Dark Season Read Online Free PDF Page B

tried to soften this exclamation. “That won’t be necessary. I feel immensely refreshed and won’t impose on your household any longer. If the maid would help me dress … ”
    Return my gown, that is
, she added silently.
With my whole fortune swaddled in its pleats.
    “I don’t know how to address you,” said Mrs. Trombly.
    “Reed,” said Ella, the name springing from nowhere. “Eleanor Reed. I’m lodging in Bloomsbury Square.”
    “You’re lodging in Bloomsbury Square,” repeated Mrs. Trombly. The faint question in her voice seemed to indicate not that she doubted this was Ella’s situation but that she rather doubted it ought to be.
    “I’ve only come recently to town,” said Ella. “I’m seeking a position. As a governess or schoolteacher.” She expected to see horror on Mrs. Trombly’s face.
A governess or schoolteacher with fits? Who rolls on the ground like a mad dog?
But the woman’s face did not change.
    “I see,” she said. Then, delicately: “You are recently widowed?”
    Of course, Mrs. Trombly had noted her gown, matte black silk trimmed with black lace.
    “No.” Ella shut her eyes briefly. “My father.”
    “I’m very sorry,” said Mrs. Trombly, and she did not press for more. She drew a breath as though collecting herself to return to the matter at hand and continued, “Miss Seymour felt you should be brought here, at once, to maximize and prolong the psychic contact. Miss Seymour explained everything.” Mrs. Trombly rose and stood by the bed. Ella wanted to shrink from her, ashamed—this woman too had seen her like
that
—but instead she took a deep breath. What had Miss Seymour explained?
    “I see,” she said, though she saw nothing.
    Mrs. Trombly reached out as though to brush a lock of hair from Ella’s face then dropped her hand. She stepped away from the bed with visible effort, sinking back into the chair.
    “Miss Seymour said you would be dazed today and would need a great deal of rest before you could share your experience. I do not intend to hurry you. I can’t imagine how strange, how powerful … But I am beside myself, Miss Reed, wondering. Yearning. To know what you know. What it was like. Did she … speak to you, Miss Reed?” Mrs. Trombly was on her feet again. Her hands were clutched before her. “Do you sense that this was her chamber?
    Ella had not sensed anything, but suddenly she knew. She must have known from the moment Mrs. Trombly opened her mouth. The ragged edge that crept into her voice. And now, the stark need in her eyes.
    “Phillipa,” she whispered. Mrs. Trombly was the woman who had cried out to Phillipa.
    “I miss her,” Mrs. Trombly said simply. “She died five years ago, five years as of yesterday. That’s why I went to the séance. Every year on the anniversary of her death she feels so close I imagine I can hear her footsteps on the stairs. I can hear her voice. I am not a member of any spiritualist society. I don’t know exactly what I believe.” Her wandering gaze fixed on Ella. “But last night, she came to you. I saw it. We all saw it. You were … changed. Miss Seymour says it was a strong and complete possession. You merged with her. There might be some natural sympathy between you. A reason why she chose you for her vessel and not Miss Seymour. But you are sensitive to the forces around us, Miss Seymour is certain. Have you ever worked as a medium?”
    “No.” Ella pressed her fingers hard into her cheeks.
    “Has anything like … what happened last night happened to you before?”
    “No!” Ella flinched. Then she continued, more composedly. “Of course not. And I hope it never does again.” That, at least, was true.
    “It was dangerous.” Mrs. Trombly’s eyes glittered. “It was a most dangerous connection. Miss Seymour sat with you for an hour until the worst had passed. But the first contact is always tormentous. And you aren’t trained, like Miss Seymour, to handle your gift.”
    “Gift?” The