by Mary Hooper
‘I never see you.’
‘I’m not surprised. You’re usually half-asleep.’
Velvet smiled in spite of herself, a little relieved that things hadn’t changed that much between them. She didn’t want Charlie chasing after her and declaring his love, of course, but neither did she want him calling her ‘miss’ and speaking in that strange and distant way. She wanted him to stay what he’d always been: an especially good friend.
‘So, Velvet,’ he said, with particular emphasis on her name, ‘if you would be so kind as to let me know the whereabouts of Mr George Wilson. Does he reside in this house?’
‘Yes, he does.’ Velvet nodded. ‘You’d better come in.’
Very intrigued, she led Charlie downstairs to the kitchen. Here they found Mrs Lawson cleaning the range with black lead polish, and George bent over the table cleaning Madame’s boots on a sheet of newspaper.
‘A policeman to see you,’ Velvet said to George. Startled, he straightened up so quickly that he hit his head on the oil lamp that hung above the table. ‘What is it? What do you want?’
‘Would you mind coming down to the station with me, sir,’ Charlie, who had now removed his helmet, asked politely.
‘Come down to the station?’ George blustered. ‘Why on earth should I?’ He gave no indication of having seen Charlie before, Velvet was relieved to note, so obviously didn’t remember the ‘carpet salesman’ who’d called.
‘It’s just this, sir. A young man’s body was found in the street right outside our station last night. There was no identification on him, but in one of his pockets was a piece of paper with your name and this address scribbled on it.’
‘Oh dear,’ George said, looking shocked.
‘We’d like you to come down and identify him, if you would.’
‘Right . . . right,’ George said, wiping his hands on a rag. ‘Who the devil could that be, I wonder?’ He shook his head. ‘What sort of a man was he?’
‘I’m afraid he was a tramp, sir. He was seen two days earlier begging outside the law courts. He made a nuisance of himself, as a matter of fact, and nearly got arrested.’
‘What does . . . What did he look like?’
‘Tall and thin, grimy, smelly, dressed in rags. Not an old man, by any means. But a poverty-stricken one.’
‘That description could fit half the vagrants in London,’ George said. ‘But I’ll come. Of course I’ll come.’
Charlie was handling the situation very well, Velvet thought. She hadn’t known that he could be so confident and capable. She looked at him, then at George, and couldn’t help comparing them. Charlie was quite tall, a policeman’s height, but George was even taller. He was also sleeker, smarter and much more pleasing to the eye, his dark hair slicked back with Macassar oil, his green eyes keen and watchful. Charlie had quite ordinary blue eyes and a few freckles across his cheeks. Although he had a kind and cheery face, he didn’t look in any way distinguished, especially as his hair had been squashed in some places by the helmet and was sticking up in others.
The two men in my life, Velvet mused, and then thought how ridiculous that sounded. One was too keen – and the other not keen enough.
George and Charlie went off to the station together and the moment they disappeared, Mrs Lawson, who was not usually given to idle chatter, said to Velvet, ‘Well, I could see what was going on in Mr George’s mind!’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Proper nervy, he was. Thought the law had come for us, didn’t he?’
‘Really?’
‘Well, they’re out to get mediums, aren’t they?’ On Velvet looking at her blankly, she added, ‘Those spirit hunters! The Society for Psychical Research, as they call themselves. Don’t you read the papers?’
‘Not often,’ Velvet admitted.
‘Oh, they’re shocking, they are. They attend séances to try to discredit mediums. They turn lights on when they shouldn’t and take photographs during materialisations. They insist on mediums being searched before and after séances, and they startle mediums out of their trances. They cause big trouble.’
‘But our Madame has a wonderful reputation! She’s not one of those catchpenny women you get at the end of Brighton Pier.’
‘You know that and I know that, but not everyone does. The psychical research people say that there are frauds about, and they make it their life’s work to hunt them down.’
Velvet considered this. ‘Well, I suppose if they can weed out all the frauds it’ll be good for us,’ she said, and then went back to pondering the relative merits of George and Charlie.
George didn’t return to Darkling Villa until midday, and from the smell of beer on his breath Velvet knew that he must have called at a tavern on his way home. He looked so woebegone that she would have liked to have pulled his head down on to her shoulder and put her arms around him, but instead she busied herself making him a strong brew of tea.
‘Madame hasn’t asked for me, has she?’ he asked, sinking down on the easy chair by the kitchen fire. ‘Only I couldn’t come back without having something to fortify me.’
Velvet, handing over the tea, assured him that Madame had been ensconced in her rooms with a jewellery designer all morning as she was having some of her old-fashioned rings and brooches put into more modern settings.
‘That’s a bit of a shock to a chap, that is, seeing someone dead,’ George said heavily.
Passed over, she thought, but didn’t say it.
Mrs Lawson had gone out shopping, so Velvet felt free and easy enough to sit herself down on the mat beside George’s chair. ‘Did you know the man? Who was he?’
‘I hardly knew him at all, poor chap, just that his name was Aaron and he came from Brighton. We stayed two nights at a mission house together when we were both very hard up a few years back. In fact, the night we met he only had a ha’penny, which – perhaps as a young lady you wouldn’t know this – meant he could only spend the night in the mission house standing up.’ Velvet frowned, so George explained, ‘If you have only a ha’penny you’re not permitted to lie down to sleep, but may only prop yourself against a wall.’
‘Oh! How awful!’
‘I fear there are many degradations and humiliations which you don’t know about, Velvet. And I am glad that you do not!’ After a moment, George continued, ‘I had a few pence on me, so I paid for Aaron to lie in the next sleeping box to mine, and bought our hot tea and bread in the morning. The lad was grateful, of course.’
‘And did you see him again?’
‘Not really. Things started to go wrong for me after that. The weather turned, my raree-show disintegrated, my clothes were stolen and I thought I was finished – but then Madame came along and saved me.’
‘But how did this chap have your name?’
‘Oh, much later I managed to get a message to him saying that I’d give him a square meal if he came to the house. I think that’s why he had my details in his pocket. He never came, though.’
‘The poor lad.’
‘That body this morning could have been mine, Velvet,’ George said.
Velvet nodded, put out a hand and grasped his.
‘I owe everything to Madame. Everything! There’s nothing she could ask of me that I wouldn’t do.’
Velvet squeezed his hand, then knelt up so that their faces were on a level. ‘I feel the same.’
‘Then we are of one mind . . .’
Velvet lifted her face to his and their lips met, softly, beautifully, a pledge of their feelings.
Two kisses, Velvet thought immediately afterwards. Two kisses must mean something. Surely it could only be a matter of time before George declared his love?
That evening there was to be a séance on behalf of Mrs Fortesque, the woman whose baby had died. Mrs Fortesque had requested a semi-private meeting to which she could ask relatives and friends who were of the same mind – those who espoused the spiritualist cause and were sympathetic to her plight – as she was very much hop
ing that her child could be materialised. Her husband, apparently, was not a believer, so would not be attending, although he had no objection to his wife doing whatever she needed to do to get through the days.
‘Tonight will cost Mrs Fortesque quite a large sum of money,’ George said. ‘She wants everyone here to be concentrating on contacting the little girl, so she doesn’t want other spirits getting in the way.’
Velvet sighed. ‘How tragic it all is.’ She and George were in the hall, waiting for the first arrivals. ‘It must be terrible to lose someone you love so much.’
‘It doesn’t have to be so terrible,’ George said. ‘I mean, you don’t have to lose them completely now.’
‘Not if you come to someone like Madame, you mean?’
‘Exactly,’ said George. His green eyes smiled into hers. ‘Thank you for being so sympathetic this morning – about Aaron.’
Velvet, returning the smile, leaned slightly towards him. Mrs Lawson was downstairs putting the finishing touches to the canapés, her daughter was setting out glasses on trays, Madame was upstairs resting before her performance and the silent, dimly lit hall was suffused with the heady fragrance of lilies. The setting was perfect for another kiss . . .
But no – the clinking of glasses heralded the appearance of Sissy Lawson, who had an uncanny knack of appearing at the wrong time. ‘You’re very quiet up here, you two,’ she said. ‘I hope you haven’t been doing something you shouldn’t.’
Before Velvet could think of a smart reply there was a knock at the front door and, whilst George disappeared into the front room to check that all the chairs were positioned correctly, Velvet put on her welcoming smile and prepared to open the door to the first members of the Fortesque party.
Within fifteen minutes about a dozen people, mostly women, had been seated and Madame was within the cabinet and ready to go into trance. Velvet, after turning the lamps down, used the subsequent moment of utter stillness to close her eyes and think about George and the two kisses. Had she been too forward in allowing them? When would he say how he felt about her? Would there be more kisses, or did he think too highly of Madame? Did he, in fact, love Madame? But then, she reasoned, she also loved Madame – in a different way, of course.
The curtain which separated Madame from her small audience was opened by George, and people began shifting in their seats, craning their necks in order to try and see into the cabinet. Madame spoke to say that the evening would be slightly different in that only one spirit’s appearance was requested.
‘I’m not sure that the other spirits will be pleased with what we’re asking, for we are, in fact, denying them a chance to speak to their loved ones. I beg your patience, therefore, and request your complete silence and spiritual cooperation whilst I try and communicate with the Other Side.’
Several minutes followed. The observers shifted in their seats. It would have been better, Velvet thought, to have had the pianist there; at least her playing would have filled the eerie quiet.
‘No,’ Madame said suddenly, speaking to someone not visible. ‘I’m so sorry. I must leave my mind clear for the one whom I’m expecting.’ There was another brief interval. ‘Thank you for being so understanding,’ she said then. ‘Yes, I’m waiting upon a child who passed over. I have here some of her closest relations on earth.’
Another ten minutes passed and George went to stand at the front of the room to request that everyone keep a serene and untroubled mind to help the spirit of little Claire come through. He also asked if they would please remember that Madame had to wait until the spirits were willing and could only work with their cooperation. If, for some reason, Claire’s spirit chose not to appear, then nothing could be done about it. ‘The veil between earth and the spirit world is only slight, but sometimes it takes a mighty strength to draw it aside,’ George said, whilst Velvet mused how knowledgeable he was, how elegant his speech.
Five more minutes went by, during which Madame saw off another stray spirit, then she suddenly held out her arms. ‘Come, child!’ she said softly. ‘Come and let your mama see you.’
There was a strangled cry from Mrs Fortesque in the first row. After a few seconds, a child’s voice, high and tremulous, said, ‘Mama! Where are you?’
‘I’m here, my darling!’ Mrs Fortesque called. ‘Come to me.’
‘Mama! It’s dark over here.’
‘But where are you?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Can you let me see you?’
There was a groan from Madame and she slumped forward slightly, then the voice said, ‘I don’t know how.’
‘Try, darling! Your mama loves you very much. She’s waiting here for you to appear.’
After another silence and some laboured breathing from Madame, startled calls came from those in the front row: ‘Something is forming on the ground! Something white . . .’
Mrs Fortesque dropped on to all fours to be closer to whatever it was that was appearing.
George quickly stepped in and barred her way. ‘I beg you, madam, go back to your chair or Madame Savoya will not be able to continue the séance.’
As Velvet helped Mrs Fortesque back into her seat, the eyes of every other person in the room were on the white shape that was forming at Madame’s feet. This seemed to be of a similar composition to the spirit which had appeared there before, although this time it did not grow in length, but stayed small – baby-sized.
‘Can you stand now, darling? Can you come to me?’
‘The ectoplasm which is forming a likeness of your child’s body is attached to Madame Savoya,’ George said. ‘It cannot come towards you.’
‘But I must hold her!’ Mrs Fortesque cried. ‘Just let me touch her.’
‘Madam, that is not possible.’
‘I can hardly see her . . . Can she become more distinct?’
‘Not at this time, I fear,’ George said. ‘Madame Savoya is a skilful practitioner, but this is an inexact science.’
‘Oh, let her speak to me herself! Let me see more of her and hear what she says!’ Mrs Fortesque pleaded. ‘Oh, my darling! Are you amongst the angels?’
‘They play with me and teach me,’ came the piping voice, ‘but I miss my mama!’
‘And I miss you, my dearest.’ Mrs Fortesque stood up again and attempted to go towards Madame’s cabinet, so that Velvet had to intervene and hold her back. ‘I implore you, madam,’ she whispered. ‘It may be injurious to Madame’s life if you touch her. It may even be injurious to the spirit of your own child!’
‘I have to go now, Mama.’
‘Not yet, surely! Don’t leave me!’ Mrs Fortesque screamed, but the white cloud shook a little and then dropped and disappeared, as it had before.
There came the sound of Mrs Fortesque sobbing, then Madame stirred and opened her eyes and the audience, who had been holding their collective breath, let out a lengthy sigh.
Madame was still slumped over as if she had lost all her strength, and George ran to close the curtain so that she could start to recover in private.
The Fortesque party were soon dressed in their outer clothes and waiting on the steps of the open front door, but when Velvet went back into the front room, Mrs Fortesque was still speaking to Madame and George.
‘Please, I beg you. Would you just consider it?’ Mrs Fortesque was asking Madame as Velvet entered.
‘Impossible,’ Madame said. ‘Or near impossible. Certainly I’ve never heard of it being attempted before.’
‘But you, Madame Savoya, have a reputation as one of the most skilful mediums in London. Everyone swears by you!’
‘My dear Mrs Fortesque,’ Madame said, ‘even if I could manage to do such a thing, it would very probably damage me. At the least, I would be so depleted, so drained, that I’d never be able to work again.’
‘But you’d never need to work again. I’d pay you enough to last the rest of your life! My husband is very rich and he’d give everything he has to make me happy.’ So saying, s
he broke into sobs.
Madame and George exchanged glances. ‘My dear woman,’ Madame said, ‘I’ve never heard that such a thing is possible but will only say – and this must not be repeated – that I will investigate further.’ On Mrs Fortesque straightening up and looking at her joyfully, Madame repeated, ‘I only promise that I’ll look into it, but you mustn’t tell a soul. Leave it to me. George will contact you if I have any news to impart.’
Mrs Fortesque’s face, though wet with tears, broke into a shaky smile. She kissed Madame, was helped into her coat and bonnet by Velvet and taken to the door. Velvet returned to the front room, ostensibly to collect the vases of flowers and take them downstairs, but secretly keen to know more of what Mrs Fortesque had been asking.
Madame beckoned to her. ‘I expect you’re curious as to what was being said.’
‘It sounds as if Mrs Fortesque is expecting you to work miracles.’
‘Indeed she is,’ said Madame.
‘What is it that she wants?’
Madame spread her hands wide. ‘She wants her child back! She wants me to materialise her baby completely, so that she can carry her away.’
Velvet started. ‘But surely that is impossible?’
There was a long silence between the three of them, then George said, ‘Know only this: with Madame, nothing is impossible.’
Reflecting on everything later in her room, Velvet thought what a bizarre evening it had been. Did she really and truly believe that a dead child had, that night, come back to life – or almost to life? How had the ectoplasm been formed? Was it made of smoke or something more substantial? If it was made of some material thing, then might there be some trace left in Madame’s cabinet?
Velvet went over and over these questions in her mind and, finally, finding it impossible to sleep, decided to go downstairs to see if she could discover more about this so-called ectoplasm. She put a wrap over her nightdress, lit a candle and went downstairs. The house was, of course, silent and dark, but Velvet was not nervous.
