Andrea Bennett - Two Cousins of Azov

It contained a small glass bottle with writing on the side, but without his reading glasses he couldn’t make it out. He raised it to his nose and inhaled. ‘Oof!’ he exclaimed, leaning back into the armchair, and then ‘Aaargh!’ He closed his eyes as the room turned to crystal and then shattered within his head.

‘Gor?’ Sveta dropped Zoya’s wrist and leapt to his side, scowling, her face hovering just above his. His muscles had relaxed and fallen away and he seemed to be melting on the chair while his mind floated above it.

‘I don’t know what’s in that bottle,’ he said a few minutes later, after Sveta had brought him a reviving cup of tea, ‘but it’s not smelling salts. I strongly advise you, Madame,’ he pointed his bony finger at the old woman, who was now also fully conscious, ‘to cease sniffing whatever it is, immediately.’

Sveta examined the label with Madame’s magnifying glass. ‘It says “ Amyl Nitrite Super Rush ”. What is that?’ Her brow wrinkled.

All three shook their heads.

‘Well, to rush is to hurry…’ mused Sveta.

‘It’s not spirit of ammonia, which is what it should be,’ said Gor.

‘I’ll tell Vlad,’ said Zoya, with a sigh and a far-away look, ‘that his smelling salts are bad.’

‘Vlad got them for you?’ asked Sveta.

‘Yes, he brought them last week straight from the pharmacy. Or the sanatorium. I don’t remember. Or Polly recommended them. When I was checking his credentials. It’s all a bit fuzzy. He’s a lovely boy.’

‘Imports, Madame Zoya,’ said Sveta with a knowing smile, ‘Not everything they’re cracked up to be! You’d be better off with proper, home-grown remedies!’

‘Akh!’ groaned Zoya.

‘Now. We need to talk,’ said Gor.

‘The séance table,’ said Sveta.

‘The table, indeed,’ echoed Gor.

‘My table,’ cried Zoya, ‘totally ruined!’

‘What we want to know is…’

‘How did you fake it?’ cut in Gor.

‘Pardon?’

‘How did you do it? And why?’

‘I don’t know what you mean! I never fake anything!’ the old lady hissed, fingernails scratching the chintz on which she reclined.

‘Akh, Zoya, you are well known in the district as a… as a…’ Gor hesitated.

‘Yes?’ Her bird’s-nest hair vibrated with indignation.

‘A person of good spirit, Madame, and strong views. And a lover of the arts, and culture, and the paranormal. You are sincere. We know that,’ said Sveta.

‘I do my best. It’s not easy, in this town. Philistines, the lot of them! If only I lived in Moscow, or St Petersburg: somewhere where the arts really mattered! Where the intelligentsia—’

‘Can we talk about the table now?’ said Gor.

‘The spirits did it!’

‘Come come, we all know—’

‘The table has never been scratched before!’ she insisted. ‘Look at it – go and look! The woodwork was good as new until last Friday. Why would I ruin my own table?’

She struggled off the sofa, herding them to where the table stood folded for storage. ‘See!’ She twisted a lamp to its surface. They could see the lettering, could smell it even: freshly scratched, small splinters of naked wood still protruding. ‘You have my word: I had nothing to do with this. I was as amazed as all of you when it was revealed. I was in a stupor!’

‘The spirits have never written on your furniture before?’

‘No, child.’

‘Why do you think they did it this time?’

She shrugged and looked at Gor. ‘To make a point.’

‘And what was that point?’

‘You should be afraid, Gor! Very afraid! It’s obvious, isn’t it?’

‘And why?’ he persisted, his tone soft but frosty.

‘Search me!’ She cackled, holding on to a stuffed woodpecker for balance. ‘I’ve never been able to work out what they’re trying to do. Not a clue, ha!’ she laughed and then winced. ‘But it can be fun. You learn so much about your fellow humans at a séance!’ She limped over to the sofa, where she lay down, her head on the arm and her feet tucked under her hips. She nestled in as if to sleep. ‘I have to rest.’

‘A couple more questions, Madame Zoya, if you please. The people who were with us on Friday: how did you select them?’

‘Select them? They select themselves. The girls… well, originally I sewed for them – dresses and the like, or met them in the theatre. They’re all friends of friends. They’re sweet creatures, in the main. Curious, but sweet.’

‘And Vlad?’ Gor asked, one eyebrow raised.

‘Vlad? Oh, well… he’s Valya’s lodger. She brought him for security. He and Polly are… an item. He was good for getting drinks and… well, for looking at, if you see what I mean. The other ladies liked him.’

‘It struck me as quite unusual,’ Gor broke in, ‘his type, at a séance.’

‘Type?’ asked Zoya innocently.

‘What is his profession?’ Gor asked.

‘He’s a doctor. Working in a sanatorium while he studies.’

‘A student then?’

‘Yes.’

‘He’s very well presented for a student, isn’t he?’

‘Yes! I thought he was very smart. And did you see his watch?’ said Sveta, nodding. ‘Modern! Imported!’

‘And his sweater,’ said Zoya, ‘real wool, Italian.’

‘So, he’s unusually well-feathered for a student on a stipend,’ said Gor.

‘Perhaps his parents do well?’ mumbled Zoya.

‘Or maybe he has a… a benefactor, of some sort,’ added Sveta.

‘A benefactor? Yes, maybe. How many times has he visited you here?’

‘What are you getting at? Are you suggesting I am his benefactor ?’

Gor’s whiskers twitched.

‘Once, last week, like I said… so that I could get to know him a little before the séance. He offered. He had a look at the balcony, gave me the smelling salts, and made me a lovely cup of tea. We had an interesting chat.’

‘Chat? What about?’

‘Um… you know… this and that. I’m not sure… I dozed off.’ Her forehead creased as her eyes flicked around the room, avoiding Gor’s stare. ‘He’s a lovely boy. Very strong. Lithe, also—’

‘Yes!’ said Sveta, ‘I noticed that.’

‘Bit of an athlete. You can tell from his—’

‘Ladies please! Did you leave him alone at any time, when he was here?’

‘Of course not. I mean, I didn’t trail around after him the whole time… I took a rest in my boudoir. He tucked me in. Home repair is very tiring. Life is very tiring,’ she added pointedly.

‘Ah! That would give him long enough…’ said Gor to himself.

‘For what?’ Sveta and Zoya asked, in unison.

‘Well, he’s the face that doesn’t fit, isn’t he? He’s the odd one out. He could have scratched the word, meddled with the candles—’

‘It was the spirits!’ growled Zoya.

‘But he seems so, so… respectable,’ added Sveta, ‘He’s a vigorous man: a doctor! A strong, healthy body…’

Her words died as Gor’s black eyes squinted at her.

‘Humour me, ladies! Suspend your belief in the spirits and the healthy body, healthy mind fallacy. Ask yourselves: who had the opportunity, and strength, to carve into that table? Who had the opportunity to prime Madame here, with suggestions… maybe as she slept? Who don’t we know? Who doesn’t fit?’ Gor’s eyes probed into Madame Zoya’s as she lay on the sofa, head lolling.

She sucked in some dribble. ‘Well, when you put it like that… But, why?’

‘That… is something I don’t yet know. But I’ll find out!’

‘Ooh, a mystery!’ the old lady squealed, briefly looking half alive.

‘Yes, but not for you, my dear,’ said Sveta. ‘You must take bed rest and a little soup. And no more of those smelling salts!’ she added sternly. ‘You have been very helpful, but we must leave you in peace for the moment.’