by Mary Hooper
‘Indeed it did,’ said Lady Blue. ‘And I look forward to more sessions with you. It’s such a comfort to know that I can speak to my dear husband any time I choose. It lessens the pain of being without him.’
‘Of course, my lady,’ said Madame Savoya, ‘but please be aware that the spirits may not always be willing to present themselves. Also, I have many other clients to attend to, so sometimes it may be impossible for me to drop everything and sit for you.’
Lady Blue raised a lace-gloved hand. ‘I am very willing to pay you handsomely for the privilege.’
Madame Savoya gave no outward indication of having heard such a detail. ‘We will use the colour of your aura to distinguish you, and your real name will not be used anywhere,’ she said kindly. ‘We’ll refer to your husband and yourself in any notes as Lord and Lady Blue.’ Lady Blue nodded and Madame went on, ‘As usual, my assistant will take notes for us. I believe your husband rather took to George at our original séance.’
‘Yes, I think he did,’ agreed Lady Blue. ‘My husband and I never had children, you know, but he always took a considerable interest in our friends’ sons and daughters.’ She shook her head and pressed a lace handkerchief to her eyes. ‘Oh, I can’t believe that he’s no longer with me.’
‘But he is,’ Madame said gently. ‘There’s merely a gossamer web between his world and ours.’
‘Ah,’ trembled Lady Blue.
George saw that Lady Blue was seated comfortably with a cushion at her back, and then sat down beside her with his notepad. Madame pressed one of Lady Blue’s hands and, ascertaining that her client was quite at ease, moved back a little, closed her eyes and tilted her face heavenwards.
After three minutes or so, she opened her eyes and said, ‘What do you think? I have the noble lord with me already. The dear man knew you were coming here and was only waiting for me to go into trance.’
‘Bertie!’ Lady Blue exclaimed, a tear forming in her eye. ‘Is it really you?’
Madame’s voice, when the reply came, was deeper and more solid-sounding than it had been before. ‘Yes, it really is me, my dear.’
‘Only some people say it’s not possible to . . .’
‘Ceci! You may put your trust in Madame Savoya and her assistant. Their hearts are pure; they seek only your happiness.’
Lady Blue gave a nervous little smile to George. ‘Only my husband called me Ceci!’ she whispered. ‘Short for Cecilia, you know. Oh, I’m terribly lonely without you, Bertie.’
‘Then you must seek me out here as much as you can. Make speaking to me a regular part of your life. Why don’t you also pursue some new interests? The youth just here . . .’
Lady Blue’s eyes went to George. ‘Yes? You mean George?’
‘I see well his steadfast and untainted soul. My dear, he’s the sort of son we might have been blessed with.’
Lady Blue nodded sadly.
‘It would be wonderful if we could enhance his life in some way; help him make his way in the world.’
‘Yes, I suppose it would, dear,’ came the slightly hesitant answer from Lady Blue.
‘If we could assist him, I’d feel that my life hadn’t been in vain.’
‘Dearest!’
‘Perhaps you could think about what might be done for him – some patronage, a step up.’
George looked at Lady Blue in surprise and shook his head, frowning. ‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly accept such a thing . . .’ he said in a very low voice.
‘The fellow might be reluctant,’ interrupted the strong voice, ‘but after all, Ceci, we have no one else to leave our money to, have we?’
‘I was wondering about leaving it to the animals,’ said Lady Blue. ‘There are several donkey charities and –’
‘Oh, my dear, surely not! Animals already have many societies and charities to care for them. It would be far, far better to put money directly into the hands of humans, perhaps even donate it to someone who’ll use it for the furtherance of spiritualism.’
Lady Blue nodded. ‘I see, dear, yes. How wise you are! It does so help me to speak to you and hear your thoughts.’
‘Let us talk more of this anon. In the meantime, please promise me that you’ll look after yourself. You mustn’t go outside when the temperature is too low, nor when it looks like snow. Make sure that you have at least nine hours’ sleep a night and that the housekeeper cooks nourishing breakfasts every day.’
Lady Blue nodded intently. ‘Anything else?’
‘You must trust in Madame Savoya, for she is one of the very few true mediums. Don’t lower yourself to visit others.’
Lady Blue looked somewhat embarrassed. She hesitated for a moment, then said, ‘But it’s rumoured that Mrs Otterley can make spirits materialise – that’s why I went to her. I so wanted to see you again!’
‘And you were disappointed in that, I believe.’
‘Yes, dearest, I was,’ said Lady Blue meekly. ‘Something materialised – some shape – but it didn’t appear anything like you.’
‘Then there’s your answer.’ The voice paused. ‘You’ll see to it that my hunter is exercised daily, won’t you? Such a pity if the animal turned to fat.’
‘I will, dear.’ She wrung her hands. ‘But what’s it truly like there, Bertie? Are you in heaven?’
No reply came from his lordship, but after a moment Madame’s own voice was heard to say, ‘Oh, must you go?’ A few seconds later she jerked upright, blinked several times and then asked, ‘What happened here? Was it a good sitting?’
Lady Blue began to mop up a stream of tears. ‘Oh, it was wonderful. Thank you so much, Madame Savoya.’
‘And was anything of significance imparted?’
George looked at Madame but didn’t speak.
‘Much was said that I must think on,’ Lady Blue replied, dabbing her eyes. ‘I’ll come again quite soon, I think.’
‘Just as you wish,’ said Madame.
Chapter Eight
In Which Velvet Attends an Evening of Mediumship at the House of Miss Florence Cook
More than two months had elapsed since Velvet started work at Darkling Villa, and spring had arrived. Velvet learned more about Madame Savoya’s business every day, mastering exactly when to dim and raise the lights at a séance, the right words to comfort someone overcome by events and when to appear with handkerchief and smelling salts if a lady had an attack of the vapours. She was able to speak quite naturally and easily to both lady and gentleman visitors and, by their second visit, could usually recall exactly who it was on the Other Side that they wished to be in contact with. She grew to know some visitors so well, in fact, that they would greet her by name and often slip a sixpence into her hand on leaving. This did not endear her any further to Sissy Lawson, for it had been she who had collected coats and sixpences before Velvet had come to the house.
The routine for the séances, whether taking place around the table or with Madame using the cabinet, was always the same: Velvet would answer the front door, greet the visitors and, as she helped them off with their coats and hats, exchange light conversation about the weather or enquire if they’d been to Madame’s before, then show them into the reception room, where George was waiting with a drink. Once everyone had arrived, Velvet would join George and mingle with the clients, chatting in order to ease the nerves of anyone who was anxious. After more drinks were served, first George, then Velvet, would visit Madame upstairs to assure her that everything was well and impart any little pieces of overheard conversation which might be of interest. Madame would want to know if any clients had mentioned that it was their birthday, for instance, or were there to mark the anniversary of someone’s passing.
The strange thing, Velvet began to notice, was that nearly every tiny fragment of information she gleaned and then passed to Madame came to be mentioned during the following séance. Sometimes it led to an important three-way meeting between Madame, the audience member and the person on the Other Side; at other times a date or name mig
ht just be mentioned in passing. Mentioned it always was, however, making Velvet wonder if this could be more than just a coincidence.
She decided to ask George about it and waited until they were in the kitchen, alone, one morning. She was carefully dipping a white linen collar of Madame’s into starch, whilst he was brushing his top hat.
George listened to her carefully and then put the brush down, looking shocked. ‘You surely don’t suspect Madame of anything underhand?’
‘Of course not!’ Velvet assured him hastily. ‘It just seems strange that all the little things the clients tell us are brought up later at the séances.’ She bit her lip, anxious that George should not be annoyed with her. ‘I would never think Madame was . . . was anything like underhand. She’s surely the cleverest and most wonderful person I’ve ever met.’
George’s face cleared. ‘We are both agreed, then, that Madame is a near perfect employer.’
‘A near perfect person!’
He smiled. ‘But, yes, in some ways you are quite right. Madame does use us as lookouts, and the reason for this is that the spirits – especially if they’re coming back to earth for the first time – are often rather shy about making an appearance. Some don’t even know how to span the bridge between our world and theirs, and if Madame can give them a little hint that someone they love is waiting for them, if they hear a familiar date or name, then they’re more willing to come forward. They just need a helping hand.’
‘I understand,’ Velvet said eagerly. ‘And I suppose it works both ways.’
‘Indeed! Those left here on earth may be too shy to claim a deceased loved one in a crowded room in case they’re wrong, but if a special name or date is mentioned, then it opens things up and gives them the confidence to speak.’
‘I see.’ Velvet smiled at him tremulously. ‘You didn’t mind me mentioning it, did you?’
‘Of course not,’ George said. He patted her shoulder lightly. ‘You and I are two of a kind, eh?’ Velvet hoped for a moment that he meant there was something – a romantic connection – between them, but he went on, ‘We’re both orphans brought in out of the storm by Madame. Me, the owner of a raree-show, and you, plucked out of a steam laundry. What a pair!’ He hesitated, then asked, ‘You did say you were all alone in the world?’
‘I did. My mother had two sisters, but she lost touch with them long ago because my father didn’t like her seeing them. He knew they disapproved of him.’ Velvet sighed. ‘Quite rightly, as it happened.’
George began brushing his top hat again, smoothing down the nap so that it all swirled in the same direction. ‘Madame has great plans for you, you know,’ he said. ‘She told me that, with the right training, you might become sensitive.’
‘Sensitive?’ Velvet looked at him, amazed. ‘She thinks I could communicate with spirits?’
‘Indeed. I’m undergoing some training, too. I thought it was highly unlikely that I could do it at first, but now I know that you just have to open your mind and let the light in.’
Let the light in, Velvet repeated to herself, and tried to look as if she understood what this interesting phrase meant. She realised that there were mysteries in the world about which she, a mere domestic servant, could know absolutely nothing, but as for being psychic herself – well, she seriously doubted that she had any abilities at all. ‘I really don’t think I could,’ she said to George.
‘Are you implying that you understand these things better than Madame?’ he asked teasingly.
‘Of course not!’
He laughed, then finished smoothing the hat and placed it on his head at a jaunty angle.
‘Are you going somewhere special?’ Velvet asked.
‘Ascot – the races!’
‘I didn’t know you were a racing man,’ Velvet said and, because of what she’d been through with her father, a little warning flag was raised in her mind.
‘I’m not, but Madame thinks it a good way of gaining new clients.’
Velvet frowned, very surprised. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ll be candid with you,’ George said. ‘There’s terrific rivalry between mediums, and only a limited number of rich clients to go around. When one is in the club room at Ascot . . .’ he waved his top hat in the air and made an elaborate bow ‘. . . one can mention one’s contacts and gain valuable new clients.’
‘I see,’ said Velvet. It all seemed a bit mercenary, but if Madame was going to help people regain contact with their lost loved ones, then they may just as well be rich as poor, she supposed. She could appreciate that living to Madame’s elegant standards couldn’t be cheap. Why, she was even talking of replacing her horse and carriage with a motor car!
It was a week later that Madame sent for Velvet, saying there was something she especially wanted her to do.
‘On Saturday, I’d like you to attend an evening of mediumship at Florence Cook’s,’ she said. ‘I think you’ll find it of interest.’ She looked down at the card she was holding and read out: ‘Miss Florence Cook promises the manifestation of certain diverse spirits, including her own personal spirit guide.’ There was a slightly disdainful quality to Madame’s tone as she said these last few words, for although some mediums had spirit guides – Indian chiefs or Egyptian queens who advised and nurtured them – Madame scorned such entities, saying that she was the only guide that the spirits needed and that they preferred to make contact through her directly.
‘An evening of mediumship,’ Velvet repeated. ‘What would I have to do?’
‘Merely observe,’ Madame said. ‘Miss Cook is an extremely popular medium – rather too popular, perhaps. I understand her Dark Circles sometimes become somewhat unruly.’
‘And is there anything in particular I should observe?’ Velvet asked, secretly rather thrilled at the thought of an unruly séance.
‘Yes, there is,’ Madame said. ‘Miss Cook made headline news in the papers last month by managing to manifest a spirit in its last earthly shape.’
Velvet gasped. ‘Like a ghost? George told me something of this!’
‘Yes, and I’d dearly love to know how this happens and how complete and clear are these bodily forms. Are they made of smoke or light, or of something more substantial? Do they leave the medium’s side and glide around the room, or do they stay within her cabinet?’
‘You don’t wish to go and see this for yourself?’
Madame shook her head. ‘I would like to, very much, but I’m afraid Miss Cook knows me by sight, and she also knows George, come to that. She’d refuse to sit if we were there. That’s why I want you to go and be my eyes and ears.’
Velvet agreed, of course, and, as the venue where Miss Cook was to appear was in west London, asked if she might have a few hours off beforehand to visit Lizzie – Velvet knew that the girls at Ruffold’s finished a little earlier on Saturdays.
Madame, Velvet thought later, had seemed slightly taken aback when she’d explained this.
‘A friend from your past life?’ she said. ‘From the laundry?’
‘Lizzie and I were very good friends,’ Velvet said. ‘I spent Christmas Day with her family and I miss her.’ She really did, she realised. The two or three short letters which had passed between them were no substitute for having a real chum close by. The coarse Miss Lawson was too much of a rival to ever be her friend and George, she hoped, was something else.
‘But we’re your family now, are we not?’
‘Indeed you are!’ Velvet said. ‘And I could never thank you enough for all your kindnesses. It’s just that Lizzie was a particular friend of mine and I really miss talking to her.’
Madame, after saying that she hoped Velvet knew she could call upon herself or George any time she wished, agreed that she could certainly have the afternoon off.
Velvet, her hair up in curls, was wearing a new and flattering outfit (a rose-pink jacket with a matching striped skirt, worn by Madame two seasons ago) in order to look the part for her evening appointment, so her appearan
ce was very different from the last time she’d been to Lizzie’s house. When her friend answered the door, therefore, she just stared at Velvet, puzzled.
‘Yes, miss? Can I help you?’
Velvet giggled. ‘Lizzie, it’s me!’ She loosened the ribboned cap she was wearing and shook her hair free so that Lizzie could see her the better.
Lizzie stood there, hardly knowing, as she told Velvet later, whether she should kiss her or curtsey, but Velvet broke the spell by flinging her arms around her and giving her a hug. Seeing Lizzie, she realised how very much she’d missed all their chats and their ordinary everyday togetherness. Madame was wonderful, of course. Madame was the best, most generous employer in the world, but that was what she was – her employer. Velvet knew she could never be a proper friend.
‘But what have you done to yourself?’ Lizzie exclaimed, and she showed Velvet into the front parlour. (The parlour, Velvet noted, not the kitchen.) ‘You look like a proper lady.’ She giggled. ‘You look like one of those customers who come into Ruffold’s to complain that their sheets have been folded into the wrong creases.’
Velvet laughed. ‘It’s just trappings,’ she said, very pleased nonetheless that there was such a big change in her. ‘Just clothes and hair.’
But it wasn’t just that. Velvet now slept in an airy room on a comfortable mattress with clean sheets, ate fresh food instead of two-day-old scraps and didn’t work herself to the point of exhaustion in the stifling conditions of the laundry day after day. She shared the luxuries of Madame’s house, too: the hot water, the expensive soaps and creams, the soft towels, flowers and elegant surroundings, and all these things combined to make a difference to her. Plus, she felt herself to be in love, and this above all else made her happy with her life.
Lizzie stood, still gazing at Velvet in wonder, then picked up a fold of her skirt and felt it. ‘Glazed cotton?’ she asked.
Velvet nodded. ‘And the very devil to press!’
Lizzie laughed, then began to minutely examine Velvet’s outfit: her dainty shoes and her crochet-trimmed kid gloves, the small drawstring velvet bag, the ruffles on the sleeves of her jacket, the ribbons on her cap. ‘You look very lovely,’ she said finally.
