‘All hands on the table, please!’ instructed Rendell, placing the glass in the centre of the board, directly under the letters. ‘We don’t want any accusations of trickery. He... What do you think you’re doing?’
‘Detecting infrasound,’ said Noah, sulkily, holding out a small black object with a microphone on it. ‘Low-frequency sound waves that are believed to cause feelings of fear or unease, often associated with ghostly activity.’
‘I imagine feelings of unease follow you around,’ said the doctor.
‘It’s picking something up already,’ said Noah, excitedly. ‘And my EMF is definitely detecting some kind of interference.’
‘Put it away,’ said Rona. ‘Immerse yourself in the experience.’ Shelaid both of her hands out flat in front of her. ‘If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the last year, it’s to stop living through the lens.’
‘I meanthear themmetaphorically, anyway. They don’t talk out loud,’ said Rendell. ‘They spell it out through the board.’ He tapped on the wood.
‘I thought you were going to be inviting the spirits to speak through you,’ said Noah. ‘Aren’t you using a spirit box or something?’
Rendell shook his head. ‘Absolutely not. I can only go with the spirits’ preferred medium, and that happens to be this glass.’
‘That’s a bit disappointing,’ said Noah. ‘But I suppose, if I had to choose between being inside a geriatric alcoholic or a crystal glass, I know which I’d prefer.’
The description, despite its accuracy, appeared to annoy their host. ‘Well, aren’t we all lucky that you are still very much alive?’ said Rendell, which Midge didn’t think he meant.
‘Actually,’ Noah cleared his throat, ‘I was wondering if I could record this for the podcast, or at least some of it?’
Rendell stared at him for a moment before nodding in acquiescence.
‘I think I could be a psychic.’ This was from Rona. ‘I’m definitely an empath. My therapist calls me an empty vessel.’
At this point, Midge overheard Dr Mortimer muttering to his wife that ‘they got that right’ before he caught her staring at him. ‘How do you know it can spell?’ he asked Rendell. ‘I mean, it would’ve been fairly uncommon for a lot of people of that time to have gone to school.’
‘Clearly, they’ve had enough time to learn since,’ said Rendell, smoothly. He tapped the glass with the same gold letter opener from earlier. The sound made Midge’s ears ring.
‘Ahem,’ he cleared his throat. ‘If you could just concentrate on...’
But he didn’t finish his sentence, as suddenly there was an icy blast from the French window. One of the panes had been flungopen, throwing back the curtains in a violent flourish. The howling wind from outside encircled the guests as Harold got up and struggled to latch the window shut. Rendell suddenly jumped up from his seat. A small sound escaped his mouth and he pointed out into the garden, all of the colour draining from his face.
‘What’s wrong?’ cried Rona. ‘Is he having some kind of stroke?’
Midge followed the direction of Rendell’s finger but could only see the flames of the fire and Harold’s bemused face reflected in the now closed window.
‘What is it?’ asked Rona. ‘What’s out there? Is it the White Lady?!’
‘I thought... No, it’s impossible.’ Rendell shook his head and sagged backwards into his seat.
‘What?!’ asked Noah. ‘Is it a transfiguration? Hold on, I haven’t pressed record yet. Bollocks.’
Rendell took a long swallow from his whisky before replying. ‘I must have been mistaken. For a second, I thought I saw something white, looking in at us.’
‘Poppycock!’ snorted Dr Mortimer.
‘Andrew!’ protested his wife.
‘He’s just trying to put the heebie-jeebies up us before the séance,’ said the doctor. ‘Any fool can see that.’
Harold peered out through the glass. ‘There’s no one there.’
Rendell composed himself before finally nodding towards Harold. ‘Curtains, please.’
Harold obliged, pulling the curtains shut, the draught of which caused another temporary flickering of firelight. He returned to his seat but not before making a gesture of drinking behind Rendell’s back, indicating that he thought the host had enjoyed too much of the whisky.
‘Now if you could all place the index finger of your right hand on to the top of this glass,’ said Rendell, waiting until Harold had re-seated himself. Midge obediently placed her finger as instructed. It was sandwiched between Gloria’s and Noah’s andMidge couldn’t help staring at the tiny signet ring on Gloria’s finger that, judging by the swelling around it, didn’t belong on her hand.
