Page 55 of The Legend of Lovers Hollow
Mrs Rose-Smythe peeks one eye open and frowns. “Did someone say something?” She opens the other eye and looks around suspiciously. When no one speaks up, she closes her eyes once again and everyone who opened their eyes follows suit.
Be quiet,I mouth to Bertie.
“Close your eyes,” Mrs Rose-Smythe repeats in a low, singsong voice, as if trying to lull the people in the circle into relaxing. “Empty your minds of all conscious thought, feel your body start to relax. The tension is draining from your–”
“SNNNNNNNKKKRRR.”
Everyone’s eyes snap open at the sudden loud, garbled noise, and Thad grins at the sight of Warren holding the hands of Mr Pennington on one side and Haru on the other. His head rests against the high back of his chair and his mouth hangs open as he snores loudly.
Morgan steps forward with an apologetic look. Reaching around, he gently places his fingers under his brother’s chin and closes his mouth. The noise is instantly muffled, going from a loud snore to a low vibration.
“He’s always been a noisy sleeper,” Morgan whispers. “Sorry, as you were.”
Mrs Rose-Smythe glares at him as he retreats and then at Warren, who slaps his lips a couple of times, mumbles something incoherent, and settles back into a quiet hum.
“Let us try again,” she says irritably. “Close your eyes and breathe…”
I’m not sure if she’s telling the assembled group or herself, but I bite my lip as Morgan gives me a look like a naughty schoolboy who’s just been told off.
“Spirits! Spirits, are you there?!”
Bertie draws in a breath and opens her mouth, but I shake my head firmly.
“Speak to us! Lady Clare, are you there!”
Silence.
Then a faint repetitive clip-clop sound.
Mrs Rose-Smythe gasps. “Can anyone hear the sound of a horse approaching? Perhaps it is her lover!”
I look back to Bertie, who now has two half coconuts in her hands and is making horse hoof sounds like she’s part of the Monty Python ensemble.
Stop it!I mouth.
Bertie rolls her eyes and sighs, the halved coconuts disappearing from her hands.
“Spoilsport,” I hear her mutter.
“Lady Clare, I implore you, come to us, awake!”
There’s a sudden blip, and one of Thad’s machines starts lighting up. Bertie glances over, her lips turning down and her brows rising as if surprised.
Jules crosses the room to check the machine, but it settles down once again. Shaking his head, he motions for them to continue.
“Lady Clare!” Mrs Rose-Smythe calls out in a firmer voice. “Please speak with us, or let us know you are here. We know a terrible wrong was done to you by your husband Clement St. John.”
One of the machines makes a loud, high-pitched noise, one that sounds almost angry. The lights throughout the lobby begin to flicker, and I turn to Bertie, who holds her hands up in anI don’t know, don’t look at mekind of gesture.
I see Artie suddenly edge closer to Bertie, his eyes darting about nervously. I turn to look at Morgan, and his expression seems to mirror exactly what I’m feeling. Something isn’t right.
“Lady Clare! Is your husband here now? Is he stopping you from communicating?”
What is she doing? I really don’t think she knows. She’s nothing like my friend Tristan. He’s a medium—well, sort of. He’s just so down-to-earth and lovely. He sees spirits and knows they’re there even if they’re trying to hide themselves. He has the—what do you call it? The Sight. But Mrs Rose-Smythe just seems to be making it up as she goes along and hoping for the best.
I get the feeling she’s a bit of an old fraud. If she had even half of Tristan’s gift, she’d know Lady Clare isn’t haunting the hotel at all, but she’d realise Bertie and the others are standing right here.
I thought it would be harmless to let them hold a séance here, that a few of the machines would light up and beep around our ghosts, and they’d get some footage for their show and a bit of background on the house. I was even prepared to let the ghosts do a little light haunting, the odd creaking door, cold spots. All the things that are kind of expected of a paranormal show, but this… this is something else.