by Mary Hooper
She pushed open the door to the front room, intending to go straight to Madame’s cabinet and examine the floor for traces of white foam or something similar. Someone was already in the room, however. Two people, in fact, in a lovers’ embrace. As Velvet gasped with shock, the person who was facing her opened his eyes and looked directly at her.
Horrified, she realised that it was George.
Madame Savoya’s Second Private Sitting with ‘Lady Blue’
‘Do be seated, Lady Blue,’ Madame Savoya said. ‘I hope this warmer weather is agreeable to you. I’m finding it rather hot in town, myself.’
‘Oh, I do so concur,’ Lady Blue said. ‘It’s just a pity I can’t get down to our villa by the sea – such a long journey on one’s own.’
‘A villa by the sea sounds lovely! Where is it?’
‘Brighton, on the south coast. We find the sea breezes most invigorating. That is, I find the sea breezes most invigorating.’ She shook her head. ‘I find it so difficult to remember that I’m alone now.’
‘You’re not entirely alone,’ Madame said gently. ‘Your husband is near you always. You know that, don’t you?’
‘He’s close by, whether you can see him or not,’ George put in.
‘Yes. Thank you,’ Lady Blue said. ‘Knowing that is such a comfort.’ She dabbed her eyes. ‘Dear Bertie . . .’
‘Did your husband enjoy it beside the sea?’ Madame asked. On Lady Blue nodding and sniffing into a handkerchief, she went on. ‘I hear that sea-bathing is quite the thing nowadays. They’re even talking of having mixed bathing.’
‘Really?’ Lady Blue said. ‘I don’t know whether my husband would have approved of that. However, he did love sea-swimming, whereas I find the waves much too rough.’
George sat down, his notepad under his arm. ‘I’m with milord on that,’ he said. ‘I find swimming in the sea very exhilarating.’
‘Oh!’ said Lady Blue. ‘He used to use that word, too. He’d tell me that fighting the waves let him know he was still alive!’ Suddenly realising what she’d said, she collapsed over her handkerchief once again.
‘There, there,’ said Madame, patting her client’s arm. ‘Let us look for the positive in all things.’
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ said Lady Blue. She tucked the handkerchief into her reticule and managed to smile at George. ‘You really are very much like he was as a young man.’
Madame smiled indulgently. ‘It’s quite uncanny, isn’t it? I think we’ve remarked before on George’s similarities to his lordship.’ She paused, then added, ‘It’s almost as if your dear husband’s spirit lives on in him.’
‘How wonderful that would be,’ said Lady Blue.
Madame patted a fold of her silk skirt into place. ‘But your villa at the seaside – how often do you go there now, Lady Blue?’
‘Not very much at all. I suppose it’s silly to keep it, really, when you think of the cost of employing a permanent housekeeper, but . . . well, I haven’t got round to doing anything about it yet.’
Some other chit-chat followed and then, when Lady Blue was completely at her ease, Madame said that she thought the time was right to see if her husband could be contacted.
Lady Blue assented and Madame closed her eyes, saying that she didn’t think he was far away; in fact, she could feel his presence quite close by.
After two minutes of silence, Madame lifted her voice and said, ‘Of course you may. Welcome to my home, milord.’
‘Oh!’ exclaimed Lady Blue, all of a flutter. ‘Are you there, Bertie?’
The same deeper, stronger voice as before replied, ‘I am, my dear. I am beside you.’
‘I want to ask you how you are,’ Lady Blue said anxiously, ‘but that hardly applies, does it?’
‘It really does not. I am as I am,’ said her husband.
‘Are you happy?’
‘Such concepts are impossible to understand in this realm. It’s more important to me that you are content.’
‘I can never be content without you!’ Lady Blue gave a strangled sob. ‘I’m lonely, Bertie.’
‘Ah, my dear! If only we’d had children,’ came the reply. ‘Children would have filled the gap that my death has left in your life.’
‘Yes, they would have been such a comfort.’
‘Have you thought any more about what I said?’
‘About . . . about helping the young man here make his way in the world?’
‘Indeed. Acting as his patron and his benefactor.’
‘I have,’ Lady Blue said, giving George a sideways glance, ‘although I did wonder about your nephew.’
‘Who?’ Lord Blue barked.
‘Well, I suppose he’s not really a nephew. Your cousin Myra’s boy, Albert. He was named after you, you know.’
‘Never set eyes on him!’
‘You have, dearest. Not very often, granted. But he came to your funeral.’
There came a grunt. ‘I know why that was: he hoped I’d left him something.’
‘He seemed quite a good sort. Going into law, I believe.’
‘Being a good sort isn’t enough reason for me to make him my heir. Come to think of it, I never liked the boy!’
‘Did you not? You never said, dear,’ Lady Blue protested mildly.
‘I want my houses and my money to go to someone who is like me in spirit. Someone who’ll enjoy our villa by the sea! Someone who’ll change his name to mine and carry on the title and the family line.’
‘But such a person could not inherit your title!’
‘He could assume it, with your permission’ was the response.
‘Oh!’ said Lady Blue. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’ She toyed nervously with her handkerchief again. ‘Is that what you really want, Bertie?’
‘Of course. What’s the point in sitting on my money? When you die it’ll go to the blasted government. Take the lot in taxes, they will.’
‘But what about cousin Myra’s boy?’
‘I don’t like cousin Myra’s boy. He’s a fortune hunter! I don’t like the idea of him lording it in our house. I want someone sensitive and thoughtful, someone who’ll look after you like a son.’
Lady Blue nodded. ‘Very well, dear.’
‘I want you to look into it, then come back again and tell me how you’re going to do it.’
‘I shall go to Burgess and Burgess –’
‘Not them! They’ll try and talk you out of it. No, go to one of the new firms of solicitors in Church Street and insist on having what you want. No shilly-shallying.’
‘All right, dear.’
‘I shall be so proud if you do this for me, Ceci. It would make me very happy.’
‘That’s what’s important to me, Bertie. I shall take advice as soon as I can.’ Lady Blue glanced at George, who had been sitting mute during most of this discussion, hunched over his notepad and occasionally shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Provided, of course, that the young man here is agreeable. He may not want the responsibilities that come with big houses and large sums of money.’
The deep voice chuckled. ‘Ceci, he is like me! Of course he will.’
‘Very well, dear.’
There was subsequent talk about the maintenance of the two houses and then Lord Blue had to go, drifting back into that unknown land on the other side of the veil where spirits dwelt and, it seemed, occasionally sought the attention of those still on earth.
Madame came out of her trance and the three of them discussed what had occurred during the séance. George proved very reluctant to give his point of view, saying that he was utterly incredulous; he could hardly believe that Lord Blue had meant what he said.
‘But spirits speak from the heart,’ Madame said. ‘There’s no concept of artifice in the spirit world. Spirits have nothing to lose, so why should they confuse things by dissembling?’
‘Bertie was a bit of a philanthropist,’ Lady Blue said. ‘Always giving to charity, trying to help those less fortunate than himself.’
‘Spirits have the highest aspirations,’ Madame said. ‘Whatever they were like on earth, those qualities are doubled, even tripled, after death. I find this time and time again.’
‘I must take further advice,’ said Lady Blue.
‘Of course, dear lady,’ Madame said. ‘But when all is said and done, remember your husband’s specific words . . .’ Madame looked at George, who glanced down at what he had written.
‘Regarding the solicitors, he said you must insist on having what you want,’ George said.
‘Especially if you want him to come to you again,’ put in Madame.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Just this,’ said Madame gently. ‘I find that if those left on earth fail to carry out the wishes of those on the Other Side, then the spirits are most reluctant to attend them after.’
Lady Blue’s eyes filled with tears; the handkerchief was utilised once more. ‘You mean that my husband might not want to communicate with me again?’
‘Oh, let’s not be hasty!’ Madame said. ‘It’s just that sometimes – when the spirits realise their wishes are being ignored – they feel there’s little point in returning to give advice.’
‘I see.’
‘But we’ve all been cooped up here too long,’ Madame said, ‘and I’m about to send George into Regent’s Park to enjoy the sight of the beautiful shimmering water of the boating lake.’
‘Yes . . . yes,’ said a distracted Lady Blue.
‘Keep your husband’s words in your head,’ said Madame. ‘I hope – if you trust in what your heart tells you – we’ll see you here again very soon.’
Chapter Eleven
In Which Velvet and George Share Some of Their Secrets
George and Velvet entered Regent’s Park through the ornate, wrought-iron gates and, as they did so, George raised his boater and offered Velvet his arm. It was the afternoon following the materialisation of the Fortesque baby, and they were taking a walk in the park amidst the happy families, courting couples and well-dressed gentlemen. Boys in sailor suits rode hobby horses, nannies pushed perambulators and little girls in white petticoats bowled hoops along the pathways. Everyone seemed pleased to be out in the sunshine. Except for Velvet, who pretended not to see George’s proffered arm, but instead concentrated on putting up the pink parasol that Madame had lent her.
‘Velvet, please,’ George said. ‘I can explain.’
‘There’s nothing to say,’ Velvet replied. Having fled from the front room, she had spent a sleepless night, most of it at her window, gazing out at the moon and feeling desperately miserable. Sissy Lawson and George! How could he?
She wouldn’t have come out with him at all, except that Madame had insisted that – it being such an unexpectedly lovely day – her two favourite people, as she called them, should take the air. She was only sorry she couldn’t join them, but she had some important business to attend to after a client’s visit that morning. Had she somehow sensed the atmosphere between George and herself, Velvet wondered, and wanted them to make up? Well, it wasn’t going to happen! If George thought that just because he had sea-green eyes and gave all the old ladies the vapours, he could play her off against Sissy Lawson, then he was quite wrong.
‘Velvet, she means nothing to me!’ George went on. ‘It’s always been you. When I kissed you, it was something I’d been longing to do ever since you first arrived at Madame’s with your little brown paper bag.’
There had only been two kisses between them, Velvet thought. She’d been a fool to think that they amounted to anything.
‘Please speak to me, Velvet.’ George sat down on a seat and pulled her down beside him. ‘How will we work together if you’re going to be like this?’
‘I have no idea,’ Velvet said coldly.
‘Look, let me explain.’
‘Please don’t bother.’ Velvet wondered what on earth she was going to do. How would she cope if Sissy Lawson and George began walking out together? What if they became betrothed . . . married? She couldn’t bear it. She would have to leave Madame’s!
‘I can explain.’ He tried to turn Velvet around to face him, but she wouldn’t budge. ‘Sometimes one has to do things one really doesn’t want to. You understand that, don’t you?’
‘No,’ Velvet said. One did not kiss someone in the dark when one really did not want to. ‘I saw you!’ she burst out. ‘I couldn’t believe it. I saw you with her – you were kissing. Not that that’s any business of mine and of course you must kiss whoever you like, but don’t think you can make up to me as well.’
‘My dearest Velvet –’
‘Don’t call me that! Is she your dearest, too?’ Velvet asked childishly. ‘Is she your dearest Sissy?’
At this, George suddenly jerked back from her as if he’d received a shock. ‘Dearest Sissy?’ he repeated.
‘Or is it darling Sissy? And had you been longing to kiss her since the moment she arrived?’
George looked at her steadily before saying with conviction, ‘Sissy Lawson means absolutely nothing to me, Velvet. I don’t care for the girl in the slightest.’
He actually sounded as if he meant it, Velvet thought. ‘It didn’t look like that last night,’ she said, lips pursed.
‘Believe me, it’s true. I swear it on my life. I swear it on the life of the girl I hold most dear.’ Saying this, he looked her straight in the eyes. ‘You are the only one for me, Velvet.’
Velvet hesitated – he sounded so sincere. ‘I don’t believe you,’ she said nonetheless.
‘She flung herself at me, Velvet. She’s the most extraordinarily forward girl I’ve ever met. Why, she hid in the front room in the dark, and practically leaped on me when I went to put on the window locks.’
Velvet gasped, shocked at such a show of vulgarity. ‘But surely you could have pulled away or made an excuse or something.’
‘Well, at first I didn’t react – I was just so astonished and appalled at her behaviour – but then I looked up and saw you and pushed her from me.’ George shook his head, his brow furrowed. ‘It pains me to say it of one of the fairer sex, but she’s a vulgar girl of dubious morals. Ever since Mrs Lawson brought her to work in the house she’s been the same. And it’s not just me she goes after – have you seen the shameless way she talks to tradesmen?’
‘Can’t you complain about her behaviour to Madame?’
‘How could I do such a thing?’ George said. ‘It would seem so weak, as if I’m unable to deal with one silly girl on my own. And besides, Mrs Lawson would get involved and then the whole thing would get out of hand.’
Velvet was silent for a long time, wondering how much she believed. Had the Lawson girl really thrown herself at him in the dark? What might there have been between them in the past, before she came? And what of, just a moment ago, when he’d looked at Velvet and called her the girl he held most dear? Was that true? How was an inexperienced girl such as she supposed to tell?
They remained sitting together there on the bench whilst people promenaded around them, and Velvet, already more than halfway to forgiving him, could not help wondering if they made a handsome couple. Certainly George was drawing sideways glances from nearly every woman, young or old, who walked by, because he, in his Sunday best – striped blazer, boater and spats over brown-and-white shoes – was easily the handsomest man in the park.
‘Please don’t spoil everything we have,’ George said. His hand reached for hers and squeezed it. ‘I’ve never met anyone like you, Velvet. You and I are surely meant to be together.’
With a lump in her throat, Velvet decided that, yes, she had almost forgiven him.
‘You’re blushing,’ he said, looking at her intently. ‘Your cheeks look pink enough to kiss . . .’
‘Please!’ she protested, pretending to fan herself. ‘Such behaviour on a Sunday afternoon.’
George, laughing, got up from the seat and, this time, when he offered his arm, she took it.
‘I shall endeavour
, as much as I can, to never be alone with Miss Lawson again,’ George said, squeezing her arm against his. ‘From now on, we must both be truthful with each other. If she makes a nuisance of herself I’ll tell you, and in return you must tell me all your secrets.’
‘If you wish,’ Velvet said, but immediately thought of the big secret regarding her father’s death. Whatever happened, she could not tell George about that. She wanted him to love her and surely he would never love a murderess.
‘I say we must be truthful and let’s start now. You recall that policeman who took me to the station to identify Aaron?’
‘Yes.’ Velvet felt a chill run through her.
‘Did you know him at all? Because I thought he looked at you in a very warm manner and spoke in a most informal way.’
Velvet hid a little smile. George sounded positively jealous.
‘We do know each other,’ she admitted. ‘At least, we did. Charlie is a friend from my childhood, someone I used to play with in the street.’
‘Forgive my asking, but is a friend all that he was to you?’
‘Indeed! We went scrambling for pieces of coal together following the cart, vied with each other to see who could get the best stale cakes from the baker and fought to be first in line when the organ-grinder passed the monkey around.’
George looked at her questioningly, head on one side. ‘And . . . ?’
She shook her head. ‘There was not so much as a kiss between us.’ But she suddenly thought of the mock wedding she and Charlie had had when they were about eight. She’d worn her mother’s lace petticoat pulled up high under her arms and placed a daisy-chain circlet on her head. Charlie had tried to kiss her, she remembered, but she’d turned her head at the last minute and his lips had landed on her ear. ‘It was all very innocent,’ she reiterated.
‘Although he wishes it was more?’
Velvet shrugged. ‘Perhaps he does.’ She’d had a train to her ‘wedding dress’, she recalled: a ragged curtain of Charlie’s mother’s, which had been knotted in the front and trailed in the mud behind. She could even remember that her mother had smiled to see her dressed so and said, ‘One day, Kitty. One day . . .’
