Free The Year It All Ended by Kirsty Murray Page B

if sensing their nervousness. ‘The spirit entities will speak for themselves through using the brain and vocal organs of our medium. But remember that even though the dead are speaking through her, they can’t hurt you.’
    Mrs Constance-Higgens entered the room so quietly that it seemed she might have been waiting in the shadows of the hall watching the guests arrive. Tiney had imagined she would have an imposing presence but she was reed-like, with hollowed-out cheeks and hands like bird’s claws. Without speaking, she sat at the head of the table, her eyes averted. Tilda sat on a stool to one side, shorthand notebook and pen at the ready.
    ‘Mother has been preparing herself to speak with the spirit entities,’ said Tilda. ‘She must sink deeply into a trance to allow the spirits to enter her. She submits to the control of the spirits for your sakes. Because she believes it is your right to speak to your loved ones.’
    The young woman let out a small moan and Captain Oliphant patted her shoulder comfortingly.
    ‘You must all join hands,’ said Tilda. ‘Do not let go of your neighbour’s hand, or the chain will be broken.’
    The curtains were drawn, blocking out the afternoon sun. The room felt stuffy and close. A candle on the mantelpiece glowed blue and Tiney shivered despite the heat.
    The first voice that came from Mrs Constance-Higgens was deep and rich. It was extraordinary to hear a man’s voice emanating from this thin, pale woman.
    ‘I am the Healing Master,’ the voice said. ‘My dear friend Angelica gives me a vessel through which I can share with you. I come to speak of the world of the spirit, to reassure you that you will find peace when you cross over to join us.’
    Tiney felt Minna’s hand grip hers tighter and she squeezed back.
    Then Mrs Constance-Higgen’s head tipped back and she made a gurgling sound in her throat. When she spoke again, it was in a completely different voice, in a language that no one understood.
    ‘Is that you, Chief?’ asked Tilda.
    ‘Oginali,’ said Mrs Constance-Higgens. ‘Otsalanvlvi.’
    ‘What is she saying?’ asked the soldier.
    ‘The Chief is welcoming us as his friends. He says we are all brothers and sisters,’ said Captain Oliphant.
    ‘What language is that?’ asked Tiney.
    ‘Cherokee Indian. From America,’ whispered Captain Oliphant.
    Mrs Constance-Higgens groaned, and Tilda spoke sharply to Tiney. ‘Please do not converse while the spirits are manifesting unless given permission to do so.’
    Mrs Constance-Higgens tossed her head from side to side as if in pain and then a third voice came from her. This time, though still using a man’s voice, the spirit spoke in English. Not only in English but in rhyme, with a smooth, elegant British accent.
    ‘And “art is long”, and “life is short”,
    And man is slow at learning;
    And yet by divers dealings taught,
    For divers follies yearning,
    He owns at last, with grief downcast
    (For man disposed to grieve is) –
    One adage old stands true and fast,
    “Ars longa, vita brevis.”’
    ‘I know that poem,’ said Tiney. ‘That’s by Adam Lindsay Gordon.’
    ‘Shhh!’ said Tilda irritably.
    The voice continued.
    ‘I am the poet you know well,
    Now in a realm of ether
    I come with many truths to tell
    Death my noble teacher
    Your lads that fought so brave and strong
    Now rest as heroes near me
    This night they’ll speak to you ere long
    And share their secrets with thee.’
    ‘He definitely didn’t write that bit,’ said Tiney in an undertone. Minna squeezed her hand so hard that she winced.
    The medium began to moan again and Tilda spoke. ‘Mother feels there are negative vibrations in the room. Unbelievers will deter the spirits from entering her.’
    ‘No, we all believe,’ cried the old woman to Tiney’s left, leaning forward. ‘Don’t let our boys be deterred by a chit of a girl.’ She glared at Tiney.
    Mrs Constance-Higgens began to cough and gag and writhe. Her cheeks