Ancient Spirits (Daisy Gumm Majesty Books) by Alice Duncan Read Free Book Online Page A

grammar wasn’t the best and that he didn’t spell very well? Well, he didn’t. Remember, he came into hypothetical being when I was ten. I might have been a fairly smart kid, and I’d liked to read even then, but . . . well, I was only ten, you know?
    “Rolly,” I said, feeling I ought to even though I didn’t want to, “Missus Pinkerton needs a dose of comfort.”
    “She needs comfort from her children, not me,” said Rolly, although I really didn’t want him to. I couldn’t seem to help myself. I had him add, “At least she has a good son,” because I thought I should.
    “True. Harold is a staunch support to his poor mother,” said I, back to being Daisy Majesty again.
    “Her daughter needs to take lessons from him, then,” Rolly said, once more surprising me. Gee, I didn’t recall ever being as viciously honest in a spiritualist session before. I hoped this cranky mood of mine wouldn’t last, or I’d be out of work.
    Mrs. Pinkerton sobbed. “I know! I know! Oh, I don’t know what to do!”
    Something occurred to me that I decided Rolly should broach with Stacy’s mother. Therefore, I had him ask, “Does the girl have an income of her own?”
    “An income?” repeated Mrs. Pinkerton, blinking.
    “Aye. Does the girl have an income of her own? Or does she rely on you for her money?”
    “Oh, I see. She gets an allowance.”
    “From you?”
    “Well . . . yes, of course. I’m her . . .” Her voice trailed off. I suspect she’d been about to say she was Stacy’s mother as though that might explain everything but didn’t because she didn’t want to hear Rolly say any more bad things about her daughter. If so, she was out of luck.
    “Och!” cried Rolly in triumph. “There you have the solution. Withhold her allowance unless she agrees to comply with the rules of your house. This is your house, is it not?”
    “Y-yes.”
    “Then there you have it,” said Rolly firmly. “It’s your house. You set the rules. Quit paying her for behaving badly. If she kicks up a lather about having her funds cut off, she can get a job and move out.”
    A job. A place of her own that she had to pay for. Wow. I doubt that Stacy Kincaid had ever considered the possibility that she might actually have to earn the bread she wasted on a daily basis or pay for the room she took up on this green earth. I’m surprised I’d had Rolly voice such a revolutionary suggestion—but I was kind of proud of myself for having done so.
    “A-a job?” said Mrs. Pinkerton in a quavery voice. “A place of her own?”
    “Aye. A job. A job of work. Like the rest of the people in the world. Why should she be given money by you, when all she does is get herself into trouble with it? If she don’t abide by your rules, she can get a job and a flat somewhere that she pays for with money she earns.”
    “But . . . but, a job? What could she do?”
    “She’s not worth much, eh? Has no useful skills? Can’t sew or cook or sweep floors?”
    Boy, I really had to get myself under control. Never, in all my years as a spiritualist medium, had I been so cruelly honest with a client.
    Therefore, I, Daisy Majesty, said to my Rolly-self, “Rolly, Stacy was reared as the daughter of a wealthy man and woman. She doesn’t know how to do any of those things. That’s not really her fault.”
    “Och. It’s as I said: she’s worthless.”
    “Rolly!”
    “Oh, dear,” said Mrs. Pinkerton in a ragged whisper. “I’m afraid what Rolly is saying is the absolute truth, Daisy.”
    She feared that, did she? My goodness. Would wonders never cease?
    “We were too easy on Stacy. Harold was expected to do chores and help out, but I’m afraid we allowed Stacy to run a little wild.”
    A little? Huh.
    “ ’T’isn’t too late to change that,” said Rolly, sounding gruff but kindly. It was about time. I was beginning to despair of myself. “You ought to talk to that minister of hers. That fellow who runs the Salvation Army.”
    “Um, he