“A Mr. Kilbreth,” Verity said. “Spelled with a ‘K.’ ”

“The forensics expert’s deciphered the date of the trip to Coventry,” I said before anyone could come up and interrupt us. “It’s the fifteenth of June.”

She looked shocked. “But that’s impossible. The fifteenth is tomorrow.”

“My sentiments exactly.”

“How did you find out? Did you go through again?”

“No. Finch came and told me.”

“And he’s certain?”

“Yes. So what do we do?” I said. “I don’t suppose I could simply suggest an outing to Coventry tomorrow morning? To see the sights?”

Verity shook her head. “The day after an activity like this is spent rehashing it with the Chattisbournes and the curate and the Widow Wallace. They’d never be willing to go off and miss that. It’s the best part of the fête.”

“What about fish?” I said.

“Fish?”

“We could tell the Colonel and Professor Peddick there are excellent shallows or deeps or gravel bottoms for bream or something. Isn’t Coventry on a river? The Colonel and Professor Peddick can’t resist anything with fish involved.”

“I don’t know,” Verity said thoughtfully, “but you’ve given me an idea. I don’t suppose you can crack your toes, can you?”

“What?”

“That’s how the Fox sisters did it. Never mind, we can do it with—” She began rummaging through the jumble sale items, looking for something. “Oh, good, it’s still here,” she said, and picked up the metal sugared-violets box.

“Here, buy this,” she said, thrusting it at me. “I haven’t any money.”

“What for?”

“I’ve got an idea,” she said. “Buy it. It’s fivepence.”

I obligingly handed her a shilling.

“I was going to buy that,” Eglantine said, appearing out of nowhere.

“I thought you were over at the Treasure Hunt digging,” I said.

“I was,” she said. “Squares Ten, Eleven, and Twenty-seven. The treasure wasn’t in any of them. I don’t believe it’s in any of them. I don’t believe you ever put the treasure in it.” She turned to Verity. “I told you this morning I wanted to buy the sugared-violets box.”

“You can’t,” Verity said. “Mr. Henry's already bought it. Be a good girl and go find Mrs. Mering for me. I need to speak with her.”

“It is just the right size to keep buttons in,” Eglantine said. “And I told you this morning I wanted to buy it.”

“Wouldn’t you rather have a nice book?” Verity said, offering her An Old-Fashioned Girl.

“Here’s tuppence,” I said. “If you’ll go fetch Mrs. Mering, I’ll tell you where the treasure is.”

“That’s against the rules,” she said.

“Giving a clue isn’t,” I said. I leaned down and whispered in her ear, “The battle of Waterloo.”

“The day or the year?”

“That’s for you to figure out.”

“Will you give me clues to the squares the shilling is in?”

“No,” I said. “And fetch Mrs. Mering before you start digging.”

She ran off.

“Quick, before she comes back,” I said, “what’s your idea?”

She took the sugared-violets box from me, removed the lid, and held the box and lid apart, like a pair of cymbals, and then brought them together with a tinny rap.

“A séance,” she said.

“A séance?” I said. “That’s your idea? I’m sorry I didn’t let Eglantine buy the box.”

“You said the Colonel and Professor Peddick couldn’t resist anything having to do with fish,” she said. “Well, Mrs. Mering can’t resist anything to do with the spirits or séances—”

“Séance?” Mrs. Mering said, swooping up in her Coat of Many Colors. “Are you proposing a séance, Verity?”

“Yes, Aunt Malvinia,” Verity said, hastily wrapping the box and lid in tissue paper, putting it in the wicker swan, and handing them both to me.

“I’m certain you’ll enjoy your purchases, Mr. Henry,” she said, and turned back to Mrs. Mering. “Mr. Henry was just telling me he has never sat in on a séance.”

“Is that true, Mr. Henry?” Mrs. Mering said. “O, then we must certainly have one tonight just for you. I must ask the Reverend Mr. Arbitage if he can attend. Mr. Arbitage!” she called, and hurried off.

“Give me the violets box,” Verity whispered.

I turned slightly so no one could see our hands and passed her the tissue-wrapped box. “What are you going to use it for?”

“Table-rapping,” she whispered, sticking it in her reticule. “Tonight we are going to receive a spirit message telling us to go to Coventry.”

“You’re certain this will work?” I said.

“It worked for Madame Iritosky,” she said. “And D. D. Home and the Fox sisters and Florence Cook. It fooled the scientist William Crookes and Arthur Conan Doyle. Mrs. Mering thought you were a spirit. It will work for us. What could possibly go wrong?”

Mrs. Mering bustled up, robes fluttering. “The Reverend Mr. Arbitage is conducting the cake raffle. I shall have to remember to ask him later. O, Mr. Henry,” she said, taking my arm. “I know we shall have a good séance. I can feel the presence of the spirits hovering near already.”

Actually it was Baine, who had come up behind her and was waiting for an opening to speak.

“Perhaps it is the same spirit you heard the night before last, Mr. Hen — what is it, Baine?” Mrs. Mering said impatiently.

“Madame Iritosky, madam,” he said.

“Yes, yes, what about her?”

“She’s here.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Madame Iritosky was waiting in the foyer with nine pieces of luggage, a large black enameled cabinet, and Count de Vecchio.

“Madame Iritosky!” Mrs. Mering gushed. “What a delightful surprise! And Count! Baine, go and fetch the Colonel and tell him we have guests! He will be so pleased! You know Miss Brown,” she said, indicating Verity, “and this is Mr. Henry.”

We had followed her up to the house, Verity muttering, “What’s she doing here? I thought she never left her house.”

“Eet eez a pleasure, Signor Henree,” Count de Vecchio said, bowing to me.

“Why did you not let us know you were coming?” Mrs. Mering said. “Baine could have met you at the station.”

“I did not know myself until last night,” Madame Iritosky said, “when I received a message from the Other Side. One cannot ignore a summons from the spirits.”

She didn’t look like I’d expected. She was a short dumpling of a woman with a button nose, untidy gray hair, and a rather threadbare brown dress. Her hat was shabby, too, and the feathers on it looked like they had been appropriated from a rooster. The sort of person I would have expected Mrs. Mering to have turned up her nose at, but instead she was practically fawning over her.

“A message from the spirits!” Mrs. Mering said, clasping her hands. “How thrilling! What did they say?”

“ ‘Go!’ ” Madame Iritosky said dramatically.

“Avanti!” Count de Vecchio said. “They rapped eet out on the table. ‘Go.’ ”

“ ‘Go where?’ I asked them,” Madame Iritosky said, “and waited for them to rap an answer. But there was only silence.”

“Silencio,” the Count said helpfully.

“ ‘Go where?’ I asked again,” Madame Iritosky said, “and suddenly, there on the table before me was a white light that grew and grew until it became…” She paused dramatically. “…your letter.”

“My letter!” Mrs. Mering breathed, and I moved toward her, afraid we were going to have another swooning on our hands, but she recovered herself after swaying a moment. “I wrote to her, telling her of the spirits I had seen,” she said to me. “And now they have sent for her!”