by Lyn Gardner
“But you can’t be sure it’s trickery,” said Aurora. “How do you explain that she knew about Mrs Smith’s death? Nobody had any idea that Mrs Smith was going to die. She was in fine fettle when you and Effie saw her just a few hours earlier.”
“If anything, it makes it more astounding,” said Effie. “If it was well known that Mrs Smith was ill, it might have been a lucky guess. But everyone knew she had made another recovery.”
“There is something that’s odd about it though,” said Rose. “Mrs Smith was wearing the St Christopher this afternoon. I saw it. So why would she take it off and put it in the secret hiding place in the chimney, and leave it there for Pru? Did she know that she was going to die? And why leave it in the secret hiding place when Pru would find it anyway around her mother’s neck?”
“Maybe she had a premonition of death,” said Aurora.
“Or maybe Rose is right,” said Effie. “The St Christopher itself isn’t so important. It’s the message it sends that is important. It provides evidence that Madame de Valentina really is in communication with the spirit world. Only Pru and her mama knew about the secret hiding place, so it suggests that the message really does come from beyond the grave.”
“Exactly,” said Rose. “The only thing the St Christopher really serves to prove is that Madame de Valentina is not a charlatan. It makes it appear that her mind really does rule the world, and that’s a pretty powerful message to send out. People would queue up to be able to hear from their loved ones who had died, and it would guarantee a spot at the top of the bill at Campion’s for weeks to come.”
“Well, you can think what you like, Rosie,” said Effie stoutly. “I find it comforting to think that she can bring me a message from my mother.”
“But, Effie,” said Rosie, “what did she actually tell you? She told you that your mum loved you. But you knew that already.”
“She knew my mum’s name was Iris.”
“That wouldn’t have been hard to find out. She could have asked around at Campion’s. She could have gone to St Olave’s churchyard and looked at the gravestone. Everyone at Campion’s knows that’s where she’s buried. Most of them came to the funeral.”
“What about the other things she got right?” said Aurora. “Judging by Thomas’s face she hit the nail there. I didn’t know he wasn’t there when Maud and the twins died. And what about that family who had lost someone called Jack?”
“I don’t know how to explain everything, but I bet I can explain how she knew about Jack. I’ll show you after we’ve been to her lodgings.”
“But even if you can explain that, it doesn’t begin to explain how she knew that Pru’s mum was dead,” insisted Aurora.
“Or maybe,” said Rose gravely, “she didn’t know that Pru’s ma was dead, but she knew that she was about to die.”
“What do you mean?” demanded Effie. “Are you suggesting that Mrs Smith was murdered?”
“Oh, Rose, that’s being awfully melodramatic,” said Aurora quite crossly. “It’s ridiculous. Madame de Valentina would hardly have time to leap off stage, rush to Lant Street, kill Pru’s mum and run back, all without us noticing her absence.”
“That’s true,” said Rose. “Maybe I’m being fanciful. But something doesn’t feel right about it. First poor Ivy was murdered for no discernibly good reason, apart from the fact that she had made herself unpopular, and now somebody else connected with Campion’s has died in mysterious circumstances.”
“But there’s no connection between the two deaths,” said Effie. “And Dr Neagle said he wasn’t surprised by Mrs Smith’s death. He didn’t think it was mysterious at all. He said that her heart could have given out at any time, and it was just ill-luck she fell face down on the cushion. I hate to say this, Rose, but you’re jumping to conclusions. You took against Madame de Valentina before she even stepped on stage. Backstage this afternoon she was very nice, none of that prima donna behaviour you sometimes get with top-of-the-bill artistes. She was chatting to everyone.”
Rose wondered if perhaps there was some truth in the accusation. Instinct told her there was something odd going on, but could she prove it – particularly when everyone else at Campion’s seemed so gullible about Madame de Valentina’s abilities? Now she came to think about it, Rose realised that the majority of Madame de Valentina’s supposed messages from beyond the grave were for people with a connection with Campion’s. Was it a way of getting them onside?
They had arrived at the address that Thomas had given them. The house was shrouded in darkness and turned in on itself, as if unwilling to yield up its secrets. It seemed surprisingly grimy to be the lodging of the glamorous Madame de Valentina. One small candle was just visible in a top window, which gave Rose the confidence to knock. A few seconds later they heard the sound of footsteps, and a man opened the door cautiously. He brandished a poker, but lowered it when he saw the girls.
“What do you want at this time of night?”
“We’re sorry to disturb you. We know it’s late but it’s urgent. We wanted to speak to Madame de Valentina. She is lodging here.”
The man snorted with laughter. “Well, I don’t know about any Madame, but you can speak to Miss Elenora Valentina. She’s not long back from that music hall. I told her we are respectable folk here, and she could have the top front room as long as she didn’t bring any of that music-hall riff-raff here.”
Rose lowered her head to avoid looking at Aurora and Effie, who she could see were trying not to laugh at being branded “music-hall riff-raff”.
“We’re nothing to do with the music hall,” lied Rose smoothly. “We’re here with a message.”
“Well, you seem like nice girls, and Miss Valentina is respectable. Paid a month’s rent in advance, so I can’t complain.”
“We would be so grateful if we could just see Miss Valentina for a brief moment,” said Aurora, and her accent was so cut-glass that Rose wondered if that was how she sounded in the drawing room at Silver Square. It clearly impressed the man, who held open the door, pointed up the stairs and said, “Door at the top of the stairs.”
They trooped up the stairs and Rose knocked.
“Madame de Valentina, can we come in?”
“Who is it?” The voice was gruff, with a hint of anxiety.
“It’s Rose Campion, Thomas’s daughter. I’m here with my friends Aurora and Effie from the hall. We need to speak with you,” said Rose keeping her voice low and hoping the landlord wasn’t listening at the bottom of the stairs.
“I’ve retired to bed,” came the reply.
“We’ve come from Prudence Smith,” persisted Rose. “She is, as you can imagine, quite devastated by the death of her mother. She believes that you are a direct conduit between the living and the dead and she begged us to get you to come to Lant Street and contact her mother’s spirit.”
“You must send my apologies,” came the voice. “I’m truly sorry, but I can’t. I really can’t.” The voice quavered. “Tell Prudence how very sorry I am for her loss. But I can do nothing now for her.”
Rose thought of the grief-stricken Prudence and she felt anger bubbling up inside her.
“So this is your mind that rules the world? Have a little decency. Prudence is distraught. The least you could do is come with us and visit her.”
“I am sorry, but I simply cannot. Not now,” said the voice firmly.
“Come on,” said Rose to the others. “Let’s go. We’re wasting our time here. There’s just one thing I’d like to know, Miss Valentina. Your landlord told us that you had paid a month’s rent in advance. But I know that Thomas had only booked you for one night. You must have been very confident that you would be staying on top of the bill to have paid a month’s rent up front. Maybe you can’t just commune with the dead and hypnotise people. Maybe you can predict the future too. Maybe you know when people are going to drop down dead.”
Rose turned on her heel and marched down the stairs. The others looked at each other and
followed. They let themselves out into the freezing night air.
“Well,” said Aurora sarcastically, “that went well, Rose. You practically accused her of murdering Mrs Smith, which we’ve all agreed is impossible. She’s going to be furious.”
Thomas would be too, thought Rose, when he finds out what I said. She wondered whether Madame might pack up and depart, leaving Thomas with neither of his stars on the bill.
“She did seem genuinely upset by Mrs Smith’s death,” said Effie thoughtfully. “But Rose is right. There is something odd about her paying a month’s rent in advance. As if she knew that her performance would be so show-stopping that Thomas would rush to engage her for much longer. Appearing to talk to a dead woman who nobody knew was dead was certainly fortuitous for Madame de Valentina. It’s going to take quite some act to knock her off the top of the bill.”
Rose was stomping along so fast that she occasionally disappeared completely into the fog. The others ran to catch up with her. On a night like tonight, the patches of fog were like shrouds. Someone could vanish into them.
“Where are you taking us?” demanded Effie. “We need to go back to Lant Street.”
“We will, but we’re going to make a quick detour via the graveyard,” said Rose, turning the corner and holding open the iron gate of St Olave’s churchyard for the others to pass through. It swung closed with a clang that echoed around the graveyard with a terrifying finality. They caught a glimpse of tiger tail streaking through the graveyard and disappearing into one of the many cracked and crumbling mausoleums – the tiger cub and Ophelia were hunting for rats.
The wispy fog clung to the tombstones, giving them a disconcertingly eerie appearance, as if spirits were trying to wrap themselves around the masonry. Some graves seemed to appear and disappear as the fog drifted across the graveyard. A stone angel suddenly looming out of the fog made Effie scream, and the shriek echoed around the graveyard. The tiger skittered across the graveyard again, taking refuge in another mausoleum.
“Look,” whispered Rose, pointing at a temporary wooden cross, which would eventually be replaced by a permanent gravestone. On the mound of earth in front of the cross were several bouquets of flowers. Most of them still had their labels on, proclaiming love for the dear departed “Daniel”.
“What does that prove?” asked Aurora.
“Think back to Madame de Valentina’s act, when she was claiming to channel the dead. Who was the first dead person she claimed was talking to her?”
“Jack,” said Aurora. “She had a message from Jack.”
“No!” said Effie, “there was somebody else before. Daniel! She said she had a message from Daniel, and what happened?”
“Nobody in the audience responded,” said Aurora.
“Precisely,” said Rose. “So what did Madame de Valentina do?”
“She moved on quickly, and said she had made contact with Uncle Jack, who had a message for Marge, or maybe it was Maggie, and for Joey and Meggie,” said Aurora.
“Exactly,” said Rose triumphantly, and she beckoned to them, disappearing into a patch of freezing fog as she led them a few rows further away from the first grave, to another cross and mound of earth. The flowers were still very fresh, and while some of the messages written on them had faded in the snow, a couple were still legible, including one that read, “To Uncle Jack, may you rest in peace, from your niece M, and Meggie and Joey”.
Aurora frowned.
“So, Rose, are you suggesting that all Madame de Valentina did was come down to the graveyard, read the messages left on the flowers on top of the recently dug graves and then guess that one of their family members might be at Campion’s?”
“I’d almost be prepared to bet on it,” said Rose. “It would be easy enough research to do. The alternative is that she really was talking to the dead. Which do you think is more likely?” She pointed to the message on the flowers on Jack’s grave. “The names Jack, Meggie and Joey are clearly stated. But the niece just put her initial, M. And Madame de Valentina was very certain about the names Jack, Meggie and Joey, but she got the name of the niece wrong a couple of times before she hit on the right name.”
“That’s true,” said Effie excitedly. “But we don’t remember her wrong guesses so clearly. It’s the right guess that sticks in our mind and makes us think that she really is talking to the dead.”
“So,” said Aurora and her tone was one of disappointment, “Madame de Valentina can no more talk to the dead than you and I? But do you think she is a complete fake? Can she really read people’s minds and hypnotise them? And how did she know about Col and Florrie getting engaged, and that Tanner Street boy filching a watch?” Rose frowned. “I don’t know, but I suppose she could have people hanging around the area and reporting back information to her.”
Rose peered through the fog. She had thought she had heard a sound, but perhaps it was just the tiger cub and Ophelia hunting.
“You mean like spies?” asked Effie.
“How would they know that the people they spotted doing something significant were going to be at the performance that night?” asked Aurora.
“I wish I knew,” said Rose.
“Besides,” added Aurora. “It must cost a bob or two to employ the informants. Do you really think someone would go to all that bother just to stay top of the bill at Campion’s for a month?”
“Maybe,” said Rose thoughtfully, “there is a bigger prize in sight.”
“What?” exclaimed Rory and Effie together.
“I haven’t a clue,” said Rose. She glanced around again. She had a strong sense they were being watched. She suddenly felt Ophelia weaving between her legs, and she bent and picked the cat up and stroked her under the chin. Ophelia purred in delight. Rose looked up and there was the tiger cub, sitting quite still in the middle of the path, its eyes watchful. It had definitely grown, but it was still very much a cub. Very slowly, and still holding Ophelia, she advanced towards it, holding out her hand. The cub observed her in a guarded fashion. Rose moved slowly towards the cub. Tentatively she put her hand under its chin and tickled it. She rubbed harder and the big cat purred loudly. Then it rolled on to its back and let Rose tickle its tummy. It purred delightedly. Ophelia jumped out of Rose’s arms and bumped her nose against her fingers, demanding to be tickled too.
Carefully, Rose went to pick up the tiger cub, still feeling as if somebody was watching. The animal was surprisingly heavy, but sat contentedly in Rose’s arms. It wasn’t far to Campion’s – if she could just get the animal back there, it could be kept safe until the zoo picked it up in the morning. She nodded to the others. Effie picked up Ophelia.
Rose moved her head sharply. She could hear something. She raised her eyebrows questioningly, and Effie and Rory nodded. They had heard it too. The girls stood shivering in silence, watching the patches of frozen fog floating across the gravestones. Rose frowned. She could hear footsteps – the kind of footsteps made by people trying to move quietly. They seemed to be converging from all sides of the graveyard. Rose put a finger to her lips and beckoned the others into a neglected mausoleum. The tomb’s rusting iron gate had long stood broken, and there was evidence on the floor – a cigar butt, paper torn into tiny pieces – that they were not the only people to have been here recently. They stood well back in the darkness. Aurora and Effie were holding hands, and Effie put her other hand on Rose’s shoulder. Rose could feel her fingers trembling. They heard feet, several pairs on the gravel, just a short distance away at the entrance of the tomb. Whoever was there was making much less of an attempt to disguise their presence. There were sounds above them too, as if people had clambered on top of the mausoleum.
Rose realised she had made a mistake. They were cornered in the mausoleum, with no way out. The tiger cub was still in her arms, but it was struggling, clearly nervous about the approaching noise. A flaming torch suddenly flared at the entrance to the mausoleum. The cub leapt out of Rose’s arms, and as it did so, more flaming to
rches revealed the red, sweaty faces of two of the Tanner Street brothers, and maybe half a dozen of their friends. A cry went up – “Catch the cat! Kill the beast! Skin the tiger!” – and as the cub streaked out of the entrance it was enveloped in a hastily constructed net made of rope that had been dropped from above the tomb. The crowd, some brandishing clubs and knives, cheered. Rose rushed out of the mausoleum and John, the oldest of the Tanner Street boys, caught her round the waist and pinned her arms behind her back. He laughed, his breath hot with onions and beer.
“Well, thank you, Rose Campion, for all your help. We’ve tried and failed the last few nights to catch the beast, and you have very kindly delivered it straight into our hands.”
The cub was snarling and squirming fruitlessly in the net, unable to find a way out.
“You better come out, we know you’re there,” called John.
Aurora and Effie emerged hesitantly into the semicircle of young men.
“Well, well, well,” said the other Tanner Street boy, Len, with a sneer. “What a pretty pair: lady muck and the thief,” he said, looking at Aurora and Effie. Both girls blushed, but they looked straight ahead, their heads held up high and defiantly. Rose wanted to cheer them. The men started to jostle the girls in an intimidating fashion. Still gripped hard by John, Rose struggled as furiously as the tiger and shouted, “Leave them alone! Let us and the tiger go.”
“Leave them alone! Let us go!” said the Tanner Street boy in a jeering, squeaky voice. Out of the corner of her eye, Rose could see that the tiger cub was making some progress in gnawing on the thin rope that had been used to make the improvised net. The Tanner Street boys had never been known for being good with their hands, except when it came to picking pockets.
“Shall we do what stuck-up Rose Campion asks, or shall we make her ask again?” said John. There was rowdy laughter and jeering. He poked her in the ribs. “Say please. Say pretty please.”
Rose took a deep breath. The tiger cub was gnawing steadily. She needed to buy it time.
