Mrs. Lancaster indicated that the lights in the room should be dimmed and the shades drawn. The result was dark, though not as black as Alice had heard some mediums required in order to work.
“We must all hold hands,” said Mrs. Lancaster, taking Alice’s hand in her bony fingers. “The spirits find it consoling to know that we are united.”
“Is there music?” asked Henry. “I like a bit of music.”
“No music,” said Mrs. Lancaster curtly.
Henry coughed and then sniffed slightly. “Can I get out my handkerchief, or will that bother the spirits?”
“Shh,” said William. “You don’t have to play the prima donna all the time. Just sit still and be quiet.”
The group remained silent for a few minutes.
“I don’t know that I’m getting anything,” said Mrs. Lancaster. “There is a great deal of negative energy in the room.”
“Maybe if I could blow my nose?” asked Henry.
“Blow your nose, for God’s sake, and be done with it,” snapped William.
Henry blew his nose, and the group returned to silence.
Suddenly there were two loud raps that Alice felt must have come from under the table. She moved her leg quickly against Mrs. Lancaster’s and felt a tremor in the muscles of the woman’s calf, though so slight, it seemed hardly enough to produce the loud noises she had just heard. There was no time to explore further, for Mrs. Lancaster began to shake violently. She continued to hold Katherine’s and Alice’s hands, but the shaking grew so violent that everyone around the table was pushed from side to side.
“Oh my!” said Henry. “I’m not cut out for so much exercise.”
“Shh!” said William.
Mrs. Lancaster’s teeth began to chatter, and her eyes rolled back in their sockets. If she had not been much to look at before, she was definitely not a pretty sight now.
“Perhaps we should call a doctor,” murmured Henry.
“Shh!” said William.
Mrs. Lancaster sat bolt upright, her eyes wide open. Her face, harsh and bony in its natural outline, appeared to soften. Her eyes grew bright, and her mouth shaped itself into a pout. In an uncanny eruption, a child’s voice suddenly cried out, “I wants some cake! I wants some cake!”
Everyone looked at Mrs. Lancaster in wonder.
“Mayn’t I have some cake?” the voice cried again.
“It seems she wants cake,” murmured Henry.
“Mayn’t I have some cake, mum, please?” The voice, which had been demanding, had turned to a plaintive whine. “It’s cake I want; please, Mum, please!”
Alice, who had been staring raptly at Mrs. Lancaster’s transformed features, called out to Sally, who appeared in the doorway, and at the sight of the medium’s contorted visage, looked like she was about to faint.
“No need to be frightened, dear,” said Alice, who herself sounded a bit shaky. “Please go to the cupboard and bring some of that lemon cake that Mrs. Woolson brought over the other day.”
Sally disappeared and returned with a platter with a cake on it.
“Put it in front of the lady,” instructed Alice, so that Sally, her hands trembling, deposited the cake in front of Mrs. Lancaster and then quickly ran from the room.
“There’s your cake, dear,” said Alice. She took hold of Mrs. Lancaster’s arm and directed it toward the cake. Mrs. Lancaster placed her hand in the cake and began to shovel it into her mouth. She kept shoveling until the cake smeared her face and the front of her dress.
“Someone needs to learn some manners,” murmured Henry.
“Shh!” said William.
After several minutes of cramming the cake into her mouth, Mrs. Lancaster leaned back. “Good cake,” said the child’s voice.
“I’m glad to hear it,” said Alice. “Now tell us your name, little girl,” she said.
“I’s Cassie Bartram,” said the voice.
“And how old are you, Cassie?”
“I be nine or ten, not sure which one,” said the voice.
“And why are you here?”
“I comes here sometimes to speak through this lady. Don’t know why I do, but she’s easy to go through when I’s something I need to say.”
“And you have something you need to say now?”
“I do. I do. It’s from Annie—that’s a lady here I know who had a hard time of it. She been good to me, and so I said I’d do as I can for her over on this side.”
“What do you need to tell us about Annie?”
“I gotta tell that she been killed. Like me. On’y worse than me. Me dad, he jus’ hit me real hard, and it kinda busted my head. It weren’t that he meant to kill me; he just got mad like he always done, but this time he hit too hard. But Annie, she got stabbed with a knife. That’s worse than hitting.”
“Where was she stabbed?” asked Alice.
“Well, first in the neck, and then he cut her up down below in the privates.”
“She told you that?” asked Alice.
“That she did. Said as he cut things out of her horrible.”
“And what did the man look like who did this? Did she tell you?”
“He was dark and kinda small and spoke in that funny language them people speak.”
“A Jew, you mean?” asked Alice.
“I guess as it was, since he spoke them funny words, and he may’ve had the horns too, though she weren’t sure about that.”
The voice stopped, and Mrs. Lancaster shook again, more violently than before.
“What is it, Cassie? Is there something wrong?” asked Alice.
The voice suddenly grew shrill and upset. “No, no, I says it wrong! That wasn’t it as I wanted to say!” Mrs. Lancaster’s face contorted as if struggling to break free of something. “It was his hands I wanted to tell of. They was pretty hands, small and delicate-like—white, but not the fingers. They was stained.”
“With blood?” asked Alice.
“No, not blood. More black or sootish. Maybe tar or somethin’ like.”
There was more violent shaking, and Mrs. Lancaster frothed at the mouth. Something viscous emanated from her lips. She coughed a few times and took her hand away from Alice’s. The medium’s voice returned to its flat and nasal tone. “There it is: Annie Chapman.” Reaching up into the air, she grasped hold of a small image, seen in the dim light to be a picture of a woman—Annie Chapman, it appeared to be, if one had seen the woman’s face in the newspaper. As Mrs. Lancaster held the image a moment in front of her face, it just as suddenly disappeared.
“That’s it. It’s done,” said Mrs. Lancaster drily. “You can turn the lights on now.”
Katherine turned on the lights. Everyone was silent for a few moments.
“Impressive!” William finally said.
“Strenuous!” said Henry.
“Very interesting,” said Alice. She addressed Mrs. Lancaster. “I want to thank you for giving us your time.” She went over to the desk drawer and took out a bank note, which she handed to the woman, who nodded stiffly in response and turned to go.
“Not quite yet,” said Alice. “Would you mind, please, removing your shoes?”
“Excuse me?” said Mrs. Lancaster, looking offended.
“Remove your shoes. It shouldn’t be difficult. They look rather loose.”
“I will not remove my shoes!” declared Mrs. Lancaster.
“Then I must assume that you have practiced upon us through that means,” said Alice. “I have read about an American spiritualist who does all her tapping with her big toe—a highly developed big toe, not the sort one finds on most people, but a big toe nonetheless. Could we look at your big toe?”
“You most certainly cannot!” said Mrs. Lancaster.
“All right,” said Alice. “I’ll let you escape with your big toe unexamined. But there is one more thing.” She moved closer to the woman and then suddenly, with a surprisingly quick movement, squeezed her cheeks with one hand and with the other reached inside her mouth. She extracted a small piece of rubbery cloth and, opening it, displayed the imprint of a face. “Annie Chapman,” she announced. “Excellent sleight of hand and control of your jaw muscles for that trick.”