Laura Lee Guhrke Read Online Free PDF Page A

university studies.”
    Aunt Violet did not seem, offended by his criticism. “Time is infinite, Edward,” she said and resumed reading her own book.
    “We were waiting for Sophie, Mr. Dawes,” explained Miss Peabody, turning to give the subject of her words a smile. She patted the cushion beside her on the settee.
    “Some of us were, anyway,” Miss Atwood put in from the other end of the room, where she was playing patience. She lifted her gaze from the cards on thetable and looked at the crumbs scattered across Miss Peabody’s ample bosom. “Others were not.”
    “It was only one seed cake, Josephine,” Miss Peabody defended herself, brushing at her bodice.
    “Two.” Miss Atwood frowned down at the table, her lean profile rather reminiscent of a greyhound. “Now, I know I had another card to play, but I can’t seem to see. . .”
    “Red knave on black queen,” Sophie told her abstractedly, accepting the invitation of the plump, amiable Miss Peabody to sit down. She was too sick with worry to eat anything. Inspector Dunbar could die at any moment.
    Miss Atwood made a sound of satisfaction. “Thank you, dear,” she said, taking it for granted that Sophie had been able to help her without even looking at the cards. “I do believe this patience is going to come out after all.”
    Miss Peabody leaned closer to Sophie. “Violet and I used the planchette today, and it told us the most interesting things.”
    “It was quite remarkable, my dear.” Violet put aside her book and came to sit with them around the tea tray, eager to discuss the phenomenon. “A spirit named Abdul visited us. He spelled out his name for us quite clearly. I can’t wait to tell the group about it at the meeting tonight.”
    Aunt Violet, Miss Peabody, and Miss Atwood all belonged to the London Society for the Investigation of Psychic Phenomena, a long name for a group that consisted of seven people, most of whom lived on their street. Violet had founded the group after the death ofher husband, and they met twice a month, holding séances, having dessert, and gossiping about their neighbors.
    “Abdul, indeed!” Mr. Dawes said with contempt as he turned a page of his book. “There is no scientific evidence that spirits communicate with us. And if they did, I cannot believe they would use a device as ridiculous and inconvenient as a piece of wood laid over a board painted with the alphabet.”
    “Oh no, I’m afraid I must disagree with you there,” Violet said. “Many spirits have spoken to us through the planchette.”
    Dawes was clearly skeptical. “Such as?”
    “Abdul, for one. Even some of our own departed loved ones have spoken to us, including my own dear Maxwell.”
    The pale, thin young man gave her a condescending smile. “I don’t believe it for a moment.”
    “If you don’t believe in spirits, Mr. Dawes, how do you account for Sophie’s abilities?” Miss Atwood asked him without looking up from her cards.
    “Miss Sophie’s talents certainly seem remarkable,” he admitted. “But she should put herself in the hands of scientists for further study under controlled conditions. Perhaps the British Society for Psychical Research.”
    Violet gave a disdainful sniff. “Psychical research, indeed. Skeptics and cynics, all of them. As for Sophie, she would never put herself in the hands of those frauds.”
    “What is the topic for tonight’s meeting?” Miss Peabody asked Violet. “Perhaps Sophie would agree to tell everyone of her extraordinary dream last night.”
    Violet glanced at her niece doubtfully. “I don’t think so, Hermione. You know how shy Sophie is about that sort of thing.”
    “I know, Violet, and I understand. It’s such a shame, though. She could be so helpful to our research.”
    Sophie paid no heed to the conversation that discussed her as a possible conduit to the spirit world. The only spirit she was thinking about at this moment was Inspector Dunbar’s.
Do something
, she told herself,