Chapter 3 #2
“So then,” Sir Hubert said, peering over the dame’s shoulder, “we have five suspects. Three of whom are in this room, and wouldn’t have a reason to steal the journal, for it would be against our best interests.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Edith said rather airily. “It wouldn’t help my reputation to have my Sense publicized. It’s bad enough my sister died a scandalous death. With me yet unmarried, my mother hopes I’ll make a match.”
Dame Hartwell waved her hand at Edith for even suggesting it.
“And you well know, given it was your mother’s séance that brought back your sister and caused such a ruckus in my house.
She would love to further legitimize your abilities and perhaps snag a wealthy Spiritualist as your husband.
No, my dear, it is only slightly entertaining and not all that plausible that you would have stolen the journal. ”
Edith shrugged with a small smile. “Well, we all know how my mother feels about it. If I must be a medium, I might as well use it to my marriage advantage. No one ever really asks me about such things, anyway.”
“Well, when a woman advances to nearly thirty, and takes no care for her appearance! I don’t wonder at your mother’s concern, or her more .
. . inventive ways to entice suitors into her home.
” Dame Hartwell turned her attention to her paper, missing Edith’s hurt flinch.
“Especially when the more eligible daughter died while eloping.”
Edith’s mouth dropped open. She turned a rather unsightly shade of pink.
Dame Hartwell, frowning at her list, jumped when Sir Hubert’s hand landed rather heavily on her shoulder. She looked up at him, disconcerted to find disapproval etched into his handsome face. “What is it?”
“Madam, you’ve done an excellent job insulting your own two friends in as many minutes. Perhaps you ought to have a cup of tea and a biscuit yourself.”
Dame Hartwell stood. “Are you accusing me of being irrational because I’m hungry?”
“I’m not accusing you of anything,” Sir Hubert said. He moved to stand beside Edith, who bit her trembling lip and looked away from the dame. “I’m simply saying we’ve come to you for help, and as our sponsor”—he said the word with great emphasis—“I would hope you’d at least have some sensitivity.”
“Why should my being a sponsor have anything to do with my sensitivities? Stop speaking in riddles, my dear man. Though we’re surrounded by mediums, we’ve no excuse to speak like them.”
Jaw hardening, Sir Hubert said, “Well, then. What would you like us to do, my lady? You have your list of suspects, one of which you can’t even find. You insist the spirits have nothing to do with this, which Miss Edith and I disagree with, but you’re unlikely to be persuaded.”
“Very unlikely!”
“So we are at an impasse,” Edith murmured. “I can see why you didn’t want to tell her.”
Thus began Dame Hartwell’s increased splutterings and flutterings.
She sat back in her seat, folding her hands into her lap.
“I’ve never been spoken to in such a manner, and I don’t care to hear such attitudes.
You treat this as if tragedy has struck, rather than adventure! Really, I thought more of you.”
“And I of you,” Sir Hubert snapped.
Sir Hubert and Dame Hartwell glared at one another, the tension between them warming the room.
Staring into a man’s eyes wasn’t something Dame Hartwell often did.
She was loath to feel a blush coming on.
And she a matron! This wouldn’t do. She needed Sir Hubert and Edith on her side.
With Mary and Tessa gone on their honeymoons, the dame hadn’t anyone to run her séances or entertain her.
Ah well, best to get a scant apology over with, so they might return to the missing journal.
“Come, come,” Dame Hartwell said, holding out her hand with a sudden smile. “We aren’t at odds with one another. It’s the spirits making us frustrated with our situation.”
Edith’s brow rose slightly.
Sir Hubert’s eyes narrowed, but he accepted the dame’s hand. As his lips brushed against her fingers, her heart fluttered. Surely she imagined him lingering a hair longer than necessary.
“My apologies for being so overwrought, my lady.”
“And my apologies for making light of the situation,” the dame found herself saying. When he blinked as though she had sprouted a second head with horns, Dame Hartwell wondered when she had last apologized for anything.
“So we’re to have a dinner party, then?” Edith said, gesturing to the short list of suspects.
“A dinner party. Why on earth would we do that?” Dame Hartwell scoffed. “No, indeed, we’ll have another séance.”
“But that’s what got us into this mess,” Sir Hubert exclaimed. Edith nodded her agreement.
Dame Hartwell’s firm nod revealed her conviction.
“A séance is the only thing to do in such a moment, and certainly the only enticement worthy of our suspects. They would never respond to my invitation should it be for dinner. How banal. But a séance hosted at Hartwell House! And they having never been invited in a decade at least! Their curiosity will know no limits.” She rubbed her hands together with glee.
Edith frowned. “I suppose I ought to prepare, then, while you send the invitations?”
“Yes, my dear, you must get your rest. You still look rather peaked from last night. You need to have just the right amount of exhaustion to open your Sense. Too tired and the spirits might take over.”
Edith dipped her chin, a terrible habit that made her glasses drop to the end of her nose.
She was nothing like her sister Eloise. A bluestocking rarely up for an adventure.
With such latent abilities for speaking to Beyond or utilizing her Sense, she couldn’t help but be a conduit. A hesitant medium, indeed.
Dame Hartwell shooed Edith and Sir Hubert away. They would discover the journal one way or another.