by Mary Hooper
‘I’m sure George will help you.’
‘George can have the thing!’ Lady Blue said. ‘I’ve told him so. Take it and be done with it. It stinks of petroleum – horrific! Give me the smell of plain old horse dung any time.’
Madame and George joined in with her laughter, then Madame grew more serious and asked if Lady Blue was ready to speak to her husband.
‘Oh, I am,’ said Lady Blue, ‘because I know he’s going to be so pleased with me.’
It did not take long for Lord Blue to appear before Madame, and yes, he did seem remarkably pleased with what his wife was about to do with his money.
‘It’s very satisfying to find that you’ve taken my advice, dear,’ came the deep, strong voice of Lord Blue.
‘I listened to you when you were alive, and I shall listen to you after death,’ said Lady Blue. ‘The solicitors were rather surprised, mind you, but they came round in the end when I told them it had been your express wish.’ Lady Blue dropped her voice a little. ‘I didn’t tell them that you’d communicated this wish in spirit, however, for I didn’t think legal men would understand such things.’
‘Quite,’ replied Lord Blue. ‘And more fool them.’
‘The paperwork has been completed and everyone has signed,’ said Lady Blue. ‘It just remains for the money to be drawn down from your bank.’
‘Jolly good,’ said Lord Blue. ‘And the question of the title can come later.’
‘Of course,’ said Lady Blue, looking at George in a new, fond light.
‘We’ll see how this young man gets on first, eh, what? I shall be watching over him and making sure he invests my money in the right funds!’
Lady Blue and George smiled at each other.
‘My dear Ceci,’ said Lord Blue, ‘you look like a young girl today. Just the way you were when we first met.’
‘Oh, Bertie, do you remember that? Our first meeting?’
‘At your coming-out ball, wasn’t it?’
‘It was at my friend Lucy Bonneville’s birthday party!’ She smiled. ‘But you never have been able to remember important dates. I don’t suppose you even remember our wedding anniversary!’
No reply came to this and Lady Blue laughed, then said to Madame, ‘This may be rather a strange question, but can you tell me how Bertie is dressed as he stands before you? Only, he was buried in his regimental uniform and it was rather small for him, so I wonder if he’s quite comfortable.’
Madame’s eyelashes fluttered. ‘Spirits aren’t attired as such,’ she said.
Lady Blue looked shocked. ‘You mean they are . . . naked?’
‘No, they’re draped in white. A haze surrounds them.’
‘Oh, of course,’ Lady Blue said. ‘A haze. Most appropriate.’
‘The Brighton villa,’ said Lord Blue suddenly. ‘You’re passing the deeds over to George, aren’t you?’
‘I am,’ Lady Blue said. ‘That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?’
‘Of course. He’ll no doubt get married some day and have a family who’ll use it. No point in it sitting there empty.’
‘No point at all,’ echoed Lady Blue.
George made a slight noise of protest but both Lord and Lady Blue insisted, so he held up his hands in a gesture of surrender and whispered that it was very, very generous – too generous – but of course he would accept the villa if that was what they really wanted.
Chapter Fourteen
In Which Velvet Has to Prove Her Loyalty
‘The time has come to prove yourself to me and to show your commitment to our cause,’ Madame said to Velvet. They were in Madame’s private sitting room, she sitting on one side of the fireplace with Velvet facing her on the other side.
Velvet bit her lip, wondering what was going to be asked of her. Since their conversation a few days before, she had been careful – even more so than usual – to be polite and respectful to her employer at all times. In the London streets she could see countless impoverished young people in rags, begging, sleeping in doorways and prostituting themselves in order to obtain food and shelter, and she knew that the fall from rich to poor was short and permanent. If Velvet had any doubts about the veracity of Madame’s calling at this point, then she did not allow herself to consider them further, or to question the rights and wrongs of the profession she was involved in. She loved Madame, who had saved her from the laundry and much else – and she loved George. She would do everything she could to stay with them.
‘Yes, Madame,’ Velvet replied rather nervously. ‘What is it you want of me?’
‘I want you to help me with a very special task: to help Mrs Fortesque recover her lost child.’
Velvet stared at Madame in wonder. Lost child? she thought. It was surely more than just lost. She nodded, however, for she didn’t want to look as if she doubted Madame’s capabilities. ‘And . . . and how will that come about, Madame?’
‘We will recover the child. Or at least, we will recover a child.’
Velvet frowned, looking at the arrangement of orange lilies and golden sunflowers in the fireplace and trying to work out what Madame could possibly be speaking about. ‘Do you mean the child will develop from ectoplasm?’
Madame shook her head. ‘No. I know that no power on earth could make that happen.’
‘Then how?’
There was a pause. Madame said, ‘May I speak to you in complete confidence, Velvet?’
‘Of course, Madame. Nothing that you say to me will ever go any further.’
The pause this time was much longer and Madame looked at Velvet steadily, as if weighing her up. ‘The life of a medium is a difficult one,’ she said at last. ‘One is constantly trying to come up with new ways of communicating with those on the Other Side, of proving one is as capable and competent as the newest medium in town, of trying to go that little bit further than the one before.’
Velvet nodded. She had certainly picked up that much from her visits to Miss Cook and Mrs Palladino.
‘It’s fearfully expensive to live the life one’s expected to lead, because a medium’s house, her clothes, jewellery and accoutrements are seen as measures of her success. The richer the living, the more talented the medium. No one wants to visit a medium whose skills have only bought her a room in a run-down lodging house.’
‘I can see that, Madame.’
‘So one has to try and keep ahead of the field, as it were.’
Velvet nodded.
‘My dear, I am going to ask you to do something which may shock you.’ There was a long, long pause, and then Madame said, ‘I want you to steal a baby. A child for Mrs Fortesque.’
Velvet almost smiled, thinking she must be joking, but Madame continued intently, ‘Never fear. It’ll be an unwanted baby . . . a baby that no one will miss.’
‘A – a real baby?’ Velvet stuttered.
‘Precisely,’ said Madame.
‘But . . . but how will we get it? And anyway, it won’t be Mrs Fortesque’s baby! We’ll be deceiving her, won’t we?’
Madame sighed. ‘Velvet, you and I haven’t had the experience of having a child of our own, but – as you know from your mother’s spirit, which watches you still – the maternal bond is like no other. Poor, grieving Mrs Fortesque wants her child back most dreadfully, and it’s doing her an act of supreme kindness to reunite her with that child.’
‘But it won’t be her child!’ Velvet blurted out before she could adjust her manner of speaking. ‘And surely she’ll know it’s not hers.’
‘She won’t. I’ll tell her that the child has been changed somewhat by its time on the Other Side. The poor woman is so desperate to have Claire back in her arms that she’ll believe anything.’
Velvet put her hands to her head, trying to understand. ‘The spirits, though – what will they have to say about that?’ she asked. ‘And what about the messages you received from the spirit of the real Claire?’ There was something else which had been troubling Velvet and now came to the fore. ‘Excuse me
for saying so, Madame, but Mrs Fortesque’s child died when she was no more than a babe in arms, so how could she have spoken as she did that evening?’
‘Those were messages from the child’s mind,’ Madame answered straight away. ‘The words she would have said had she been able to talk.’
‘Then they weren’t true?’
‘Of course they were true, my dear. They were what her spirit said to me.’
‘And . . . and what about the evening when the child actually began to take form? I saw her!’
Madame shrugged. ‘Just between us, I’ll tell you that it has proved impossible for materialisation to go any further. Which is why I’m asking you to do this now.’
‘But . . . but it doesn’t seem . . .’ Velvet could not finish the sentence, because whatever word she used – truthful, right, ethical? – it would have sounded like an insult to Madame.
‘Mrs Fortesque is so distraught that, without her child, she’ll surely take her own life,’ Madame said. She paused and then added softly, ‘But you have doubts about what I’m doing?’
Velvet swallowed and hesitated. Of course she had doubts! But how could she voice them?
‘We all have our little indiscretions, do we not? Our little transgressions from what we know to be right.’ Madame stared upwards, beyond the ceiling. ‘You have the death of your father on your conscience, for instance.’
Velvet dipped her head. Madame’s meaning was clear: her will must be done, or it would be the worse for Velvet. Some would have called it blackmail. ‘No, I have no doubts, Madame,’ she lied.
There was a pause, and when Madame spoke again, her slightly intimidating tone had disappeared, making Velvet wonder if she had imagined it. ‘Besides, my spirits have informed me that the soul of little Claire will go into the new child, the child that you’ll choose, so it won’t be stealing, but merely putting things right.’
‘I see,’ Velvet said, and suddenly wondered what Charlie might have had to say about this ‘putting things right’. Mediums had never been rated very highly in his list of trustworthy persons.
‘My dear,’ said Madame, ‘as you know, sometimes the spirits need a helping hand. All will be well, I assure you.’
‘Yes, Madame.’
‘Just think, we’ll be making everyone happy, and Mrs Fortesque will pay me such a very large sum of money that our stay in this house – yours, mine and George’s house – will be guaranteed for at least another five years. I hope that by then we’ll be working together on stage. Two attractive lady mediums will certainly draw in the gentlemen!’
Velvet barely heard this last prediction, so focused was she on asking her next question. ‘But if I might ask something, Madame?’
‘Of course.’
‘What will Mrs Fortesque tell her friends and relatives about the reappearance of the baby? Won’t it seem strange to others, to unbelievers, that a child can come back from the dead?’
‘That’s easily resolved,’ Madame said. ‘Mrs Fortesque has already told me that, should this near miracle occur, she’ll tell everyone that the new child has been adopted by her from an orphanage. Nothing could be more natural than that she should seek to replace the child who died.’
Velvet shivered, trying not to think about the fact that she had been ordered to steal a baby. ‘When must I take the infant, Madame?’
‘Tomorrow.’ Tomorrow.
‘And where will I find it?’ she said to Madame.
‘I’ll give you the address and final instructions in the morning.’
Whilst Velvet sat, stunned, trying to come to terms with what she had to do and wondering what would happen if she got caught, Madame took off the amethyst brooch she had been wearing and pinned it on to Velvet’s lilac satin waistcoat.
‘A present,’ she said. ‘To show how much I appreciate your help, and to mark the beginning of our closer collaboration.’
Velvet looked at the brooch and gasped. ‘Oh, but I couldn’t!’
‘You must!’ Madame’s eyes hardened and sparkled like the gem she held. ‘The colour perfectly complements your waistcoat.’ She gestured towards the door to signal that their interview was at an end. ‘It belonged to a great-aunt of mine, a Russian tsarina.’
Velvet rose and curtseyed low. ‘Then I thank you very much indeed, Madame.’
Leaving Madame’s presence, she looked down at the brooch. It was very pretty and was possibly worth a good deal of money – but oh, just think of what she was going to have to do to earn it. Velvet ran to her room, lay down on her bed and wept.
Madame Savoya’s Third Private Sitting with ‘Mr Grey’
After ‘Good morning’s, handshakes and enquiries as to one’s health had been given and received all round, Madame bade Mr Grey sit down.
‘Have you thought any more about the advice I gave you?’ she asked.
‘The idea about starting a charity for washerwomen,’ George added.
‘Yes, I have,’ said Mr Grey. ‘I’ve thought long and hard about it, and I’m going to do it.’ He poked George lightly in the ribs. ‘I’ve had another win, too – that helped decide me. Talk about money to money, eh?’
‘Allow me to congratulate you,’ said George.
‘You see, the spirits are rewarding your philanthropy,’ said Madame.
Mr Grey looked puzzled for a moment, then obviously decided that ‘philanthropy’ must be a good thing, for he nodded.
‘Good always comes from doing good,’ said George.
‘Well, I suppose it’s about time I started doing some,’ said Mr Grey, ‘seeing as I’ve spent most of my life being bad. I was an utter cad to my wife – I’ve told you about that, haven’t I?’
‘Yes, you –’
‘An utter scoundrel and rotter!’ Mr Grey elaborated. ‘One year the wife –’
‘Hope,’ Madame corrected.
‘Yes. Hope. Well, one Christmas she saved up some of her laundry money to buy Kitty a real china doll. Jointed, it was, with a porcelain face. She sat it in the top of a stocking and pinned it up over the fireplace.’
Madame glanced at George, who gave the faintest roll of his own eyes heavenwards.
‘But when I came in a bit the worse for wear on Christmas Eve I took that little dolly from its Christmas stocking and went straight to the pawnshop with it. Non-stop to Uncle’s, I went! Ain’t that the wickedest thing you’ve ever heard?’
Madame and George were both silent.
‘We didn’t have no Christmas to speak of that year. Y’see, I’d already taken the leg o’ pork back to the butcher’s, so we had nothing but tatties.’ Tears started in his eyes. ‘Oh, when I think of the terrible cruel things I’ve done. One year our Kitty had a pet rabbit and I put it in the pot with a couple o’ turnips!’
There was an appalled silence until Madame said, ‘Come, come, Mr Grey! Let’s forget the past and concentrate on the future, shall we? You’ve resolved to turn over a new leaf, you’re going to start a wonderful charity and subsequently your wife will forgive you. Your life is improving all the time.’
‘You’re one of the very few lucky people who can – with our help – rewrite the past and start again,’ said George, handing him a handkerchief and bidding him wipe his eyes.
‘That little rabbit, though,’ said Mr Grey, unwilling to give up the subject. ‘White and fluffy it was, with brown whiskers as long as a cat’s –’
‘Mr Grey, I’m now going into trance,’ Madame interrupted. After a moment she said quite briskly into the ether, ‘I’m seeking Hope, the wife of the gentleman before me. Hope passed through this vale of tears some years ago and is now on the Other Side. Hope, can you come before us again? Are you willing to speak to the man who was once your husband?’
‘Have you got her? Will she talk?’ Mr Grey asked eagerly, and George put a finger to his lips to quieten him.
‘Spirits, can you help?’ Madame intoned.
Mr Grey beckoned to George and whispered in his ear, ‘Have you had Conan Doyle a
round lately?’
George frowned and again put his finger on his lips. ‘’Spect he’s busy, what with those detective stories.’
Madame’s eyes remained closed. ‘Ah . . . here she is at last. You won’t hear her voice, though. She’ll only speak through me.’
‘I’m not surprised at that,’ said Mr Grey. ‘She hates me and who could blame her?’
‘Please, Mr Grey,’ protested George.
‘I’ve been a wicked old devil all my life!’
‘Your husband is truly sorry for the way he treated you and your daughter,’ Madame said into the air. ‘He wishes to make recompense for this and is prepared to give some of his newly acquired fortune towards setting up a foundation, a charity to aid washerwomen and laundresses who have fallen on hard times.’ Madame listened for a while, then nodded. ‘Hope says that to make sure that you actually do what you say, she wants you to carry out all the negotiations through George and myself. She says that too often in the past you made promises which you never kept.’
‘Fair enough, fair enough,’ Mr Grey said, peering all around Madame as if hoping to catch a glimpse of his wife.
‘She wants you to sign the paperwork before you leave us.’
Mr Grey nodded absently. ‘And then will she forgive me for being such a shocking bad husband?’
Madame closed her eyes in order to commune with the spirit, then replied, ‘She will.’
‘That’s good,’ said Mr Grey. ‘You know,’ he continued, ‘I was thinking that I ought to find my young girl Kitty, and tell her that I’ve been converted. She might want to come and live with me and be my housekeeper, look after her old dad in his dotage.’
‘No!’ Madame’s eyes sprang open. ‘Your wife doesn’t want you to do this. She says that Kitty has suffered enough and must not be contacted under any circumstances.’
‘Fair enough,’ Mr Grey said. ‘If that’s what she says, that’s what I’ll do. I want to make up for being such a dreadful beast all my life.’ He peered around Madame again. ‘Here, can you ask the wife if she’s seen anything of my old pa up there?’
