“From who knows what sort of cow? Hardly. This tea is lukewarm.”

Baine produced a spirit lamp, and proceeded to heat more water while Mrs. Mering looked around at us for another victim. “Mr. St. Trewes,” Mrs. Mering said to Terence, who had retreated behind his book of poems, “it’s far too dark to read in here. You will ruin your eyes.”

Terence closed the book and put it in his pocket, looking like a man who was just beginning to realize what he had let himself in for. Baine lit the lamps and poured more tea.

“What a dull group you all are,” Mrs. Mering said. “Mr. Henry, tell us about the States. Mrs. Chattisbourne says you told her you were out West fighting Red Indians.”

“Briefly,” I said, wondering if she were going to ask about scalping next, but she was on a different course.

“Did you have the opportunity while you were in the West of attending one of Baroness Eusapia’s séances in San Francisco?” she asked.

“I’m afraid not,” I said.

“Pity,” she said, and it was clear she thought I had missed all the best tourist attractions. “Eusapia is famous for her apports.”

“Apports?” Terence asked.

“Objects transported through the air from distant locations,” she said.

That’s it, I thought. That’s what happened to the bishop’s bird stump. It was apported to a séance in San Francisco.

“…flowers and photographs,” Mrs. Mering was saying, “and once she apported a sparrow’s nest all the way from China. With the sparrow in it!”

“How do you know it was a Chinese sparrow?” Terence said dubiously. “It didn’t chirp in Chinese, did it? How do you know it wasn’t a California sparrow?”

“Is it true that servants in America don’t know their proper place,” Tossie said, looking at Baine, “and that their mistresses actually allow them to express opinions on education and art as if they were equals?”

It looked like the universe was going to collapse right here in this compartment. “I… uh…” I said.

“Did you see a spirit, Mrs. Mering,” Verity said, trying to change the subject, “when you had your premonition?”

“No, it…” she said, and got that odd, inward look again. “Baine, how many more stops does this horrid train make?”

“Eight, madam,” he said.

“We shall be frozen before we reach home. Go and tell the conductor to bring us a stove. And fetch a rug for my knees.”

And so on. Baine fetched the rug, and a warmed brick for Mrs. Mering’s feet, and a powder for the headache which Mrs. Mering had given all of us, but which she took herself.

“I certainly hope you do not intend to keep dogs after you are married,” she told Terence, and made him turn down the lamps because they hurt her eyes. At the next station, she sent Baine to purchase a newspaper. “My premonition said that something dreadful was going to happen. Perhaps there has been a robbery. Or a fire.”

“I thought you said your premonition had something to do with water,” Tossie said.

“Fires are put out with water,” she said with dignity.

Baine came in, looking like he had nearly missed the train again. “Your newspaper, madam.”

“Not the Oxford Chronicle,” Mrs. Mering said, pushing it aside. “The Times.”

“The newspaperboy did not have the Times,” Baine said. “I will attempt to see if there is a copy in the smoking car.”

Mrs. Mering sank back against the seat. Terence picked up the discarded Oxford Chronicle and began to read it. Tossie went back to looking uninterestedly out the window.

“It’s stifling in here,” Mrs. Mering said. “Verity, go fetch my fan.”

“Yes, Aunt Malvinia,” she said gratefully, and made her escape.

“Why do they insist on overheating these railway cars?” Mrs. Mering said, fanning herself with her handkerchief. “It really is a disgrace that we must travel in such uncivilized conditions.” She glanced across at Terence’s newspaper. “I simply do not see—”

She stopped, staring blindly at Terence.

Tossie looked up. “What is it, Mama?”

Mrs. Mering stood up and took a staggering step backward in the direction of the door. “That night at the séance,” she said, and fainted dead away.

“Mama!” Tossie said, starting up. Terence peered round his paper and then dropped it in a rattling heap.

Mrs. Mering had fallen slantwise across the door, with her head fortunately on the plush seat and her arms flung out to either side.

Terence and I scooped her up and deposited her more or less on the seat, with Tossie fluttering around us.

“O, Mama!” she said, leaning over Mrs. Mering’s inert form. “Wake up!”

She took off her mother’s hat, which didn’t seem particularly to the point, and began patting her cheek. “O, do wake up, Mama!”

There was no response.

“Speak to me, Mama!” Tossie said, gently patting her cheek. Terence picked up the newspaper he’d dropped and began fanning her with it.

Still no response.

“You’d better go and get Baine,” I said to Terence.

“Yes. Baine,” Tossie said. “He’ll know what to do.”

“Right,” Terence said, handed Tossie the newspaper, and hurried off down the corridor.

“Mama!” Tossie said, picking up fanning where Terence had left off. “Speak to me!”

Mrs. Mering’s eyes fluttered open. “Where am I?” she said faintly.

“Between Upper Elmscott and Oldham Junction,” Tossie said.

“On the train from Coventry,” I translated. “Are you all right?”

“O, Mama, you gave us such a fright!” Tossie said. “What happened?”

“Happened?” Mrs. Mering repeated, pushing herself to sitting. She felt at her hair. “Where’s my hat?”

“It’s here, Mama,” Tossie said, handing me the newspaper and picking up the hat. “You fainted. Did you have another premonition?”

“Premonition?” Mrs. Mering said vaguely, trying to pin her hat back on. “I don't…”

“You were looking at Terence, and you stopped speaking, as though you’d seen a spirit, and then you fell to the floor in a faint. Was it Lady Godiva?”

“Lady Godiva?” Mrs. Mering said, sounding more like her old self. “Why on earth would Lady—” She stopped.

“Mama?” Tossie said anxiously.

“I remember,” Mrs. Mering said. “We asked the spirits for news of Princess Arjumand, and the doors opened…” she said, her voice rising, “…it must have been just at that moment… I asked if she had been drowned…”

And went out like a light again. Her head fell sideways onto the plush armrest, and her hat flopped forward over her nose.

“Mama!” Tossie shrieked.

“Do you have any smelling salts?” I asked, propping Mrs. Mering up.

“Jane has,” she said. “I’ll go and fetch them.” She scampered off down the corridor.

“Mrs. Mering,” I said, fanning her with one hand and holding her erect with the other. She had a tendency to flop over to one side. “Mrs. Mering!” I wondered if I should loosen her stays, or at the least her collar, but decided I’d better wait for Tossie. Or Verity. And where were they?

The door banged open and Terence galloped in, panting. “I couldn’t find Baine anywhere. ‘He has vanished from the sight of mortal men.’ Perhaps he’s been apported.” He peered interestedly at Mrs. Mering. “She’s still out?”

“Again,” I said, fanning. “Any idea what brought this on?”

“Not a clue,” he said, sitting down on the seat opposite. “I was reading the newspaper, and she suddenly looked at me as though I were Banquo’s ghost. ‘Is that a dagger that I see before me, its handle towards my hand?’ only in this case it was the Oxford Chronicle, and went out like a light. Was it my choice of reading material, do you think?”

I shook my head. “She said something about Princess Arjumand, and about the spirits.”

Verity came in, carrying the fan. “What—” she said blankly.

“She’s fainted,” I said. “Tossie’s gone for the smelling salts.”