snatches of speech, the breath of her perfume, were wondrous to him. He hadn’t quite realised how much he had come to depend upon the séances until this cancellation. There would be next week, of course, but that was six long agonising days away.
He sighed heavily and stared out at the blue blankness of the night sky. There was at least one comforting aspect of this affair: his gradual realisation that he had misjudged his daughter. In the last few weeks, as his own pain had lessened, he had begun to view Sarah in a different light. He could see now that in her own way she cared for him very deeply, and it was unfair of him to compare the girl to her mother. Both were unique and of a different time. For him no one could match Gwendolyn’s sweetness and beauty, but now he saw that Sarah had her own individual fire. She was a good daughter, and what she lacked in warmth, she made up for in decency and care. He resolved to be kinder to her in the future. This resolution eased his mind a little. Perhaps he should now try to get some sleep.
Just as he was about to slip down under the covers, a sound came to his ears. It was the sound that he had heard before. His name was called, softly, wistfully in the gloom of the bedroom. It came again: louder, more insistent, demanding a response. It resonated in his tired brain.
‘Yes, I am here,’ he said. ‘I am here.’
As though this utterance was a cue, no sooner had he replied to the disembodied voice than a light shone into the bedroom through the window. Caught in the dancing ray was the figure of an angel. It appeared exactly as it had done before; even the actions of supplication were identical.
Why had it come again? What was the purpose of its visitation this time? Confused and distressed, Cornelius Hordern called out to his daughter. With remarkable alacrity, the girl came into the room and rushed to his side.
‘It’s the angel,’ he muttered, shaking his head in confusion. ‘Why has it come again?’
‘Don’t worry, Father. There’s nothing to be concerned about now.’ As she spoke, the image of the angel wavered and slid upwards towards the ceiling of the room before disappearing altogether. Without a word, Sarah Hordern led her father to the window. They looked out into the moonlit garden beyond, where they heard voices raised in anger. Dimly, they saw a group of men, one of whom appeared to be a uniformed policeman.
Sarah gasped with delight. ‘They’ve captured your angel,’ she said.
One of the men turned his face towards them. It was white and contorted in anger. It belonged to Doctor Sebastien Le Page.
Dawn was breaking and pink light was seeping into the sky when Cornelius Hordern, now dressed in his day clothes, and his daughter sat together in the drawing room with two men.
‘It’s time I introduced you to Mr Luther Darke and Inspector Edward Thornton,’ she announced, passing her father a cup of hot tea. She and Thornton also had cups of the reviving brew but, as usual, Darke had requested free rein with the brandy decanter.
Hordern looked pale and bewildered. ‘I wish you would tell me exactly what has been going on, Sarah. What was Doctor Le Page doing here? I thought he was out of the country. And why are the police involved?’
‘You must forgive me, father, for going behind your back as I did, but I acted for your own good. I felt in my heart that this angel business was all wrong. It was just instinct, I know, but I just knew that something was not quite right. And when you started giving your fortune away to Le Page…’ The girl began to cry.
‘But, Sarah, you were looking for rationalities in the world of the spiritual. Doctor Le Page is…’
‘Afraud, sir,’ said Darke finishing his sentence. ‘In some state of distress, your daughter asked me to investigate Le Page and “this angel business”. I suspect that if I had told her that the good old Doctor was Moses reborn and that he had a cupboard full of the
He sighed heavily and stared out at the blue blankness of the night sky. There was at least one comforting aspect of this affair: his gradual realisation that he had misjudged his daughter. In the last few weeks, as his own pain had lessened, he had begun to view Sarah in a different light. He could see now that in her own way she cared for him very deeply, and it was unfair of him to compare the girl to her mother. Both were unique and of a different time. For him no one could match Gwendolyn’s sweetness and beauty, but now he saw that Sarah had her own individual fire. She was a good daughter, and what she lacked in warmth, she made up for in decency and care. He resolved to be kinder to her in the future. This resolution eased his mind a little. Perhaps he should now try to get some sleep.
Just as he was about to slip down under the covers, a sound came to his ears. It was the sound that he had heard before. His name was called, softly, wistfully in the gloom of the bedroom. It came again: louder, more insistent, demanding a response. It resonated in his tired brain.
‘Yes, I am here,’ he said. ‘I am here.’
As though this utterance was a cue, no sooner had he replied to the disembodied voice than a light shone into the bedroom through the window. Caught in the dancing ray was the figure of an angel. It appeared exactly as it had done before; even the actions of supplication were identical.
Why had it come again? What was the purpose of its visitation this time? Confused and distressed, Cornelius Hordern called out to his daughter. With remarkable alacrity, the girl came into the room and rushed to his side.
‘It’s the angel,’ he muttered, shaking his head in confusion. ‘Why has it come again?’
‘Don’t worry, Father. There’s nothing to be concerned about now.’ As she spoke, the image of the angel wavered and slid upwards towards the ceiling of the room before disappearing altogether. Without a word, Sarah Hordern led her father to the window. They looked out into the moonlit garden beyond, where they heard voices raised in anger. Dimly, they saw a group of men, one of whom appeared to be a uniformed policeman.
Sarah gasped with delight. ‘They’ve captured your angel,’ she said.
One of the men turned his face towards them. It was white and contorted in anger. It belonged to Doctor Sebastien Le Page.
Dawn was breaking and pink light was seeping into the sky when Cornelius Hordern, now dressed in his day clothes, and his daughter sat together in the drawing room with two men.
‘It’s time I introduced you to Mr Luther Darke and Inspector Edward Thornton,’ she announced, passing her father a cup of hot tea. She and Thornton also had cups of the reviving brew but, as usual, Darke had requested free rein with the brandy decanter.
Hordern looked pale and bewildered. ‘I wish you would tell me exactly what has been going on, Sarah. What was Doctor Le Page doing here? I thought he was out of the country. And why are the police involved?’
‘You must forgive me, father, for going behind your back as I did, but I acted for your own good. I felt in my heart that this angel business was all wrong. It was just instinct, I know, but I just knew that something was not quite right. And when you started giving your fortune away to Le Page…’ The girl began to cry.
‘But, Sarah, you were looking for rationalities in the world of the spiritual. Doctor Le Page is…’
‘Afraud, sir,’ said Darke finishing his sentence. ‘In some state of distress, your daughter asked me to investigate Le Page and “this angel business”. I suspect that if I had told her that the good old Doctor was Moses reborn and that he had a cupboard full of the
Similar Books
