Mesmerized

“‘Ow’d it go last night?” Tom asked as she unlocked the door and they went inside.

He went around raising the shades on the windows while Olivia walked over to her desk. “Not well at all, I’m afraid.” She described as briefly as she could the contretemps that had arisen at the séance the night before, spoiling her plans.

Tom reacted with appropriate shock and dismay. “That’s ‘orrible, miss. Wot are you goin’ to do now?”

“Forget Mrs. Terhune, I’m afraid. It wasn’t even a paying case. I am just so incensed at her foisting those obvious daguerrotypes off as ghosts. Anyone can see that they are flat.”

“Anyone except her followers,” Tom pointed out.

“I know. I suppose I should let them be deceived, if they are so foolish.” Olivia sighed.

“There’s some as are born marks, miss, and that’s the truth.” He came over and perched on the edge of her desk. “I guess we’ll ‘ave to start lookin’ into somethin’ else, wot do you say?”

“I’d love to,” Olivia admitted, glancing over her tidily arranged desk. “The only problem is, I haven’t any cases.”

The business, never robust, had trickled down to almost nothing in the past year. Olivia had spent much of her time conducting investigations on her own, compiling evidence of the tricks used by the mediums.

“You’re never thinkin’ of givin’ up, are you, miss?” Tom looked faintly horrified.

“No. I won’t give up. I cannot stand to think of these people fleecing the bereaved, taking advantage of people at their most vulnerable.... It is just that I am at something of a standstill. We have no new cases. I have done research until I’m not sure what to look into anymore. I cannot force my way into people’s homes and say, ‘Look here, let me prove to you that that man is lying when he says he can communicate with your dead mother or husband or whoever.’”

“Well, look on the bright side. We might get a new customer any time now. Until then, we’ll just make do.”

“Yes. Of course, you’re right.” She gave him a smile. “I shall get to work writing up my experiences last night, and we can close that file.”

She pulled out a sheet of paper and dipped her pen in the inkwell, then settled down to do as she had said. She found it rather difficult, however, to put into words what had happened the night before without it sounding completely foolish and unscientific. No matter how she couched it, she could not get around the fact that Lord St. Leger had grabbed her arm, and she had screamed, and they had wound up getting thrown out of the séance.

Olivia had finally finished sweating through the report and was tucking the file away in a cabinet marked Closed when there was the sound of footsteps on the stairs. She could not help glancing up expectantly, waiting for the steps to stop outside their door, even though she knew that there were two other offices on this floor and more above it, and the odds were the steps would not stop here. Indeed, hardly anyone ever came here, except members of her family now and then.

There was a sharp rap at the door, and Olivia jumped, startled. She glanced over at Tom, who nodded at her with a grin before he jumped up and walked over to open the door. He pulled it open to reveal a tall man standing in the hall. The man looked at Tom, somewhat surprised, then past him into the office, his gaze coming to rest on Olivia.

Olivia simply stared at him, stunned. She had never expected to see this man again. Excitement leaped in her stomach, even as the rest of her seemed frozen. Her reaction annoyed her. She swallowed and forced her legs to move, propelling her up and toward the door.

“Lord St. Leger,” she said, pleased that her voice came out cool and calm. “What a surprise. Please, do come in.”

St. Leger took off his hat and stepped past Tom, who was regarding him with great interest. He stopped and glanced around the office somewhat awkwardly. “I...um...”

“Are you in need of some investigating, sir?” Tom jumped in, reaching to take Lord St. Leger’s hat and hang it on the rack by the door. “You’ve come to the right place, then. There’s none better than us for tracking down those psychic phenomena.”

“Are there any others?” St. Leger asked, faintly surprised.

“Well, um...” Tom looked abashed, but quickly recovered. “No, you’re right. We’re not only the best at it, we’re the only.”

“Lord St. Leger, please, sit down.” Olivia gestured toward the chair beside her desk, ready for a customer to sit down and spill out his problem. She cast Tom a quelling look.

Her assistant cocked an eyebrow but hung back, sitting down at his desk and pretending to be busy sorting papers.

Lord St. Leger went to the chair Olivia had indicated, politely waiting for her to take her seat behind the desk before he sat down. Olivia looked at him, waiting. He looked at her, then away, then cleared his throat. An awkward silence stretched between them. Across the room, Tom moved restively in his seat.

Finally Olivia said, “Is there some way that I can be of assistance to you, my lord?”

“I—” He looked at her and sighed. “Frankly, I don’t know. Lady Ol—”

“I prefer Miss Moreland,” Olivia said. His eyes, she thought, were really a most extraordinary color, even brighter here in the well-lit room than they had been last night. Silver—or perhaps pewter was a closer color.

“Miss Moreland,” he repeated. “I—I am afraid that we got off on the wrong foot last night.”

“You might say that, if you consider seizing me and accusing me of being a charlatan and later calling me mad ‘getting off on the wrong foot.’”

Faint color stained his cheekbones, and he looked abashed. “I did not mean—I was simply surprised when I realized who you were, and the phrase popped out. It was something I had heard over the years, and, well, in my surprise, I didn’t think. I apologize sincerely, and I assure you that I do not think that you—or your family—is insane. I am sure no one does. It is merely a—a silly appellation.”

Olivia continued to gaze at him coolly, and finally he went on. “I apologize, too, for accusing you of being Mrs. Terhune’s assistant. However, you have to admit that there were circumstances that made it seem that you were.” His eyes flashed as he said, “The scene at the séance was not entirely my fault.”

When Olivia did not answer, he sighed and stood up. “I can see I am wasting my time here.”

“No! No, wait.” Olivia popped up, too, and extended a hand as if to detain him, then blushed and let it fall to her side. “I accept your apology. What is it that you want? What can we do for you?”

He hesitated, then sat back down. “I’m not sure—well, what exactly is it that you do here?”

“We investigate the occurrence of certain odd and inexplicable events.”

“Ghosts?” he asked with an ironic undertone.

“I have never been called upon to investigate ghosts, my lord. In general, it is the people who call themselves mediums and their practices which I have investigated.”

“Like Mrs. Terhune last night.”

“Precisely.”

“Why?”

“Because I dislike fraud, my lord, and I find it reprehensible that someone deceives people, often those grieving for a dead loved one, by pretending that he or she can communicate with the dead, in particular those departed loved ones.”

“Then you don’t believe they can communicate with the spirits from beyond?”

“I have never found one yet who did,” Olivia returned crisply. “None of them have offered proof that satisfied me.”

“Do you know a woman named Madame Valenskaya?”

“I have heard of her,” Olivia replied. “I have not met the woman myself.”

“Do you think that she can communicate with spirits?”

“I have not investigated her, but based on my experience with other mediums, I would say that it is highly unlikely. In general, Lord St. Leger, mediums employ a number of tricks to make it appear that so-called spirits are in the room with them. They insist on having the right atmosphere in the room, which generally means the room must be in darkness or very low light. Then the ‘spirits’ visit them in the form of rappings or sometimes as luminous things floating in the air, or even ghostly looking people. They will offer ‘proof’ that they are not themselves causing these things to occur. This ‘proof’ usually comes in the form of their having everyone hold hands around a circle, so that someone on either side is holding the medium’s hand. They even have the people on either side place their foot upon each of the medium’s feet under the table. Then when the rapping comes, the people on either side can vouch that the medium did not use her hands or feet.”

“So how do they accomplish the rappings?”

“Some, like the Fox sisters, said that they were able to crack their toes inside their shoes and even their knees, as well, to produce the rapping. They will wear shoes that are too big for their feet, so that they can pull their foot down inside the shoe and crack the toes or even pull their feet out of the shoe altogether. Then they can crack their toes or raise their knee and knock against the underside of the table. Another common ruse is to have an accomplice in the group, and that person sits on one side of the medium. He will say that he held the medium’s hand throughout the course of the séance, but in reality, one of her hands is free. Also, under cover of darkness, the medium can arrange it so that the innocent person on the other side of her is actually taking hold of her accomplice’s hand and foot instead of her own. Then she is free to flit around the room doing whatever she pleases.”

Olivia, warming to her subject, stood up and went to a nearby cabinet, opening it to reveal a number of items inside. “This bottle contains phosphorescent paint. They can paint it on whatever object they wish to hang in the air in a ghostly glowing way—a popular one is a trumpet. They can put it on a piece of thin cloth, such as gauze, and when they are free of the table, they-or an accomplice who was not even in the room to begin with—can drape this gauze over themselves, and in the dark they give off the appearance of a ghost. I have known intelligent, even scientific, gentleman to be completely won over by the appearance of one of these ‘ghosts.’”

St. Leger came over to the cabinet and stood beside her. Olivia was tinglingly aware of his presence, the heat of his large body, the faint smell of shaving soap that clung to his skin. St. Leger looked down dubiously at the length of gauze and the tin toy trumpet and harp that had all been painted with phosphorescent paint. At length he said, “It’s absurd. Why would anyone believe these things?”

“Well, they are more impressive viewed in the dark, glowing and seeming suspended in air,” Olivia pointed out. “There is heightened tension. People are waiting for the unknown, hoping, and probably a little fearful. And if one believes, as these people do, that the medium is still firmly planted in her chair, then it must seem that these things appear freely, just hanging magically in the air. Even I, I confess, have felt a little shiver down my spine when one has appeared. And I know how the tricks are done.”

“What is that?” He pointed to a short black rod, narrow in diameter, with a clamp on one end.

“A telescoping rod,” Olivia explained, taking the rod out and pulling it out to its full length of four feet. “They can hold the objects up quite high with this, but then it can be pushed back down to a foot and easily concealed, like the other things in their capacious pockets. You will notice that the mediums always wear rather full garments, with plenty of room for deep pockets inside, where they do not show. Few people will insist on searching a medium’s body that closely. It would be considered impolite.”

He nodded. “What about this cabinet thing that Mrs. Terhune was locked in?”

“Oh, that is another ‘proof’ that the medium is not the person committing the acts those in attendance see. The medium sits down on a chair inside the cabinet, and she is tied up as Mrs. Terhune was. In these instances, the medium is skilled at getting out of knots or she has an accomplice who makes sure that the knots are loosely tied, or a combination of both. Then the door is closed and even sometimes locked. The lamp is turned out, so that no one can see, and sometimes the group is encouraged to sing to welcome the spirits. The singing helps to cover any noises the medium makes getting out of her ropes inside the box. Then she’ll put on the phosphorescent gauze and leave the box, or even just stand inside it and let her head show over the door, or hold up a painted glove or trumpet or such. Mrs. Terhune holds up pictures of people’s heads. It is quite ludicrous to see, except that most of the people there believe they are ghosts. Then the medium ties herself back up, and when the guests open the door again, she pretends to come out of her trance and wants to know what happened.”

St. Leger frowned. “It all seems so simple. So obvious.”

“It is. But most people don’t look at what they see critically or logically. They want the medium to be genuine. They want to believe their loved one can still see them and talk to them. They want to believe that life goes on after one dies. It is easy to believe when one wants to so much.”

“I suppose.” St. Leger looked at her thoughtfully. “If you were to go to a medium’s séance, could you spot the tricks? Could you expose her?”

“I think so. It might take a few times. Spotting what she does is not as difficult as proving it. I can explain what tricks I think she uses, but usually the victim is so eager to believe the medium is real that I would have to catch her in the act to make the victim believe that it’s a trick.”

He nodded. Olivia watched him. She could almost see the thoughts turning in his head. She wondered who it was who was being deceived by a medium—presumably Madame Valenskaya, since he had mentioned her—and what relation the victim was to Lord St. Leger.

“What is it you would like me to do?” she asked finally.

He looked at her. “I want you to come to my home in the country for a few weeks.”

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