Séance for a Vampire by Fred Saberhagen (top ebook reader TXT) 📗

asked Miss Altamont whether she planned to attend this evening’s séance, she responded that she did. Her tone was firm rather than hopeful, that of someone determined to perform a disagreeable duty.

Rebecca, at least at first, kept her own opinion on the subject of séances rather guarded. Meanwhile she asked several questions, with the evident object of finding out whether Holmes and I were really enthusiastic spiritualists. She appeared somewhat relieved to learn that we claimed no more than to have open minds.

When asked about her own beliefs, she stated somewhat defiantly that she was in general agreement with her father and young Martin: the séance must have been a fraud. but I received the strong impression that the young woman’s main concern was to shield her mother from further grief rather than exposing the mediums, or even to protect the family fortune.

Rebecca Altamont bestowed on the fatal rowboat a single glance of obvious repugnance, and then turned her back on it. I glanced at Holmes, but he chose not to mention to her his discovery of the peculiar marks.

Holmes wanted to hear Miss Altamont’s version of her sister’s drowning, and the events surrounding that tragedy.

After protesting that she was weary of discussing the matter, the girl went on to give an account generally confirming Armstrong’s. She had been seated in the stern of the rowboat with her sister, both young ladies facing forward, toward the young man who naturally sat amidships, facing them as he rowed.

“Then, Mr. Holmes, we experienced a violent shock.”

“As if the boat perhaps had struck a sunken log?”

“No! Not like that at all.” The young woman shook her head decisively. “That suggestion was made more than once at the inquest, but it is wrong. What happened was more like... as if some huge creature had reared up under our prow, which rose partially from the water.”

“Armstrong,” I ventured, “mentioned the idea of a sea monster– fancifully, of course.”

“I know,” said Rebecca, staring at me somberly from under the brim of her summer hat. “And then in fact the boat seemed to be gripped and twisted in a way that neither Martin nor I have ever been able to explain. The only suggestions we can make seem fanciful, I know, but I have been able to think of no better way to convey the sensation of what was happening.” And Miss Altamont stared at Holmes and myself with earnest hopefulness.

This account, while certainly strange enough, was still consistent with Armstrong’s version of events–and with the marks that seemed to indicate some grip of prodigious strength had been fastened upon the boat. Yet my friend did not pursue the point at once.

Shortly after our return to the house we encountered the mediums–and the Kirkaldys proved to be as curious about us as we were about them.

The attitude of Mrs. Altamont toward the Kirkaldys was almost that of a fond aunt, or even a doting mother–she insisted that they must be accommodated and treated, by both servants and family, as honored guests. The lady of the house had her way in this, as in much else, though I thought privately that some of the servants at least had other ideas–more in sympathy with those of her husband–regarding exactly what kind of treatment the mediums deserved.

Sarah, bustling and almost plump, dark-haired and in her very early twenties, was plainly the more aggressive of the pair, a shrewd young woman active in a business way. She was simply dressed, but her clothes were not inexpensive. Her brother Abraham was perhaps four or five years younger, a tall, frail lad of gentle appearance, evidently less concerned about his appearance, with soft brown hair and eyes, and the almost invisible beginning of a mustache. His sister alternated between doting on him tenderly and treating him severely. She seemed to be genuinely convinced that her brother was really sensitive in psychic matters.

In fact, I thought there was a moment at the dinner table when he really seemed about to go into a trance–staring into space, with soup dripping unnoticed from the spoon he held. I thought he might even be drooling from the corner of his mouth, and it occurred to me to wonder if the youth suffered from some mild form of epilepsy.

Toward the end of dinner, Rebecca Altamont, as if she might be growing apprehensive about the evening’s prospects, suggested that the séance might be more likely to succeed if it were postponed by twenty-four hours–or that another sitting held on a certain future date would be even more certain of success.

She added wistfully: “That day would have been Louisa’s twentieth birthday.”

Sarah looked at the speaker sweetly. “What are birthdays on the other side? It is the death day that is the real birthday.”

Mrs. Altamont was thrilled. “My dear, what a beautiful way to look at it! Thank you. Let us go on with it tonight.”

Then talk at the dinner table returned to harmless social generalities, and remained for a few minutes on that level.

I did my best to maintain a polite standard of conversation while remaining alert for any signs of fraud. but with my own experiences of six years earlier never far from my thoughts, I could not be other than open-minded on the subject of supernatural manifestations.

Soon enough the subject of spirit sittings again engaged the dinner table. The Kirkaldys were willing to talk in general terms about some of their past successes–without revealing names or dates–though they were reticent about any other aspect of their history. They were orphans, they said, and their family was a painful subject; they begged to be excused from any discussion on that topic.

The subject of materializations came up, and Martin Armstrong, adopting the manner of the investigative reporter, asked Miss Sarah Kirkaldy why darkness seemed to be required.

I remember that she smiled sweetly at her questioner as she produced a ready answer. “The necessity for darkness during materialization is in harmony with the creation of all animal and vegetable structures, as