Lord Harrowby jerked his hand back. “What was that?”
“Liar.”
Sarah closed her eyes, painting a portrait from the file she’d paid a maid to steal. Clara had a mole behind her left ear. She called her father ‘Papa Bear.’ She once broke a Chinese vase and blamed the cat. La Sociedad Espiritista de Londres - Sarah Penn...
“You’re right,” she said, her voice small. “I am a liar. I don’t know what happens after death. I never did.”
“She is near,” Sarah whispered, her voice a low thrum. “I feel a coldness. A scent of lilies.” Lord Harrowby jerked his hand back
Harrowby fled, knocking over his chair, scrambling out the door. Sarah was alone.
“You show them the mole. You tell them the cat.” The whisper grew, a chorus of dry, rustling voices. “But you never tell them the truth.” She called her father ‘Papa Bear
Sarah Penn never held another paid séance. She closed her account at the bank, sold her velvet drapes and her phosphorous powder. The Society voted her out.
Because the truth is this: you do not need to speak for the dead.
Sarah’s mouth went dry. “I… I give comfort.”