Page 108 of Unforeseen Affairs
“No,” Charlotte murmured, watching as the diminutive medium sat serenely with her eyes shut, draped in her dark veils. “Mrs. Stone doesn’t wish them to feel confined. She says they prefer to come and go in the same manner they would have in life.”
This was to be Mrs. Stone’s third private sitting since she’d started up once again. The papers had been particularlypunishing in their excoriation of Mr. Bass, for whom all invitations had disappeared. The rumor in the spiritualist community was that Bass, with his tail between his legs, had absconded to America and adopted a new persona in the hope that he could start anew.
As Charlotte had correctly predicted, Bass’s humiliation and subsequent departure had infused her mentor with a newfound energy, a reinvigorated zeal and purpose.
“Confined, indeed,” Mrs. Collier echoed, with a nod toward Mrs. Stone. “Does she ever open her eyes, I wonder?”
“She will. Right now she is conserving her energy and focus.” Charlotte forced herself to sound enthusiastic. “I daresay your guests will be mesmerized.”
“That is what I have been told,” Mrs. Collier said with a hint of skepticism, before excusing herself to attend to another of her duties as hostess.
Charlotte found herself drawn to Colin from across the room. She gave little thought to the other gentlemen and ladies milling about, for the majority were the same sorry lot of Sedleys she’d been thrown in with nearly a decade ago.
Cousin Harmonia held court in one corner, resplendent as usual in a red and gold dress. She was speaking animatedly with a pair that Charlotte placed as the wealthy businessman Joseph Palgrave and his eccentric artist wife, a tall lady named Rose, with red hair bright enough to rival even Colin’s. Harmonia’s husband, the stone-faced Thomas Rickard, stood nearby with Charlotte’s father and Dr. Collier. There was more gray than brown in Ajax Sedley’s hair these days, but he still cut a charming, dashing figure. After all these years Charlotte found she could no longer fault him for it, for Colin was also charming and dashing, albeit in a different, far less irritating way. Whatever the three men were talking about, Charlotte knew it was something that would no doubt bore her to tears.
She cut a wide berth around them accordingly.
Her stepmother, Susanna, hadn’t wished to go out, and was instead happy to remain home with Thalia, Lucius, and the new baby—a bubbly girl with a full, dark head of hair they’d named Helen. Susanna had never been entirely comfortable with the idea of a séance, and Charlotte had never felt the need to convince her otherwise.
Finally, standing before the large, round table set in the center of the room, was Cousin Bess, dressed head-to-toe in black and upon the arm of her son, Marcus. Marcus’s wife Evelyn stood alongside them, her black shawl adding even more severity to her appearance than usual. Unfortunately, there would be no avoiding Cousin Bess if she wished to reach Colin and Mrs. Stone, so Charlotte approached the trio begrudgingly.
Cousin Bess was sniffling, her black-gloved fingers digging into Marcus’s sleeve.
“The salmis of pheasant with truffles was such perfection,” Bess bemoaned. “Walter would have adored it.”
“He did enjoy game, that’s true,” Evelyn said calmly. She glanced up when she noticed Charlotte approaching. “Ah, Cousin Charlotte. How does your… spiritualist friend fare?” She looked back to Mrs. Stone, who remained deathly still upon the couch, eyes still shut.
“Very well, thank you,” Charlotte bluffed. In truth she hadn’t yet spoken with Mrs. Stone that day, and could not be sure of her state one way or the other. But it seemed simpler—and friendlier—to report that she was fine.
“Are you sure?” Marcus winced. “She appears… overcome. It seems rather premature, for someone in her trade.”
“It is not a trade,” Charlotte said sternly. “Mrs. Stone does not charge for private sittings.”
Evelyn blanched.
“And the desserts! Oh, Mrs. Collier keeps such a lovely table. Walter was ever so fond of meringues and compotes!” Cousin Bess was now precariously close to wailing.
“How old was Walter, exactly?” Charlotte asked. His passing that winter should not have come as a shock, but it had sometimes seemed as though the little lapdog would outlive all of them.
“Sixteen,” Cousin Bess sighed as she accepted a handkerchief from Marcus. Charlotte would have believed it if she had said twice that much.
“A hound is a fine companion,” Evelyn said, although she faltered slightly on the word “hound.” Charlotte had certainly never thought of the spaniel as such, and was pleased to see that Evelyn didn’t either.
“Cheer up, Mama,” Marcus said blithely. “Perhaps Mrs. Stone will call on Walter to return. Who knows, he may be slobbering upon our outstretched hands within the hour.”
Cousin Bess did wail at that, then began quietly sobbing. Evelyn shot Marcus a look, at which Marcus only grinned.
Charlotte excused herself, unconcerned with the spiritual well-being of Walter. The dog had lived quite well—better, even, than most humans. However his spirit found itself now, Charlotte was at peace with it.
Mrs. Collier was now making her rounds, supervising a pair of footmen in their dimming of the lamps. The descending light lent an air of mystery to the room, and as Charlotte finally drifted over to Colin, his mother, and Mrs. Stone, she felt almost as though she were stepping into an ethereal painting.
Colin caught her eye as she approached, exuding a kind, gentle strength.
“Darling,” he said as he stood up, imbuing the word with all the familiarity and awe of a lover’s caress. “Please, sit.”
He took her arm with outsized chivalry and helped to lower her to the seat. Charlotte narrowed her eyes at the obvious gesture. She did not wish for anyone to puzzle out the secret that only the two of them shared for now.
A child. Her child. And his. Quickening in her womb.
