“Anne? Miss Maltravers?” Lady Arundell beckoned them closer. “Come and meet Mr. Lees.”
Evelyn and Anne joined the crowd of spiritualists. Lady Arundell introduced them first to Mr. Lees, and then to the others. There was Mrs. Inkpen, an elderly woman wearing several strands of jet beads, and Mr. Vance, a short fellow with a diabolical mustache. Next was an elegant blond lady by the name of Mrs. Brown, and two bewhiskered gentlemen of middle years, Mr. Popplewell and Mr. Burns.
Mr. Burns was the editor of a weekly spiritualist journal. “I’ll be taking notes of the proceedings for my next issue,” he explained. “My readers are fascinated by reports of your gifts, Mr. Lees.”
Mr. Lees didn’t say a word. He seemed quite stoic for a boy of his years.
“You will find that Miss Maltravers’s presence renders a benefit to your work,” Lady Arundell told him. “Zadkiel himself has called her a person of significant energy.”
The rest of the company murmured in varying tones of awe and approval.
“Are you a medium, ma’am?” Mr. Popplewell asked Evelyn.
Evelyn swiftly disabused him of the notion. “I have no talent in that regard whatsoever.”
“And you?” Mr. Popplewell asked Anne.
“I’m merely an interested observer,” Anne said.
Mrs. Brown smiled. There was a touch of irony in her expression. “As are we all in the face of such a talent.”
Mr. Popplewell motioned them to the cloth-draped table. “Shall we begin?”
Evelyn and the others took their seats. While they removed their gloves, Mr. Popplewell lit the candles on the table and turned down the gaslight. When he’d finished, he sat down in the chair beside Mr. Lees.
There was no crystal ball. No cards or other implements of fortune-telling. There were only the candles and a few pieces of notepaper and a pencil set between them.
“Join hands please,” Mr. Popplewell said.
Evelyn reached out to her neighbors. Anne was on her right side and Mrs. Brown on her left. The three of them clasped hands. All the while, Evelyn watched Mr. Lees for signs of deception. His young age made him no less suspicious to her. Children weren’t guileless, in her experience. Many were as adept at dishonesty as adults.
Was Mr. Lees such a boy?
He gave no indication of fraud or malice. He sat straight in his chair, eyes closed, mouth pressed shut.
Mrs. Brown was watching him as intently as Evelyn.
“He must prepare himself,” Mr. Popplewell said.
Silence grew heavy throughout the room. The candle flames flickered and cracked. Suddenly, a sharp knock rent the air.
Evelyn jumped. She caught Anne’s gaze, brows lifting in question.
Anne gave her a reassuring smile, whispering, “It often happens at a séance.”
“Shh!” Mrs. Inkpen hissed.
“Quiet, ladies,” Mr. Popplewell intoned. “We must all focus our minds.”
Another period of silence stretched between them.
“The veil is thin this evening,” Mr. Lees said at last, his eyes still closed. “I will attempt to walk into the ether to find my spirit guide.”
Anne squeezed Evelyn’s hand.
Evelyn bit her tongue. She refused to laugh. This was a serious matter, if not for her and Anne, then for Lady Arundell and Uncle Harris. The two of them were tilted forward in their chairs, riveted by Mr. Lees’s performance.
The boy’s breathing became more pronounced. His lips moved silently. Suddenly, his body swayed, first to the left and then to the right. All at once, he stiffened straight up like a poker. His mouth fell open on a rattling sigh.
“Whom do you seek?” he asked. But the voice wasn’t his. It was the voice of someone older, with a distinct Scottish accent.
“A highlander,” Mr. Vance murmured. “Astounding.”
“We would like to speak to the late Prince Consort,” Mr. Popplewell said loudly. “Is he there with you, sir?”
“Prince Albert is here,” Mr. Lees said in the same Scottish burr. “He awaits your questions.”
Mr. Popplewell addressed the rest of the table. “One at a time, if you please. I can make no promises for how long his trance will last.”
Evelyn hadn’t thought of anything to ask herself, which was just as well. There was no opportunity to do so. For the next five minutes, the rest of the table peppered Mr. Lees with questions on everything from Prince Albert’s opinions on the afterlife to his views on matters of state.
Only Mrs. Brown refrained. She continued to watch Mr. Lees. “I have a question,” she asked at last, her polished voice breaking through the din.
“Who is that?” Mr. Lees asked. “Is that you, Lady Seymour?”
Lady Arundell and Uncle Harris turned sharply to look at Mrs. Brown.
Mrs. Brown’s face was void of expression. “It is I.”
Lady Arundell gasped. “Upon my word. One of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting!”
Evelyn’s pulse raced. She exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Anne. The Queen had sent a secret representative! And Mr. Lees had identified her!
Uncle Harris couldn’t conceal his excitement. “Does this mean that Her Majesty believes—”
“Silence, please,” Mr. Popplewell said. “Mr. Lees cannot maintain the connection if he’s distracted by the mortal world.”
“What is your question, Lady Seymour?” Mr. Lees asked.
Mrs. Brown—or rather, Lady Seymour—cleared her throat. “Her Majesty wants a name.”
“What name?” Mr. Lees asked.
“The secret name used by the Prince Consort to address her in their private correspondence. You’re to write it down on a slip of paper for Her Majesty’s personal verification.”
Mr. Lees went still. A shuddering breath came out of him. At the end of it, he slumped in his chair.
“We must break the circle,” Mr. Popplewell said. “The spirit has gone.” Letting go of Mr. Lees’s hand, Mr. Popplewell gave him pencil and paper.
Rousing himself, Mr. Lees wrote something down. When he’d finished, he folded the paper in half and handed it to Mr. Popplewell.
Mr. Popplewell conveyed it to Lady Seymour.
She took it without looking at it and thrust it into the mouth of her black silk-fringed reticule. She snapped the drawstring closure tight. “I thank you for your compliance.”
Everyone at the table stared at Lady Seymour, expecting Evelyn knew not what. A royal proclamation, perhaps. Some edict passed down from the Queen.