“Sure,” I said.
“Do you, Sir David?” she asked him.
He gave her a single small nod. “I do.”
Doyle spoke. “You said three conditions, Lady Purleigh?” “Yes.” She smiled. “The third being that this competition does not take place anywhere near the garden. We have trouble enough with the flower beds as it is.”
Doyle smiled. “I think we can promise you that we won’t disturb the flower beds, Lady Purleigh.”
“Very well, then,” she said. “Permission is granted.”
Doyle turned to Sir David. “Marquis of Queensberry rules?” He nodded. “Without the gloves, of course.”
“Yes,” said Doyle, frowning. “Of course. We haven’t any.” He turned to me. “You object to their absence?”
“No,” I said.
“Ten rounds,” said Doyle to Sir David. “With me to decide the winner.”
“Ten rounds,” said Sir David. “But I doubt that deciding the winner will be an especially taxing process.”
Doyle looked at me. “You agree to ten rounds?”
“Sure.”
“Right, then,” said Doyle. “Seven o’clock tomorrow morning.” He rubbed his big hands together. “And now,” he said, “for the seance.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Under Doyle's direction, the men moved three rectangular coffee tables together into the center of the drawing room and then set chairs around them. Once or twice, while both of us were lugging chairs, Sir David glanced over at me and blandly smiled. Whatever he’d promised Lady Purleigh, I didn’t think that he’d dismissed tomorrow’s fight from his mind. But then I hadn’t dismissed it from mine.
There were thirteen of us, and Lady Purleigh arranged us around the tables so that the men alternated with the women. I sat down next to Cecily. She glanced at me as if she had never seen me before and didn’t expect to see me again. Sir Arthur sat to Cecily’s left. To Sir Arthur’s left, at the head of the table, sat Madame Sosostris and her husband, Mr. Dempsey. After Mr. Dempsey came Lady Purleigh herself, and then Sir David. After Sir David, and opposite me, came Mrs. Allardyce and then Dr. Auerbach. On the doctor’s left, and at the table end opposite Madame Sosostris, sat Miss Turner and the Great Man. To the Great Man’s left sat Mrs. Corneille and her perfume. I was the one sitting to her left.
Lady Purleigh had rung for a servant. The man who arrived was short and heavyset and his name was Parsons. At Doyle’s request, he pulled the entrance doors shut, drew the thick curtains over the mullioned windows, and then marched across the carpets clicking off electric lights.
The seance was what we had all come here for, and no one said anything as the air grew more dusky, click by click. I looked at the Great Man. He was smiling at Madame Sosostris. I looked at Miss Turner. She had been watching me, and her glance skipped away. I looked at Mrs. Corneille. She looked back at me and smiled.
Finally there was only one lamp left, burning on a table that stood at the base of a tapestry. Shadows streamed along the floor and pooled in the corners of the room.
Doyle asked Parsons to sit down beside the lamp and wait, and then he turned to Madame Sosostris. “Madame?” he said.
Madame Sosostris’s hair was the same tonight, a white thicket above her round white face, but she was wearing a different silk gown. This one was black and shiny and spangled with golden astrological signs. Her hands, small and plump and jeweled, were perched along the wooden arms of her wheelchair. Slowly, in the hazy gray, she looked around the table like a general inspecting his troops. The glance from her shrewd dark eyes met the glance of each of us, one by one, before it moved on. Her glance didn’t waver when it met the Great Man’s.
Finally she spoke. “T’e first t’ing you must all to understand,” she said, her heavy jowls quivering, “is t’at once we have, all of us, in the circle wit’ our hands toget’er joined, we must not to break t’e circle. Yas?”
Doyle translated. “Once we join our hands,” he said, surveying the table, “we must not break the circle. This could be dangerous.”
“Yas,” said Madame Sosostris. “The second t’ing. At t’e beginning, my husband will be to asking t’e questions for Running Bear. Afterwards, others may to speak wit’ him.”
“Initially,” said Doyle, “Mr. Dempsey will ask the questions of Running Bear, Madame’s Spirit Guide. When Running Bear gives his permission, the rest of us may ask what we like.”
“Yas,” said Madame Sosostris. “Now. We will all to join our hands toget’er, pliss.”
I took Mrs. Corneille’s left hand. It was small and cool and soft. She smiled at me, then turned to the Great Man and offered him her right. He took it, but he was still studying Madame Sosostris, and still enjoying himself.
I turned to Cecily, reached for her right hand. She gave it to me and looked away. Her fingers were warm. Suddenly they made a quick squeeze against mine, and her sharp little fingernails nipped into my palm. She was still looking away.
“Yas,” said Madame Sosostris. “Now we are ready.”
“Parsons?” said Doyle. “The lights, please, if you will.”
The light clicked off, the room was suddenly black. Cecily squeezed my hand. Her thumb stroked my little finger. Her nails nipped at my palm. It seemed to me that Cecily wasn t throwing herself into this seance business the way she was supposed to.
Then, out of the total darkness, came a droning sound. Madame Sosostris’ had begun to make a kind of hum. It was a drawn-out single note, low and stony and unwavering, and it went on for a long time. Then it stopped. She made a deep raspy noise, like a broken snore, and she was silent.
And then things started happening. A small bell rang, from far away. Cecily’s hand clenched at mine. Something rapped at a table. Once, twice, three times. Some heavy chains clattered somewhere nearby. A sudden trumpet blared, and Mrs. Corneille s hand tightened on mine but relaxed almost immediately. Then there was a soft swishing sound, and then a quick muffled rattling, and the air was suddenly laced with the smell of flowers. Cecily jerked her hand from mine and said, “ Ouch! ”
“Parsons,” called out Doyle, “the light, please.”
The light clicked on. Someone hissed, sucking in a breath.
The tops of all three tables were strewn with roses, covered with them, maybe fifty or sixty flowers. Heavy blossoms, dark red and looking almost black in the muted light. Each was attached to a leafy, thorny stem about a foot long.
At the head of the table, Madame Sosostris flipped open her eyes. “Someone has broken t’e circle!”
“It hit me,” Cecily pouted. She held up a rose as proof, and then peered at it more carefully. She raised her eyes toward the ceiling, puzzled, and then she turned to her mother. “But how could that be?”
Lady Purleigh smiled faintly, shook her head. “I don’t know, darling.” She turned to Madame Sosostris.
“Please, my good girl,” said Madame Sosostris to Cecily. “You must not to break t’e circle.”
I looked at the Great Man. He was smirking.
I was still holding Mrs. Corneille’s hand. She was staring at the roses. She felt my glance, turned to me, arched her eyebrows, smiled.
“Now,” said Madame Sosostris. “We will to try again, yas? We will all to join our hands toget’er.”
Cecily made a face and tossed the rose to the table. She narrowed her mouth and she curled her fingers around my hand in a death grip.
Doyle called out, “The light, please, Parsons.”
The light clicked off.
In the dark, Madame Sosostris hummed again, and snored again. The bell rang. The table rapped. The chains rattled, the trumpet blew.
Then someone said, “Ugh.” A low voice, masculine, smoky, nothing like the voice of Madame Sosostris. Cecily tightened her grip around my fingers.