In which victims acquiesce
Dame Hartwell woke with a headache and a grumble.
Her cheeks reddened at finding herself in Sir Hubert’s concerned arms. He had acted with much haste and caught the lady before she hit the ground.
She leaped away from him with an undignified clearing of her throat just as Pomeroy entered the room with Mr. Martinvale’s colorful missive.
Mr. Theodosius Martinvale had rejected the dame’s invitation. He sprinkled his response with a great many words this author couldn’t possibly print. And Pomeroy confirmed that Dame Hartwell’s network of informants never located the ever-evasive Madam Sylvia.
A wrinkle in the dame’s plans, but nothing unrecoverable.
“What are we to do now?” Dame Hartwell said, putting more distance between herself and Sir Hubert. “We need three persons besides dear Edith for our séance—Sir William was always quite clear about that!”
Edith glanced at Sir William’s ghost, who rolled his eyes and shrugged. “She’s always been particular about her events,” he said. “You might as well indulge her.”
Edith narrowed her eyes at Sir William. “Well, he’s saying no such thing now,” she lied. “Simply that the séance must happen.”
“Edith,” Dame Hartwell said, waving her hand. “Don’t be quarrelsome, I know how to run a séance.”
Sir William gestured at his widow with a smirk.
Edith pressed her lips together.
“I think we shouldn’t upset our medium,” Sir Hubert said, hands behind his back and watching the scene with great interest. “You’ve been seeking a connection with your husband for ten years, madam. Don’t you think you could appease her to finally get what you want?”
That startled the dame into looking directly at Sir Hubert. “What I want?”
Edith observed a flattering flush bloom across the dame’s cheeks, and the way her gaze flitted around the room only to land on Sir Hubert again.
“You were always a stalwart member of the spiritualist societies before Sir William’s death. But after . . .” Sir Hubert trailed off. “I just wonder, my dear, why you’re doing all of this. And now that you’ve a chance to speak with your husband, you’re finding excuses to delay the conversation.”
Dame Hartwell scowled. “You’re very irritating when you know you’re right, did you know that?”
Sir Hubert grinned. “So my dear niece tells me.”
“Why wouldn’t she want to speak to me?” Sir William asked Edith.
“I haven’t any idea,” Edith murmured to Sir William. “I’m a terrible detective, it turns out.”
The dame spun on her heel to face Pomeroy, who stood, as all proper butlers did, quite still. Edith wondered whether butlers did this out of an implicit sense of survival. It was unnerving how they knew to stand so very still, often without blinking.
“You will join us to complete the circle, I think,” Dame Hartwell said, tapping Pomeroy’s arm. “Your timing is, as always, perfection on such short notice.”
“Of course,” Pomeroy said, as if all butlers expected to be last-minute invitees to séances connecting their temporary widowed mistress with their departed husbands.
After a pot of tea to soothe the nerves, Pomeroy closed the heavy velvet drapes. Another of Dame Hartwell’s particulars to ensure a successful séance.
Sir William was, by this point, audibly huffing his impatience. “She doesn’t need to be doing all these things. I’ll gladly tell her why I stole the blasted journal.”
“Language, Sir William,” Edith gasped.
“I’m confused, Edith,” Sir Hubert said. He selected the chair beside her, with Dame Hartwell taking his hand and Pomeroy taking hers to complete the circle. “If you can speak with Sir William already, why must we perform this séance?”
Dame Hartwell’s pensive expression caused Sir William to stand behind her, looking as if he intended to place his hand on her shoulder.
“Despite the fact Sir William haunted you these ten years, it has been without the ability to actually connect with you.” Edith rubbed her aching temples.
“Yes, yes, but why now? Why steal Sir Hubert’s journal? What will the séance accomplish?” Dame Hartwell asked.
“With your permission,” Sir William said abruptly to Edith before sitting in her lap.
Possessions ranged from uncomfortable to terrifying, each unique to the ghost and victim. In this case, Edith gasped as if doused by a bucket of cold water, slumping in her chair. Her head lolled forward. All she could think was, “Not again.”
“Keep hold of her hands,” Edith heard Dame Hartwell say, but it was muffled, as though she were underwater.
Edith blinked and found herself alone in a large white room with Sir William. There were no windows, no doors. But there stood Sir William, holding that journal.
“You possessed me!” Edith snapped, pointing at him.
He smiled and disappeared with a popping noise. Edith demanded Sir William come back and release her. Instead, a window appeared in the middle of the air, with a delightfully plump chaise situated for viewing.
Resigned, Edith curled onto the chaise. She willed the window to show her what was happening. Edith knew this window represented her eyes and ears while possessed. That the window appeared so quickly showcased Sir William’s intent she receive a show for her troubles.
These were Edith’s observations.
The lights remained dim. Pomeroy, Dame Hartwell, and Sir Hubert’s hands remained clasped. Indeed, Dame Hartwell was instructing the gentlemen to not lose their grip, should Edith rise to the ceiling.
Sir William made Edith’s body sit up, startling the trio into a wary silence. In the middle of the table, Sir Hubert’s journal shimmered into view.
“The journal,” Sir Hubert breathed. He moved to grab it, but Pomeroy and Dame Hartwell held him in place.
Sir William used Edith’s eyes to study Dame Hartwell, who squirmed under the attention. Were Edith not trapped in her own mind, she might have chuckled.
“Sir,” Pomeroy said, breaking the silence, “perhaps the journal was never the object.”
“No,” Edith said with Sir William’s voice echoing in her undertones, “the journal was never the object.”
“Sir William,” Dame Hartwell whispered.
“Aurelia,” Sir William-as-Edith replied. His voice grew stronger until Edith’s voice became merely echoes in his higher tones. “I’ve gone through a lot of trouble to contact you.”
“You’ve caused me a great deal of grief,” Sir Hubert muttered.
“This is for your benefit, too, old boy,” Sir William said.
“My benefit! To steal my life’s research on a ridiculous goose chase, all for you to speak to your widow?”
“Yes,” Sir William said, leaning Edith’s body forward to stare Sir Hubert in the face. “Because the two of you dance around me as if I’m still here.”
“But you are here,” Dame Hartwell said. Her voice warbled.
Sir William turned to smile at her. “You’ve sought me out for a decade, Aurelia. I haven’t the foggiest clue why we couldn’t speak until now, and why it had to be this medium rather than all the others you’ve paraded through my house.”
Dame Hartwell sniffed. “They came with excellent references, all of them.”
“And yet, only the ones hesitant to speak with Beyond manage to do it.” Sir William sighed. “Do you know this medium’s power? And why it needed to be her?”
Sir Hubert’s mouth worked. “She can touch the spirits.”
“More than that,” Sir William said. “She can open doors for spirits. How many have come here, seeking their final rest with her light touch on their hand?”
Dame Hartwell and Sir Hubert shared a concerned glance.
“What will it do to you, possessing her?”
“I suppose expedite the process, which is why I can only do this once.” Sir William glared at his wife. “You like him.”
Dame Hartwell gaped at him. “I like who?”
Sir William gestured to Sir Hubert with Edith’s head. “You fancy Sir Hubert. You always have, I just happened to propose first, and your father liked me more.”
Sir Hubert cleared his throat. “I beg to differ, I did propose once, long ago, and was rebuffed.”
“Certainly we’re not rehashing this story again, and in front of Pomeroy and Edith!
” Dame Hartwell snapped. “I suppose we can drop our hands, then. This isn’t even a séance, it’s a possession.
And now we don’t even have a medium to pull you out.
Oh Sir William, this is an awful mess! Why not leave a message all these years?
And why are you going on about this nonsense with me fancying Sir Hubert? ”
Sir William dropped Edith’s hands to the table, making her stand to tower over the dame.
“Because while I could whisper in your dreams, I couldn’t break through your guilt.
He has always been a good friend to us, my dear.
I don’t mind that you’ve grown ever fonder.
But now we must say our final goodbyes. You shouldn’t forever mourn me. ”
“Are you saying you stole my journal for the excuse to tell your widow to stop mourning you?” Sir Hubert exploded. “Of all the childish things, Hartwell, really!”
“No more childish than you two making eyes at each other, pretending you’re not,” Sir William retorted.
“So this is what’s come of our great mystery,” Dame Hartwell moaned. She hid her face behind her hands. “You’re nothing but a pilfering phantom.”
“I prefer philanthropist,” Sir William said. He leaned over to kiss the dame’s crown. “And notice that you’ve yet to deny my theory. You do care for one another.”
“Of course,” Sir Hubert said, shifting in his seat. “It’s as you said, we are friends of old.”
“And what did I make you promise with my last breath?”
Edith, in her mind-room, sat up, while Dame Hartwell stared at Sir Hubert.
“That I would take care of her,” Sir Hubert said. “And I have, from afar. Dropping notes about Tessa’s whereabouts and progression into her Sense, sending references for reputable mediums, or so I thought . . .”
“You were encouraging my séances from the Continent?” the dame demanded. “Have you two manipulated all my endeavors? And by the two men I held most dear!”
“Held?” Sir William challenged.
“Oh have it your way then! Yes, of course I care for Sir Hubert, he has an amazing mind and his publication will be one of the finest spiritualist publications.”
“And?” Sir William prodded.
“And?” Dame Hartwell huffed. “What else could there be?”
Sir Hubert began to smile.
Edith opened the mind-window. She supposed this might allow her to speak so the others could hear her. The actual logistics were rather confusing, and not the point of this story.
Edith chimed in, “Dame Hartwell watches Sir Hubert when he’s chewing his pencil.
She has the oddest little smile. She pretends that she hates that he loses things, but it is her favorite activity to find things for him.
And Sir Hubert, when he thinks the dame doesn’t notice, can sometimes fall into a rather dreamy expression that makes one think he just ate the most delicious biscuit, and—”
“Thank you, Edith,” Sir William said. “I think they understand your point.”
Sir Hubert and Dame Hartwell stared as if they had never truly seen each other before. Without speaking, they clasped hands over the journal with shy smiles.
“You needn’t look for me anymore, Aurelia,” Sir William said. “You found me, and now, you’ll let me go. I do wish the best for you.” He kissed her temple. “Please don’t make me come back to haunt you into communicating. I don’t think Edith would appreciate the intrusion.”
Dame Hartwell’s chuckle sounded rather wet, and Edith was shocked to find her crying. “I will always love you. You were an excellent husband and father. And ghost, apparently!”
“I know,” Sir William said, catching her chin with a knuckle. “And now our children are married, you have a bustling spiritualist society to sponsor, and an absent-minded researcher to tend to.”
Sir Hubert muttered something about being called absent-minded, but the shining smile Dame Hartwell bestowed upon him wiped away his annoyance.
“I believe this calls for cake,” Pomeroy said, standing from the table. “If Sir William would allow Miss Carterprice to rejoin us?”
“Of course, of course. Enjoy yourselves, my friends.”
With a shuddering breath, Edith slumped forward, once again in full control of her faculties.
She blinked, righting her askew glasses.
The heated look forming between Sir Hubert and Dame Hartwell, of an entirely different manner than their earlier arguments, prompted Edith to follow Pomeroy.
“I think I’ll just help him with that cake! ”
Read Edith’s own romantic adventure in the upcoming novel, An Uncanny Bargain, and see how Sir Hubert and Dame Hartwell met in A Spirited Engagement.