Cairo Malachi and the Adventure of the Silver Whistle by Samantha SoRelle

Author:Samantha SoRelle [SoRelle, Samantha]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Balcarres Books LLC
Published: 2021-07-22T04:00:00+00:00

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It was not my usual habit to stay and mingle with the guests after a séance, preferring the air of mystery a swift departure brought, but after the stir I caused at Mrs. Worcester’s, I felt a few moments rebuilding my reputation was in order. As she was fortunately in attendance, I apologised to the lady in question, but she took it in stride.

“Oh, none of that, it was quite exciting. We shall have to see what happens at the next one! You are available at the usual day and time I assume?”

I nodded. I wasn’t sure how I would surpass fleeing in terror, but I needed the steady income more than I needed my dignity. Something could be arranged. Perhaps Noah could appear to everyone this time, instead of just me. If I was very lucky, we could find the ghostly supplier of the greasepaint the performers at Sanger’s wore and make him look truly fearsome.

I bit back a grin imagining what his response to that suggestion would be.

“Mr. Malachi, if you have a moment,” a voice said from behind me. From the tone it was clear this was a summons, not a request. I gave Mrs. Worcester a quick bow and turned towards the speaker.

As I’d expected, it was Mrs. Wright, her gnarled hands stacked one atop the other on a rattan cane.

“What can I do for you, Mrs. Wright?”

“This way,” she snapped and having little choice in the matter, I followed. She led us away from the rest of the congregation in the sitting room with their post-entertainment drinks and back into the dining room that had been used for the séance.

When we were as secluded as possible, she spoke in a quick, sharp tattoo. “At the end of the séance, you saw a man. Average height, beard, dark hair, a bit soft around the middle, but with a fine posture.”

My hesitation was enough to give Mrs. Wright her answer.

“I thought as much.” She nodded once, like a sparrow pecking at a seed. Or a crow pecking at carrion. “As you may have surmised, that was my late husband.”

“I-I’m sorry, ma’am,” I stuttered. “I’m afraid he didn’t say anything about—”

“About where he hid his money or about where to find the bottle of poison I used?”

I had no idea what to say. I must have mumbled something because after a moment she cut me off with a cackling laugh, a raspy, cawing sound. Then she patted my hand fondly.

“That’s all just a bit of nonsense. Dickie’s idea before he passed. He always had a peculiar sense of humour. I know it’s a shocking thing to say so bluntly, but he was the love of my life. I never had the heart to put an end to his last little jest. Besides, it helps me weed out the charlatans. As soon as a medium starts passing on messages about digging in the south end of the garden or vengeance from beyond the grave, I know it’s time to move on.

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