Snobbery With Violence - M. C. Beaton [45]
“That’s what we thought,” said Deborah eagerly. “But she said it was one of the fellows here. I say, when do we start with the ouija board?”
“Give me an hour and I’ll meet you in the library,” said Rose.
Upstairs, Rose rang for Daisy and told her about the ouija board. “You’re lucky,” said Daisy. “My friend, the psychic, had one.”
“What’s it like?”
“Well, the board is about eighteen by twenty inches. It’s got the letters of the alphabet across the middle and numbers one to nine—oh, and a zero—in a line underneath. At the top left-hand corner there’s a Yes and in the top right, a No. Down the bottom left it says Good Eve and bottom right Good Night.”
“A polite board.” said Rose.
“Oh, my friend told me the spirits like a bit of courtesy. Now, a little table about three or four inches high with four legs is placed on top of the board. Someone sits down next to you and you each grasp the planchette—they calls it that—with thumb and forefinger. Then the question is asked: ‘Are there any communications?’ The table will move around to Yes or No. Then you go on asking questions and the answers are spelled out by the legs of the table.”
“But what if nothing happens?” asked Rose.
“You make it happen. It only takes a little nudge.”
Daisy was sprawled in an armchair in Rose’s room while Rose sat at her dressing-table. She eyed her maid in the mirror and felt a sharp rebuke trembling on the edge of her lips.
Almost as if Daisy sensed the change in atmosphere, she leapt to her feet. “I am going down to the stillroom, my lady. Mrs. Trumpington’s lady’s maid has made some rose-water and she promised me a phial of it for you.”
“Be back in time to come with me to the library.”
Daisy bobbed a curtsy. “Certainly, my lady.”
The American sisters were in high excitement. “Never thought to have such fun in this stuffy hole,” said Deborah. “I wrote home to my friend and said we were staying in this fake castle and she wrote back saying, weren’t we good enough to be invited to a real castle? So shaming.”
“You and Deborah start first,” said Harriet.
Daisy gave a discreet cough. “May I suggest, ladies, that we turn down the gas and light a candle? The spirits can be very shy.”
“Oh, do that now,” said Deborah. “I can’t wait.”
“Aren’t you frightened?” asked Rose.
“We’ve played with it before and never had anything to be frightened about,” said Harriet. “Last time I asked the board for the name of the man I would marry and it spelled out Xaz-urt. What sort of name is that?”
Daisy placed a lighted candle on the table which held the ouija board with its little table.
“You’re supposed to take the board on your lap,” said Deborah, “but it’s so awkward. You sit next to me, Lady Rose, and take the corner of the little table nearest you between your thumb and forefinger. As you’re the psychic, you start.”
“Are there any communications?” asked Rose.
To her amazement, she felt the table move. “It’s resting on Yes,” screeched Deborah. “Go on. Ask it something.”
Rose longed to ask if Miss Gore-Desmond had been murdered but decided to ask something silly and simple. “Will Miss Deborah Peterson marry?”
The little table lurch and the leg rested again on Yes.
“My turn,” said Deborah. “What is the name of the man I will marry?”
“It’s moving,” said Rose.
Slowly the letters were spelled out. H-A-R-R-Y.
“There’s that divine captain, sis,” squeaked Harriet.
“There is also Harry Trenton,” Rose pointed out.
“Oh, he’s so dull. Ask it for his second name.” So Rose put the question but this time for some reason the little table did not budge an inch.
“It does that sometimes,” said Deborah, disappointed. “Maybe we should pack it up and try another time.”
“Wait,” said Rose, throwing back her head and closing her eyes. “I feel a presence.”
The table jerked over the alphabet and came to rest on M. Then jerkily it went on to spell out the full word—MURDER.
Deborah screamed. Harriet shouted, “Light the gas.”
Daisy darted around the room with a taper until every gaslight was lit.
“That was sure a fright,” said Harriet, fanning