Page 62 of Hearts of Locke Hill

She looked at all of them as if the answer should have been common knowledge. “Why, an incomplete soul. A soul incapable of advancing to the afterlife. A soulleft to haunt this world.” She pulled back, her eyes large.

A shiver coursed down Cy’s spine. He blinked.

“Whatever must we do, Agnes?”

He jerked his gaze to Miss Janes, who’d gripped the older woman’s arm.

“Do?” he said, not liking where this farce was taking him.

“Yes,” Violet said. “There must be a cure. A way to reverse the … shriveling?”

Agnes eyed him.

Cy had had enough. He backed away, waving his hands in front of him and drawing himself to full height. “Oh ho, now. I do not need a cure. There is nothought-grinderorbox of funor any other such nonsense, and there iscertainlynothing shriveling about my person.”

A gardener walking past paused and gave Cy an arrested look. Cy waved him along.

“Look how he goes on so,” Violet whispered to Agnes.

Miss Janes joined her. “It’s almost as if he didn’t have a sense of …”

“Fun,” all three women said in chorus.

Except that Violet bit her lip afterward, joy sparking in her eyes.

Cy glared.

“The key,” Agnes said gravely. “You must find the key to unlock the compartment.”

“The key,” he repeated.

“Yes. I think Miss Janes has the right of it.” She turned to the ladies. “This neglected box must be picked up and shaken—in a manner of speaking, of course. And …” She paused, her gaze stilling on Cy. Her whisper gained a tremor. “I’m sensing the elements must be involved.”

“The elephants?” Miss Janes scrunched her nose.

“Elements,” Violet answered in a loud whisper.

“Ah.” Her expression cleared. Then she scrunched again. “What elements?”

Cy took a deep breath.

Agnes pushed her small shoulders back. “The elements of air, fire, earth, and water. Two of them, I should think. Water … and earth. For balance.”

Violet frowned. “That just makes mud.”

“Precisely.”

Cy pushed out his deep breath. “Ladies, it has been a pleasure, but I must be moving along. Miss Agnes”—he doffed his hat—“I thank you for your diagnosis. I’m sure your mother would be proud.”

“She always did suspect I had the gift.”

“Yes, well, I shall consider …” He paused, unsure of what tocall a healing of his sense of fun, which, if these women asked his siblings, would be confirmed as thriving.

Wouldn’t it?

“I will consider your treatment. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He bowed and turned, grateful to have a long, undisturbed ramble ahead of him. But within a minute, the same feminine voices he’d left behind were not left behind. Rather, they remained behind him as he walked, their strides matching his with the crunch of gravel underfoot.

“Really, Agnes, how is it that you’ve been my lady’s maid for six years and I’ve never known you were a spiritualist?”