Barbara Michaels - The Wizard’s Daughter

Marianne was unable to follow this advice. Reclining on the couch she stared out the window, watching the landscape rush past, half obscured in a gray mist of rain. The grimy suburbs of London were replaced by green countryside, and then by the dark satanic mills of the industrial Midlands before the Duchess's regular breathing changed to a yawn and then to other sounds of waking.

Marianne turned. The car was quite dark. "Shall I call your maid, ma'am?"

"No, my child. Let us sit here in the shadows a while longer. Unless it troubles you?"

"Not at all," Marianne said. Indeed, she welcomed the darkness. It gave her courage for what must be done.

The Duchess anticipated her. "I know you must be full of questions. Believe me, the only reason why I have delayed this conversation was on your account. I want so much to have you understand and accept. It is necessary for us to speak at leisure, calmly; and until now there has been no proper time. Last night I was – oh, yes, I confess it! – I was overcome. This morning there was much to be done. But now the time has come. Ask, and I will answer."

It must be understood that although Marianne's father – or rather, let us say Squire Ransom, for the situation at present is far from clear – Squire Ransom tried to guard his speech in the presence of his daughter, Marianne was by no means ignorant of the more emphatic expletives of the English tongue. She had overheard a great deal. The Squire, in one of his rages, was audible at a considerable distance, and her playmates, Billy and Jack, had not always remembered to whom they spoke. Her self-control on this occasion can only be attributed to the respect she felt for the Duchess. What she really wanted to do was pound on the window with both fists and shout, "What the b- h- happened last night?"

Instead she said meekly, "Would you mind telling me, ma'am, what I said last night? You said then that I said something, but I don't remember what I said."

"What is the last thing you remember?" "The table began to rock. And Dr. Gruffstone remarked…no. First you told him to be still. Then he said something about arrant nonsense. Then he said my pulse was normal… and all the lights were turned on."

"You went into a trance state," the Duchess said. "Do you know what that is?" "I… Yes, ma'am. I think so." "In that condition another entity – a spirit – takes possession of the mind of the medium – you. Many mediums have spirit controls. These controls are intermediaries between the blessed ones who have passed on and those of us who wait on this side of the veil."

"I have read of such things," Marianne said. "A control is like a master of ceremonies. He introduces the ones who want to speak to us."

"Very good, my dear. A spirit control is very much like a master of ceremonies. He performs the introductions, refuses admittance to disruptive, malevolent spirits, and warns us when the performance must come to an end. Last night your spirit control came to us. Her name is Pudenzia."

"Oh, dear," Marianne gasped. "You mean, ma'am, that I said -"

"Not you. It was Pudenzia who spoke to us with your organs of speech. You were not there. That is why you cannot remember what happened. It is common in the trance state."

"Oh, dear," Marianne said again. "But – but, ma'am – how do you know I wasn't making it all up?"

This ingenuous query made the Duchess laugh. "My dearest child, the fact that you could ask such a question proves you are above such wickedness. Not that I ever thought you capable of it! However, if it will relieve your innocent mind, I will tell you that Pudenzia gave me certain information that you could not possibly have known."

"What information? Oh, do forgive me; I didn't mean to pry -"

"There can be no secrets between us now. Would you like to know exactly what you said?"

"Oh, yes! If you can remember."

"Every word is imprinted on my heart." There was a brief pause, fraught with emotion. Then the Duchess resumed. "It took us some time to realize that you were in a trance. Mr. Carlton was the first to note that your hand had become limp; then I observed the change in your breathing. I asked if you could hear me; you did not reply. I then asked if someone else was present. Your voice said: 'I am Pudenzia.' "

Marianne was thrilled. She felt no alarm because she could not really imagine that this had happened to her. It was like hearing a story about someone else.

"Was my voice different?" she asked eagerly.

"Oh, yes. It was slower; you spoke with difficulty, as if in a foreign tongue, and at first your words were halting, your sentences incomplete. I asked who Pudenzia was, and received no reply. Then I asked if someone wanted to speak to me. And Pudenzia said…"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Forgive me my emotion. You have such a sympathetic nature you must have suspected that I have long been awaiting a message from… from David. For years I have tried to reach him, and have met with one heartbreaking disappointment after another. You see, Marianne, I am not so gullible as some people believe. I know there are many fraudulent mediums. A number of times I had received what purported to be David's words, but they never rang true; they never passed the tests I applied to them."

"Did you apply such tests last night?" Marianne asked.

"There was no need. The proof was given me. Your control, Pudenzia, told me there was a spirit who desired desperately to reach me. Never before had he found a vessel pure enough. That is most significant, don't you think? Then she said – and this, my dear, is the proof I speak of- she said, 'He carries the golden heart.' My dear, I gave David a locket of that very shape! He was wearing it when he disappeared. Now, Miss Marianne Ransom of Yorkshire could not possibly have known that."

"I certainly did not," Marianne replied, awed.

"So you see, I am convinced. These things take time and experience; you are still unskilled, and it would never do to force you beyond your strength. But when you have become accustomed to the trance state, then I may hope to hear David himself speak to me through your lips."

"Oh, ma'am," Marianne began, not at all sure she liked this idea.

"You cannot imagine how great a gift you have given me. I was in despair. Heaven forgive me, I was beginning to doubt. I have you to thank for the greatest happiness I have known since my darling passed on."

"Oh," Marianne said.

She was unable to say more. Thrilling and mysterious as her new situation was, it carried such an awesome weight of responsibility that she felt unable to sustain it. The fact that she had no conscious control over her gift made the burden even more frightening. Torn between a pleasurable sensation of importance and the fear of failure, she was more inclined to fear than to enjoy. But there was no way for her to abdicate the responsibility. The Duchess's dependence made that fact impossible.

Now cheerful and refreshed, the Duchess ordered tea and caused the lights to be lighted. As they sipped the fragrant beverage and nibbled on sandwiches, the older woman said thoughtfully, "I have been wondering who Pudenzia was, in this life. The name is Latin, of course."

"More tea, miss?" said Wilton, the parlormaid. Marianne glanced curiously at the woman's well-schooled, impassive face, wondering what the servants thought of their mistress's obsessive hobby. She did not doubt that the servants' hall knew every detail of what had transpired on the previous evening.

"We will serve ourselves, Wilton," said the Duchess.

The maid withdrew, her eyes respectfully lowered, and the Duchess resumed as if there had been no interruption.

"I think I remember hearing, when I was in Rome some years ago, of a Saint Pudenzia."

"A saint!" Marianne exclaimed. "I don't understand. I thought Pudenzia was a spirit."