To Say Nothing of the Dog

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Madame Iritosky was waiting in the foyer with nine pieces of luggage, a large black enameled cabinet, and Count de Vecchio.

“Madame Iritosky!” Mrs. Mering gushed. “What a delightful surprise! And Count! Baine, go and fetch the Colonel and tell him we have guests! He will be so pleased! You know Miss Brown,” she said, indicating Verity, “and this is Mr. Henry.”

We had followed her up to the house, Verity muttering, “What’s she doing here? I thought she never left her house.”

“Eet eez a pleasure, Signor Henree,” Count de Vecchio said, bowing to me.

“Why did you not let us know you were coming?” Mrs. Mering said. “Baine could have met you at the station.”

“I did not know myself until last night,” Madame Iritosky said, “when I received a message from the Other Side. One cannot ignore a summons from the spirits.”

She didn’t look like I’d expected. She was a short dumpling of a woman with a button nose, untidy gray hair, and a rather threadbare brown dress. Her hat was shabby, too, and the feathers on it looked like they had been appropriated from a rooster. The sort of person I would have expected Mrs. Mering to have turned up her nose at, but instead she was practically fawning over her.

“A message from the spirits!” Mrs. Mering said, clasping her hands. “How thrilling! What did they say?”

“ ‘Go!’ ” Madame Iritosky said dramatically.

“Avanti!” Count de Vecchio said. “They rapped eet out on the table. ‘Go.’ ”

“ ‘Go where?’ I asked them,” Madame Iritosky said, “and waited for them to rap an answer. But there was only silence.”

“Silencio,” the Count said helpfully.

“ ‘Go where?’ I asked again,” Madame Iritosky said, “and suddenly, there on the table before me was a white light that grew and grew until it became…” She paused dramatically. “…your letter.”

“My letter!” Mrs. Mering breathed, and I moved toward her, afraid we were going to have another swooning on our hands, but she recovered herself after swaying a moment. “I wrote to her, telling her of the spirits I had seen,” she said to me. “And now they have sent for her!”

“They are trying to tell you something,” Madame Iritosky said, gazing at the ceiling. “I feel their presence. They are here among us now.”

So were Tossie and Terence and Baine. And Colonel Mering, looking extremely irritated. He was wearing waders and carrying a fishing net. “What’s this all about?” he grumbled. “Better be important. Discussing the Battle of Monmouth with Peddick.”

“Miss Mering, amor mia,” the Count said, going immediately over to Tossie. “I am delighted to meet with you again.” He bowed over Tossie’s hand like he was going to kiss it.

“How do you do?” Terence said, stepping in front of her and extending his hand stiffly. “Terence St. Trewes, Miss Mering’s fiancé.”

The Count and Madame Iritosky exchanged glances.

“Mesiel, you will never guess who’s come!” Mrs. Mering said. “Madame Iritosky, allow me to introduce my husband, Colonel Mering!”

“Colonel Mering, thank you for welcoming us into your home,” Madame Iritosky said, bobbing her head and her rooster feathers at him.

“Hrrumm,” the Colonel muttered through his mustache.

“I told you I had seen a spirit, Mesiel,” Mrs. Mering said. “Madame Iritosky has come to contact it for us. She says the spirits are among us even now.”

“Don’t see how,” Colonel Mering grumbled. “No room for them in this damned foyer. Have a house. Don’t see why we have to all stand out here with the bags.”

“O, of course,” Mrs. Mering said, seeming to notice for the first time how crowded the foyer had got. “Come, Madame Iritosky, Count, let us go into the library. Baine, have Jane bring tea, and take Madame Iritosky’s and Count de Vecchio’s things up to their rooms.”

“Including the cabinet, madam?” Baine said.

“The—” Mrs. Mering said and looked, surprised, at the pile of luggage. “My, what a lot of luggage! Are you going on a journey, Madame Iritosky?”

She and the Count exchanged glances again. “Who can say?” Madame Iritosky said. “Whither the spirits command, I obey.”

“O, of course,” Mrs. Mering said. “No, Baine, Madame Iritosky will need her cabinet for our séance. Put it in the parlor.”

I wondered where on earth it would fit, in among all the ottomans and firescreens and aspidistras.

“And take the rest of their things upstairs,” Mrs. Mering went on, “and unpack them.”

“No!” Madame Iritosky said sharply. “I prefer to unpack my own things. The psychic lines of force, you know.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Mering, who probably hadn’t any more idea of what psychic lines of force were than the rest of us, said. “After tea, I want to take you out to the grounds and show you the place where I first saw the spirit.”

“No!” Madame Iritosky said. “My powers are quite diminished by the long journey. Trains!” She shuddered. “After tea, I must rest. Tomorrow you may show me the entire house and grounds.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Mering said, sounding disappointed.

“We will examine Muchings End for spiritual habitation,” Madame Iritosky said. “There is definitely a spirit presence here. We shall establish communications.”

“Oh, what fun!” Tossie said. “Will there be manifestations?”

“Possibly,” Madame Iritosky said, putting her hand to her forehead again.

“You are tired, Madame Iritosky,” Mrs. Mering said. “You must sit down and have some tea.” She led Madame Iritosky and the Count into the library.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Count de Vermicelli?” Terence said earnestly to Tossie as they followed them.

“De Vecchio,” Tossie said. “He’s terribly handsome, isn’t he? Iris Chattisbourne says all Italians are handsome. Do you think that’s so?”

“Spirits!” the Colonel said, slapping his fishing net against his thigh. “Humbug! Lot of silly nonsense!” and stomped back out to the Battle of Monmouth.

Baine, who had been looking disapprovingly at the luggage, bowed and went down the corridor toward the kitchen.

“Well?” I said, when they had all gone. “What do we do now?”

“We get ready for tonight,” Verity said. “Did that covered basket you had Princess Arjumand in survive the shipwreck?”

“Yes,” I said. “It’s in my wardrobe.”

“Good,” she said. “Go fetch it and put it in the parlor. I need to sew the sugared-violets box to my garters.” She started up the stairs.

“You still plan to have the séance with Madame Iritosky here?”

“Tomorrow’s the fifteenth. Do you have a better idea?”

“Couldn’t we just suggest an excursion to Coventry to Tossie-like the one to see the church at Iffley?”

“She didn’t go to see the church at Iffley, she went to see Terence, and you heard her. She’s all agog to examine the grounds and see manifestations. She’d never be willing to miss that.”

“What about Count de Vecchio?” I said. “Could he be Mr. C? He’s certainly shown up at the right time, and if anyone ever looked like they’d have an alias, it’s him.”

“It can’t be,” she said. “Tossie was happily married to Mr. C for sixty years, remember? Count de Vecchio would spend all her money and leave her stranded in Milan in three months.”

I had to agree. “What do you think they’re doing here?”

Verity frowned. “I don’t know. I assumed the reason Madame Iritosky never did séances away from home was that she had her house all set up with trapdoors and secret passages.” She opened the door of the cabinet. “But some of her effects are portable.” She shut the door. “Or perhaps she’s here to do research. You know, snoop in drawers, read letters, look at family pictures.”

She picked up a tintype of a couple standing next to a wooden sign that read “Loch Lomond.” “ ‘I see a man in a top hat,’ ” she said, touching her fingertips to her forehead. “ ‘He’s standing by… a body of water… a lake, I think. Yes, definitely a lake,’ and then Mrs. Mering screams, ‘It’s Uncle George!’ That’s what they do, collect information to convince the gullible. Not that Mrs. Mering needs any convincing. She’s worse than Arthur Conan Doyle. Madame Iritosky probably plans to spend her ‘rest’ sneaking into bedrooms and collecting ammunition for the séance.”

“Perhaps we could get her to steal Tossie’s diary for us,” I said.

She smiled. “What exactly did Finch say about the diary? Did he say it was definitely the fifteenth?”

“He said Mr. Dunworthy said to tell us that the forensics expert had deciphered the date, and it was the fifteenth.”

“Did Finch say how the forensics expert did it? A five looks a lot like a six, you know, or an eight. And if it were the sixteenth or the eighteenth, we’d have time to — I’m going to go talk to him,” she said. “If Mrs. Mering asks where I’ve gone, tell her I went to ask the Reverend Mr. Arbitage to the séance. And see if you can find two pieces of wire about a foot and a half long.”

“For what?”

“For the séance. Finch didn’t happen to send a tambourine back with you in your luggage, did he?”

“No,” I said. “Do you think you should do this? Remember what happened yesterday.”

“I’m going to go talk to Finch, not the forensics expert.” She pulled on her gloves. “At any rate, I’m completely recovered. I don’t find you attractive at all,” she said, and swept out the front door.

I went up to my room, got the covered basket, and put it in the parlor. Verity hadn’t said what she wanted done with it, so I set it on the hearth behind the firescreen, where Baine wouldn’t be likely to see it when he brought the cabinet in and put it efficiently away.

When I went back out in the corridor, Baine was waiting for me in the now luggage-less foyer.

“Might I have a word with you, sir?” he said. He looked anxiously in the direction of the library. “In private?”

“Of course,” I said, and led him up to my room, hoping he wasn’t going to ask me any more questions about conditions in the States.

I shut the bedroom door behind us. “You didn’t throw Princess Arjumand in the river again, did you?”

“No, sir,” he said. “It’s about Madame Iritosky. In unpacking her things, sir, I found some extremely troubling items.”

“I thought Madame Iritosky had said she’d unpack her own things.”

“A lady never does her own unpacking,” he said. “When I opened her trunks, I found a number of unfortunate items: reaching rods, trumpets, bells, slates, an accordion with a self-playing mechanism, wires, several yards each of black cloth and veiling, and a book of conjuring tricks. And this!” He handed me a small bottle.

I read the label aloud. “Balmain’s Luminous Paint.”

“I’m afraid Madame Iritosky is not a true medium, but a fraud,” he said.

“It would seem so,” I said, opening the bottle. It held a greenish-white liquid.

“I fear that her intentions and those of Count de Vecchio toward the Merings are dishonorable,” he said. “I have taken the precaution of removing Mrs. Mering’s jewels for safekeeping.”

“Excellent idea,” I said.

“But it is Madame Iritosky’s influence over Miss Mering that I am most concerned about. I fear she may fall prey to some nefarious scheme of Madame Iritosky’s and the Count’s.” He spoke passionately and with real concern. “While they were at tea, Madame Iritosky read Miss Mering’s palm. She told her she saw marriage in her future. Marriage to a foreigner. Miss Mering is an impressionable young girl,” he said earnestly. “She has not been trained to think scientifically or to examine her feelings logically. I fear she may do something foolish.”

“You truly care about her, don’t you?” I said, surprised.

His neck reddened. “She has many faults. She is vain and foolish and silly, but those qualities are due to her poor upbringing. She has been spoilt and pampered, but at heart she is sound.” He looked embarrassed. “But she has little knowledge of the world. That is why I came to you.”

“Miss Brown and I have been concerned as well,” I said. “We are planning to attempt to persuade Miss Mering to accompany us on an excursion to Coventry tomorrow to get her away from the Count and Madame Iritosky.”

“Oh,” he said, looking relieved. “That is an excellent plan. If there is anything I can do to help—”

“You’d best put this back before Madame Iritosky finds it missing,” I said, handing the bottle of Balmain’s Luminous Paint back regretfully. It would have been perfect for writing “Coventry” on the séance table.

“Yes, sir,” he said, taking the bottle.

“And it might be a good idea to lock up the silver.”

“I have already done so, sir. Thank you, sir.” He started for the door.

“Baine,” I said. “There is something you can do. I’m convinced de Vecchio’s not an authentic count. I believe there’s a possibility he’s travelling under an alias. When you unpack his things, if there are any papers or correspondence…”

“I understand, sir,” he said. “And if there is anything else I can do, sir, please let me know.” He paused. “I have only Miss Mering’s best interests at heart.”

“I know,” I said, and went down to the kitchen to look for some strong, thin wire.

“Wire?” Jane said, wiping her hands on her apron. “What for, sorr?”

“To tie up my portmanteau,” I said. “The clasp is broken.”

“Baine’ll fix it for you,” she said. “Will they be having a séance tonight, now that this madam person’s come?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Will they have trumpets, do you think? My sister Sharon, she’s in service in London, her mistress had a séance, and a trumpet floated right over the table and played ‘Shades of Night Are Falling’!”

“I don’t know if there will be trumpets,” I said. “Baine’s busy with Count de Vecchio’s luggage, and I don’t want to bother him. I need two lengths of wire about a foot and a half long.”

“I can be giving you a piece of twine,” she said. “Will that do?”

“No,” I said, wishing I had simply told Baine to steal some out of Madame Iritosky’s trunk. “It has to be wire.”

She opened a drawer and began rummaging through it. “I’ve got the second sight, you know. Me mother had it, too.”

“Umm,” I said, looking into the drawer at a great assortment of unidentifiable utensils. But no wire.

“When Sean got his collar broke that time, I sorr it all in a dream. I get a funny feeling in the pit of me stomach whenever anything bad’s goin’ to happen.”

Like this séance? I thought.

“Last night I dreamed I sorr a great ship. Mark my words, I told Cook this morning, somebody in this house will be going on a journey. And then this afternoon if this madam person didn’t show up, and they’d come by train! Do you think they’ll be having a manifestation tonight?”

I sincerely hope not, I thought, though there was no telling with Verity. “What exactly do you have planned?” I asked her when she got back just before dinner. “You’re not going to dress up in veils or anything, are you?”

“No,” she whispered, sounding regretful. We were standing outside the French doors to the parlor, waiting to go into dinner. On the sofa, Mrs. Mering was rehashing the sounds of Cyril’s nocturnal breathings with Tossie — “The cry of a soul in hideous torment!” — and Professor Peddick and the Colonel were holding Terence captive with fishing stories in the corner by the hearth, so we had to talk softly. Neither Madame Iritosky nor the Count were down yet and were presumably still “resting.” I hoped they hadn’t caught Baine red-handed.

“I think the best thing to do is to keep it simple,” Verity said. “Did you get the wires?”

“Yes,” I said, taking them out of my jacket. “After an hour and a half of Jane’s second-sight experiences. What are they for?”

“The table-tipping,” she said, moving slightly so we couldn’t be seen from inside. “Bend a hook in one end of each of them,” she said, “and then, before the séance, put one wire up each sleeve. When the lights go out, you pull them down till they extend past your wrists and hook them under the edge of the table. That way you can lift the table and still be holding on to your partners’ hands.”

“Lift the table?” I said, putting them back inside my jacket. “What table? That massive rosewood thing in the parlor? No wire’s going to lift that thing.”

“Yes, it will,” she said. “It works on a principle of leverage.”

“How do you know?”

“I read it in a mystery novel.”

Of course. “What if someone catches me in the act?”

“They won’t. It’ll be dark.”

“What if someone says they want the lights on?”

“Light prevents the spirit forms from materializing.”

“Convenient,” I said.

“Extremely. They can’t appear if there’s an unbeliever present either. Or if anyone tries to interfere with the medium or with anyone in the circle. So no one will catch you when you lift the table.”

“If I can tip it. That table weighs a ton.”

“Miss Climpson did it. In Strong Poison. She had to. Lord Peter was running out of time. And so are we.”

“You talked to Finch?” I said.

“Yes. Finally. I had to walk all the way over to Bakers’ farm, where he’d gone to buy asparagus. What is he up to?”

“And the figure was definitely a five?”

“It wasn’t a figure. It was written out. And there’s no other number with two ‘f’s and two ‘e’s. It was definitely the fifteenth of June.”

“The fifteenth of June,” Professor Peddick said from the hearth. “The eve of the Battle of Quatre Bras and the fateful mistakes that led to the disaster of Waterloo. It was on that day that Napoleon made the error of trusting the taking of Quatre Bras to General Ney. A fateful day.”

“It’ll be a fateful day, all right, if we don’t get Tossie up to Coventry,” Verity murmured. “Here’s what we’ll do. You’ll tip the table once or twice, then Madame Iritosky will ask if there’s a spirit present, and I’ll rap once for yes. And then she’ll ask me if I have a message for someone, and I’ll spell it out.”

“Spell it out?”

“With raps. The medium recites the alphabet and the spirit raps on the letter.”

“It sounds rather time-consuming,” I said. “I thought on the Other Side they knew everything. You’d think they could come up with a more efficient means of communication.”

“They did, the Ouija board, but it wasn’t invented till 1891, so we’ll just have to make do.”

“How are you doing the raps?”

“I’ve got half of the sugared-violets box sewn to one garter and the other half to the other. When I hit my knees together, it makes a very nice, hollow sort of rap. I tried it upstairs in my room.

“How do you keep from rapping when you don’t want to?” I said, looking down at her skirts. “In the middle of dinner, for instance.”

“I’ve got one garter pulled higher than the other. I’ll pull it down till they’re at the same spot after we’ve sat down at the séance table. What I need you to do is keep Madame Iritosky from rapping.”

“Has she got a sugared-violets box, too?”

“No. She does it with her feet. She cracks her toes like the Fox sisters. If you keep your leg pressed against hers so you can feel any movement, I don’t think she’ll try rapping herself, at least till after I’ve rapped out, ‘Go to Coventry.’ ”

“Are you certain this will work?”

“It worked for Miss Climpson,” she said. “Besides, it must have worked. You heard Finch. Tossie’s diary says she went to Coventry on the fifteenth, so she must have gone. So we must have convinced her to go. So the séance must have been successful.”

“That makes no sense,” I said.

“This is the Victorian era,” she said. “Women didn’t have to make sense. She hooked her arm through mine. “Here are Madame Iritosky and the Count. Shall we go in to dinner?”

We went into dinner, which consisted of grilled sole, roast rack of lamb, and second-guessing Napoleon.

“Should never have stayed the night at Fleurus,” Colonel Mering said. “If he had gone on to Quatre Bras, the battle would have taken place twenty-four hours earlier, and Wellington and Blücher would never have joined forces.”

“Balderdash!” Professor Peddick said. “He should have waited for the ground to dry after the rainstorm. He should never have pressed forward in the mud.”

It seemed grossly unfair. They had, after all, the advantage of knowing how things had turned out, while all Napoleon and Verity and I had to go on were a handful of battlefield communiqués and a date in a waterlogged diary.

“Rubbish!” Colonel Mering said. “Should have attacked earlier in the day and taken Ligny. Never would have been a battle of Waterloo if he’d done that.”

“You must have seen a great many battles while you were out in India, Colonel,” Madame Iritosky said. “And any number of fabulous treasures. Did you bring any of them home? A Rajah’s emeralds, perhaps? Or a forbidden moonstone from the eye of an idol?”

“What?” Colonel Mering sputtered through his mustache. “Moonstone? Idol?”

“Yes, you know, Papa,” Tossie said. “The Moonstone. It’s a novel.”

“Pah! Never heard of it,” he muttered.

“By Wilkie Collins,” Tossie persisted. “The moonstone was stolen, and there’s a detective and quicksand and the hero did it, only he’d taken it without knowing it. You must read it.”

“No point in it now that you’ve told me the ending,” Colonel Mering said. “And no such thing as jeweled idols.”

“But Mesiel brought me a lovely necklace of rubies,” Mrs. Mering said, “from Benares.”

“Rubies!” Madame Iritosky said, shooting a glance at Count de Vecchio. “Really!”

“What use can the signora have for rubies,” Count de Vecchio said, “when she has such a jewel as her daughter? She ees like a diamond. No, like a zaffiro perfetto, how do you say, a flawless sapphire.”

I looked at Baine, who was serving soup grimly.

“Madame Iritosky once contacted the spirit of a Rajah,” Mrs. Mering said. “Do you think there will be manifestations at our séance tonight, Madame Iritosky?”

“Tonight?” Madame Iritosky said, alarmed. “No, no, there can be no séance tonight. Or tomorrow. These things must not be done in haste. I must have time to prepare myself spiritually.”

And unpack your trumpets, I thought. I looked over at Verity, expecting an expression as grim as Baine’s, but she was calmly eating her soup.

“And manifestations may not be possible here,” Madame Iritosky went on. “Visible phenomena only occur near what we call portals, links between our world and the world beyond—”

“But there is a portal here,” Mrs. Mering cut in. “I’m sure of it. I have seen spirits in the house and on the grounds. I’m certain if you will grant us a séance tonight, we shall have a manifestation.”

“We mustn’t overtire Madame Iritosky,” Verity said. “She is quite right. Railway journeys are fatiguing, and we must not ask her to tax her wonderful psychic powers too far. We shall have to have tonight’s séance without her.”

“Without me?” Madame Iritosky said icily.

“We would not dream of taxing your spiritual powers for a poor, homely affair like ours. When you have recovered your strength, we will have a true séance.”

Madame Iritosky opened her mouth, closed it, and opened it again, looking exactly like Colonel Mering’s globe-eyed ryunkin.

“Fish?” Baine said, bending over her with the platter of sole.

Round One to our side. Now, if only the séance would go as well.

The Reverend Mr. Arbitage arrived at nine, I took the opportunity of the subsequent introductions to put the wires up my sleeves, and we all (except for Madame Iritosky, who had excused herself rather huffily and gone upstairs, and Colonel Mering, who had muttered, “Twaddle!” and gone off to the library to read his paper) trooped into the parlor and sat down around the rosewood table which there was no way on earth I was going to be able to lift, leverage or no leverage.

Verity motioned me to sit down next to her. I did and immediately felt a weight on my lap.

“What’s that?” I whispered under cover of Terence, the Count, and the Reverend Mr. Arbitage all jockeying for position next to Tossie.

“Princess Arjumand’s basket,” Verity whispered back. “Open it when I give you the signal.”

“What signal?” I said, and felt a sharp kick on my shin.

The Count and the Reverend Mr. Arbitage won the battle, and Terence was left with Mr. Arbitage and Mrs. Mering. Professor Peddick sat down next to me. Napoleon was interested in spiritism,” he said. “He held a séance in the Great Pyramid of Giza.”

“We must join hands,” the Count said to Tossie, taking her hand in his. “Like this…”

“Yes, yes, we must all join hands,” Mrs. Mering said. “Why, Madame Iritosky!”

Madame Iritosky was standing in the doorway, draped in a flowing purple robe with wide sleeves. “I have been summoned by the spirits to serve as your guide this evening in the parting of the veil.” She touched the back of her hand to her forehead. “It is my duty, no matter what the cost to me.”

“How wonderful!” Mrs. Mering said. “Do come sit down. Baine, pull up a chair for Madame Iritosky.”

“No, no,” Madame Iritosky said, indicating Professor Peddick’s chair. “It is here that the teleplasmic vibrations converge.” Professor Peddick obligingly changed chairs.

At least she hadn’t sat down next to Verity, but she was next to Count de Vecchio, which meant she’d have one hand free. And next to me, which meant I was going to have an even harder time lifting tables.

“There is too much light,” she said. “There must be dark—” She looked round the parlor. “Where is my cabinet?”

“Yes, Baine,” Mrs. Mering said. “I told you to put it in here.”

“Yes, madam,” he said, bowing. “One of the doors was broken, so that it would not lock properly, and I removed it to the kitchen for repairs. I have repaired it. Would you like me to bring it in now?”

“No!” Madame Iritosky said. “That will not be necessary.”

“As you wish,” Baine said.

“I feel that there will not be manifestations tonight,” she said. “The spirits wish to speak to us only. Join hands,” she ordered, draping her voluminous purple sleeves over the table.

I grabbed her right hand and grasped it firmly.

“No!” she said, wrenching it away. “Lightly.”

“So sorry,” I said. “I’m new at this sort of thing.”

She laid her hand back in mine. “Baine, turn down the lights,” she said. “The spirits can only come to us in candlelight. Bring a candle. Here.” She indicated a flower-stand near her elbow.

Baine lit the candle and turned the lights down.

“Do not turn the lights up on any account,” she ordered. “Or attempt to touch the spirits or the medium. It could be dangerous.”

Tossie giggled, and Madame Iritosky began to cough. Her hand let go of mine. I took the opportunity to extend the wires from my wrists and hook them under the table.

“I beg your pardon. My throat,” Madame Iritosky said, and slipped her hand in mine again. And if Baine had turned up the lights, it would have been dangerous, all right. I would have bet anything it would have revealed Count de Vecchio’s hand in mine. Not to mention my own hanky-panky.

There was a faint rustling on my right. Verity, moving her garter into position.

“I’ve never been at a séance before,” I said loudly to cover it. “We shan’t hear bad news, shall we?”

“The spirits speak as they will,” Madame Iritosky said.

“Isn’t this exciting?” Mrs. Mering said.

“Silence,” Madame Iritosky said in a sepulchral tone. “Spirits, we call you from the Other Side. Come to us and tell us of our fate.”

The candle blew out.

Mrs. Mering screamed.

“Silence,” Madame Iritosky said. “They are coming.”

There was a long pause during which several people coughed, and then Verity kicked me on the shin. I let go of her hand and reached onto my lap, and lifted the lid off the basket.

“I felt something,” Verity said, which wasn’t true, because Princess Arjumand was brushing against my legs.

“I felt it, too,” the Reverend Mr. Arbitage said after a moment. “It was like a cold wind.”

“Oh!” Tossie said. “I felt it just now.”

“Is there a spirit there?” Madame Iritosky said, and I leaned forward and lifted up with my wrists.

Amazingly, the table actually moved. Only a little, but enough to make Tossie and Mrs. Mering both give their little screamlets and Terence to exclaim, “I say!”

“If you are there, spirit,” Madame Iritosky said, sounding irritated, “speak to us. Rap once for yes, twice for no. Are you a friendly spirit?”

I held my breath.

Clack went the sugared-violets box, and restored my faith in mystery novels.

“Are you Gitcheewatha?” Madame Iritosky asked.

“That’s her spirit control,” Mrs. Mering explained. “He’s a Red Indian chief.”

Clack, clack.

“Are you the spirit that I saw the other night?” Mrs. Mering said.

Clack.

“I knew it,” Mrs. Mering said.

“Who are you?” Madame Iritosky said coldly.

There was a silence. “She wants us to use the alphabet,” Verity said, and even in the dark I could sense Madame Iritosky glaring at her.

“Do you wish to communicate by means of the alphabet?” Mrs. Mering said excitedly.

Clack. And then a second clack, a different sound, like someone cracking a knuckle.

“You don’t wish to communicate by alphabet?” Mrs. Mering said, confusedly.

Clack, and a sharp kick on the shins.

“She does,” I said hastily. “A B C—”

Clack.

“C,” Tossie said. “O, Madame Iritosky, you told me to beware of the sea.”

“What else?” Mrs. Mering said. “Do go on, Mr. Henry.”

Not while there was a foot loose in here. I slid forward in my chair, stretching my left leg till it touched Madame Iritosky’s skirt, and pressed my foot hard against hers. “ABCDEFGHIJK,” I said rapidly, my foot held tight against hers, “LMNO—”

Clack.

She pulled her leg back, and I wondered what would happen if I clamped my hand down hard on her knee.

It was too late. “ABCD—” Mrs. Mering said, and the rapping sounded again.

“C-O-D?” Mrs. Mering said.

“Cod,” Professor Peddick said. “Gadus callerias, of which the most interesting variety is the Welsh whiting.”

“ ‘Will you walk a little faster,’ ” Terence quoted, “ ‘said a whiting to a—’ ”

“Cod, coddle, cody,” the Reverend Mr. Arbitage said. “Are you the ghost of Buffalo Bill Cody?”

“No!” I shouted before anyone could rap an answer. “I know what it is. It’s not a C, it’s a G. C and G look nearly alike,” I said, hoping no one would notice the letters had been spoken, not written, and that they were nowhere near each other in the called-out alphabet. “G-O-D. She’s trying to spell ‘Godiva.’ Are you the spirit of Lady Godiva?”

A very decisive clack and we were, thankfully, back on track.

“Lady Godiva?” Mrs. Mering said uncertainly.

Tossie said, “Is she the one who rode a horse without any—?”

“Tocelyn!” Mrs. Mering said.

“Lady Godiva was a very holy woman,” Verity said. “She had only her people’s best interests at heart. Her message must be very urgent.”

“Yes,” I said, pressing hard against Madame Iritosky’s leg. “What are you trying to tell us, Lady Godiva? ABC—”

Clack.

I rattled through the alphabet again, determined not to leave any spaces this time for Madame Iritosky to insert a rap. “ABCDEFGHIJK—”

I made it as far as M. There was a sharp rap, like a very annoyed toe being cracked. I ignored it and pressed on to O, but to no avail.

“M,” Mrs. Mering said. “CM.”

“What sort of word begins with CM?” Terence said.

“Could she be saying ‘come’?” Tossie said.

“Yes, of course,” Mrs. Mering said. “But where does she wish us to come? ABC—” and Verity clacked on cue, but I didn’t see what good it was going to do us. We’d never make it to “O,” let alone “V.”

“A—” Mrs. Mering said.

I stamped down hard on Madame Iritosky’s foot, but it was too late. Rap. There was no mistaking the fury behind the rap this time. It sounded like she’d broken a toe.

“C-A—” Mrs. Mering said.

“Cat,” Madame Iritosky pronounced. “The spirit is trying to communicate news of Miss Mering’s cat.” Her voice abruptly changed. “I bring you word of Princess Arjumand,” she said in a low husky growl. “She is here with us on the Other Side—”

“Princess Arjumand? On the Other Side?” Tossie said. “But she can’t be! She—”

“Do not grieve that she has passed over. She is happy here.”

Princess Arjumand chose this moment to jump onto the table, scaring everyone and startling Tossie into a screamlet.

“O, Princess Arjumand!” Tossie said happily. “I knew you hadn’t passed over. Why did the spirit say she had, Madame Iritosky?”

I didn’t wait for her to come up with an answer. “The message was not ‘cat.’ C-A-What are you trying to say to us, spirit?” and rattled off the alphabet as fast as I could. “ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUV—”

Verity clacked, and Tossie said, “C-A-V? What does that spell? ‘Cave’? She wishes us to come to a cave?”

“Cahv?” I said helpfully. “Cuhv?”

“Coventry,” Mrs. Mering said, and I could have kissed her. “Spirit, do you wish us to come to Coventry?”

A fervent clack.

“Where in Coventry?” I said, put my full weight on Madame Iritosky’s shoe, and started through the alphabet at a gallop.

Verity wisely decided not to try for “Saint.” She clacked on M, I, and C, and, not sure how long I was going to be able to hold Madame Iritosky down, I said, “St. Michael’s,” got a clack of confirmation, asked, “Do you wish us to come to St. Michael’s Church?” Another clack, and I withdrew my feet.

“St. Michael’s Church,” Mrs. Mering said. “Oh, Madame Iritosky, we must go first thing tomorrow morning—”

“Silence,” Madame Iritosky said, “I sense a malicious spirit here,” and I groped wildly for her foot with mine.

“Are you a wicked spirit?” she said.

Rap.

I waited for Verity to clack a second time, but there was nothing but a frantic rustling. She must have moved the sugared-violets box back up above her knee.

“Are you being controlled by an unbeliever?” Madame Iritosky asked.

Rap.

“Baine, bring up the lights,” Madame Iritosky said commandingly. “There is someone rapping here who is not a spirit.”

And I was going to be caught with wires sticking out of my wrists. I tried to pull my hand out of Madame Iritosky’s (or the Count’s), but whoever it was had an iron grip.

“Baine! The lights!” Madame Iritosky ordered. She struck a match and lit the candle.

There was a gust of air from the French doors, and the candle blew out. Tossie screamed, and even Terence gasped. Everyone looked toward the billowing curtains. There was a sound, like a low moan, and something luminous appeared beyond the curtains.

“My God!” the Reverend Mr. Arbitage said.

“A manifestation,” Mrs. Mering breathed.

The shape floated slowly toward the open French doors, canting slightly to port and glowing with a ghastly greenish light.

The hand holding mine relaxed, and I shoved the wires up my sleeves all the way to my elbows. Next to me, I could feel Verity pulling up her skirts and then reaching over and jamming the sugared-violets box down the side of my right boot.

“Count de Vecchio, go turn up the lights!” Madame Iritosky said.

“Una fantasma!” the Count exclaimed and crossed himself.

Verity straightened and took my hand. “O manifestation, are you the spirit of Lady Godiva?”

“Count de Vecchio,” Madame Iritosky said, “I command you to turn up the gas!”

The shape reached the French doors and then seemed to rise and take shape as a face. A veiled face with large dark eyes. And a mashed nose. And jowls.

Verity’s hand, holding mine, gave a little spasm. “O spirit,” she said, her voice controlled, “do you wish us to come to Coventry?”

The shape drifted slowly back from the door, and then turned and vanished, as if a black cloth had been thrown over it. The French doors slammed shut.

“It bids us go to Coventry,” I said. “We cannot ignore the spirit’s summons.

“Did you see that?” Count de Vecchio said. “It was horrible, horrible!”

“I have seen a seraphim in the flesh,” the Reverend Mr. Arbitage said rapturously.

The lights came up, revealing Baine standing calmly by the lamp on the marble-topped table, adjusting the flame.

“O, Madame Iritosky!” Mrs. Mering said, collapsing onto the carpet, “I have seen the face of my own dear mother!”