The Orphan of Cemetery Hill - Hester Fox Page 0,56

child. She had escaped Mr. Whitby. The small woman in front of her held no power over her anymore.

Her aunt began humming, a low, tremulous sound that would have been laughable if not for the gravity of the situation. Then her hands went stiff and she broke off in her humming. “A spirit has shown itself to me.”

The audience whispered and shifted in their seats, craning their heads as if they too might see it. Tabby feigned surprise. “Oh, is it my aunt?”

“I believe so. The spirit is a woman.”

Tabby’s courage grew and so too did her confidence in her acting. “What is her name? What does she look like? Oh, it must be her! I can feel her near!”

From behind her veil, Mrs. Bellefonte’s eyes flashed, and Tabby could tell that she was surprised her young customer was so fervent. But she played along, using Tabby’s enthusiasm.

“Her name... Spirit, what is your name?” There was silence for a moment before Mrs. Bellefonte shook her head. “I can’t make it out. Perhaps if you were to provide her initials...”

Tabby persisted. “What does she look like?”

There was a flash of irritation behind her aunt’s gauzy veil. “The connection is not strong enough to see her. But I am sure that she is your aunt. She says that you were always a good girl, and that she loves you very much.”

This was Tabby’s moment. If she wanted to reveal her aunt for the fraud she was, then she was going to have to risk exposing herself, as well. It gave her no pleasure to dash the hopes of the women here, but at least she could put poor Mrs. Bishop’s fears to rest. She had not come here with the intention of divulging her abilities, but she at least took some small satisfaction that she was turning the very ability that her aunt had so coveted back on her. When word got out that there was a true clairvoyant in Boston, it would be in every paper, but by then, Tabby would have made enough money to go somewhere far away.

“Does she really? How very odd. I never knew my aunt to speak in such kind terms. But you are right about one thing: she is very near indeed. I can feel her hands in my own, almost as if she were flesh and blood.”

“It is not uncommon that you might feel such sensation—the dead are often desperate to be seen, heard, and even felt.”

“I never said my aunt was dead, though.”

Mrs. Bellefonte’s hands went limp in hers. “What do you mean?”

“In fact, I see her right before me. Her name is Minerva Bellefonte, and she is wearing black satin gloves and an embroidered veil.”

“Child, I don’t know what kind of nonsense you think you’re about, but—”

Before her aunt could finish, Tabby was pulling off her bonnet and, for the first time in twelve years, facing down the woman who had instilled such fear, anger, and hatred in her.

Her aunt’s body went completely still, and the disbelief in her voice was delicious. “Tabitha?” she said in a breath.

“What is the meaning of this?” Mrs. Bishop was standing, her gaze snapping back and forth between Tabby and her aunt. “Miss Cooke, do you know this woman?”

“I know her very well. She is my aunt. And...” She hesitated, aware that she was about to dash many of the fragile consolations the ladies there had found that day. “She is a fraud. She cannot speak with the dead.”

A collective murmur of outrage went up from the audience.

“And why should we believe you?” said the woman whose husband Mrs. Bellefonte had contacted earlier in the séance.

Tabby took a long, unsteady breath, drawing in all the shame, fear, and anxiety of a lifetime, and exhaling the truth. “Because I can.”

18

IN WHICH A POINT IS PROVEN.

CHAIRS UPTURNED AS ladies sprang to their feet, and more than one delicate glass of sherry went shattering on the floor. A man in plaid trousers and matching waistcoat materialized from behind one of the heavy drapes, fretting at his mustache and watching the chaos unfold. Her uncle. He had never terrified her the way that her aunt had. He was short and slight, and while her aunt had been the architect of Tabby’s misery, he had been the one to simply follow along. He looked around in a daze until he met Tabby’s eye. “Tabby? Is that you?”

Her aunt’s shrill voice cut through the rabble. “You ungrateful chit! We have been out