The Seance

It was the first Saturday night of the month.

 

Normally I don’t pay attention to such things, the days all seem pretty much the same around here, but I know it was the first Saturday of the month because the house, which is usually so bright and clean and welcoming, took on a funereal air. Mrs. Winslow forbids the lights to be turned on and so people run around bumping into each other with the candelabras from the attic. If she could convince spiders, with all her money, to weave webs special for this day so she could sprinkle the dirt from the dustbins over them I’m half certain she would. As it is, it’s bad enough with her trying to fit into her great-great-grandmother’s dress and sweep down the main ballroom stairs looking regal. She’s going to trip one day and become her great-great-grandmother.

 

It was séance night at the house.

 

No one was permitted to join the séance unless invited, which is fine since no one else is interested. Corporal Eisner, the man who lives upstairs, isn’t interested in mingling with the others and the maids are too afraid. Anyway, it’s a load of middle-aged women who get together to routinely scare the sillies out of each other and themselves in order to have an excuse to drink chardonnay. Only a handful of the women take the séance seriously, to the others it’s a curiosity.

 

“Eh, it helps Mrs. Winslow, you know, she needs this.” Corporal Eisner said. We watched the proceedings from the upper banister. He was casually eating sardines on crackers.

 

I crossed my arms over my chest and shook my head sharply. I could speak freely with the Corporal and took advantage of it. There were few in this house, once a great manor house, rich in history, and now a stage for this farce, with whom I could be so open.

 

“What that woman needs is a counselor, she needs some therapy. This Madame Estrella is a hack, she’s just stringing her along until the missus runs out of money.”

 

The Corporal nodded. He was not surprised any more by the way I spoke or by my intuition. It had been something of a surprise when we had first met but now he took it in stride and had once said that he appreciated that there was an intelligent person in the house at least. He was such an old soul, wary of the fallibilities of women, that I was uncharacteristically proud of his compliment. That a war veteran would think that highly of me, a maid!

 

“Yes, that’s the sad truth, but what can we do about it? We can’t convince Mrs. Winslow that her one chance for hope is a fake, can we?”

 

But, I can, I thought. I told him my plan and he shook his head, telling me it was a bad idea, and risky for me. I knew this Madame Estrella was a fake, we both did, and I liked Mrs. Winslow well enough, though she had funny ideas in her head. I didn’t like it when people took advantage of grief. There was enough grief in the world, with the war now killing so many every day, and hunger, disease, slavery and crime killing even more. People like Madame Estrella took advantage of those who clung to hope, of those for whom hope was the last refuge. It was disgusting.

 

I probably should have taken Corporal Eisner’s advice. He is older than I am by far and he has survived more than I could imagine. Though, I’d like to think, in terms of personal trauma we’re fairly well matched and I think he’d agree. However, I’d been here long enough to know the history of the house and knew there was an Underground Railroad passage right behind the wall where Madame performed. I’d be able to slip in and no one would notice.

 

From my dark, cramped cubbyhole, I could hear the doorbell ring deep in the house. Soon, the door to the dimmed parlor was opened and Madame Estrella, the old witch, was led inside to set up. She is tiny and frail, or at least she appears to be, and she is dressed head to toe in layers and layers of gaudy gauzy dresses. I have often rolled my eyes to Corporal Eisner about the woman’s dress.

 

“Do they think it makes them more ‘authentic’ if they look like they just stepped off a bad Hollywood set? She’s wearing a fake gold earring for the love of Christ.”

 

I watched the witch for a long time. She seemed to simply sit at the round table in the room, eyes closed, palms up, fingers slightly curled. She was thinking, meditating. Was she communing with spirits already? I didn’t see any. Not even her popular Captain Earl, who, according to Madame, had drowned bravely trying to save a young woman in a storm, was there.

 

“But, my great-great grandmother, she certainly wouldn’t be caught dead with a man like that,” Mrs. Winslow said once. She twisted her hands in her dress unaware of the pun. Madame Estrella patted her hand to calm her.

 

“Of course not, dear, but the captain knows people who know people, as you may say. He’ll be able to find your grandmother, and perhaps, the spirit that you are really searching for.”

 

But, three years into this ridiculous charade later, Captain Earl and Madame had not been able to make contact with the two sought-after characters in the netherworld. Not to say, though, that they had been unsuccessful. Captain Earl had, according to Madame Estrella, been able to find Mrs. Winslow’s father, her deceased husband, her aunt, and even her dog, Puddles. Even the other women, Mrs. Winslow’s best friends and curiosity-seekers, had been able to make contact with certain members of their families. Sons that had been murdered in the war were contacted and the women comforted. One woman actually was able to ask her grandmother for the pie recipe she had forgotten and made it for the group the next week.

 

“It’s perfect, perfect,” she said. She broke down crying and started wearing clothes from the same thrift store as the Madame.

 

So far, as far as I could see, the Madame was doing nothing as suspicious as, say, putting a cardboard cutout of a sea captain in a spring loaded closet. But then, I didn’t know if the captain was in the habit of making appearances. That’s so cumbersome anyway, don’t you think? Better to do the Jonathan Edwards or Sylvia Browne way and just say they were talking to you.

 

The doorbell rang a few more times. The rest of the party was showing up. Eleven women in all, bringing their coven up to the magical number of thirteen. And they would meet, as always, at precisely midnight. It was about 11:45 now. They would be meeting in the den sipping small cocktails that Linda, the cook who had to be paid overtime to work this night because she was afraid of ghosts, or at least that’s what she said to get her overtime, prepared for them. Linda earned her money. She came up with ghostly, steaming, frothy drinks that looked more at home on the set of a Frankenstein remake than in a manor house.

 

The ladies were always delighted.

 

They would be chattering away in the brightly lit den over their Pink Dragons, a grapefruit cocktail that was set on fire before they drank it, talking about the last séance they had and what they hoped for this one. Mrs. Winslow always said the same thing.

 

“I’m just hopeful that today the Lord Jesus will permit Captain Earl to talk to my son.”

 

The other women would nod and cluck for the obligatory few moments that was necessary for being invited back and then move on.

 

In the dim parlor, Madame Estrella seemed unmoved. She needed darkness and silence, she told the others, for the moments leading up to the séance, and a few minutes after. This allowed them to have their cocktails so this was a welcome condition. But, so far, she didn’t spend the time setting up, so I assume she couldn’t spend the time afterwards striking. But, there were other ways to prepare, ways that I wouldn’t be able to see. Why hadn’t I thought of it? She might be wearing an earpiece that allows her to hear into the den and listen to what the ladies were talking about so that she could use that information. It was certainly a theory. Next month I’d have to explore that avenue.

 

She just sat there. It was slightly creepy. But, it was made more creepy when the grandfather clock in the hall intoned the time. The ladies in the den, I imagine, would hush and walk suddenly sober into the parlor, Mrs. Winslow at the head. They knocked quietly, respectful of this old fraud.

 

“Please enter,” she said. She uncurled from her trance-like state to watch them as they entered.

 

Then, they did, one after another as if in a trance, and got into their seats. Without being told, they held hands and waited silently for Madame Estrella to make the first move. She sighed and moved her hands so that they closed like talons around the hands of Mrs. Winslow on one side and Mrs. Collins on the other. All eyes closed.

 

“The coven has come together this night once again to talk to Captain Earl Haversham, the brave man that lost his life to sea so many years ago, and now is like the lighthouse to the souls of the dead. They gather to his warmth and light and he can bring them safely to our side and back again to theirs. We humbly call Captain Earl Haversham, are you there, friend?”

There was silence for a moment. In this moment, I hesitated. This was the most dangerous for

me. I waited.

 

There was a loud bang. One of the ladies jumped. She was at the very opposite end of the circle and I got the feeling that she always jumped and that their seating was assigned by how weak a person was. Mrs. Gordon, was certainly a weak bird.

 

“Captain Earl, thank you so much for meeting with us,” the old woman said.

 

I looked around, I felt around, there was no one there besides a group of silly, hopeful women. There wasn’t even a cold draft, wasn’t there supposed to be a cold draft? The fear I hadn’t even known I was feeling left and I felt myself relaxing.

 

“Glad to be back with such lovely ladies,” the old woman said in a man’s grizzled voice. Ah, so that’s it, she does the whole voice acting thing. I sat back, smiling now, and pleased that I had been right.

 

“Captain, you know why we are here. We are still searching for Mrs. Elizabeth Rose Laraby and William Joseph Winslow. Have you found them, sir?”

 

The look of hope on Mrs. Winslow’s face was horrible to see and I knew what was coming. She had to as well.

 

“Ah. Yes, still searching those two. Well, I can’t say that I’ve been lucky as yet. You might say that they run in different circles than I do. But, I’ll find ‘em, no worries, there here, I know. But, ladies, there’s something you can do for me, if you don’t mind.”

 

I could feel my own heart being ripped from my chest when I looked at the disappointment on Mrs. Winslow’s face. It was horrible, horrible. No one should have to do through this. But, the witch, the evil b***h, was good, too good. Oh, the rapping was easily explained, the woman jerked her knee up and hit the table; but, how could you explain that the voice of Captain Earl, and the others, were simply her own voice, that she was a character actor? I seethed.

 

I wanted to comfort Mrs. Winslow, to tell her that there was no way that there was a man named Captain Earl standing just behind Madame Estrella. There was no one there, nothing, not even the ghost of a chance. But, I knew, personally, a therapist, a grief counselor, he was pretty good. I wanted to tell her this, but she never heard me. It ripped me apart.

 

“Anything we can do,” the witch said.

 

“There’s a lass here, she’s listening to you, and hidin’. Don’t get angry with her, though, ladies, she’s just a lost soul, but she needs your help, she needs to let go of the world, and come to sea with me.”

 

My jaw dropped. Of course. It had to be me that the sea captain was talking about. S**t, the witch had heard me, or sensed that I was here, or maybe she was just guessing the details, hoping. S**t. There was no way out of this closet except through the way I’d come in and that was through an entire room full of women who were training their ears for the slightest hint of a noise. Damn, this was what the general meant by being careful. I sucked in my breath and waited.

 

“Of course, if we can help, Captain. Miss, can you hear me? If you can hear me, please, do not be afraid, no one here will harm you. If you can hear me, please knock once.”

 

I didn’t know what to do. If I played along maybe they’d shut up and go away, but I’d give away my location. Surely, she’d be able to find out where I was and find me. If not, they might go to more drastic measures to find the intruder to their little game. I sat still.

 

“Please, lass,” the voice of the Captain said, “please, it’s okay, these are good women.”

 

I nearly laughed. Yes, most of the ladies were good people, but that medium I wouldn’t trust as far as I could throw her.

 

“If you can hear me, I beseech you, please knock once,” the old woman said in her own voice again.

 

I moved. I just wanted to change which leg was crossed over which, and I bumped my knee against the tight confines of the closet. I could have cursed. The old witch was pleased and her head moved a little in my direction.

 

“That’s good. Will you tell us your name? Will you tell us why you’re here?”

 

I wanted to laugh. Did she think I was that gullible that I would actually start talking, maybe in a watery ghost voice, to tell her everything about me? Though I could, I suppose, use this opportunity to reveal her to be a fraud. I, once again, had two options, of playing along or playing possum. I didn’t know which one would suit my purposes better. If I played along, how could I say that she’s a fake when everyone heard my voice? If I played possum, she could make up a whole character. I sat still. She’d have to work a little harder, I thought, just a little harder. She sat in silence for a long time, but the ladies were getting restless and she, the good showman, knew it.

 

“Our visitor is a little shy. Is she young, I wonder, or worried that she’s going to get into trouble if she makes a noise. This house once held an Underground Railroad passage, is that right?”

 

“Yes,” Mrs. Winslow said.

 

“Ah, that explains it, she may be a young black woman, escaping from the slave owners. Is that who you are?”

 

I smirked.

 

“There’s never been anything said of a young black woman dying here,” Mrs. Winslow said.

 

The witch was fishing.

 

“No,” the grizzled voice of Captain Earl agreed, “this soul, I don’t think is that old. She’s young, but she’s new, I can’t get a fix on her.”

 

“Oh, maybe I was picking up on the Underground Railroad vibe because she’s using the closet to hide in. Maybe she’s a servant, a maid, a daughter of someone in the house?”

 

Mrs. Winslow went into shock.

 

“Oh goodness,” she said. I could see that she wanted to raise her hand to her mouth. “Oh, yes, we used to play in that closet all the time, maybe in the past a maid was trapped in there, or I don’t know. There was a story from my great-great grandma’s day of a maid that was trapped in there and she suffocated when someone turned the flue of the fireplace on the other side. She was young and I think she was running away from one of the men in the village who was threatening to kill her.”

 

I rolled my eyes, how romantic. And how untrue.

 

“Aye, that’s it, I think that’s the ticket. I think she’s a maid, a lovely girl, too. Lass, please, can you hear us, the man is gone, he can’t hurt you anymore.”

 

“He’s right, miss, you must go towards the light, please, you can’t stay here in the dark and frightened, go towards the light,” said Madame.

 

Go towards the light? Seriously? Was that the best this woman could come up with? Go towards the light, my a*s. There was no light to go towards.

 

“Aye, lassie, come with me to the light.” Ice water poured down my spine. I recognized the new voice and I was certain none of the ladies in the adjoining room had heard it. It had been meant for me and me alone. I turned, but he didn’t manifest himself, I didn’t think that the old snake would. His voice was just like I remembered it, oily and slick, not grizzled and homey like the witch made it. It mocked me. This was the voice of my father, my torturer.

 

He had found me again.

 

He wasn’t here yet but he was close. He was near.

 

I gritted my teeth. There was nothing I could do now. My options were clear and unavoidable, but damn it, I wasn’t about to leave without a fight. I stood and left the closet.

 

“Open your eyes, ladies,” I said. I stared directly at Mrs. Winslow who turned pale and nearly screamed when she saw me. Mrs. Gordon, did scream. My name, infamous, was spoken and I could feel my father closing in on it. I had to hurry.

 

“This woman is a scam artist. She can’t speak to the dead. If she could, she’d tell you that Captain Earl Haversham is a rapist and a murderer. She’d tell you, Mrs. Winslow, that the reason she can’t contact your great-great grandmother is because she doesn’t want to be contacted. She didn’t put you in her will, you were cut out of it, she told you that story about the diamonds to sucker you. She’d also be able to tell you that your son is not dead. He’s a prisoner of war. She’s a fake, a fraud.”

 

I had no idea if it would work, but I faded anyway. The father I’d killed was on my trail and I needed to find a new place to hide.