Page 62 of A Gathering Storm

“Stop it!” Ward snapped. “Stop blaspheming—there are ladies present! And stop calling me by my given name in company. For goodness’s sake, show a little decorum!”

Nicholas froze and fell silent, his expression stunned.

The echo of his own words reverberated in Ward’s mind, and immediately he wished he could call them back, knowing with sudden, sick certainty, there was nothing—not one thing—he could have said that could have been worse.

“Nicholas,” he said hurriedly, “I’m sorry—”

But already Nicholas was stepping back, putting distance between them.

“I’m sorry. I truly didn’t mean that,” Ward babbled. He held his hands out, his palms outstretched, as though pleading for calm.

Bryant had risen to his feet now too. “I realise that your people have erratic ways, Hearn,” he said snidely. “But I cannot tolerate this sort of hostile behaviour at my séances. I must think of my other guests and ask you to leave.”

“Well said, Mr. Bryant,” Mrs. Harris piped up, and Mr. Wallace nodded his agreement solemnly. Mrs. Peasland fingered her gold coin bracelet, her pretty mouth set in a fractious line.

Nicholas had adopted that oddly neutral expression he wore sometimes, all emotion masked. Suddenly, Ward hated that expression. When Nicholas opened his mouth to reply to Bryant, Ward spoke over him, desperate to show Nicholas that Ward was on his side.

“We will be leaving together, Mr. Bryant,” he said. “We will trouble you no longer.”

Bryant’s face fell. “Oh, there’s no need foryouto leave,” he said hurriedly.

“No,” Nicholas agreed icily. “No need for you to leave,Sir Edward. And no need to answer for me either, thank you. I’ve a voice of my own and can speak for myself.”

He turned on his heel and stalked out the room.

Ward stood there, paralysed, flinching as first the parlour door, then front door slammed behind Nicholas. His mind raced. Should he run after Nicholas or leave him to cool down? He wasn’t sure exactly what had just happened, but he knew with complete certainty that he had wounded Nicholas badly.

“And stop calling me by my given name . . .”

Christ. He’d pulled rank on Nicholas, hadn’t he? Knowing that was the sorest of all sore spots for him. And God, but he was regretting it now.

More words returned to him.

“Don’t you know how to behave?”

“You should be ashamed of yourself!”

He closed his eyes. He knew with horrible certainty that Nicholas would not easily forgive him for this.

Into the silence, Bryant said, “Well, now that Mr. Hearn’s done the decent thing and removed himself, shall we resume the proceedings?”

Ward blinked and looked up to find the others all watching him with curious expressions, all except young Miss Harris who was staring straight ahead.

“I think I had better go,” he said, and his voice sounded distant to his own ears.

He felt oddly dazed, his mind already racing ahead to what came next. He’d go straight to the Fox and Swan—surely that was where Nicholas would be—and he’d apologise, profusely. Everything could be put right—they could get back to the way things were last night. That perfect night. Surely they would get that back?

They had to.

“Oh, come now, Sir Edward! Stay till the end of the séance at least,” Bryant said. “I felt sure we were getting somewhere before Mr. Hearn’s outburst. There was—” he made a swirling gesture with his right hand and looked upwards, as though searching for words to explain, or perhaps waiting for divine assistance “—if not quite a presence yet, certainly a sense of something approaching.”

Ward actually shivered. The theatricality of the man in that moment seemed so suddenly very wrong. Before he could respond though, Mrs. Peasland, who had been staring at Bryant with an enraptured expression, turned to Ward, clasping her hands at her bosom, and said, “Oh, yes, please stay, Sir Edward! Please do let us make the circle again and try to contact your loved one. Do not let your friend’s lack of faith in the spirits prevent you from gaining the comfort of communicating with your dear departed again.”

Mr. Wallace made another of those mumbling noises that signified agreement, and Mrs. Harris and Mr. Peasland added their voices too, all of them urging Ward to stay.

Only Miss Harris was silent. And then, quite suddenly, in the middle of that cacophony of voices, she rose from her chair and left the table. She walked over to the other side of the room and . . . stared at the wall.

“Mathilda?” her mother cried. “What on earth are you doing?”