"That crystal ball allows her to make contact with the spirits of the dead," Mademoiselle LeFarge whispers to us as she reads her program. A gentleman behind us overhears our whisperings and bows his head to Mademoiselle LeFarge.
"I am compelled to tell you, my good lady, that this is all sleight of hand. Magician's trickery."
"Oh, no, sir, you are mistaken." Martha jumps in. "Mademoiselle LeFarge has seen Madame Romanoff speak in a trance state."
"You have?" Pippa asks, wide-eyed.
"I have heard about her gifts from a cousin who is very close to a dear friend of the sister-in- law of Lady Dorchester," Mademoiselle LeFarge asserts. "She is a truly remarkable medium."
The gentleman smiles. His smile is kind and warm, like Mademoiselle LeFarge. It's a pity she's engaged, for I like this nice man and think he'd make a very lovely husband.
"I'm afraid, dear lady, dear mademoiselle ," he says, drawing out the word, "that you have been deceived. Spiritualism is no more a science than thievery. For that's all this isvery skilled dodgers stealing money from the bereaved for a little glint of hope. People see what they want to see when they need to."
My heart is squeezed tight in my chest. Is it possible that I see my mother, my visions, only because I want or need to? Could grief's hold be that strong? And yet, the scrap of cloth. I can only hope I'll know something for certain by night's end.
Mademoiselle LeFarge's mouth is a thin line. "You are mistaken, sir."
"I've upset you. My apologies. Inspector Kent of Scotland Yard." He hands her an embossed calling card, which she refuses to accept. Calmly, he places it back inside his breast pocket. "You've come, no doubt, to contact a loved one? A brother or dear departed cousin?" He's fishing but Mademoiselle LeFarge can't see that he's interested in more than her preoccupation with the occult.
"I am simply here as an observer of the science, and as a chaperone to my charges. And now, if you'll excuse us, it would seem the seance is about to begin."
Men rush along the sides of the room, dimming the lights to a hazy gas glow. They wear high-collared black shirts and sashes of deep red around their waists. A handsome woman in long, flowing robes of forest green takes the stage. Her eyes are rimmed with the blackest kohl and she wears a turban with a single peacock feather. Madame Romanoff. She closes her eyes and lifts a hand over the audience as if feeling us. When she reaches the left side of the grand room, she opens her eyes and focuses on a heavyset man in the second row.
"You, sir. The spirits wish to commune with you. Please, come and have a seat with me," she says in a heavy Russian accent.
The man obliges and takes a seat at the table. Madame Romanoff gazes into the crystal ball and falls limp. In this state, she tells the man his fortune. "I have a message for you from the other side"
The man onstage, eager and sweaty, leans forward. "Yes! I'm listening. Is it from my sister? Please, is it you, Dora?"
Madame Romanoff's voice comes out high and sweet as a girls. "Johnny, is that you?"
A cry of joy and agony escapes the man's lips. "Yes, yes, it's me, my dear, dear sister!"
"Johnny, you mustn't weep. I'm very happy here, with all my toys to keep me company."
We take this in, slack-jawed in wonder. Onstage, the man and his little sister are enjoying a heartfelt reunion, with tears and protestations of undying love. I can barely sit still. I want it to end so that I can take my place with the medium.
The inspector behind us leans over and says, "Brilliant performance. That man is an accomplice, of course."
"How so?" Ann asks.
"They place him in the audience so that he appears to be an honest seeker, part of the crowd. But he's in on the game."
"Do you mind, sir?" Mademoiselle LeFarge fans herself with her program.
Inspector Kent bows his head and settles back in his chair. I can't help liking him, with his wide hands and heavy mustache, and I wish Mademoiselle LeFarge would give him more of a chance. But she's loyal to her Reginald, the mysterious fianc?, as she should beeven if we've never seen him call once.
After a glass of water, Madame Romanoff takes on several more people. With some she asks questions that seem very broad, but the grieving audience members always rush in to tell her their stories. It seems almost as if she leads them on, getting them to supply the answers without her help. But I've never seen a medium at work before and I can't say for sure.
Felicity leans over and whispers in my ear. "Are you ready?"
