The Map of Chaos (Trilogía Victoriana #3)(35)
All at once, the thudding stopped so abruptly that the ensuing silence seemed to burst everyone’s eardrums. A second later, the bell crashed onto the table, bouncing several times before finally rolling around forlornly on the same spot, as though lulling itself to sleep. The handkerchief floated toward Madame Amber, who had ceased convulsing and was staring straight ahead with glazed eyes, and settled on her face with the milky softness of a bride’s veil. The effect of the delicate caress on her was overwhelming: her body tensed with such force that the chair she was seated on lifted off the ground, and her head snapped backward, as though someone had yanked her hair violently, and then forward, causing her mane to trace a silvery streak of lightning in the air as the handkerchief slipped into her lap. She remained motionless, her chin pressed to her chest, her hair obscuring her face like an ivory mask, while strange gurgling, rattling sounds came from her throat. Beneath the pale skin of her forearms, her veins and muscles appeared grotesquely swollen, as if her body were being subjected to some inhuman pressure.
“Good God, she’s suffocating!” Nurse Jones squawked, her voice faltering.
But before anyone could react, the strange panting noises stopped. Madame Amber’s body relaxed visibly, and behind her a new, startling phenomenon began to take place. A row of phosphorescent lights, like minute, inexplicably beautiful shimmering dragonflies appeared, hovering above her head, then immediately started to move about, swirling in a tiny constellation, before melding into a luminous, effervescent mass that began to grow more dense and to expand. The resplendent cloud appeared to be feeding directly off Madame Amber’s head, like a phantom leech, or perhaps it was coming from there, as though distilled through her hair. Clayton understood that Madame Amber was preparing to perform one of her celebrated materializations, the phenomena that brought mediums the most prestige and whose complexity posed one of the most dangerous challenges to a charlatan.
“Look, a face is forming!” Crookes exclaimed excitedly, blinking again and again as though attempting to discern the features of the beautiful pirate’s daughter through the mist.
Clayton saw that he was right. Amid that nebulous cloud he glimpsed a vague shape emerging. However, disappointingly for Crookes, it appeared to be the three-quarter profile of a man. All that was visible of him was his nose, whiskers, and fleshy lips, which looked as if they were poised for a kiss or to start whistling.
“I can feel his breath on my hand!” Colonel Garrick, who was closest to the materialization, declared half in terror, half in awe.
Two stark white hands then appeared on either side of the face; they seemed more solid, less ethereal, than the face, and their fingers moved with an odd grace, although at the level of the wrists they became more vaporous, merging with the luminous cloud encircling the ghostlike profile. Clayton studied the face and the hands with mounting rage. His only desire was to leap to his feet and grab hold of those nebulous forms, convinced the ingenious fraud would instantly be exposed. But he forced himself to remain seated, for Sinclair had commanded that under no circumstances should they interrupt the séance, no matter what suspicions they might have while it was going on. Their mission was limited to making sure the séance was correctly monitored, studying the medium’s modus operandi, recording the séance, and analyzing the data on the various devices so as to be able to arrive at relevant conclusions, which would enable them to decide whether or not to take any further action. In short, they must be alert to everything that went on but were forbidden to intervene. That being so, Clayton had no choice but to be patient and hope that Madame Amber slipped up, or that one of the devices registered some anomaly that would allow them to bring her to justice. He sighed impatiently, focusing his attention on the wraithlike figure that had emanated from the medium, which suddenly started to dissolve. The face and hands gradually became elongated, distorting, as though the figure were melting, and in a matter of seconds it spilled onto the floor and vanished beneath the table like a gelatinous drizzle.
Everyone sat expectantly, watching Madame Amber in strained silence. She seemed to be asleep or unconscious, her head tilted slightly forward, her limp body apparently held up only by the two monitors. Doctor Ramsey and Colonel Garrick exchanged worried glances above the medium’s blond locks. Just then, Madame Amber tried feebly to raise her head. Ramsey called her name gently, and she responded with a drawn-out moan, as though awakening from a deep sleep. After several attempts, she managed to sit up straight, blinking as she looked around her in bewilderment. She frowned, coughed a few times, and then slumped onto Colonel Garrick’s shoulder, apparently exhausted.
“We ought to give her some water,” advised the doctor, “and I’d like to check her pulse.”
“The cords are chafing her skin,” Colonel Garrick remarked in a tone far less professional than that of Ramsey, doubtless enchanted by the sweet weight of that head nestled on his shoulder.
“I’m afraid all that will have to wait,” Clayton snapped.
“The water will have to wait,” Captain Sinclair corrected calmly, glowering at his subordinate. “No one must leave the table until Clayton and I have checked the readings on the monitors. But you can start untying her, and by all means check the young lady’s pulse, Doctor Ramsey, and perhaps see about, er . . . covering her up.”
Clayton looked at the captain without responding, and at Sinclair’s signal, the two men stood up at the same time, lifting their chairs so as not to drag them through the sawdust. In the meantime, Garrick and Ramsey assisted Madame Amber as the others looked on in concern. While the doctor began untying her wrists, the colonel gently patted her cheek, encouraging her in the gentlest of voices to tell them how she was feeling. The medium tried to do as he asked, opening her mouth a few times, but was unable to utter a sound. She raised a pale hand to her throat and gave a faint smile, as though apologizing to everyone for her tiresome, inopportune exhaustion. And then her expression, which Clayton had been observing closely, became transfigured: the smile froze on her lips, and a sudden terror crumpled her delicate features like paper, twisting them into an unrecognizable mass. Bewildered, the inspector turned to where Madame Amber’s gaze was fixed.