcome of your mother’s demands and the meaning behind them. I confess, she is one of the most fascinating spirits I have ever encountered.”
“That is very kind, Miss Grey, but the crown is all the money I had. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to pay you back.”
“When you are able is all I ask.” Miss Grey leaned over and squeezed Miriam’s hand. “Your mother loves you very much, Miss Sinclair. You were her greatest joy in life, and I cannot wait to find out what all this means.”