The man at Elphi's left made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a strangled laugh before turning it into a cough and muttered an apology.
He then leaned close and nodded with his chin toward Miss Warren as he whispered, "I take it you've had the misfortune of experiencing a séance with that particular young miss before?"
Elphi glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, "Yes... and you?"
"Unfortunately, twice," he whispered. "Fainted within the first five minutes both times."
"Why do you attend," Elphi quietly teased, purposefully misunderstanding him, "if you're prone to fits of the vapors?"
The right corner of his mouth twitched in the beginnings of a smile, but before he could reply, Madame Calvert lifted her veil and cast her gaze around the table. "Think of someone who has passed on."
Her eyes settled on Elphi.
Elphi's heart started pounding when Madame Calvert continued in her thick accent, "Have in your mind their name... knowledge about this person, what delighted them, their appearance, and their relation to you." Then, she turned her attention to the man at Elphi's right, "Concentrate on this person. My Lord, you have an image in your mind... the person you're thinking of, she's petit la femme, no?"
"Yes, she was rather short compared to me."
"And... did she wear spectacles, Monsieur?"
He cleared his throat and jerkily glanced around the room before stammering, "Y-yes, but not in public. How did you know?"
Madame Calvert nodded and became silent as she stared at something only she could see for a brief moment. "There's something about flowers—non, a particular flower, my lord, one with many petals."
"Yes, her father owned a flower shop."
"Oui," Madame Calvert smiled, "she is holding out her hands, like this-" she cupped her hands and held them over the table toward him, tipping them down as though to show an object cradled on her palms. "Showing me a lovely red... non, a rose foncé colored blossom. She says,... you would leave them for her in secret."
He clutched the edge of the table and nodded. "Pink Peonies—to symbolize our secret love."
"Was her name Flora... or Lorna?"
"Laura."
"She is with us tonight, Lord Emerson... and she wishes to tell you," a frown creased Madame Calvert's brow, and she pressed her palms flat to the tabletop. Then, she squeezed her eyes shut and tilted her head to the side as she whispered, "I don't understand... repeat it again if you please."
After a moment, Madame Calvert opened her eyes, stared at Lord Emerson, and slowly asked, "Does this mean anything to you? Darkness is required to notice the stars."
A choked gasp escaped Lord Emerson as he covered his mouth with a trembling hand and nodded, "Yes."
Madame Calvert inclined her head, lifting her hand in the air for a moment before whispering, "Laura has left us." She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, then looked at the expectant faces gathered around the table and focused her gaze on Miss Warren.
Her chanting reached a fevered pitch, and before Madame Calvert could ask a single question, Miss Warren fainted and slumped in her chair.
The man to Elphi's left pulled out his pocket watch, clucked his tongue, slipped it back in his waistcoat pocket, and leaned near to whisper low, "Seven minutes. She's improving."
Elphi bit back a grin and whispered, "How could you see what time it is to know that?"
"I have exceptional vision in the dark." He shrugged, and his arm gently brushed against her, causing a peculiar thrill to course up and down her body. "To be completely honest, I guessed. It felt as though seven minutes had passed, didn't it? Not quite ten, but surely a smidge longer than five?"
"Lord Treadway," Madame Calvert said, her voice ringing loud and clear and gaining the attention of the man at Elphi's left.
"Oui, Madame," he replied, casting his gaze slowly around the room as he shifted in his seat.
Elphi frowned.
Surely, this dark-haired, broodingly handsome stranger couldn't be Roderick's friend Rufus?
She'd never met him in person, but over the years, she'd heard enough about the mysterious Lord Rufus Treadway to have developed a somewhat different image of the man than the one who sat beside her, rigid as an errant pupil brought to task before his governess.
"NO," Lady Hickling exclaimed, slamming her hands hard on the table. "I demand-"
"Within this room," Madame Calvert interrupted, her voice harsh like the crack of a whip, "your demands hold no sway, My Lady. The spirits choose if and to whom they shall speak."
The room fell eerily quiet; no one even dared breathe. Madame Calvert stared at Lady Hickling for several seconds, her gaze unrelenting, then tilted her head to the side and narrowed her gaze.
A moment passed in silence before Madame Calvert heaved a resigned sigh and nodded, saying quietly, "Lady Hickling... your purpose in attending tonight... is to discover the location of several missing jewels, is it not?"
Lady Hickling's eyes widened as she glanced around the table and dipped her head in a stiff nod.
"I am told... Lord Hickling sold them long ago to pay the creditors."
Lady Hickling blinked and laughed, "Sold?" Then, in the next instant, she slammed her hands on the table again, her face a mask of anger as she shrieked, "SOLD? You, Madame, and your spectacle—I won't sit here another minute."
She pushed away from the table and stood so quickly that her chair toppled backward and crashed to the floor.
Muttering under her breath, Lady Hickling kicked her skirts out of her way and stomped toward the door, loudly huffing her displeasure until the footman closed the door behind her.
All eyes swung back to Madame Calvert, waiting to see if the Viscountess's unexpected and dramatic exit would bring the night's events to an abrupt end.
Madame Calvert looked at each of the expectant faces around the table for several minutes, waiting, allowing the energy in the room to shift and calm before finally, she again turned her attention to Lord Treadway.
Elphi could have sworn she heard him groan.
Rufus ground his teeth and fought against the sudden overwhelming desire to run from the room. Although Madame Calvert had proven to be talented with Lord Emerson and Lady Hickling, he'd yet to see anything to show she was what she claimed to be—including French. Though he had to admit her accent was believable.
Taking a calming breath, he cast a surreptitious glance at the faces in the room and decided to play along for the moment. After all, he hadn't learned nearly enough about the intriguing Lady Matson, and she was the purpose he'd agreed to attend the blasted séance in the first place.
Usually, he kept a wide berth from attending for two main reasons, especially if the spiritualist at the helm had a reputation for being the real deal.
Reason number one, he didn't want to take a chance someone dead might take a liking to him and haunt or possess him for the rest of his life.
As for the second reason, far too many people attended—both the living and deceased—and the longer he remained, the number of dead would only grow because his ability drew them to him like moths to a candle flame.
At the age of nine, Rufus drowned and died and would have remained permanently so if not for his best friend, Lord Roderick Matson, who'd saved him and forever earned Rufus's loyalty and gratitude.
Unfortunately, escaping death 'gifted'—a word gushing with sarcasm in this instance—Rufus with the ability to see things that would most assuredly make other people scream in terror.
Namely the dead.
More precisely, since that ill-fated day, Rufus became aware that the ghosts had always existed. It just took him a while to realize he was the only person in his family and immediate circle of friends who could see them.
For instance, one evening several months after the accident, he'd sat down for dinner with his family when suddenly he noticed an unfamiliar boy in outdated clothing sitting with them. No one else seemed to see the boy, so Rufus offered a shy smile to apologize for any rudeness on his family's part, and the boy smiled back. It was only then Rufus realized he could see right through him.
Rufus told no one about the experience, hoping it was a one-time occurrence and, if he were honest, fearing if he did, they'd lock him in the madhouse and toss away the key. However, from then on, such events continued to happen daily, and as he grew older, he eventually understood it was never going away.
So, after finishing his studies and alienating himself from a family who didn't understand his increasingly strange behavior, he did what any rational person with the ability to see ghosts walking among the living could do.
He pursued an occupation that allowed him to do the only thing he enjoyed and showed any skill at—solving mysteries.
In addition, it didn't escape his notice that his ability to see and commune with the dead—when they wished to be forthcoming—might also prove helpful. So, much to his mother's dismay and Father's vociferous objections, he joined the ranks of Scotland Yard. And, for the most part, it went just as Rufus hoped and expected.
He honed many skills and techniques he'd already possessed and picked up a few more that, upon leaving the Yard two years ago and striking out on his own as a private investigator, had since become invaluable.
Now, he dealt primarily with paranormal issues the constabulary ignored, which brought him here at Roderick's request—sitting in Lady Sanham's darkened parlor beside the delightful Lady Melphia Matson, unsure what would come out of her very kissable mouth next.
And dreading what Madame Calvert might unwittingly reveal if his growing suspicions were correct and she was a true spiritualist.
He'd done his due diligence and tried to learn as much as possible to discern whether Madame Calvert could commune with the dead before attending tonight. But the woman's background remained cloaked in a heavy amount of mystery despite his best efforts.
Madame Calvert stared at Rufus for several moments as though she could delve into the deep recesses of his soul and pry his most hidden secrets free when suddenly her eyes flew open wide, and she gasped for air. Her back arched as she reached toward the ceiling and made a horrifying choking sound.
One of the footmen ran to a wall sconce and brightened the room, then froze and quickly dimmed it again after Lady Sanham hissed, "No, she said to keep the lights down, no matter what."
Everyone at the table sat transfixed, waiting until Madame Calvert finally sank into her chair with chest heaving and attempted to regain her breath.
Slowly, she raised her head and locked her gaze on Rufus, "An accident. It wasn't your fault. You and another boy your age... you were warned not to go out on the water that day."
"Yes," Rufus answered slowly. His heart pounded in his chest, and his hands started to sweat.
No one knew about that—no one but him and Roderick.
"Time... they're repeating something about time." She frowned and pressed a hand to her head, "They say to me it was not your time. You crossed over and returned, Lord Treadway."
Rufus glanced around the room, inwardly groaning when several more ghostly apparitions materialized from the shadowed corners.
When the evening began, a mere handful of spiritual spectators, including the three deceased gentlemen who'd accompanied Roderick's sister, occupied the room. However, there were now well over twenty, and their numbers grew with every passing second.
"Who?" Rufus asked as he studied the faces among the ghostly crowd, all talking at once, knowing it was a pointless question even as the word slipped past his numb lips.
"Death surrounds you." Madame Calvert shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut, "There are too many... they fill this very room—one at a time, please, I beg you."
"Perhaps," Rufus softly began, his body tensing with the desire to bolt, "we should let someone else have a turn."
A strangled moan escaped Madame Calvert as though severe pain wracked her body, and she began muttering something in French too fast for Rufus to understand.
Then, after a moment, her hands curled into tight fists atop the table, and she slowly straightened as she stared at the ghostly congregation pouring through the walls like a sieve and commanded, "No more. Please leave. All of you." She pressed a trembling hand to her brow. "I can endure no more this night."
Without another word, she rose to her feet, lowered her veil, and left the room through a side door.
The confused footmen standing ready at the wall sconces looked to Lady Sanham for direction, apparent indecision written on their faces. Everyone at the table stared at Rufus as though he held the answers to why Madame Calvert suddenly cut their evening short—everyone, including Elphi.
He met her gaze out of the corner of his right eye just as Lady Sanham signaled the footmen to raise the lights.
After a moment's hesitation, she turned at the waist and met his gaze head-on as she said, "So... you are the infamous Rufus?"