A Death in the Asylum (3 page)

‘You’re surely not expecting us to call you Lady Grey?’ said Baggy. ‘I mean, I respect your profession and all that, but you’re not actually titled, are you?’

‘I thought we were all using our professional names tonight. Or was I wrong, Agnes?’ she shot at Madam Arcana.

The dressing gong sounded. Baggy laughed nervously. ‘Saved by the bell, what?’

‘Indeed, I must dress,’ said Beatrice. ‘Where is my room?’ she demanded of me.

‘I’m sorry, miss, I don’t know. I will enquire for you.’

‘Don’t know! What kind of a ramshackle household do you run, Richie?’

Miss Richenda was forced to explain who I was and ended by saying, ‘Madam Arcana has requested she be present at the séance tonight.’

Beatrice shrugged. ‘If she’s one of Bertie’s servants she’s hardly likely to be a plant.’ She turned to give Madam Arcana a toothy smile. ‘I must be on the lookout for anyone else with useful vibes. I’m sensitive myself.’

‘You hide it so well,’ answered Madam Arcana.

At this point I slipped out of the room and went to find someone to install Beatrice in her no doubt woefully inadequate chamber.

I helped as best I could as the household swung into action. After my long journey I was eager for my bed. Being not officially on staff I intended to head upstairs as soon as I thought Merry and Mrs D no longer needed me. I was therefore somewhat disappointed when Rory came to summon me.

‘They want you upstairs at yon spook table,’ he said.

‘There’s no need to look so disapproving,’ I answered. ‘I have no desire to attend.’

‘Quite an argument about it, I heard, but Madam Arcana was insistent.’

‘I’m not on staff.’

‘Mr Bertram has endorsed it,’ said Rory.

‘What! He’s involved in this charade?’

‘The whole family are.’

‘They must be mad,’ I said with feeling, but I followed Rory upstairs. He didn’t even come into the room, but ushered me in and closed the door.

Around the table sat Madam Arcana, Miss Richenda, Beatrice, Lord Stapleford, Mr Bertram, Max Tipton, two ladies I didn’t recognise and Mrs Wilson. My jaw dropped.

‘Opposite me, dear,’ said Madam Arcana.

Mr Bertram and Beatrice shifted their seats to allow me in. They made an unfortunate couple. Mr Bertram looked somewhat sheepish and Beatrice mulish.

‘Now we have our two independent sensitives present we can begin,’ said Madam Arcana. ‘If you will all place the index finger of your left hand on the glass in the centre of the table.’

‘How bally exciting,’ said Baggy.

‘If I can ask for absolute silence? No one must remove their finger from the glass and no one must deliberately move it. I assure you I will know.’

Madam Arcana raised her face to the ceiling. Her large purple turban slipped dangerously backwards as she enquired in a loud stage whisper of the plaster above her, ‘Is there anybody there?’

Under my fingertips the glass jerked and began to move.

¹
Please see my journal
A Death in the Family
for full details

²
This story is recounted in
A Death in the Highlands

Chapter Two:
A Spirited Experience

‘Good gad!’ barked Mr Bertram.

My employer’s startled exclamation brought me back to my senses. My father had lamented the foolishness of those using spirit boards, but he had never believed in them. Who should I trust now: the late Rev Joshia Martins or Madam Arcana? The answer was obvious. I lowered my head slightly, so I could appear to be watching the glass while watching the faces of the guests. Indeed no one needed to watch as Beatrice was loudly sounding out the letters. Her face was oddly pale and she was sweating unbecomingly along her top lip. Tiny tendrils of hair curled at her temples. Perhaps a man might have thought it becoming. I found her suspicious.

‘H-A-R-R-I-S! Does that mean anything to anyone?’ asked Beatrice.

Lord Richard shouted with laughter.

‘Is he a relative of one present, who has passed over?’ asked Madam Arcana in a soft but carrying whisper.

‘It’d be nice to think the bug-blasted man was dead,’ said Lord Richard, whose nose I now realised was ruddy with whisky drinking. ‘But I expect he’s off tormenting some other household.’

‘I think, sir, if you have no objection I will retire,’ said Mrs Wilson. ‘With the house at this level of occupation there is much for me to do to ensure yourself and your guests are adequately provided for.’

‘Baggy, was that you?’ asked Richenda and then to my surprise she laughed. ‘You are a naughty boy! But such a scream!’

I looked in astonishment from Richenda to Tipton. Their eyes lingered on each other in a manner that was quite unsuitable so soon after dinner.

‘Really,’ said Madam Arcana. ‘I understood this was to be a serious experiment. I am not some kind of circus act!’ She was actually quivering with indignation. Did she believe this nonsense or was she annoyed at someone playing her at her own game? Mr Bertram met my gaze across the table and I could see he was thinking the same thing.

‘Perhaps …’ he began.

‘Richenda! Control your guests,’ said Beatrice. ‘I too thought this was a proper experiment. And it is so rude to Madam Arcana to cheat.’ She paused. ‘Although I suppose it would make an interesting piece.’

All the participants went white as the ghosts they were trying to summon at this pronouncement.

‘I’ll behave. Word of honour,’ said Baggy. ‘This lark’s all new to me. Just a bit on the nervous side. High spirited, don’cha know?’ He laughed at his own joke and fingered his collar. ‘Haven’t broken it, have I, Madam A? Give it my full attention now. Word of a gentleman.’

I wasn’t sure, but I thought Mr Bertram snorted slightly at this last pronouncement, but he may have been clearing his throat. Mrs Deighton had made her version of French chicken this evening and, much as I applaud her cuisine generally, even I had to admit it was unfortunately sticky.

Madam Arcana, who had half-risen, looked around the table. It might have been my imagination, but it was again Beatrice who appeared to have the most remarkable effect. ‘If Miss Wilton, or should I say Lady Grey, wishes me to continue.’

‘Only too eager,’ said Beatrice sweetly.

‘If you could all concentrate once more on the glass,’ said Madam Arcana.

‘Really, Lord Richard, I don’t believe my presence is necessary,’ said Mrs Wilson.

‘Shut up, Wilson,’ said Lord Stapleford.

Madam Arcana once more raised her eyes to the ceiling, severely endangering her turban. ‘Is there anybody there who wants to speak to anybody here?’

Nothing happened.

‘Is there anybody there?’

It felt as if we waited an age, but a collective hush had descended and no one appeared to be willing to break it. My left calf cramped, but I didn’t dare move. Somehow as a group we had moved from doubt to expectation. I can only explain it by the lessening of light and encroaching indigestion.

I was going to have to stretch my leg soon or risk suddenly contorting in agony. If only I was taller and didn’t have such short arms. I was at full stretch reaching out to the glass. Perhaps I could ease …

The glass jerked under my finger.

‘W-H-Y-D-I-D-N-T-Y-O-U-W-A-N-T-M-E-M-U-M-M-Y. Why didn’t you want me, Mummy?’ asked Beatrice looking around the table. ‘Has anyone here lost a child?’

‘Not that I know of,’ said Lord Richard.

‘Dickie!’ protested Bertram. ‘There are ladies present.’

‘Damn thing is nothing but a freak show.’

‘If that will be all, Lord Richard,’ said Mrs Wilson.

‘If I have to stay, you have to stay,’ said Lord Richard.

‘Really, Lord Richard, I cannot see how this forms part of my duties.’

‘Hush,’ said Beatrice. ‘The spirit may still be with us. The glass is warm.’

‘By Jove, so it is,’ said Baggy. ‘I think we’ve snagged a live one!’

The glass began slowly to move.

‘M-U-M-M-’ said Beatrice.

Mrs Wilson shot to her feet, sending the glass flying across the table. The light in the room was dim, but to my astonishment I could see she was shaking. ‘This is ungodly!’ she cried. ‘I will have no more of it.’ She stormed out of the room.

‘Good gad!’ said Mr Bertram again. ‘I’ve never seen Mrs W show emotion.’

‘She certainly seemed upset,’ said Beatrice. ‘Did she and Mr Wilson lose a child?’

‘It’s a courtesy title,’ said Richenda. ‘As far as I know she’s never been married, has she, Richard?’

‘Shouldn’t think she’s ever even been kissed,’ answered her brother. ‘Let alone known a man.’

‘Richard!’ protested Bertram. ‘You’re drunk.’

‘My house!’

‘That’s debatable,’ said Richenda.

I slipped out of my chair. Not only was my leg very sore, but I had been a servant long enough to know any servant who observes their masters arguing is on a road to trouble. I had reached the door when Madam Arcana caught up with me.

‘If you could point me in the direction of the small parlour?’ she said. ‘I was assured there would be tea waiting for me after the event. I do require some time in solitude to collect myself.’

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘I’ll show you.’

We crossed the black and white tiled hall, our footsteps echoing on the marble until we reached the swirling rug at the centre and both became quiet for a few moments.

‘Ghastly thing,’ said Madam Arcana. ‘Poor Richenda has no taste.’

I smiled slightly. There was no way even someone who loved Miss Richenda could defend her taste.

‘I know you think it’s all a show,’ said Madam Arcana as we entered the parlour. ‘But the spirits are real.’

I smiled and nodded and made to take my leave. Madam Arcana caught me by the arm. It was not a bruising grip, but it was surprisingly strong. ‘I saw you looking. That first time. Not watching the glass.’

‘I-I didn’t move it!’

‘No, of course you didn’t, dear. You clearly disapprove of such things. You have the look of someone brought up in a vicarage, which is why I wonder if the message could be for you.’

‘Message?’ I said. Unruly hairs on the back of my neck were now standing straight up.

‘Harris, the servant – that was one of the men. Heaven knows Lord Stapleford was drunk enough to do it himself, but Mr Tipton also strikes me as a foolish sort of young fellow.’

‘Do you mean the message about the child?’ I asked aghast, focusing on how this might relate to me.

‘No, no. That was false as well,’ said Madam Arcana waving her free hand dismissively. ‘Really if people want to pay me money to watch them move their own glassware around the table it is their own business.’ She released me and headed for the biscuit plate. ‘Although, of course, if that’s all that happens it can tend to give one a bit of a reputation. It’s a pity Lady Grey was here. I was hopeful about that.’

‘Beatrice? But Mr Tipton said it wasn’t a real title.’

Madam Arcana sank down in a billow of scarves. A small smile played across her lips. She knew she had my interest. ‘Beatrice Wilton. She’s one of the Wilton newspaper family. They own them, of course, as opposed to write in ’em. Bea’s the exception. They let her write a little column about gossip – Lady Grey’s Notes. It gets her invited to all the right parties, which is all the Wiltons want, but Bea, if I’m not mistaken, wants a little more. I think,’ she leaned conspiratorially forward and whispered, ‘she might consider herself a writer.’ She sat back, tutting and shaking a head. ‘Very nasty for the family. Of course one knows writers, but no one wants one in the family.’

‘What makes you think she has, er, aspirations?’

‘Long words, dear. She uses long words. In her column and even over dinner. Not the done thing at all.’

‘But surely if she’s writing a gossip column she is a writer,’ I persisted.

Madam Arcana took an enormous bite out of a biscuit and slurped some tea. ‘Not the same thing. Ladies like a little gossip and like to see bits about themselves in the papers. Men, being the dominant gender or so we let them think, write news. It gives them the illusion that they run things. None of the Wilton papers would ever allow a member of the weaker sex to write actual news.’

‘I see,’ I said. Though it must have been plain I didn’t. ‘Anyway, if you have everything you need …’

‘Oh yes, tickety-boo,’ said Madam Arcana. ‘Your Mrs Wilson has made the tea exactly to my instructions. Dry old stick, but she knows her job. Definitely a touch of the good stuff in this.’

I blinked and backed towards the door.

‘Message, ah yes. These things sometimes come through to me. Especially when I’m focusing. Even if my attendees are up to their own tricks. An older man, kindly, vicarly, I’d say if pushed, but not on record …’

‘A vicar?’ I clenched my fists. Of course, if she’d been asking around the servants she might have heard reports I grew up in a vicarage. I’d been foolish enough to tell Rory that although it was at odds with what I had told the Staplefords. A horrible thought struck me – was Madam Arcana trying to blackmail me?

‘Oh, they come through all the time. Terribly annoying. But as I tell them there’s no point preaching. Stands to reason anyone in the room hasn’t heeded the church’s warnings or they wouldn’t be there, so why they should listen to a clergyman just because he’s dead … Though I suppose you’d expect them to have a better handle on how the afterlife works from a professional point of view. But honestly, they never have anything good for a séance. It’s all about lost cats, elderly relatives and church roofs.’

‘I don’t work here,’ I said trying to avert any attempt to winkle family secrets from me. ‘I’m on Mr Bertram’s staff. We were flooded out.’

‘That explains why he was babbling about rising waters,’ said Madam Arcana promptly.

I began to feel rather angry. The woman was definitely trying to trick me. I did my best to copy my mother’s haughtiest expression.
³
‘I strongly doubt the message was for me.’

‘And if he doesn’t think you’re the image of your mother when you do that,’ said Madam Arcana laughing.

‘He’s here?’

Madam Arcana shook her head. ‘It’s difficult to explain – especially to non-believers. It’s more a sense of a person – an impression – and it tends to stay for a short while before it fades. But no, I wouldn’t say he was here.’

‘In that case,’ I said opening the door.

‘He said to tell you to beware your enemies.’ Madam Arcana shook her head. ‘No, that’s not it. He said: “Beware for your enemies”. Doesn’t make a lot of sense to me, but hopefully you’ll figure it out. He seemed rather agitated about it. And there was a feeling too. Like something very bad was going to happen. But there you go. Spirits are always trying to put the willies up us mortals. I sometimes think it’s the only fun they get.’ She settled back against the cushions and closed her eyes. ‘Probably nothing for you to worry about, dear.’

‘No,’ I said.

Madam Arcana opened one eye. ‘I mean, it’s not like you feel that too, is it?’

I didn’t reply but closed the door quietly behind me. I made my way quickly to my chamber. As I undressed in the dark I found, to my annoyance, I was shaking. The wretched woman had been right. I couldn’t put my finger on it and I certainly didn’t believe it was anything to do with spirits, but from the moment I’d stepped through the portals of Stapleford Hall I had been experiencing a rising sense of dread and right now, as I blew out my candle, and sent my room into pitch blackness, I was so afraid of what was to come that my heart was hammering like a drum.

When I reached my long-awaited bed sleep perversely did not come easily. I must have been dozing when the disturbance came because I found myself halfway down the stairs before I was fully awake. Rory and I arrived in the hall at the same time. I blushed furiously. I had not thought to snatch up my dressing gown the noise had been so terrible and my nightgown was certainly not adequate dress for an innocent nocturnal meeting. ‘Did you hear that?’ I asked, trying to cover my embarrassment. ‘Someone is in terrible trouble.’

Rory’s eyes flickered over my dress and he turned his head away. ‘Euphemia, get back to bed!’ he said.

At this point Mr Bertram appeared, running. He looked from one of us to the other and his face grew dark with anger. ‘What are you doing …?’

He was interrupted by a crash and a cry, similar to the one that had awoken me. ‘It wasn’t a dream,’ I said.

The sounds echoed around us in the large hall. ‘Which way?’ asked Mr Bertram, temporarily forgetting his righteous anger. But Rory had keener ears than either of us and he was already off, running towards the kitchen.

‘Euphemia, stay here,’ barked Mr Bertram and headed after him.

Of course I did no such thing. It was clearly a woman screaming and to be found in whatever dire predicament we all obviously feared without female support to hand was not to be thought of.

I pelted along the corridor. There was another loud cry and then came the sound of fighting. I realised it was coming from Mrs Wilson’s room. But why would anyone … I had no time to complete the thought as a man in black with a scarf wrapped around his head appeared from around the corner. He was running at full tilt. I tried to dodge out of the way, but servants’ passages are always narrow. I had one glimpse of glittering blue eyes, before I was roughly pushed aside. He caught me completely off balance. I staggered on the spot, trying to regain my balance, but my bare feet slipped on the tiles and I went down. My head met the wall and blackness overwhelmed me.