To Say Nothing of the Dog

  “No,” I said, wishing I had simply told Baine to steal some out of Madame Iritosky’s trunk. “It has to be wire.”

  She opened a drawer and began rummaging through it. “I’ve got the second sight, you know. Me mother had it, too.”

  “Umm,” I said, looking into the drawer at a great assortment of unidentifiable utensils. But no wire.

  “When Sean got his collar broke that time, I sorr it all in a dream. I get a funny feeling in the pit of me stomach whenever anything bad’s goin’ to happen.”

  Like this seance? I thought.

  “Last night I dreamed I sorr a great ship. Mark my words, I told Cook this morning, somebody in this house will be going on a journey. And then this afternoon if this madam person didn’t show up, and they’d come by train! Do you think they’ll be having a manifestation tonight?”

  I sincerely hope not, I thought, though there was no telling with Verity. “What exactly do you have planned?” I asked her when she got back just before dinner. “You’re not going to dress up in veils or anything, are you?”

  “No,” she whispered, sounding regretful. We were standing outside the French doors to the parlor, waiting to go into dinner. On the sofa, Mrs. Mering was rehashing the sounds of Cyril’s nocturnal breathings with Tossie—“The cry of a soul in hideous torment!”—and Professor Peddick and the Colonel were holding Terence captive with fishing stories in the corner by the hearth, so we had to talk softly. Neither Madame Iritosky nor the Count were down yet and were presumably still “resting.” I hoped they hadn’t caught Baine red-handed.

  “I think the best thing to do is to keep it simple,” Verity said. “Did you get the wires?”

  “Yes,” I said, taking them out of my jacket. “After an hour and a half of Jane’s second-sight experiences. What are they for?”

  “The table-tipping,” she said, moving slightly so we couldn’t be seen from inside. “Bend a hook in one end of each of them,” she said, “and then, before the seance, put one wire up each sleeve. When the lights go out, you pull them down till they extend past your wrists and hook them under the edge of the table. That way you can lift the table and still be holding on to your partners’ hands.”

  “Lift the table?” I said, putting them back inside my jacket. “What table? That massive rosewood thing in the parlor? No wire’s going to lift that thing.”

  “Yes, it will,” she said. “It works on a principle of leverage.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I read it in a mystery novel.”

  Of course. “What if someone catches me in the act?”

  “They won’t. It’ll be dark.”

  “What if someone says they want the lights on?”

  “Light prevents the spirit forms from materializing.”

  “Convenient” I said.

  “Extremely. They can’t appear if there’s an unbeliever present either. Or if anyone tries to interfere with the medium or with anyone in the circle. So no one will catch you when you lift the table.”

  “If I can tip it. That table weighs a ton.”

  “Miss Climpson did it. In Strong Poison. She had to. Lord Peter was running out of time. And so are we.”

  “You talked to Finch?” I said.

  “Yes. Finally. I had to walk all the way over to Bakers’ farm, where he’d gone to buy asparagus. What is he up to?”

  “And the figure was definitely a five?”

  “It wasn’t a figure. It was written out. And there’s no other number with two ‘f’s and two ‘e’s. It was definitely the fifteenth of June.”

  “The fifteenth of June,” Professor Peddick said from the hearth. “The eve of the Battle of Quatre Bras and the fateful mistakes that led to the disaster of Waterloo. It was on that day that Napoleon made the error of trusting the taking of Quatre Bras to General Ney. A fateful day.”

  “It’ll be a fateful day, all right, if we don’t get Tossie up to Coventry,” Verity murmured. “Here’s what we’ll do. You’ll tip the table once or twice, then Madame Iritosky will ask if there’s a spirit present, and I’ll rap once for yes. And then she’ll ask me if I have a message for someone, and I’ll spell it out.”

  “Spell it out?”

  “With raps. The medium recites the alphabet and the spirit raps on the letter.”

  “It sounds rather time-consuming,” I said. “I thought on the Other Side they knew everything. You’d think they could come up with a more efficient means of communication.”

  “They did, the Ouija board, but it wasn’t invented till 1891, so we’ll just have to make do.”

  “How are you doing the raps?”

  “I’ve got half of the sugared-violets box sewn to one garter and the other half to the other. When I hit my knees together, it makes a very nice, hollow sort of rap. I tried it upstairs in my room.”

  “How do you keep from rapping when you don’t want to?” I said, looking down at her skirts. “In the middle of dinner, for instance.”

  “I’ve got one garter pulled higher than the other. I’ll pull it down till they’re at the same spot after we’ve sat down at the seance table. What I need you to do is keep Madame Iritosky from rapping.”

  “Has she got a sugared-violets box, too?”

  “No. She does it with her feet. She cracks her toes like the Fox sisters. If you keep your leg pressed against hers so you can feel any movement, I don’t think she’ll try rapping herself, at least till after I’ve rapped out, ‘Go to Coventry’”

  “Are you certain this will work?”

  “It worked for Miss Climpson,” she said. “Besides, it must have worked. You heard Finch. Tossie’s diary says she went to Coventry on the fifteenth, so she must have gone. So we must have convinced her to go. So the seance must have been successful.”

  “That makes no sense,” I said.

  “This is the Victorian era,” she said. “Women didn’t have to make sense.” She hooked her arm through mine. “Here are Madame Iritosky and the Count. Shall we go in to dinner?”

  We went into dinner, which consisted of grilled sole, roast rack of lamb, and second-guessing Napoleon.

  “Should never have stayed the night at Fleurus,” Colonel Mering said. “If he had gone on to Quatre Bras, the battle would have taken place twenty-four hours earlier, and Wellington and Blücher would never have joined forces ”

  “Balderdash!” Professor Peddick said. “He should have waited for the ground to dry after the rainstorm. He should never have pressed forward in the mud.”

  It seemed grossly unfair. They had, after all, the advantage of knowing how things had turned out, while all Napoleon and Verity and I had to go on were a handful of battlefield communiques and a date in a waterlogged diary.

  “Rubbish!” Colonel Mering said. “Should have attacked earlier in the day and taken Ligny. Never would have been a battle of Waterloo if he’d done that.”

  “You must have seen a great many battles while you were out in India, Colonel,” Madame Iritosky said. “And any number of fabulous treasures. Did you bring any of them home? A Rajah’s emeralds, perhaps? Or a forbidden moonstone from the eye of an idol?”

  “What?” Colonel Mering sputtered through his mustache. “Moonstone? Idol?”

  “Yes, you know, Papa,” Tossie said. “The Moonstone. It’s a novel.”

  “Pah! Never heard of it,” he muttered.

  “By Wilkie Collins,” Tossie persisted. “The moonstone was stolen, and there’s a detective and quicksand and the hero did it, only he’d taken it without knowing it. You must read it.”

  “No point in it now that you’ve told me the ending,” Colonel Mering said. “And no such thing as jeweled idols.”

  “But Mesiel brought me a lovely necklace of rubies,” Mrs. Mering said, “from Benares.”

  “Rubies!” Madame Iritosky said, shooting a glance at Count de Vecchio. “Really!”

  “What use can the signora have for rubies,” Count de Vecchio said, “when she has such a jewel
as her daughter? She ees like a diamond. No, like a zaffiro perfetto, how do you say, a flawless sapphire.”

  I looked at Baine, who was serving soup grimly.

  “Madame Iritosky once contacted the spirit of a Rajah,” Mrs. Mering said. “Do you think there will be manifestations at our seance tonight, Madame Iritosky?”

  “Tonight?” Madame Iritosky said, alarmed. “No, no, there can be no seance tonight. Or tomorrow. These things must not be done in haste. I must have time to prepare myself spiritually.”

  And unpack your trumpets, I thought. I looked over at Verity, expecting an expression as grim as Baine’s, but she was calmly eating her soup.

  “And manifestations may not be possible here,” Madame Iritosky went on. “Visible phenomena only occur near what we call portals, links between our world and the world beyond—”

  “But there is a portal here,” Mrs. Mering cut in. “I’m sure of it. I have seen spirits in the house and on the grounds. I’m certain if you will grant us a seance tonight, we shall have a manifestation.”

  “We mustn’t overtire Madame Iritosky,” Verity said. “She is quite right. Railway journeys are fatiguing, and we must not ask her to tax her wonderful psychic powers too far. We shall have to have tonight’s seance without her.”

  “Without me?” Madame Iritosky said icily.

  “We would not dream of taxing your spiritual powers for a poor, homely affair like ours. When you have recovered your strength, we will have a true séance.”

  Madame Iritosky opened her mouth, closed it, and opened it again, looking exactly like Colonel Mering’s globe-eyed ryunkin.

  “Fish?” Baine said, bending over her with the platter of sole.

  Round One to our side. Now, if only the seance would go as well.

  The Reverend Mr. Arbitage arrived at nine, I took the opportunity of the subsequent introductions to put the wires up my sleeves, and we all (except for Madame Iritosky, who had excused herself rather huffily and gone upstairs, and Colonel Mering, who had muttered, “Twaddle!” and gone off to the library to read his paper) trooped into the parlor and sat down around the rosewood table which there was no way on earth I was going to be able to lift, leverage or no leverage.

  Verity motioned me to sit down next to her. I did and immediately felt a weight on my lap.

  “What’s that?” I whispered under cover of Terence, the Count, and the Reverend Mr. Arbitage all jockeying for position next to Tossie.

  “Princess Arjumand’s basket,” Verity whispered back. “Open it when I give you the signal.”

  “What signal?” I said, and felt a sharp kick on my shin.

  The Count and the Reverend Mr. Arbitage won the battle, and Terence was left with Mr. Arbitage and Mrs. Mering. Professor Peddick sat down next to me. “Napoleon was interested in spiritism,” he said. “He held a seance in the Great Pyramid of Giza.”

  “We must join hands,” the Count said to Tossie, taking her hand in his. “Like this . . . .”

  “Yes, yes, we must all join hands,” Mrs. Mering said. “Why, Madame Iritosky!”

  Madame Iritosky was standing in the doorway, draped in a flowing purple robe with wide sleeves. “I have been summoned by the spirits to serve as your guide this evening in the parting of the veil.” She touched the back of her hand to her forehead. “It is my duty, no matter what the cost to me.”

  “How wonderful!” Mrs. Mering said. “Do come sit down. Baine, pull up a chair for Madame Iritosky.”

  “No, no,” Madame Iritosky said, indicating Professor Peddick’s chair. “It is here that the teleplasmic vibrations converge.” Professor Peddick obligingly changed chairs.

  At least she hadn’t sat down next to Verity, but she was next to Count de Vecchio, which meant she’d have one hand free. And next to me, which meant I was going to have an even harder time lifting tables.

  “There is too much light,” she said. “There must be dark—” She looked round the parlor. “Where is my cabinet?”

  “Yes, Baine,” Mrs. Mering said. “I told you to put it in here.”

  “Yes, madam,” he said, bowing. “One of the doors was broken, so that it would not lock properly, and I removed it to the kitchen for repairs. I have repaired it. Would you like me to bring it in now?”

  “No!” Madame Iritosky said. “That will not be necessary.”

  “As you wish,” Baine said.

  “I feel that there will not be manifestations tonight,” she said. “The spirits wish to speak to us only. Join hands,” she ordered, draping her voluminous purple sleeves over the table.

  I grabbed her right hand and grasped it firmly.

  “No!” she said, wrenching it away. “Lightly ”

  “So sorry,” I said, “I’m new at this sort of thing.”

  She laid her hand back in mine. “Baine, turn down the lights,” she said. “The spirits can only come to us in candlelight. Bring a candle. Here.” She indicated a flower-stand near her elbow.

  Baine lit the candle and turned the lights down.

  “Do not turn the lights up on any account,” she ordered. “Or attempt to touch the spirits or the medium. It could be dangerous.”

  Tossie giggled, and Madame Iritosky began to cough. Her hand let go of mine. I took the opportunity to extend the wires from my wrists and hook them under the table.

  “I beg your pardon. My throat,” Madame Iritosky said, and slipped her hand in mine again. And if Baine had turned up the lights, it would have been dangerous, all right. I would have bet anything it would have revealed Count de Vecchio’s hand in mine. Not to mention my own hanky-panky.

  There was a faint rustling on my right. Verity, moving her garter into position.

  “I’ve never been at a seance before,” I said loudly to cover it. “We shan’t hear bad news, shall we?”

  “The spirits speak as they will,” Madame Iritosky said.

  “Isn’t this exciting?” Mrs. Mering said.

  “Silence,” Madame Iritosky said in a sepulchral tone. “Spirits, we call you from the Other Side. Come to us and tell us of our fate.”

  The candle blew out.

  Mrs. Mering screamed.

  “Silence,” Madame Iritosky said. “They are coming.”

  There was a long pause during which several people coughed, and then Verity kicked me on the shin. I let go of her hand and reached onto my lap, and lifted the lid off the basket.

  “I felt something,” Verity said, which wasn’t true, because Princess Arjumand was brushing against my legs.

  “I felt it, too,” the Reverend Mr. Arbitage said after a moment. “It was like a cold wind.”

  “Oh!” Tossie said. “I felt it just now.”

  “Is there a spirit there?” Madame Iritosky said, and I leaned forward and lifted up with my wrists.

  Amazingly, the table actually moved. Only a little, but enough to make Tossie and Mrs. Mering both give their little screamlets and Terence to exclaim, “I say!”

  “If you are there, spirit,” Madame Iritosky said, sounding irritated, “speak to us. Rap once for yes, twice for no. Are you a friendly spirit?”

  I held my breath.

  Clack went the sugared-violets box, and restored my faith in mystery novels.

  “Are you Gitcheewatha?” Madame Iritosky asked.

  “That’s her spirit control,” Mrs. Mering explained. “He’s a Red Indian chief.”

  Clack, clack.

  “Are you the spirit that I saw the other night?” Mrs. Mering said.

  Clack.

  “I knew it,” Mrs. Mering said.

  “Who are you?” Madame Iritosky said coldly.

  There was a silence. “She wants us to use the alphabet,” Verity said, and even in the dark I could sense Madame Iritosky glaring at her.

  “Do you wish to communicate by means of the alphabet?” Mrs. Mering said excitedly.

  Clack And then a second clack, a different sound, like someone cracking a knuckle.

  “You don’t wish to c
ommunicate by alphabet?” Mrs. Mering said, confusedly.

  Clack, and a sharp kick on the shins.

  “She does,” I said hastily. “A B C—”

  Clack.

  “C,” Tossie said. “O, Madame Iritosky, you told me to beware of the sea.”

  “What else?” Mrs. Mering said. “Do go on, Mr. Henry.”

  Not while there was a foot loose in here. I slid forward in my chair, stretching my left leg till it touched Madame Iritosky’s skirt, and pressed my foot hard against hers. “ABCDEFGHIJK,” I said rapidly, my foot held tight against hers, “LMNO—”

  Clack.

  She pulled her leg back, and I wondered what would happen if I clamped my hand down hard on her knee.

  It was too late. “ABCD—” Mrs. Mering said, and the rapping sounded again.

  “C-O-D?” Mrs. Mering said.

  “Cod,” Professor Peddick said. “Gadus callerias, of which the most interesting variety is the Welsh whiting.”

  “‘Will you walk a little faster,’” Terence quoted, “‘said a whiting to a—’”

  “Cod, coddle, cody,” the Reverend Mr. Arbitage said. “Are you the ghost of Buffalo Bill Cody?”

  “No!” I shouted before anyone could rap an answer. “I know what it is. It’s not a C, it’s a G. C and G look nearly alike,” I said, hoping no one would notice the letters had been spoken, not written, and that they were nowhere near each other in the called-out alphabet. “G-O-D. She’s trying to spell ‘Godiva.’ Are you the spirit of Lady Godiva?”

  A very decisive clack and we were, thankfully, back on track.

  “Lady Godiva?” Mrs. Mering said uncertainly.

  Tossie said, “Is she the one who rode a horse without any—?”

  “Tocelyn!” Mrs. Mering said.

  “Lady Godiva was a very holy woman,” Verity said. “She had only her people’s best interests at heart. Her message must be very urgent.”

  “Yes,” I said, pressing hard against Madame Iritosky’s leg. “What are you trying to tell us, Lady Godiva? ABC—”

  Clack.

  I rattled through the alphabet again, determined not to leave any spaces this time for Madame Iritosky to insert a rap. “ABCDEFGHIJK—”

  I made it as far as M. There was a sharp rap, like a very annoyed toe being cracked. I ignored it and pressed on to O, but to no avail.