Free The Spiritglass Charade by Colleen Gleason

me as I realized our new assignment from Princess Alexandra might be reconciled as soon as this afternoon.
    What a shame.
    Mrs. Yingling pulled carefully to her feet. “Shall we commence to the prepared chamber?” Her voice was querulous, and I wondered how such a flimsy woman could have the strength to lift the s é ance table during the so-called session.
    As the astute reader will have guessed, I was in no way a believer in the Spiritualism mania. I was also quite familiar with the tricks employed by mediums seeking to prove their veracity in order to fleece their clients of money—which was likely what was happening to Miss Ashton. Princess Alexandra was right to be concerned that the young woman was being taken advantage of, spending a lot of money in order to receive messages purporting to be from her mother.
    There were many techniques a fraudulent medium might use to make her clients believe she was talking to their deceased loved ones. Rapping on tables, seemingly from some disembodied spirit. The sudden gust of breeze that would send a candle flame guttering into darkness. The shifting or levitating table around which the s é ance participants would sit.
    â€œAre you coming, Mina?” Evaline poked me in the ribs, her eyes dancing with mischief.
    Rubbing my side, I followed the small cluster of femalesout of the parlor and down a neat, clean corridor lined with paintings of pastoral scenes and flowers. I admired the fresh vase of gardenias, which smelled heavenly, and observed the wainscoting had recently been painted.
    We came upon the cat as we rounded a corner. He was playing with a cricket, which I found quite curious. I noticed there was another of the same uncommon insect lying feet-up on the floor farther down the hall. I found that an anomaly in an otherwise perfectly neat and clean corridor and wondered from where the creatures had come.
    Moments later, we entered the prepared chamber.
    I’d hardly a chance to take in the room before Miss Norton squealed. “The oracle! It’s here.”
    This drew everyone’s attention to the device sitting on the table. The object would just fit in my open hand. Its sides, made of hinged bronze and copper pieces, were unfolded to reveal a centerpiece that looked like a glass sphere with ribbons of colors swirling inside. Approximately the size of an orange, the opaque blue-green orb—presumably the oracle?—was nestled in an intricate setting of gears and cogworks. I wasn’t close enough to determine whether the orb itself was ancient, but its nest appeared to be a pleasing combination of ancient art and modern gadgetry. When its sides were folded up into place, the item would resemble a slender pentagonal box.
    â€œWhat does it do?” asked Aunt Geraldine, who had unexpectedly followed us. I noted with approval the skepticism in her tone and demeanor.
    â€œWhy, the oracle opens the door wide between our world and that of the Spirit World. Merely having such an object present during the s é ance will be invaluable in our efforts to contact your mother, Miss Ashton.”
    â€œTruly?” Willa’s whisper was heartbreaking in its desperation. “It will help me to communicate with her?”
    â€œI’m certain of it.”
    And I was certain Mrs. Yingling’s fee would have to increase in order to cover the additional expertise needed to “read” the “oracle.”
    The medium continued, “I shall have to do some more research and study in order to determine the best way to utilize the oracle—”
    â€œThat is an excellent idea,” I interrupted. “Particularly since your continued reference to that object as an
oracle
isn’t quite accurate. It might be an oracle’s
glass
, but it is not an oracle per se.”
    Miss Stoker rolled her eyes while I continued my explanation with great patience. “An oracle is a
person
—or group of people