Page 68 of Mesmerized

“I don’t want to,” Belinda spoke up. “It scared me.”

“Of course, dear, you don’t have to,” her mother reassured her. “But the rest of us—”

“Miss St. Leger is right,” Madame Valenskaya said and shook her head. She reached for her wineglass and took an eager gulp. “Not good. Not good.”

Olivia, watching her, wondered if the medium was tipsy again this evening. She had had her wineglass refilled a number of times throughout the meal. But the drink had not managed to calm her nerves, for Madame Valenskaya was fidgeting with her fork, then her glass, then her napkin.

“Perhaps we could find out what happened to Mr. Babington,” Lady St. Leger proposed. “The spirits may know why he acted that way the other evening. Don’t you think so?”

“Um. Yes, of course, spirits know all.” Madame Valenskaya made a vague gesture with her hand. “But I don’t know—perhaps I cannot draw de spirits tonight. Without Mr. Babington.”

“Ah, now, Miz Valenskaya,” Rafe said, flashing her a grin that would melt ice, his accent thickening with his charm. “You’re just being modest. I’m sure that you would do fine on your own. After all, you are the one with the special power, you know.”

Madame Valenskaya was obviously not immune to the Southerner’s charm, either, for she bridled girlishly and let out a little giggle. “You are too kind, sir.”

“You should do it.” Even Pamela added her entreaties, now that Rafe had joined in. “The spirits rely on you.”

“Yes, they do, I’m sure,” Lady St. Leger agreed. “You speak for them, after all.”

“Is true.” Madame Valenskaya preened a little. “All right. You have persuaded me.”

This time Madame Valenskaya did not even go up to her room before the séance. Olivia had the impression that the medium wanted to simply get the sitting over with as soon as possible. Madame Valenskaya had also gotten over her dislike of light. Tonight she brought in two extra candelabras and set them on the table around which they sat.

Lady St. Leger looked somewhat askance at the mass of candles burning in the center of the table. “Won’t all this light frighten away the spirits, Madame?”

“Oh, no.” Madame Valenskaya made a grand gesture. “They come to me anyway.”

They took their places, with Rafe roguishly offering to take Mr. Babington’s place by the medium’s side. She was happy to oblige him, and Great-uncle Bellard was put in Belinda’s usual seat.

Despite her initial hesitation, once Madame Valenskaya began, she relaxed and put on even more show than normal of calling to the spirits, then dropping her head and going into her “trance.” She raised her head at last, her eyes closed.

“Mama,” she said in a ponderous tone.

“Roddy?” Lady St. Leger spoke up eagerly. “Is that you?”

“You must help me, Mama,” Madame Valenskaya went on in the same flat, measured tone. “You must help all of us.”

“Of course, my dear. What should I do?”

At that point the candles suddenly guttered low, several of them going out, as if a great gust of air had passed over them. In fact, there had been no breeze at all that Olivia could tell, but the room was suddenly bone-chillingly cold.

A noise came, faint, almost like the buzzing of insects, a low chatter below the level of understanding. Olivia felt Lady St. Leger’s hand tighten around hers, and she was aware of the fact that she, too, was gripping both Stephen’s and Lady St. Leger’s hands hard.

The noise rose and resolved itself into a sort of breathy whisper, over and over. The sound filled the room, droning insistently, grating at the ears. Finally Olivia picked out the words threading through it: “Mine...mine...mine.”

The noise built, shredding Olivia’s nerves until, suddenly, the doors were flung open, crashing against the walls, and the lights blew out, leaving them in darkness.

Chapter Thirteen

THERE WERE SHRIEKS around the table, and Madame Valenskaya jumped to her feet, toppling her chair over backward. Once their eyes adjusted, there was enough light coming in from the hallway to allow them to see, and the medium’s eyes were so wide and rounded that the faint light caught the whites around the pupils, making them glint.

“I—that—” the medium gasped, clearly shaken. “It is over. I cannot do it.”

Madame Valenskaya turned and fled the room. Her daughter got up, saying “Mama!” in a distressed voice, and rushed out of the room after the medium.

The remainder of the group was silent. The noise, Olivia realized, had vanished, as had the freezing cold.

“Well,” Rafe said at last, “you folks sure know how to put on a show.”