The Séance at Blackwood Manor

Josephine Marsh missed her husband. At thirty-three, he had died far too young. Dr. Tackles had said it was a heart attack, but Josephine wondered if it had truly been a broken heart. She had seen the letters between her husband and his mistress, and she suspected that the woman running off to America with a wealthy steel magnate had been his undoing.

Josephine and her husband, Rupert, had known what their arrangement was. Both their families had money and wanted to keep that money in the family. Their marriage had been one of convenience and necessity, and Josephine and Rupert had been unwitting pawns in that game. Betrothed from a young age, there was no escape. As usually happens in a marriage, children came from their union. They had loved them in their own ways and, over time, Josephine and Rupert had developed a certain understanding, something like business partners.

When Rupert took a mistress, a beautiful woman ten years his junior, Josephine had demanded certain securities be put in place. Safeguards for herself and the children, should anything happen to Rupert, or if Sophia attempted to claim her children’s inheritance. She had never imagined the young woman would run off with someone wealthier than her husband. And she had certainly not imagined that Rupert would die three weeks later.

As Josephine climbed the stone steps to Blackwood Manor, the home of Madame Lavinia Greaves, a chill ran down her spine. It was well known that Madame Lavinia held weekly séances for the ton, though Josephine had never attended one. Her lady’s maid had told her they were quite popular and that several people had received comforting messages from beyond the veil.

Six months after Rupert’s death, Josephine still felt unsettled. She needed to know if perhaps he was waiting on the other side with a message for her or their children.

“Welcome, Madam Marsh,” said an older gentleman as he opened the door, took her coat and bag, and gestured down the hall. “The others are waiting just through there, and to the right.”

Josephine walked slowly, her heels clicking against the marble floors. The hallway was dim, lined with flickering candles and shadowed by heavy velvet drapes and brocaded furniture. It was more lavish than any home she’d been in, and yet, it felt airless, stuffy. Another chill rippled down her back.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

Still, she squared her shoulders and entered the room. A long table stood before her. At its head sat an older woman with iron-gray hair swept into a flattering bun. Her high black collar and silver jewelry gave her the air of a stern queen awaiting her court.

Around the table were several others: a middle-aged woman dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief; a young couple holding a portrait of a child; Josephine guessed their baby had died far too young; and an elderly gentleman seated beside a young woman, who held a painting of a woman Josephine assumed was the man’s wife and the girl’s mother.

“Welcome,” Madame Lavinia said. “Please, have a seat. I believe your husband is waiting to talk to you.”

Josephine’s head snapped up, and all eyes turned toward her.

How did Madame Lavinia know she had come for Rupert?

She hadn’t heard the butler return, yet he was suddenly behind her, pulling out her chair.

“Thank you, sir,” she said softly, sitting. He nodded and slipped away, drawing the drapes closed as he exited. The room fell into stillness.

“If everyone could join hands, please,” Madame Lavinia said.

Josephine reached for the young grieving mother’s hand and the daughter sitting next to her father.

“We must not break the circle,” the woman intoned.

“Nelly,” she called over her shoulder. A young maid appeared from behind a curtain and lit a large candle in the center of the table. Madame Lavinia closed her eyes and began to breathe in a slow, steady rhythm.

Then, all at once, her eyes flew open. She stared directly at Josephine.

“Your husband Rupert is here, Madam,” she said.

Josephine felt the hair on the back of her neck rise.

“H-he is?” she whispered.

“Do not speak,” the Madame said in a voice so eerily familiar that Josephine gasped.

“Rupert? Is that you?” she asked, breathlessly.

“Yes,” came the reply.

“What is it you want to ask me, Jo?” he said, using the nickname only he had ever used.

Josephine’s throat tightened. “Rupert… are you all right?”

“Yes,” the voice said. “I am well.”

“The children and I miss you,” she said quietly.

“I know. And I miss you.”

“There’s something you came to ask me,” Rupert’s voice said.

“Yes,” Josephine replied, her voice trembling.

He had never said it in life. But she had felt it over time. Sometimes, in the quiet hours, sometimes in his touch.

“Rupert… did you love me?”

There was a long pause. The Madame sat with her eyes closed, breathing heavily. Then—

“I grew to love you, darling Jo.”

Tears sprang into her eyes. He had only ever called her “darling Jo” five times: four at the birth of each of their children… and once more, years ago, when they’d taken a trip to the north of England. His grandmother had been ailing, and they’d decided to travel together, alone. Those two weeks had brought them closer than they’d ever been.

One day, Rupert had plucked a wild rose from a hedgerow and placed it in her hair, calling her “darling Jo.” Her heart had soared.

“I’m sorry for hurting you,” he said.

All eyes turned toward Josephine.

She didn’t care what they thought. The ton would gossip, but she had her answer. The closure she had come seeking.

Suddenly, Madame gasped, and her face slackened.

“He’s gone,” she whispered. “Does that help you, Widow Marsh?”

Josephine nodded, silent.

The séance resumed for the others, but Josephine’s mind remained fixed on Rupert’s words.

***

Later that evening, after she’d returned home, kissed the children goodnight, and sat brushing her hair, something glinted from beneath the window drapes.

She stood, curious, and pulled the curtain aside.

There, on the floor, lay the brooch Rupert had given her during their trip to the north, when she once again was his “darling Jo.”

“That’s odd,” she murmured. She had kept it safely pinned to the board inside her bureau.

How had it gotten there?

She placed it gently on her dressing table, a small smile forming.

Just then, a breeze stirred the curtains. And she could have sworn, yes, just for a moment, that she smelled Rupert’s cologne.

Perhaps he wasn’t so far away after all.

Teacake Tidbits - Historical Facts

1. Séances Were a Popular Parlor Activity Among the Upper and Middle Classes

During the mid-to-late 19th century, séances became fashionable entertainment in Victorian society, especially among the upper and rising middle classes. Families would gather in their parlors to attempt communication with the dead, often treating it as a spiritual and social ritual rather than something sinister. Queen Victoria herself reportedly attended séances to reach Prince Albert after his death.

2. Women Often Led Séances and Gained Power Through Them

Many mediums were women, and the séance gave them a unique position of authority in a time when women were otherwise excluded from public life and power. They were seen as more “sensitive” and therefore better suited to spiritual communication. Some, like Florence Cook and the Fox Sisters, became famous (and sometimes controversial) figures in the Spiritualist movement.

3. Spirit Communication Tools Were Inventive and Sometimes Commercialized

Aside from table-rapping and trance speaking, Victorians used a variety of tools to contact spirits: planchettes (precursors to the Ouija board), automatic writing, spirit slates, and spirit trumpets were all common. By the 1880s, spirit boards and séance kits were even sold through mail-order catalogues, blending mysticism with consumerism.