The Vanquished & the Surviving, Chapter 47
Today’s post includes a short story free to all subscribers.
Chapter 1 of The Vanquished & the Surviving:
Chapter 46:
https://open.substack.com/pub/whimsicalwords/p/the-vanquished-and-the-surviving-358?r=5m2is&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=true
Now for a free short story, set in the same version of Regency England and with Margot as the main character:
The Spector in the Club
I entered the front hall of the Ghost Hunters Club, an all-female establishment for Sensitives who communicate with ghosts and demons. The air felt heavy. As a Sensitive who had been communicating with ghosts all my life, especially since my powers developed when I reached the age of fourteen, I have been a member of this club for years. Now that I am twenty-two years old, many consider me an expert on the otherworldly.
I had received a note of the greatest urgency insisting I come here, but the note didn’t explain why. I reached up and removed my veiled top hat.
The parlor maid, Jane, softly closed the door behind me. She craned her neck to look up at me, took my hat, and set it on a hall table. “Lady Margot…”
“Whatever is the matter—” The words scarcely emerged from my mouth before an ear-piercing cry emanated from the parlor on my right.
Jane and I dashed to the parlor’s threshold. Jane halted, but I strode into the room, my steps muffled by a large rug. Chill air engulfed me despite the warm summer weather.
I had arrived in time to see a circle of club members. Centered amid them floated a shadowy gray entity.
I frowned. I scanned faces to ascertain who screamed despite our hobby… or profession, depending on who you inquired about what members of our club shared in common. The participants of the circle, women of all ages between sixteen and a hundred, held hands and gazed at the specter.
It resembled a young woman in a diaphanous, pale frock with ruffles at the neck and wrists. Her hair was piled elaborately onto her head, and from it descended ringlets. Judging by her clothes and hair, she must have departed from this realm recently. Owing to her monochromatic grayness, I could not discern what color this person’s hair had been in life. She was passably good-looking, though I doubt she turned heads when alive. Now she was certainly eye-catching.
The specter’s head turned now. Arms held out at her sides, the ghost spun in a circle like a playful child. She halted, drawn to someone in the circle. The ghost stared at one member of the club, an intense young woman named Claire Eniennes whose dark brown curls I’ve always admired.
I glanced at Claire and tried to recall what I knew about her. I remembered running around with her when we were children but hadn’t had much contact with her since then. As an adult, she often wore unusually bright clothing, such as the orange frock in which she now stood. I noticed her orange and yellow striped turban and her clunky coral necklace and earrings. She was unconventional, and as I stood looking at her, I acknowledged that I liked her style. Perhaps we might renew our old friendship.
The ghost widened her eyes at Claire and grinned. The grin expanded until it was too wide for a living human to create. Hair stood up on the back of my neck.
Claire paled and stared at the spirit. She began stepping back but stopped, glancing at the two women holding her hands.
The ghost turned away from Claire. It flew so fast I could scarcely follow it with my eyes. It flew straight at Daffodil Hennessey, a highly respected and aristocratic medium and spinster in her early thirties.
I was acquainted with Daffodil, though not closely enough to consider her a friend. I knew she was imprisoned in a dungeon three years ago, when an evil organization took over England and demonized Sensitives. Like everyone else, Daffodil had escaped her imprisonment as soon as my cousin Vincent and the rebels defeated the odious organization. I mainly knew Daffodil usually wore pink and had a particular fondness for silk flowers, and she was renowned for her Sensitive powers, especially as a medium.
The ghost flew until it reached Daffodil Hennessey. It didn’t collide with her, exactly—it flew into her and dissipated. She gasped, staggering backward. The ghost hunters on either side of her gripped her hands tighter, ensuring the circle didn’t break.
I watched on, helpless. If I attempted to join the circle, I might break it and release the ghastly spirit upon the world. Judging by the energy causing the hair to stand up on the back of my neck and my heart to hammer, this was no kindly ghost. I’d never channeled a spirit and didn’t envy Daffodil.
Remaining two feet away from the circle, I stepped slowly to my left for a better view of the medium. Daffodil threw her head back. Instead of her fine contralto, the voice emerging from her was hoarse and raspy. This was the first time I saw a specter fly into a medium. But I had previously witnessed mediums in action and knew the ghost spoke through the medium.
The channeled specter said, “You believe you can control spirits such as me, don’t you! You ghost hunters are controlling, meddling, and arrogant fools. You cannot control any entity from another realm. We can always return for you, and when we do, you will bow to our fury!”
I knit my brow. I hoped the spirit was fibbing, and there was no truth whatsoever in her words. Some entities were deceitful and manipulative.
I resolved to appear calm no matter what this spirit said. I didn’t wish for it to triumph over anyone. I cleared my throat. “Spirit from another realm, what is your name?”
“You wish to know my name so you can control me!”
I shook my head. “What is this strange obsession you have with control? You have spoken that word three times.” I strove to keep my attention on the present while simultaneously searching my memory for a deceased individual who was obsessed with control … or who was especially controlling and might be likely to accuse others, falsely or otherwise, of the same trait.
“Have I indeed? I had little control over my own life, did I not? First it was my parents. They forced me to marry someone I did not love and never came to love. He was so horrible to me… I poisoned him a sennight after the marriage.”
One ghost hunter gasped. I remained calm and thoughtful. I knew of such a poisoning, but I must test the spirit to confirm this was the individual I suspected. “Why did you poison him?”
“The deuce! Did I not tell you seconds ago that he was horrible to me?”
Feigning indifference, I shrugged. “You were frightfully vague. How was he horrible to you?”
“He raped me on our wedding night.”
Several members of the circle gasped in horror. I clutched my throat and began pacing.
The specter continued. “Every day, he yelled at me and called me names. He continued raping me regularly. Months rolled by, and he began slapping me and kicking me. He kept nagging me to be with child.”
I grimaced and crossed my arms. I did not wish to dwell on the horrors of this deceased woman’s marriage. Such an abusive monster of a husband. Such overbearing parents. Yes, I understand now why she keeps talking about control. “Why did you choose to haunt here, a club for women ghost hunters?”
“I thought of all places, this is where I would find compassion. It is also where I thought I would find… it is no matter.”
I nodded, recalling the ghost staring at Claire. I surmised the ghost sought her. I uncrossed my arms. “How did you die?”
“I beg your pardon?”
I cleared my throat and clasped my hands in front of me. I could curse myself for my mistake. “Forgive me—of course you are not aware of your—that you parted from this realm. That is common.”
“What is this? You claim I am dead? How is that possible? How could I be speaking to you now?”
I exhaled. “Perhaps I might jog your memory. My name is Margot de Montmorency. May I ask: what is your name?”
“Oh, no! I shall not fall into your trap! You wish to use my name against me! You wish to drag my name in the mud!”
I crossed my arms again, beginning to feel irritated. Exhaling, I reminded myself that this spirit spoke from a place of great pain. “I have no such wish.”
In my peripheral vision, I saw Claire begin stepping forward. She took one step without loosening her grip from the women on either side of her. I turned to Claire and watched her stare at Daffodil Hennessey with tears glistening in her dark eyes. Sensing her grief, my heart felt a twinge of ache.
Claire began parting her lips. I stood still and leaned forward, waiting for Claire to utter the name of the specter. I had no doubt Claire was the ghost’s true love, whether or not she would disclose such information.
I whispered loudly, hoping not to distract the spirit. “Claire, do you have something to divulge? Do you know the specter’s name?”
Claire focused her gaze upon me. Her lips trembled. She lifted a handkerchief to her eyes. “I… I do know. I recognize her circumstances. I… I was her secret fiancé. Her parents, like so many, wished her to marry a man and have heirs. They disapproved of our affinity. I must confess… it has been years, and I was but sixteen and merely smitten. It was a youthful caprice so far as I am concerned. But… I should nonetheless have saved her.”
I shook my head slightly. “Please don’t blame yourself. You could not have known what would happen.”
The spirit choked, making my heart flutter in alarm. I turned to Daffodil.
The spirit gasped. “A mere caprice, did you say? Claire, you are the love of my life!”
Claire grimaced and stared at the medium. “Oh, dear.”
I stepped forward with my eyes on Claire. I said, “Please, Claire. Tell us her name. I promise this will remain a secret beyond these walls.” I looked around the circle. “That is correct, is it not, everyone?”
Around the circle, women glanced at each other before nodding. Some assented aloud.
Claire nodded slowly. “Her name—”
The medium Daffodil threw back her head. The specter shrieked through her. Claire stared at the medium with wide, terrified eyes.
I leaned toward Claire again and raised my voice. “Please, Claire. Please tell us her name.”
Claire exhaled and scanned the expectant faces around the circle. “The spirit’s name is Elizabeth Feversham.”
The spirit shrieked again. It flew from Daffodil. The moment it left the medium’s body, the spirit was a gray, nebulous figure again. It stopped in the center of the circle and hovered two feet above the rug. Its translucent gray presence flew around and around in mid-air.
Elizabeth Feversham was the name I’d anticipated. I raised my hands. Over the noise of the spirit’s continued shrieking, I called out to the circle. “Please, everyone, let us lead the spirit toward the light. Let us lead her to the Summerland where she can ascertain peace.”
I pressed my palms together and chanted, “Follow the light, Elizabeth Feversham. Begone from this realm, to the Summerland.”
As I chanted, the women of the circle joined with my voice. I glanced at Daffodil, whose forehead was damp and whose face was ashen, with bags under her eyes. Though she appeared near collapse, she participated in the chant. I watched her lips moving, though I could not hear her over everyone else.
While chanting, I walked slowly deocil around the circle. From a pouch, I sprinkled a circle of salt and dried herbs. Everyone kept chanting steadily.
I watched as the spirit faded. She became mere faint gray lines. Her mouth was a wide circle as she stared at Claire, and I felt a lump in my throat. But her shrieks were silent now.
I began chanting more slowly and softly while circling and watching the specter. Elizabeth Feversham closed her mouth and softened her features. She gazed at Claire but no longer appeared furious. Floating two feet above the floor, she reached out one hand toward Claire. The latter stared, tears running down her cheeks.
The ghost of Elizabeth Feversham vanished. The coldness of the room faded with her. I no longer felt goosebumps on my arms.
The chanting continued, slower and softer. Everyone’s’ voice diminished to whispers before we all ceased chanting. We stood in silence, sadly looking around at each other.
Those in the circle recited the opening of the circle ceremoniously before releasing each other’s hands and stepping away. One youthful member said, “I shall fetch the rosemary bundles.”
A gray-haired elder said, “We also need salt, water, and candles for a cleansing.” Members of the club bustled off to gather those supplies from another room. “We must ensure the spirit has moved on and our circle hasn’t attracted more spirits.”
I surveyed the room and sank into an armchair before a hearth with no fire. After such an experience, it was difficult to believe this was a summer evening. I didn’t feel physically exhausted—I was accustomed to far more challenging entities.
But I felt relieved the spirit had departed. That specter’s energy was enervating and distressing. Yet I felt anguish for Elizabeth Feversham, considering what she endured. Her life was miserable, and her afterlife didn’t seem much better.
After all that, Claire considered it no more than a caprice. I could not blame Claire—such relationships can happen to anyone. I thought of Percy’s marriage proposal to me and my rejection. An individual falling in love with one didn’t obligate one to reciprocate that love or the same kind of love. Nor did it mean the love would last forever.
But surely sometimes love remained undying. Now I pictured my true love, Samantha Ponsonby, and smiled gently. I must invite her to this club.
The maid Jane brought me a glass of sherry. I took it with a heartfelt thanks and sipped.
Daffodil Hennessey dropped into an armchair beside me. “You handled that prodigiously well, I must say, Margot.”
I smiled slightly, flattered, and set down my glass of sherry. I noticed Daffodil’s brow was damp with perspiration. “I daresay you are the one who endured the greatest ordeal. Aside from the spirit herself, perhaps. Without the spirit’s name, it would have been far more difficult to send her. Since she was not willing or eager to disclose this information, I had to pry it out of her. It felt a bit… deceitful, I fear. Manipulative, perhaps?”
The servant, Jane, brought Daffodil a tray with two glasses of sherry. She took both and set them on the small side table between us. “No, no, you did what you must and saved everyone. That specter was furious. I declare she would have harmed one of us if you hadn’t handled the situation so well.” She lifted a glass and took several gulps as though she were drinking water.
I held my glass and smiled, though I wasn’t entirely convinced I hadn’t resorted to manipulation. “No doubt anyone else here might have done the same. We are all in this business together, after all.”
“Some of us would have struggled to remain as cool and collected as you, dear Margot. You surely know that.” Daffodil drained her first glass.
“Our training warns us it is best to remain as calm as possible, even in the presence of hostile spirits or demons. If we do not remain calm—if we allow panic to overtake us—we can hardly expect to accomplish our goal, which is to banish spirits, particularly menacing ones.”
“And that was undoubtedly a hostile spirit.”
I sipped from my glass. “Yes, indeed. How gratifying that we banished her.”
“We all have you to thank, my dear.”
I stretched my limbs and settled my feet on a footstool. “Anyone could have banished her.”
“It is true we all have the skills.”
“Yes, but your mediumistic ability was invaluable. It isn’t a common talent.”
Daffodil smiled. “True. I consider it a gift rather than a talent.”
“I hope I did not sound….” I paused and lowered my gaze to my glass. “I know it is easier to say we must remain calm than to do so.”
Daffodil sat back and closed her eyes. “Thank you for clarifying. You did sound a bit… smug, perhaps.”
“Pray forgive me—it wasn’t my intention.” I winced, reflecting that sometimes my tone might sound too aloof. I sipped more wine. “Perhaps you could not have banished the spirit on your own. However, you had plenty of skilled companions. Nonetheless, I feel glad I came here and participated.”
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