by Mary Hooper
An hour later, Mr Grey’s dead wife still had not been found and Madame confirmed that several more private sessions would be needed in the coming weeks in order to locate her. Mr Grey said that seeing as he had been most especially wicked in his past life, he quite understood and was prepared to pay whatever the price.
Chapter Nine
In Which Madame Materialises Sir Percy Malincourt
‘So, I had a raree-show, but what about your early days?’ George asked one morning when he and Velvet were in the kitchen, polishing glasses for that evening’s séance.
‘You know about me,’ Velvet said. ‘I worked in a steam laundry. Such hard work my back felt like it would break in two. It was so hot you could scarce draw breath and my hands were always red and sore.’ She stretched her arms in front of her and wriggled her fingers. ‘My hands are still as rough as sandpaper.’
‘Nonsense,’ George said, catching hold of one and examining it carefully. ‘Your hands are lovely. A lady’s hands. They look as if you’ve been doing nothing but embroidering flowers on pocket handkerchiefs all day.’
Velvet laughed, but George was looking at her so intently that she felt her cheeks warming. He turned her hand over so that the palm was uppermost and he traced his finger across the centre of it in a circular motion. Velvet held her breath, feeling her stomach fluttering. That such a tiny movement could have such an effect!
George gently tugged at her hand, moving his fingers up her arm so that she came towards him, closer and closer. Closer still, so that she felt his breath on her cheeks and then – at last – his lips were on hers and they were kissing and Velvet felt her head spinning with giddy wonder.
Oh, but it lasted only a moment before there was a commotion at the kitchen door and Mrs Lawson came in muttering and complaining, struggling to carry a large cardboard box containing white lilies and pink roses. ‘I was at the back, calling out!’ she said as Velvet and George sprang apart. ‘Didn’t anyone hear me?’
‘Mrs Lawson! I do apologise,’ said George. ‘Velvet and I were intent on talking about our lives before we came here.’
‘It looked like it,’ Mrs Lawson said with a sniff.
‘We honestly didn’t hear you,’ George said, getting up. ‘Let me take that heavy box from you, then you sit yourself down and I’ll put the kettle on the fire.’
‘Hmm’ was all Mrs Lawson said, but she allowed herself to be propelled towards the easy chair which stood by the window.
Velvet began to breathe again. Oh, thank goodness they had kissed at last! There had been so many other times when George had looked at her with a spark in his green eyes as if he were thinking certain things, certain naughty things, and intended to carry them out, and she’d thought now, now they would kiss and fall in love properly and her fate would be decided. Something had always interrupted the moment, though: an excited shout from the street that a motor car was coming past, the strident ring of the telephone (‘Quick! Answer it and save the electricity!’), or Madame’s footsteps on the stairs. Now it had actually happened, and Velvet was certain that he must like and admire her.
That day, however, there was to be no more time for daydreaming, for Madame was holding a special event for some of her wealthiest clients and was hoping to materialise at least one spirit during the second half of the evening.
Over the last weeks, the materialisation of spirits had become quite the thing. It seemed that the longer the public’s interest in spiritualism continued, the more complex the subject became. The whole business had started off some years ago in quite a simple way, George had told Velvet, with tapping on tables, then chairs and tables had started moving, then spirits had begun writing and drawing. After this had come the appearance and movement of objects, the playing of instruments that might or might not be visible, and direct messages from spirits. Now nearly every medium of note was either offering materialisation to her clients or was saying they would be able to do so quite soon.
George explained to Velvet that Madame had been honing her talents and sensitivity, not wanting to hurry things until she was sure she could cope with spirits in actual bodily form. He was certain, however, that anything Miss Cook and ‘those other poor imitators’, as he called them, could do, Madame would be able to do also, for he was of the opinion that the spirits acclaimed and respected her above all other mediums. Madame had asked him to assist in this new enterprise and they had spent several evenings shut away, quietly working together, trying to decide which method of operating would be the most conducive to the spirits. Velvet, too, had become involved, and had been summoned to these talks to impart every last detail she could remember about the evening at Miss Cook’s, whilst George and Madame listened avidly and questioned her on each point.
Greeting the guests that special evening, Velvet could pick out immediately those who were newly bereaved: the young lady, her face white and drawn, clutching a child’s lacy shawl around her; the tall man with blotchy, tearful eyes; the woman in early middle age who was dressed entirely in black and remained behind her veil for the whole evening. These three seemed somewhat removed from the rest of the gathering who were, perhaps, there for the purposes of entertainment. This part of the audience consisted of two opera singers, an actor, a poet, a sprinkling of titled ladies and Lillie Langtry, the beautiful actress who had not only been the new king’s long-term mistress, but (according to the newspapers) mistress to half the men in London. She was immensely rich, with a theatre and a stable of racehorses to her name.
‘Is she very beautiful at close viewing?’ Madame asked Velvet when she went to give her usual report on the newly arrived guests.
‘She is.’ Velvet nodded. ‘She has the most remarkable skin – she glows, almost.’
Madame, who had been reclining on her chaise longue, suddenly opened her eyes. ‘But she’s ageing now, of course. Ah! The portraits she inspired in her youth. Everyone who saw her fell in love with her, and every great artist in London wanted to paint her. Did she speak to you?’
‘Only to wish me good evening,’ Velvet said. ‘She was deep in conversation with a gentleman the whole time. She even waved away her glass of wine.’
‘Champagne,’ Madame reminded her with a smile. (Since Velvet’s visit to Miss Cook, Madame had decided that they, too, should serve this more sophisticated and costly drink.) ‘And everyone is quite composed?’
Velvet nodded again. ‘I think so,’ she said, ‘although it’s difficult to tell, of course, because last week Miss Formgate seemed completely at her ease . . .’
‘And then went quite wild when I managed to contact her fiancé.’
‘Indeed!’ exclaimed Velvet, for it had turned out – unbeknown to anyone except Miss Formgate herself – that her fiancé, who had unfortunately died in a hotel fire, had been staying at the hotel with another woman. When the errant fiancé had come through from the Other Side, Miss Formgate had hurled herself towards Madame, demanding that she ask him what he’d been doing there with the woman, and seeming more upset about his infidelity than his death.
It had taken all George’s strength to hold Miss Formgate back from Madame, for it looked likely that, as she could not reach her fiancé, she would throttle Madame instead. (Velvet wondered afterwards at the wisdom of his turning up at all. Wouldn’t he have known that Miss Formgate was going to be fearfully angry with him? Surely it would have been better for him to have adopted a peaceful life on the Other Side and remained there?)
‘I did have a few words with the poor lady whose little girl died,’ Velvet resumed. ‘She’s wearing her child’s christening shawl.’
‘That would be Mrs Fortesque, I believe?’
‘Yes, she seems very low,’ Velvet said. ‘She told me that she’d visited another medium, a Mrs Russell.’
‘That charlatan!’ exclaimed Madame.
‘Mrs Russell had promised to materialise the baby so that Mrs Fortesque could actually hold her. This never happened, even though Mrs Fortesque had paid h
er a great deal of money beforehand.’
‘Scandalous!’ Madame said. There was a pause. ‘Did she tell you the name of the little girl?’
‘Claire, I believe.’
‘And her age?’
‘She didn’t say, but she did remark that the child had just learned to sit up unaided.’
‘She was six months or so, then.’ Madame sighed. ‘How tragic. I’ll certainly help the poor woman if I can.’ There was another pause. ‘Apart from Miss Langtry, is there anyone else of especial interest here tonight?’
Velvet shook her head. ‘But there are two young gentlemen who’ve placed themselves in the back row and are being rather boisterous.’
‘Really? In what way?’
‘I believe they must have been imbibing liquor before they arrived. They certainly drank their champagne very quickly and asked for more.’
‘Is George aware of them?’
‘Oh certainly,’ Velvet said. ‘George has been most courteous and efficient in his handling of them. He requested that they remember they are in the house of a great lady and in the presence of distinguished people, so they must act accordingly.’
‘Dear George!’ exclaimed Madame. ‘What it is to have a man about the house. And thank you, too, for your help, as ever.’
The first part of that evening’s session began with a short recital of piano music, then Madame entered on George’s arm and, without using the cabinet, she spoke to the seated audience of thirty in a conversational way, bringing in this and that spirit from the Other Side, delivering messages and making certain observations.
Several times the two young gentlemen made comments – ‘Madame, do you have to take spirits to see spirits?’ and ‘It’s getting mighty crowded with ghosts in this room!’ and other remarks they obviously thought were witticisms – until George reminded them that Madame was a highly respected medium and they were lucky to be able to attend one of her evenings at all.
‘Lucky?’ one of them called back. ‘’Twas not luck which got me here, but a certain amount of guineas!’ There were a few titters from others in response.
Madame kept herself aloof from these interruptions and delivered her messages without acknowledging them. She then went off to rest for fifteen minutes before the main part of the evening, which began with her going into the cabinet and Velvet turning down the lamps as usual.
‘We ask for complete silence at this time,’ George said, with one eye on the young men, ‘for Madame is about to attempt something she has never attempted before.’
‘Will we get our money back if no spirit appears?’ one of the young men replied, and was promptly hushed by those sitting on each side of him.
‘As always, we are never sure what spirits will attend us or what might happen, but we ask you to stay in your seats at all times, please,’ George said. ‘If Madame is interrupted whilst she is in trance, the consequences could be serious.’
A hush duly fell on the audience.
‘If materialisation of a spirit does occur, remember that the shape will emanate from ectoplasm produced from Madame’s body as the spirit appears and takes form. Please be patient whilst this happens. Anyone who attempts to light a match or otherwise illuminate the room will be evicted from the house immediately.’
The ensuing silence was profound. The curtain across the cabinet was drawn open and, by the light of the one candle in the room, Madame could be seen sitting in her chair. She was dressed in a midnight-blue silk gown and looked very elegant and very vulnerable, so much so that Velvet’s heart went out to her; she felt that if either of the rowdy young men started anything she would turn on them herself. But she reminded herself that that was what George was there for, of course. Strong, dependable, gorgeous George. George who had kissed her. She couldn’t wait to get to bed that night and go over and over that kiss in her mind . . .
Madame began by saying, ‘I have a lady here whose name begins with an “E”. She passed on towards the end of last year and left behind a grieving family.’
A woman in the audience called, ‘It may be my mother. Her name was Emily.’
‘Yes, she says her name was Emily!’ Madame announced, and there was a stir of excitement in the audience.
Emily had a multitude of messages for her daughter, some of which were understood by her and some not. Madame explained that Emily had not been on the Other Side for long enough to come back in visible spirit form, but if the daughter was to attend Madame’s séances on a regular basis then she might eventually find her way through.
‘What are we going to see tonight, then?’ someone in the audience called. ‘We were assured there would be a materialisation.’
‘That’s what we’ve paid for!’ came another voice.
‘I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave if you cannot respect the medium,’ George said sternly.
Everyone’s eyes were still on Madame. There was another long silence, then she said, ‘I am having difficulty this evening. Someone towards the back of the room is trying to exercise control, and I’d be glad if they would refrain from doing so.’
Another long silence, and some of the audience began to cough or fidget.
Suddenly, though, a deep voice said, ‘I am here. I am come!’
In an instant, there was a hush.
‘Who are you?’ Madame said. ‘Do you come in truth and love?’
‘I do,’ came the answer. ‘My name is Percy. In my time on earth I was Sir Percy Malincourt.’
Madame gestured towards George, who came forward and asked the audience in a stage whisper, ‘Does anyone claim Sir Percy?’
No one replied.
‘Is there someone here tonight who is a member of his family?’ George continued.
‘No one will claim me,’ Sir Percy’s voice said. ‘I was a black sheep. A liar and a cheat. But I regret my time on earth now, and regret my sins. I wish to ask the forgiveness of my descendants.’
George spoke quietly. ‘Those of Sir Percy’s family – and I believe they are here – will know who he is but perhaps they’re unwilling to own him.’
The audience shifted in their seats.
‘He is with us in spirit . . . and in body, too!’ George said, pointing to the bottom of the cabinet where, around Madame’s feet, a mass of something white was appearing.
A thrill of excitement ran around the room, and those towards the back stood up in order to see better.
George bade them be seated again. ‘Please do not move or alarm Madame in any way. Materialisation is a rare and difficult procedure . . .’
Velvet stared hard at Madame’s feet and, in spite of having seen a similar occurrence at Miss Cook’s, was incredulous as she gazed at the white mass which could be seen very dimly in the cabinet. At one glance it looked like smoke, then something akin to a flimsy white fabric. As it grew more substantial, its shape altered so that it became about the size of a kneeling man. A lady in the audience screamed and George called again for calm. Another moment and it was taller, almost the shape of someone standing. Because of the poor light and the vagueness of the form, however, it was impossible to distinguish any features, or even tell for definite if it was male or female. The grey-white shape wavered and then stilled. The audience – even the two rowdy young men – were completely silent.
‘I cannot rest until my family forgives me for my sins,’ came the deep voice.
Madame spoke up then. ‘The family of Sir Percy are here tonight and know well who he is,’ she said, ‘but their shame at his conduct when on earth prevents them from speaking out. They should be assured that the sins of the fathers do not fall upon the heads of those still living, and should forgive Sir Percy in their hearts so that he can rest in peace.’
Just after she’d spoken, the form of Sir Percy vanished. To Velvet, who’d been close to the cabinet and watching intently, it seemed to waver, fall to the ground and then disappear. The audience gasped and sighed in turn, murmuring to each other that they’d never before
seen anything like it.
Amidst this stir and muttering, there came something like the sound of a child’s voice, far away, saying, ‘Mama!’
Mrs Fortesque, the lady in the front row wearing the child’s shawl around her, suddenly jumped to her feet. ‘I heard a baby! Is it Claire? Will you do more, Madame? Will you materialise my child?’
George nodded to Velvet, who immediately went to urge Mrs Fortesque to sit down again. ‘It may not be possible tonight,’ she whispered. ‘Please be seated, Mrs Fortesque. Madame knows you’re here and I am sure she’ll do her best.’
‘Claire!’ Mrs Fortesque burst into tears. ‘Claire, I must see you!’ She wriggled from Velvet’s grasp and ran towards Madame’s cabinet, but George stopped her just before she reached the chair.
‘Please! You mustn’t go near the medium. It could be dangerous.’
‘But my child! I heard her, I tell you. I want to see her . . .’
Between them, George and Velvet escorted Mrs Fortesque back to her seat, where she was comforted by the woman accompanying her. During this time, Madame gave a groan and her head fell forward, then after a moment or two she sat up. She pressed her hand to her forehead, then looked out to the audience as if waking from a deep sleep.
‘My child . . . I heard my child . . .’ Mrs Fortesque said brokenly.
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Madame, fully herself now. ‘Your child wanted to come through, but I didn’t have the strength left to communicate with her at this point in the evening.’ Madame motioned to Velvet to light the lamps. ‘Perhaps another time . . .’
Whilst Mrs Fortesque sat crying, the rest of the audience stayed in their seats, stunned and speechless. Neither those members of the audience who were famous nor the two boisterous young gentlemen had anything to say for themselves.
‘What a success it was,’ George said to Velvet later. Sissy had been walked home and both Mrs Lawson and Madame had retired for the night, leaving the two of them in the kitchen finishing off the last few inches of a bottle of champagne. ‘I was captivated by Madame’s performance. Wasn’t she wonderful?’
