She waved her hand slowly, gesturing at the expanse set out before them. “Such a great distance,” she muttered. “My mind spreads away so. It is hard to keep one’s thoughts tethered, is it not?” When he gave no reply she continued, her eyes still fixed on some distant point. It was easier to speak to him without the distraction of watching his reaction to her words. She shied away from seeing herself—her gifted, strange self—reflected in those pale blue eyes. “You have, I think, noticed some unusual … occurrences while in my presence,” she said. “Heard some perplexing things, perhaps. Witnessed some curious events.”
“Curious, and some might say inexplicable.”
“Except that they can be easily explained.” Annoyed by her own timidity, she drew a breath and turned to face him. “What you have observed are my interactions with ghosts. No more, no less.”
Even in that wide-open space, the air about them fizzed with the significance of what she had said.
John spoke slowly, choosing his words with care.
“You … converse with spirits?”
“I do. Though they prefer to be called souls.”
“And … they are many?”
“Several. Four, so far, though I sense others.”
“Have you always been able to speak to the departed?” he asked.
She was reassured by his responses, and by the tone of his voice. He appeared neither shocked nor dismissive.
“Not as such. When I was a child I could glimpse movement on the very limit of my vision. With these glimpses came an accompanying sense of not being alone. And on occasion I would emerge from a vivid dream and whispering voices would follow me into my waking day. I never thought these things significant. They were not frightening. On the contrary, if I had to name the feeling they evoked in me I would say it was one of kinship. As if I had secret friends, even if they were too shy to reveal themselves completely. I did not think to mention these things to my father, but I understand now that he was aware of them. He was watching me.”
“And have you shared your recent experiences with him?”
She nodded. “He was not surprised. More … pleased.” She smiled. “He believes I am fulfilling my potential.”
John gave a light laugh at this. “Mr. Cavendish is a rare man, and no mistake. Not many fathers would have ambitions for their daughters in the sphere of spiritualism.”
She frowned then, concerned that she had misunderstood his view of what she was telling him.
“Is that how you see me? As some manner of medium, calling to departed loved ones in a parlor draped in red velvet, low lit, with an assistant to rattle doors and blow out candles to thrill those paying for the experience?”
“No, no, not at all!”
“Have you put me in the same category of persons as those with a traveling show, perhaps, touting for customers among the heartbroken?”
“I assure you, I have not.”
“These lost souls, they came to me. They sought out my company, not I theirs. They came unbidden because they were drawn to me. They feel safe in my presence. They know I will help them if they are in need of assistance. Just as I know I may rely upon them.”
“Which is why you were not afraid in the crypt?”
She hesitated. She could see from his earnest expression that he believed her, and that he was not mocking her at all. She had told him she was not afraid, but what she had felt among those broken tombs was something quite different.
“I sensed something else in the crypt that day of the first desecrations. I cannot tell you I was unafraid.”
“But you felt the presence of ghosts there? Malign ones, perhaps?”
“I do not know. In truth, I believed it was not safe for anyone to remain in that place. I was frightened for the dean, and for you. But, whatever it was is there no longer.”
“You are certain of that?”
“Quite. When you found me there earlier today I had been listening to Inspector Winter’s theories on the matter of the desecrations.”
“Is he still of the mind that grave robbers were to blame?”
“I am not sure he ever was. He came to the unavoidable conclusion that the tombs had not been broken into, but broken out of.”
“Good Lord! What can that mean?”
“That is what I intend finding out. It was a shocking conclusion for a man so wedded to solid facts. I fear the inspector may search for the truth in places where it does not lie, for he will resist the possibility of something spiritual being at play.”
“Understandably. Though one might think the location of the crime, exceptional in itself, might steer him in a less earthbound direction than his usual inquiries.”
“I was sworn to secrecy on the matter,” Hecate said, suddenly remembering her promise. “I should not have mentioned it.”
John reached forward and took her hand in his.
“You may trust me with your confidence at any time, Hecate. I am happy to listen and willing to assist you in any way I can.”
“You do not think me fit for the asylum, then?”
“My whole life has been dedicated to the service of an unseen being. I am the diocesan exorcist, and believe me when I say my role as such has led me to dark and astonishing places. I daily give thanks to the Holy Ghost. I kneel before an image of a man I believe rose from his grave,” he reminded her. “Who better than a vicar to appreciate your gift?”
A sharp breeze had got up and Hecate felt it chase around her neck.
“I should go,” she said, walking briskly across the lead of the roof toward the doorway. “I am expected home.”
