𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐩𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐦

Act II, Scene IV

"The truth is rarely pure and never simple."
~ Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest

__________

Lucy followed Evelyne's seductive sashay into the kitchen, then went to the range and tapped the side of the tea kettle. Still hot. She set the kettle back on the burner, took a clean teacup from the cupboard, and began preparing some fresh leaves.

Evelyne yawned and stretched her lithe arms above her head. With a satisfied sigh, she sat in the chair that had recently been occupied by Virgil, and took a slim, silver cigarette case from her clutch. Striking a match against the bottom of her boot, she lit a clove cigarette, and took an indulgent drag.

"Must have been a long night for you," Lucy commented. "Only arriving home at nearly seven in the morning."

Crossing the room, Lucy set the fresh cup of tea on the table in front of Evelyne.

"You didn't have to do that, pet." Evelyne smiled at her, suddenly appearing more weary. "But I'm grateful. Yes, it was a long night. I performed a seance at the Frederickson residence."

"A seance! My goodness!" Lucy exclaimed, unable to mask her intrigue. She sat down across from Evelyne. "I imagine that must take quite the toll on you."

Evelyne blew a rippling baluster of smoke from her pursed lips. She sipped her tea.

"Honestly, it's more the juvenile antics of the patrons than the seance itself that slashes my energy to ribbons," she confessed, smoothing the backs of her fingers across her high forehead. "They go through the motions: clearing out a room, save a round table. Lighting some candles. Creating an overall macabre ambiance... But really? The whole affair is just an excuse to have twenty of their most pompous friends over, and open just as many bottles of expensive wine."

She paused, taking another drag from her cigarette, and exhaling the smoke away from Lucy.

"They don't want to communicate with any spirits," she continued, shaking her head in disgust. "They want parlor tricks. A cheap, theatrical performance. Downright insulting to my talents. And heaven forbid they become privy to a malicious ghost living within their walls. They would likely 'find that a little gauche,' knowing Lady Frederickson."

Lucy giggled. "She talks like that?"

"Ugh! Always! Thinks she's the bloody Queen, that one."

Evelyne wrinkled her nose in aversion and took another sip of her tea.

"Did you find any spirits?" Lucy inquired.

"I did, indeed," Evelyne confirmed. "That house is host to more restless specters than Highgate Cemetery! But Sir and Lady Frederickson have no interest in that. They're too busy trying to impress their boorish friends. And don't get me started on the abhorrent private requests of the master of the house."

"What did he want?"

Evelyne rolled her eyes, casting Lucy with a sidelong glance. "What all men want, darling: whatever service I'm not offering."

At Lucy's confused expression, Evelyne clarified: "Sir Frederickson tried to get beneath my dress every time his inebriated wife ran off to the loo. 'Five minutes, Miss Ives, just give me five minutes.' I lost track of how many times he whispered that in my ear. Let me tell you, nothing is less arousing than a pot-bellied stuffed shirt with moist grape breath."

She shuddered.

"How untoward!" Lucy cried. "How did you respond?"

"I told him that if he thought five minutes was sufficient time to do the deed, he was of absolutely no use to me whatsoever, and it was no wonder why his wife drank so much. Disgraceful. The old lech ought to be ashamed of himself," Evelyne stated. She sniffed, indignant. "Five minutes in, I haven't even broken a sweat."