Amanda Quick: Wait Until Midnight

Lutein the reign of Queen Victoria….

Astonishing Exhibition of Psychical Powers

By Gilbert Otford Correspondent

Flying Intelligencer

Mrs. Fordyce, the noted author, recently gave a thrilling demonstration of psychical powers before a small, private audience composed entirely of ladies.

Those who attended described a compelling scene. The room was darkened in a most dramatic fashion. Mrs. Fordyce was seated alone at a table that was illuminated by a single lamp. From that position, she proceeded to answer questions and make observations of a most personal nature about many of those present.

Following the exhibition, it was generally agreed that only the possession of the most extraordinary psychical gifts could account for Mrs. Fordyce's uncanny ability to respond correctly to the inquiries put to her. The startling accuracy of her remarks about those in the room with whom she had not been previously acquainted left a marked impression.

Mrs. Fordyce was afterward besieged by requests for séances and sittings. It was also suggested that she apply to Mr. Reed, the president of the Society for Psychical Investigations, for permission to be tested at Wintersett House, the headquarters of the Society. She refused all such invitations, making it plain that there will be no more demonstrations or exhibitions of her abilities.

It is commonly held among those who study such phenomena that the use of psychical talents places considerable stress on the nerves, which, as nature has ordained, are far more fragile in women than they are in men.

Mr. Reed told this correspondent that a concern for the health of her nerves is only one reason why a female practitioner would be hesitant to conduct demonstrations. He explained that the innate delicacy of feeling and desire for modesty that is the hallmark of a true lady ensures that any woman possessed of both genuine psychical abilities and a fine sense of the proprieties will be extremely resistant to the notion of exhibiting her powers in any public setting.

The face of the dead medium was a ghostly blur beneath the bloodstained wedding veil.

In life, she had been quite pretty. The long, heavy skirts of a dark blue gown were crumpled around shapely legs clad in white stockings. The iron poker that had been used to crush the back of her skull had been dropped nearby.

Adam Hardesty moved across the small, shadowy room, willing himself to push through the invisible barrier created by the peculiar scent and chill of death. He crouched beside the body and held the candle aloft.

Through the gossamer veil, he saw the glitter of the blue heads that trimmed the necklace around Elizabeth Delmont' sthroat. A matching pair of earrings dangled from her ears. On the floor next to her pale, lifeless fingers was a broken pocket watch. The glass had been shattered, the hands forever locked at midnight.

Removing his own watch from the pocket of his trousers, he checked the time. Two-ten. If the timepiece on the carpet had, in fact, been smashed in the course of the violent struggle that appeared to have taken place in the chamber, Delmont had been murdered a little more than two hours earlier.

A mourning brooch decorated with black enamel rested on the tightly laced, stiffly shaped bodice of the blue gown. The brooch looked as if it had been deliberately positioned on Delmont's bosom in a grim parody of funereal respect.

He picked up the brooch and turned it over to look at the reverse side. The flickering candle illuminated a small photograph: a portrait of a fair-haired woman dressed in a wedding veil and a white gown. The lady appeared to be no more than eighteen or nineteen. Something about the sad, resigned expression on her beautiful, unsmiling face gave the impression that she was not looking forward to married life. Under the picture, a lock of tightly coiled blond hair was secured beneath a beveled crystal.

He studied the woman in the photograph for a long moment, memorizing every detail visible in the tiny picture. When he was finished, he carefully repositioned the brooch on Delmonts bodice. The police might find it a useful clue.

Rising, he turned slowly on his heel to survey the room in which Elizabeth Delmont had been killed. The space looked as if a violent storm had blown through it, leaving a trail of wreckage to mark its path. The large table in the center was overturned, revealing an odd mechanism underneath. Delmont had no doubt employed the concealed apparatus to cause the heavy wooden object to float and tilt in midair. Gullible sitters took such activities as a sign that spirits were present.

Two drawers had been built into the side of the table, just beneath the top. Both stood open. He walked closer and experimentally closed each drawer. As he suspected, when shut, they were undetectable to the eye.

He ran his fingertips around the entire edge of the square table, searching for other cleverly concealed drawers. He found none.

Several chairs were scattered carelessly about. A variety of odd objects littered the carpet, including a flute, a voice trumpet, some bells and a set of musical chimes.

A telescoping rod, a slate and some padlocks were tumbled in a heap near an open closet. He scooped up one of the locks and examined it in the light of the candle. It took only a few seconds to find the hidden spring that could be used by the wearer to unlock the device.

Next to one chair lay a deathly white arm that appeared to have been neatly amputated at the elbow. The gracefully shaped hand was still attached. He nudged it with the toe of his shoe.

Wax, he concluded; carefully detailed, right down to the white fingernails and the lines on the palm.

He was a skeptic who had no patience with the current rage for psychical research. Nevertheless, he was well aware that when news of the medium's death got into the papers, there would be no shortage of people who would be more than ready to believe that Delmont had been dispatched by dangerous spirits that she had summoned from the Other Side.

When it came to scandals, he had a single, inviolable rule: Do not become involved in one. The last thing he wanted was for Delmont's death to become a sensation in the papers, but there was little likelihood that could be avoided now. The only thing he could do was endeavor to keep his own name out of the press's reports.

He searched the remainder of the séance room thoroughly on the assumption that it was the place in the house where the medium would most likely have concealed her secrets. He discovered three more hidden compartments, one in a wall and two in the floor, but there was no sign of the diary.

When he finished, he climbed the stairs to Elizabeth Delmont's bedchamber and methodically went through every drawer and the wardrobe.

It was a futile effort. The only item of interest was a small catalog bearing the title The Secrets of the Mediums. The array of items offered for sale included a number of artificial body parts designed to simulate ghostly manifestations, trick mirrors and an odd contraption composed of wires and pulleys capable of producing the appearance of levitation. The firm guaranteed potential clients that all transactions would be conducted in strict confidence and with complete discretion.

Downstairs, he walked along the darkened hall, intending to let himself out of the house through the kitchen door. He had done his best. It was impossible to search every square inch of the house in hopes of finding another secret compartment or cupboard.