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Miss Norris arrived a short while later, accompanied by her friend, Miss Livingstone, who is from Oxfordshire and travelling to America with her mother and aunt.

They were quivering in the corridor like a pair of young horses in the starting gate, their cheeks flushed with excitement.

I invited them in and they sat at the little round table I had pulled into the middle of the room.

They looked terrified.

‘You need not be afraid,’ I said, closing the door and locking it.

‘The spirit board is simply a way of allowing those with no voice, to have a voice.’ I told them that Lester accuses me of being a witch.

I’m flattered, of course. I wish I were a witch, then I could put spells on people I do not like.

Believe me, there are plenty of those I would relish turning into toads and rats.

Glover, for one, would make a very fine rat.

The girls laughed more easily after that and settled into the chairs.

‘Tell me about your father?’ I asked Miss N.

Golden sunlight streamed in through the porthole and settled gently upon the girl’s face, endowing it with an angelic radiance.

‘He had a kind face,’ she replied, and my heart went out to her, for she looked so sad.

‘He loved books and used to read me stories when I was a child. He was a man of few words and was quite eclipsed by my mother, but when I had him to myself, he would talk without pause, delighting in my complete attention.’ At that moment Miss N’s eyes welled with tears. ‘I miss him, Miss Fleet,’ she said.

I reassured her, telling her what my dear mama always told me.

That those who love us on the other side, simply want to let us know that they live on.

They don’t have special messages necessarily, because they have left the material world behind and no longer care for it.

But they care for us and want us to know that they are watching over us and loving us from another dimension.

I told her that I was sure her father was no different.

The two young ladies watched with curiosity as I opened the board in front of them.

Miss L asked if she could touch the planchette.

I explained what it was for, then took the opportunity to make them aware of how very difficult it is for spirits to communicate with us.

If it were easy, everyone would be doing it.

Spirits are made of light. We are made of matter.

There is a big difference between the frequency of their realm and ours.

The spirit board does not always work. I hoped it would today.

I performed the usual rituals, then we closed our eyes and I said the prayer of protection.

After which, I told the girls to rest their forefingers gently on the planchette.

I asked Miss N for her father’s name. She said it was Francis.

I took a deep breath and centred myself.

Then I asked Francis Norris to make himself known.

It didn’t take long.

We all felt the temperature drop. To be honest, I was surprised at how quickly it fell. I noticed that the girls barely dared breathe.

The skin on Miss N’s arms suddenly rippled with goosebumps and her eyes shone with tears.

‘Oh, Miss Fleet, I can feel him,’ she said, the colour deepening in her cheeks.

‘I can feel him beside me.’ So affected was she by the presence of her father that she didn’t notice the planchette move slowly and laboriously onto the letter H.

The letter H?

I asked her if her father answered to another name. A nickname, perhaps.

Miss N frowned and looked puzzled. ‘No, he was Francis or Frank,’ she said.

Then who is H? I wondered.

At that moment, Miss L piped up. ‘My grandfather’s name was David Harry Livingstone. Might the spirit be he?’

I cleared my throat, feeling bad for poor Miss N who so wanted to contact her father. ‘Are you David Harry Livingstone?’ I asked.

The planchette moved slowly and hesitantly onto the word No. It was clearly finding it hard to communicate.

Miss L was disappointed, as was I. ‘Give us another letter for your name,’ I asked. I repeated the question three times as the planchette did not move. Finally, it carried the fingers across the board to the letter P.

‘H or P – might your father have had a middle name beginning with either of those letters?’ I asked Miss N. She shook her head. I looked at Miss L. She shook her head too. It wasn’t going well.

I sensed that the spirit’s energy was faint. It was taking a great deal of effort for it to manipulate matter. A few minutes passed during which nothing happened. But eventually the planchette slid once again onto the letter H, where it remained, most determinedly.

None of us could work out who it was and consequently the afternoon was dispiriting.

I explained once more that sometimes it works, but most often it doesn’t.

Tant pis. Perhaps we can try again in New York.

Being on water might not be conducive to spirit communication.

I wish Mama were here, so I could ask her.

Tonight, Lester did not cover himself in glory.

I do wish he would not linger so at the side of Mrs Finch.

She is a widow in search of a new husband and has the unmistakeable air of a gold digger.

I can spot them a mile away! I managed to drag him from her on the pretext of taking him off to see Orlando.

But no sooner had they found one another, than Lester sprang back to Mrs Finch’s side and the two of them engaged in a conversation that looked both intimate and secretive.

I was furious. Dinner was at a long table with various new friends, among them, Maggie, Orlando and the dreaded Mrs Finch.

She has her claws in Lester and is intent on keeping them there.

She claimed, very loudly, that Lester kindly offered to escort her on the voyage, as is custom for men to do with unaccompanied ladies.

Kind, indeed! I was having none of it. ‘My dear Mrs Finch,’ I replied, equally loud, but in a crisp, cold voice.

‘I am afraid my nephew is already escorting me.’ Well, she could find nothing to say about that and Lester could hardly deny it.

Maggie and I laughed about it later as we took our chairs at the bridge table.

As Orlando had agreed to play with us, Lester was compelled to make up the four.

He played very badly, partnering Maggie, and Orlando and I won.

Orlando is quite solemn, but I believe I am lightening him up. Every time he smiles, I feel I have won something precious. Patience and endurance will reap their rewards. Is it not so with the pearl in the oyster shell?