“Oh…” He groaned and dabbed at his sweating forehead with a cambric handkerchief, his expression ghastly. “Poor Nellie, poor girl…”
Strange how his agitation moved her not one whit. “What do you wish to say to your wife, Mr. Barchester?” she asked him coldly.
Pip’s lips worked in unintelligible turmoil as he wrung his hands. “I—I don’t know,” he stuttered. “T—tell her how sorry I am. I did not mean for her to get hurt.”
Nellie stiffened. What did he mean by that? Had Pip just revealed his culpability? “Your wife knows who is responsible for her death,” she continued implacably. “She was murdered by a common thug in the employ of a man called Thaddeus Ormond.”
Pip’s complexion turned to ashes. He gawped at her like a hooked fish, but no sound came out of his white lips.
“Thaddeus Ormond is your father, is he not?” She brought her hands down on the table with a sharp bang which made Pip start. “Your wife has a question for you, Mr. Barchester. She wants to know if you conspired with your father to get rid of her. She wants to know if
He jolted back so hard his chair toppled over, carrying him with it. Nellie’s heart jumped as he crashed to the floor but she strove to keep her calm, knowing the situation teetered on a knife-edge.
Pip scrambled back to his feet. His necktie was awry, and his complexion had turned putty grey. “You—you are a charlatan,” he cried, wagging a shaking finger at her. “I don’t believe a word you say.”
“I am merely the conduit to the spirit world, Mr. Barchester. I cannot control the messages I receive.”
“Well, then you must be talking to the wrong spirit. Yes, yes, that’s the problem, you silly cow. You’re not talking to my wife.”
Nellie drew herself upright and snapped back, “You question my abilities? How dare you! I have been communicating with the spirits since I was a girl of ten.”
“Nevertheless, I don’t believe you’re talking to the right Nellie Barchester.” Despite his bravado, a shadow of doubt had crept into Pip’s expression. “Ask the spirit for some proof that she is my wife. Ask her to tell you something only she would know.”
“Very well.” Nellie sighed and cast her gaze upwards. “O spirit, your husband asks you to prove your identity.” She glared back at Pip. “Your wife says you have a scar on your foot left from an operation to remove a vestigial toe.”
Gulping, Pip sagged into the chair and clutched at the tablecloth. “Well, that is something, but—but I am not yet convinced.”
“When you have nightmares, you cry for your mother, over and over again.”
“My mother!” His Adam’s apple bobbed convulsively. He stared at her, stricken with grief. “Oh, Mama, my darling mama! How I’ve missed her all these years.” Tears filled his eyes as he gibbered. “Dearest mama!”
A spurt of indignation stung Nellie. This was the first time he’d cried tonight, and it wasn’t for her but for his mother. She quickly quelled her mean-spirited thoughts. If ever a son had needed his mother, that man was Pip.
“Madame Dariya,” Pip called out urgently. “I wonder if you could summon up my dear mama’s spirit?”
Nellie drew back. “No, I’m afraid that’s impossible.”
“But why? I miss my mama so much. She did all she could to shield me from—well, from things, and when she died I was bereft. Oh please, Madame Dariya. I beg of you.”
“Some spirits do not wish to communicate with the living,” she blustered. “They wish only to be left in peace.”
“But you won’t know that if you don’t try.” Pip leaned his beseeching face forward. “Please, Madame Dariya. I will pay you extra—double!— if you allow me to speak with my mother.”
Heavens, what was she to do now? She longed to steer the conversation back to the murder and what knowledge Pip might have had of his father’s plans, but it was obvious he was fully distracted by the notion of contacting his long-dead mother. Nellie saw no option but to pander to his wishes. She would pretend to call up his mother’s spirit, tell him regretfully that she’d failed, and return the focus to his dead wife.
“Very well,” she conceded. “What is your mother’s name?”
“Felicity Ormond.” Expelling a heartfelt sigh, Pip sank back in his seat and gazed at her with eyes large and hollow in a face burning with expectation.
Pip’s fervent expression discomfited Nellie. His mother’s death had dealt Pip a devastating blow from which he’d never recovered. He’d been his mother’s pet, she surmised, and her death had left him exposed to the harsh treatment of his father. Anyone who grew up with a brute of a father like Thaddeus Ormond could be excused a little weakness. But it was not her place to give him false solace, however much he wanted it. She would simply pretend his mother’s spirit did not want to contact him.
Raising her arms, she delivered her incantation, using Felicity Ormond’s name. Pip craned forward, breathing noisily through his parted lips, the tip of his tongue darting in and out nervously. Nellie repeated her words once more, then shook her head softly at Pip.
“I’m sorry. Your mother’s spirit does not present itself.”
“Try again, I beg of you.”
“It’s no use—”
“Please!” Moisture gleamed on his puckered forehead. “Just once more, please.”
Suppressing her unease, Nellie resumed her position. How much longer could she continue with this shameful charade? It was one thing to make Pip think she’d raised his dead wife’s spirit, but his mother was truly dead, and she knew how much she meant to him. It was not right to delude him, but she had no choice. She lifted her hands higher.
“Beloved Felicity Ormond, we bring you gifts from life into death. Be guided by the light of this world and —”
Suddenly her tongue seized as air rushed out of her lungs in one great whoosh. An invisible force squeezed upon her chest. She could not speak or move. Coldness swept down on her in an arctic squall, freezing her every cell. She gasped and choked, but not a sound escaped her mouth. Mother of God, was she suffering some kind of seizure? Her eyes rolled upwards, her head tilted back of its own volition. All she could see was the dirty ceiling above her festooned with grey cobwebs. Out of the grime, an orb of light glowed in the centre of the ceiling. It pulsed and grew until it seemed to envelope her.
The light shifted, became a column and entered her mouth. It felt as though she’d swallowed a live fish. It squirmed about in her throat, and she heard words flowing out of her mouth, but the voice sounded nothing like hers.
“Pip, my dearest boy!” she cried in a faint, high-pitched voice. “How wonderful to speak with you again.”
White-faced, Pip fell to his knees. “M-Mama? Is that really you?”
“Of course. Don’t you recognise my voice? Why, I used to sing you your favourite lullaby every night. Do you remember?” A strange tune warbled out from Nellie’s mouth. She had no control over herself, had never heard this song in her life, yet the phrases poured out in a quavering lilt.
Tears streamed down Pip’s cheeks. “Dearest Mama, how I’ve missed you.”
“You’ve grown into a handsome man, my son. I’m proud of you.”
Pip sobbed louder. “There isn’t a day goes by I don’t mourn your passing.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left you. It was not my choice.”
Pip scrubbed at his wet cheeks. “What do you mean? Of course it was not your choice to bleed to death in your bed.”
“I mean I…well, I might have survived the miscarriage if…”
“If what?”
A mournful sigh rose from Nellie’s lips. “You may recall that I died during the night I lost my unborn child, unable to rouse any assistance, and my maid found my dead body the following morning.”
Pip shook his head in sorrow. “Mama, I shall never forget that dreadful morning.”
“Well, the truth is, I wasn’t entirely alone that night. Your father came into my room…”
