Velvet

by Mary Hooper

  ‘She was,’ Velvet agreed.

  George swilled the liquid around his glass, holding it up to the light in order to see the bubbles. ‘Indeed! But then we believe – do we not? – that Madame is wonderful in whatever she does.’

  ‘We do!’ Certainly she did believe that, Velvet thought, but there were so many things she didn’t understand. ‘Do you think she will always be able to materialise spirits now, at every séance?’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ George said. ‘It’s too demanding. Too exhausting! Madame would find her energies so depleted that she wouldn’t be able to do her normal work.’

  Velvet nodded. ‘I see.’

  ‘She may do a smaller materialisation next time. A child. I think that would be easier.’

  ‘You mean Mrs Fortesque’s child?’ Velvet asked.

  George winked. ‘Most likely.’

  Velvet hesitated. ‘What a shame no one owned up to having Sir Percy as one of their ancestors.’

  ‘A shame,’ George said, ‘but perhaps safer that way.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean it’s safer to materialise someone whom no one knows.’

  Velvet looked at him, puzzled. ‘I don’t understand what you mean. Why is that?’

  ‘Well, because a few weeks ago one of the other big-name mediums materialised a sitter’s father only to find that, although in real life the gentleman had only had one leg, she had materialised him with two!’

  Velvet gasped, then laughed. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Oh, I believe the medium got away with it. She said that in the spirit world, diseases are cured and those with missing limbs become whole again.’

  Velvet frowned a little. The medium got away with it, he’d said. She found it all very difficult to understand. She didn’t like to ask such a question, but was he saying that the whole materialisation process was fraudulent?

  George lifted his glass. ‘To mediums everywhere!’ he said, draining it.

  Velvet forgot her concerns. ‘And especially to Madame,’ she added.

  Then they just sat there for some comfortable moments, each contemplating the coals glowing within the open door of the kitchen range and busy with their own thoughts.

  ‘This morning . . . I was asking you about your early life,’ George said after a while.

  Velvet held her breath, remembering the kiss and trying hard to maintain her composure. ‘Yes, about when I was at the laundry.’

  ‘I didn’t really mean about then. I was interested in your life as a child, way back. Were they happy days for you?’

  Velvet thought for a moment before answering. She hadn’t wanted to speak about her father – not to anyone, not ever – but if she was going to have a special relationship with George then perhaps everything should be open between them. Madame obviously trusted George implicitly, so surely she should, too. She should not tell lies to the person she hoped (dare she think it?) might become closer to her than anyone else in the world. Resolved, she took a deep breath.

  ‘Before my mother died my life was also hard, but I remember some happy days. Mother and I had outings to the park on Sundays, and sometimes went on an omnibus to see her sisters – just for the day, you understand, as my father wouldn’t allow her to stay away longer.’

  ‘Her sisters. You had two aunts, then. Are they in spirit now?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Velvet said. ‘We lost touch. I think they may have written to me after Mother died, but my father never let me have any letters.’

  ‘So there were three sisters altogether. Did they all have pretty names like yours?’

  ‘My aunts were named Verity and Patience,’ Velvet said, sidestepping the issue of her own name, ‘and my mother’s name was Hope.’ She smiled. ‘I believe my grandfather was a Quaker.’

  ‘Indeed, they love names of that nature,’ George said. ‘I once knew a Quaker chap who had been christened Fearless! He was quite a little fellow, too.’ They laughed. ‘And you used to go out with your mother washing linens?’

  ‘I did.’ Velvet nodded. ‘There were two big houses we used to go to once a week, and she’d take in washing for our neighbours the rest of the time. I was allowed to dunk the blue-bag in the rinsing water and turn the handle of the mangle, and later, when I was big enough, I’d help her fold the sheets.’

  ‘You attended school?’

  ‘Mother educated me at home. Before she married, she was a governess,’ Velvet said with some pride. ‘She taught me how to read and write, and all sorts of other useful things: cooking, household accounts, the use of herbs, needlework and drawing.’

  ‘And your father . . . I believe you told Madame he was a children’s entertainer?’

  ‘Yes, but before you ask, that doesn’t mean he was a jolly man in a clown suit.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No, he was not! He was a miserable devil who was only happy when he was goading my mother or I.’ She hesitated, finding a few drops of champagne in the bottom of her glass and drinking them before continuing. ‘My father was a wicked man. I can hardly bear to speak about him. When my poor mother died . . .’

  ‘Your poor mother? Was she very ill, then?’

  ‘She wasn’t ill so much as run-down with worry, hard work and trying to keep bread on the table,’ Velvet said heatedly. ‘My father was a no-good gambler who drove her into her early grave.’

  George put out a hand and stroked her arm. ‘Hush!’ he said. ‘That part of your life is over now. You are with Madame – and with me – and you are safe.’ As they gazed into the fire, he asked gently, ‘When was it that your father died?’

  Velvet swallowed. ‘Some time ago,’ she said in a whisper, for she did not feel ready to tell him everything. It would have relieved her mind to confess, but she desperately wanted George to think well of her and how could he possibly do so if he knew she had all but murdered her own father?

  ‘Poor Velvet,’ George said, putting his hand over hers. ‘I’m so sorry you’re an orphan.’

  ‘You mustn’t be,’ Velvet replied. ‘As you said, I’m all right now, and so are you. We’ve come through it, we’ve got Madame and we’ve . . .’ In the middle of the sentence she suddenly realised what she’d been about to say and stopped herself just in time.

  Blushing furiously, she willed George to kiss her and say that she must speak freely and speak her heart, because he felt the same. But he did not. Instead he looked at his pocket watch.

  ‘My goodness. It’s past midnight and here we are still talking. How indiscreet we are being.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘How your reputation will suffer if anyone finds out!’

  Never mind about that – just kiss me again, Velvet wanted to say, but she did not dare.

  Madame Savoya’s Second Private Sitting with ‘Mrs Lilac’

  ‘Mrs Lilac!’ Madame exclaimed, getting up to kiss the cheek of the elderly lady who had just been escorted into the room by George. ‘How lovely it is to see you again.’ Madame stood back and seemed to make a brief survey of the shape and height of Mrs Lilac. ‘Your aura is looking very pink today – almost more pink than lilac.’

  ‘Is that good?’ Mrs Lilac asked nervously.

  ‘Indeed it is! Whilst you’re under my roof you are suffused with peace.’

  ‘It is lovely to be here again,’ said Mrs Lilac, looking about the room. ‘Everything is so fresh and modern. The flower arrangements, the linens, the colours . . .’

  Madame smiled. ‘Surrounded as I am by spirits from the past, I enjoy having everything new about me. I think they like it when they visit, too.’

  ‘What a pleasant thought,’ Mrs Lilac said. ‘Figures from the past enjoying all that’s best about the present.’

  ‘I could not have put it better myself,’ said Madame.

  George settled Mrs Lilac into an easy chair and shook out a rug ready to put across her knees.

  ‘I did wonder if we were ever going to see you again,’ Madame said.

  ‘I’ve been rather poor
ly,’ said Mrs Lilac. ‘There was a fog which got into my lungs. I was laid low for three weeks and my physician said I shouldn’t venture out.’

  ‘Madame Savoya and I were beginning to think you had deserted us!’ said George, tucking the rug securely around her.

  Mrs Lilac shifted uncomfortably, plucking at a stray cotton on her glove. ‘My physician did say that I shouldn’t get myself overwrought by attending séances or the like. He was rather disparaging of them, as a matter of fact. He said he didn’t believe in such things.’

  Madame shook her head sadly. ‘Some people have very closed minds.’ She took Mrs Lilac’s wrinkled hand in her own. ‘My dear lady, you must do as your heart tells you. If you gain comfort from coming here, then how could it possibly be wrong? How could you disbelieve messages which come from your own nearest and dearest – messages containing information which only you, and she, could possibly know?’

  ‘Yes, but –’

  ‘I’m rather cross with this physician of yours, to tell you the truth,’ Madame interrupted somewhat sternly. ‘I would not dream of interfering in your bodily health or prescribing medicines for you, and I’m of the opinion that he should return the compliment by not interfering with your spiritual health.’

  ‘Madame is renowned and uniquely qualified in that capacity,’ George put in.

  Mrs Lilac looked suitably chastened.

  ‘I wouldn’t tell you how to cure whooping cough or diseases of the blood!’ said Madame. ‘How is it that he thinks he can advise on your spiritual well-being?’

  ‘It’s just that he was Mother’s doctor . . .’

  ‘Ah. And he seeks to control you just as your mother controlled you.’

  ‘Yes,’ Mrs Lilac said with a sigh. ‘Perhaps he does.’

  ‘My dear lady,’ said Madame, ‘have you thought of keeping your visits here strictly to yourself? If you don’t tell your doctor about them, then he cannot possibly censure them.’

  ‘Perhaps that would be the best thing,’ said Mrs Lilac. ‘I rather think – being a man of science – that he wouldn’t understand certain things. About Mother’s jewels, for instance, and the magnetism.’

  ‘Ah, yes. The vital magnetism,’ Madame said.

  ‘Since you – since Mother – told me about it, I haven’t been wearing her jewellery very much at all. Although as it’s her birthday today, I’m wearing a little gold pin which belonged to her. I didn’t think she’d mind that.’

  ‘We’ll see, shall we? Would you like me to go into trance and see if your mother is beside you?’

  Mrs Lilac nodded nervously. ‘Though if she is in a bad humour . . .’

  Madame smiled. ‘I shall first of all ascertain what sort of mood she’s in, and if she’s feeling irritable then I shall ask her to come back another day!’

  Mrs Lilac, not knowing if Madame was joking or not, gave a squeak of a laugh.

  Madame closed her eyes and, after a few moments of breathing normally, began to draw in her breath slowly and wheezily, as an old lady might breathe. ‘Esther!’ she said suddenly, her voice deep and strong. ‘Is that you?’

  ‘Yes, Mother,’ Mrs Lilac answered quickly.

  ‘About time, girl. Here I’ve been, looking out for you every day, whilst you’ve been idling in bed listening to that fool of a doctor!’

  ‘Doctor Inman has been our doctor for thirty years,’ Mrs Lilac cried.

  ‘And much good he did. If he’d had any degree of competence I wouldn’t be here on the Other Side, would I? No, you killed me between you: the doctor, you and that so-called nursing home.’

  Mrs Lilac began to look anxious. ‘Now, Mother, we’ve been over this before, and I’ve apologised several times for having moved you into Runnymede.’

  ‘Anything to get rid of me! That’s what it was, wasn’t it?’

  ‘No, Mother, I didn’t want to be rid of you. I actually missed you very much. I miss you still.’

  ‘I expect you’ve forgotten today was my birthday.’

  ‘Indeed not. I went to the cemetery today and put a posy of flowers on your gravestone.’

  ‘I’ve seen it.’ There came a sniff. ‘You’ve stopped wearing my jewellery, then.’

  ‘I have.’ Mrs Lilac touched something on her lapel. ‘Except this little gold pin. I’m wearing it today in your memory.’

  ‘No need.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You should be remembering me in your head. Wearing my jewellery doesn’t prove a thing.’

  ‘I do remember you in my head. Every day!’ Mrs Lilac protested. ‘I have nothing else to do in my life but remember you! Everything is just how you left it, Mother. I haven’t changed a thing. The drawing room, the parlour, the bedroom. I still keep the curtains closed in your bedroom in honour of your memory.’

  ‘Hmmm.’

  ‘What else can I possibly do?’

  ‘That jewellery of mine . . . there’s no point in leaving it in the box at home.’

  ‘But you told me not to wear it because the magnetism might call me early to the Other Side.’

  ‘Nor should you. You must give it away. Let someone else have a use for it. You’ve got no one to leave it to, have you?’

  ‘Only Cousin Evie on Father’s side, and I haven’t seen her for years. She didn’t even come to your funeral.’

  ‘Certainly you’re not to give it to that foolish Evie. You must give it to the cause. The spiritualist cause.’

  ‘Oh!’ said Mrs Lilac.

  ‘It could be sold in my name to help people who’ve been made destitute through no fault of their own.’

  ‘Do you mean all the jewellery?’ Mrs Lilac asked in some dismay. ‘All the things that Father gave you? Your emeralds and your diamonds and the five rows of pearls? What about that tiara you wore to your coming-out ball?’

  ‘All of it. What’s the point of keeping it? When you die whoever finds your lifeless body will search the house and take whatever they can get hold of.’

  Mrs Lilac was silent for a whole minute, until her mother sniffed and said, ‘There’s not much point in my being here if you’re not going to speak to me.’

  ‘Sorry, Mother. It’s just that you’ve given me a lot of things to think about.’

  ‘Go home, then, and look into your heart. Think about what I, your dear departed mother, want, and about how you can make amends for forsaking me at the end of my life.’

  There was another long silence and then Madame opened her eyes and said in her own voice, ‘Ah. Your mother has gone now.’

  Mrs Lilac looked at her wonderingly. ‘Where has she gone? Where does she go to?’

  ‘If we only knew,’ Madame said.

  ‘There are more things in heaven and earth . . .’ George said wisely, taking up the rug and folding it.

  Chapter Ten

  In Which Mrs Fortesque Asks the Seemingly Impossible

  It was still quite early in the morning when Velvet, busy in the front room arranging yellow roses in a crystal vase, saw Charlie striding down the road.

  Her first emotion, to her surprise, was one of pleasure. It had been a long time since she had seen a friendly face from her past life and Charlie could usually be relied upon to make her smile. She would be able to tease him, too, about walking out with Lizzie and maybe find out whether he was serious in regard to her or not.

  She watched him from behind the pale silk window drapes. As Lizzie had said, he had a proper uniform now – dark-navy wool with bright silver buttons, black boots and leather gloves – and he did look rather smart. The only thing she didn’t particularly like was his policeman’s pointy helmet, but then she’d always thought these rather ridiculous. It also hid all of Charlie’s tawny-lion hair, which was one of his best features.

  He approached the door. The front door, she noticed, the cheeky thing. He didn’t look for the tradesmen’s entrance, but came up the front steps with a purposeful stride. Quickly, before he could hammer on the knocker and alert the rest of the house to his
visit, Velvet ran to the door to open it, checking on her appearance in a mirror and twirling her finger around a side curl on the way. She didn’t want him as an admirer, but it didn’t do to let standards slip.

  ‘Really, Charlie!’ she said, opening the door. ‘Don’t you ever give up?’

  ‘Oh!’ he said, acting surprised. ‘It’s you. I forgot you lived here.’

  ‘You never did!’

  ‘I thought you would have moved on by now.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Charlie!’ Velvet frowned at him, almost (but not quite) sure he was teasing her. ‘I know you’ve come here to try and see me again. What is it you want?’

  ‘See you again?’ Charlie said. ‘Oh no, I’m here to speak to a Mr George Wilson.’

  Velvet blinked. ‘George? Why?’

  ‘Excuse me, but it’s a matter of police business. I’d prefer to give that information to the gentleman himself.’

  ‘Police business?’ Velvet repeated, stunned.

  Charlie tipped his helmet smartly. ‘Yes, miss. I am, as you see, a policeman. Well, a police cadet, to be perfectly accurate. Anyway, I’m a member of the Metropolitan Police Force.’

  ‘But you don’t work around here.’

  ‘That’s where you’re wrong, miss.’

  ‘Why are you calling me “miss” all the time? It’s very annoying.’

  ‘It seems safer,’ Charlie whispered. ‘In case you’ve changed your name again.’

  Velvet looked over her shoulder to make sure no one in the household was close by. ‘Of course I haven’t!’

  ‘Well, anyways, as part of my on-going training I am now attached to Lisson Grove station in the Marylebone Division of the Metropolitan Police.’ He gave a brief wink. ‘I did get a choice of stations, actually, and chose that one because I knew it’s on your patch. I can keep my eye on you this way and see you don’t get into any trouble.’

  ‘Charlie!’ she protested.

  ‘You can laugh, but there are some shady people about.’ He grinned. ‘I sometimes see you in the mornings, very early, when you’re taking that little dog around the square.’