Evangeline and the Spiritualist: The Antics of Evangeline, #3

By Madeleine D'Este

A sarcophagus, séances and seed cake. Evangeline is back with another adventure.

Mrs Picklescott-Smythe’s mummy unwrapping soiree doesn’t quite go to plan, and for once it’s not Evangeline’s fault.

Evangeline is a seventeen-year-old ex-urchin and aspiring world-famous inventress, recently resettled in Marvellous Melbourne with her long lost father, the Professor.

It’s the infamous spiritualist, Madame Zsoldas, who interrupts the party with a sinister warning and she is not the only who feels something strange. 

And when Madame Zsoldas moves into Collins Street, Evangeline is determined to attend one of her famous séances and unravel her own family secrets. But not everyone is as welcoming.

Can Madame Zsoldas truly speak to the dead? 
Who is Uncle Augie trying to contact?
What does Evangeline want with the Professor’s spare hand?
And are there any coconut macaroons left?

Mystery, mysticism and gadgets, Evangeline and the Spiritualist is another romp through 1880s steampunk Melbourne. With plenty of tea and crumpets, of course.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Madeleine D'Este
• Release date: Dec 14, 2017
• ISBN: 9780994604224

Book preview

Chapter 1

It was not every day Evangeline had the chance to witness a mummy being unwrapped.

I'm so excited, Father. Evangeline skipped to catch up with the Professor. Her father led the way through their front gate, dressed in his best black coat. His prized moustache, waxed and curled perfectly in place.

Indeed. A piece of ancient history right here in our own street.

Listen to you both, Uncle Augie said. Giddy as Christmas morning. Ordinarily I have to invent the most elaborate ruses to get you out of the house.

The whole Caldicott family crossed Collins Street, dodging the carriages and auto-chariots, to the grand residence of Mrs. Picklescott-Smythe. Uncle Augie was not Evangeline's real uncle but rather her Uncle Edmund's constant companion. Edmund and Augie were sporting fashionable ascots while Evangeline proudly wore her new lavender afternoon dress, edged with satin ribbon. Their heeled boots crunching through the amber leaves as the golden Melbourne afternoon sun streamed over the cobblestones.

This soiree should be highly educational, the Professor said. Not like your usual frivolous rubbish.

Do you think there'll be a curse? Evangeline said.

Uncle Edmund snickered while Uncle Augie gasped with horror, clasping at his ample chin. Evangeline! Never jest about a curse. Have I told you about the music stand at the Garrick? I still get nightmares every time I hear the scraping of metal.

I shouldn't think so, the Professor replied with all seriousness. It's probably some minor member of the royal family. No one too special.

That's not what I heard... started Uncle Edmund, opening the iron gate. Augie flinched as the gate squealed.

Evangeline, please assure me you will not ask once we're inside. Enquiring about a curse is very impertinent. The best families always have the worst curses but no one asks directly. Preferably spoken about when their backs are turned. Now, let me look at you.

Evangeline humphed as Augie inspected her. The Professor rapped on the brass door knocker and adjusted his tie.

Once we straighten this... Augie said, pulling up her left glove. A metal object dropped to the ground with a clang and Evangeline winced. What's this? A screwdriver?

Evangeline shrugged. I like to be prepared.

What else have you got in there?

The front door swung open, and Augie slipped her rosewood handled screwdriver into his inside pocket and replaced his frown with a radiant smile. A tall butler in white tails and a shiny bald head stood in the entrance.

Professor Caldicott and family. The Professor handed over the invitation card.

And Mr. August Beauchamp, Augie added.

Evangeline was still getting used to being a Caldicott. Less than a year earlier, she'd been on the other side of the world, living in squats and flea-pits, tumbling and pick-pocketing under the iron rule of her stepfather, Charlie Drigg. She hadn't a clue about the existence of her real father, living faraway in the Colonies.

Of course, sirs, miss. Please come this way. The butler peered down his nose at Evangeline, but she lifted her chin and strode inside. He must have seen the screwdriver and was now fearing for the silverware. But the butler had nothing to fear, Evangeline's pilfering days were far behind her. Most of the time.

Mrs. Picklescott-Smythe had one of the largest homes on Collins Street, by virtue of her late husband's iron ore fortune. The house was built of creamy sandstone, wrapped by verandahs and intricate white iron lacework on both levels, spreading over the largest block of land on Collins Street. Evangeline had always wanted to see inside and held her breath as they stepped into the foyer.

Wooden floors gleamed underneath an enormous chandelier with arms like a jewelled octopus. The afternoon light streamed through a white stained-glass panel with red and green accents. A carved balustrade staircase led upstairs, lined with dark, sour-faced portraits.

My, isn't it grand? Augie clutched his hand to his heart.

Evangeline nodded but a shiver ran up her spine. The foyer reminded her of the home of the Alchemist, Lady Breckenridge-Rice. Her last memory of the house involved a raging fire and a moment when she feared for her own life.

This way, please.

The butler opened a set of double doors at the edge of the grand foyer. Evangeline and her chaperones stepped inside the ballroom, with its gleaming floors and rich oriental carpets, four times the size of even the most generous room at her house at 56 Collins Street.

Professor Montague Caldicott, Mr. Edmund Caldicott, Miss Evangeline Caldicott and Mr. August Beauchamp, ma'am, the butler proclaimed and they stepped inside the ballroom.

Evangeline scoured the room. Thirty or more grey moustachioed men and generously bosomed ladies mingled, sipping sherry and anxiously awaiting the unveiling. Disappointingly, Evangeline was by far the youngest guest in the room. Where were all the other young ladies interested in dead bodies? She couldn't possibly be the only one in Melbourne. How dull.

She spied a large box at the end of the room on a small stage. There it was, the sarcophagus shipped all the way from Egypt to Melbourne.

Thank you, Farlow. Why Professor Caldicott, what a pleasure to see you. Mrs. Picklescott-Smythe was a woman of indeterminate age. Her heather-purple silk dress was ruffled and bustled in a passé style, her cloud grey hair piled with pinned ringlets. I am so glad you could attend my little soiree.

The crepe-skinned woman, glittering with gems, held out her hand for the Professor to kiss. An acorn-sized sapphire sparkled on her gloved hand.

I would not miss this event for the world. The Professor reached out with his clockwork right hand, taking his hostess's hand gently. May I introduce my daughter, Evangeline.

Miss Evangeline, I see we share an appreciation of purple. Mrs. Picklescott-Smythe gently patted Evangeline's forearm. Although you look far more lovely in the shade than I.

Augie skilfully interjected. You are far too modest, Mrs. Picklescott-Smythe. You are an absolute vision. I was only remarking to Edmund yesterday how vibrant you look. You must tell us your secret. Or is it too naughty?

Oh Augie, you devilish man. She playfully slapped him on the shoulder. I am glad you are all here. Please partake of some refreshments. We shall begin with the unveiling soon.

Footmen appeared with silver trays