Velvet

by Mary Hooper

  ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘She calls herself Mrs Dyer, but I don’t know if that’s her real name.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ said Charlie, nodding sagely. ‘Amelia Dyer. Sometimes she goes by that name, sometimes by the name of Smithers, sometimes Lee. When she was Mrs Lee she had a house on this patch.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Oh yes. She’s been in prison several times. She gets caught, serves her time, comes out and starts another baby farm under a different name.’

  ‘Then she must be stopped again! Please say you’ll go down there now and arrest her and take the babies away. Please!’

  Charlie stood up. ‘We’re a different division, you know,’ he said. ‘We’re the Met, and that’ll be down to Reading Borough Police.’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘It’s all right.’ Charlie patted her shoulder. ‘I’ll go and tell the chief right now. He’ll get on to it, alert the other force.’

  ‘Straight away?’

  Charlie nodded. ‘He’s got children of his own. Besides, he knows that wicked witch from old.’

  Velvet heaved a great sigh of relief. ‘Oh, thank you, Charlie!’ She rubbed her wet cheeks with the back of her hand and picked up the basket. ‘I must get home.’

  He caught hold of her hand – her right hand, thankfully, so he didn’t notice the false wedding band. ‘Home. Is that big place really home to you?’

  ‘Charlie! Don’t start all that again.’

  He looked at her and gave a rueful half-smile. ‘Very well. But come back to the station in a day or so and I’ll tell you what happened to the wicked witch.’

  ‘I will,’ said Velvet. ‘But go and tell your chief now. Please, just go!’

  Charlie patted her shoulder awkwardly, and went.

  The baby, Claire, as she was called henceforth, was received gladly by Madame, who had already bought blankets and a set of baby clothes. Madame had also taken advice from a physician regarding the best and most nutritious way of feeding an ailing infant, and little Claire was bathed, swaddled, put to sleep in a drawer in Velvet’s room and fed a small amount of goat’s milk every two or three hours throughout the night. This regime was continued all through the next day and night until, on being taken to a doctor to be checked over, she was pronounced healthy and likely to survive.

  On the morning of the séance, although she was still unnaturally quiet after days of being fed sedatives, her cheeks were certainly pinker and she even opened her eyes briefly. ‘The child is desperately undersized because of lack of food,’ Madame said to Velvet as they looked at her in the drawer, ‘but the doctor said she’ll soon catch up.’

  ‘I’m afraid I didn’t think about size or age – I just took the nearest girl and got out,’ Velvet said. She shuddered. ‘Is there anything more wicked than a baby farmer?’

  ‘I’m sure they’re not all like that,’ Madame said. ‘Some do care for the children they look after.’

  ‘But not she. Not Mrs Dyer.’

  Madame shook her head. ‘No. She appears to be one of the very worst. She feeds babies sleeping powders so that they’re too tired to feed, and they gradually die of starvation.’

  ‘But the mothers of these babies, don’t they ever report her?’

  ‘The mothers are too ashamed and guilty about using her in the first place,’ Madame explained. ‘They’re young, unmarried girls who have little experience of life and nowhere else to turn.’

  Velvet looked enquiringly at Madame, still not quite sure how the subterfuge was going to work. ‘Won’t Mrs Fortesque think it strange that her baby is younger and smaller than when she died?’

  ‘Don’t worry, we’ll resolve that,’ Madame said. ‘I’ll tell her that Claire has been in a sort of limbo, a halfway house between this world and the next, and that’s why, missing her mother, she hasn’t progressed.’ Madame straightened up from bending over the baby and pressed Velvet’s hand. ‘You’ve been an excellent and efficient help to me, Velvet. This enterprise could not have been carried out without you.’

  ‘Not at all, Madame,’ Velvet murmured. Who could blame Madame, she thought, for wanting to be the best at her profession, for seeking to do something that no other medium had done? And though she was deceiving Mrs Fortesque, it was surely a deceit of the kindest sort – and one which had also saved a baby’s life. Several babies, if the police force had acted swiftly.

  ‘Now, I have to tell you something which will come as a surprise,’ Madame said. Whilst Velvet reflected that many things at Darkling Villa came as a surprise, she went on, ‘I intend that we, our household, should relocate to Brighton for the winter season.’ As Velvet looked at her in astonishment, she added, ‘Because – what do you think? – I will shortly become the owner of a beautiful house there, a villa facing the sea.’

  ‘How lovely!’ said Velvet. She had never seen the sea, but she knew that the seaside, and sea-swimming, were becoming extremely fashionable amongst the upper classes.

  ‘Would you enjoy living there, do you think?’ Madame asked. ‘Brighton has some very rich residents, I believe, and our new king spends a great deal of time at the wonderful palace there.’ She smiled. ‘I could have a whole new clientele in Brighton! It would be wonderful if I could make my name as well known in Sussex as it is in London.’

  ‘Indeed, Madame,’ Velvet said, feeling quite excited. She would miss Lizzie, of course, but then she hardly ever saw her now. And Charlie, yes, he was a good friend and she would probably miss knowing he was nearby, but her move away would be one more door closing on that miserable early part of her life.

  ‘Perhaps, when we get settled there, it will be time for you to begin learning my ways so that eventually we can work together.’

  Velvet smiled her thanks. She remembered that Madame had spoken of this before, and was pleased – at least, she thought she was pleased – that Madame wanted to have her as an assistant on stage, but was not at all sure that she could develop the necessary skills in order to become a medium. She had never heard voices or seen spirits, never received messages from beyond the grave and no one in her family had ever been psychic. Her mother had not been a Russian aristocrat, either. If Madame thought Velvet could be a medium, then could anyone be a medium? Another thought followed, for which she immediately rebuked herself: could anyone pretend to be a medium?

  ‘But now, this morning, we have the most important séance that I have ever undertaken,’ Madame continued.

  ‘What do you want me to do, Madame?’ Velvet asked. She fought back a yawn – she had been looking after little Claire for the last two nights, so had hardly slept.

  ‘Mrs Fortesque is arriving at eleven o’clock. Just before that, I want you to bring Claire downstairs and place her – George will show you where – inside my cabinet, concealed by a cushion. Is the child liable to cry, do you think?’

  ‘I think not, Madame. She’s still very sleepy.’

  ‘Good. She’ll only be in the cabinet for a matter of minutes, then Mrs Fortesque can take her home and the whole affair may be concluded. Everyone will be happy.’

  The séance to materialise Mrs Fortesque’s baby was to be held in near secrecy, with just Mrs Fortesque, her sister and an elderly aunt – all three of them devout spiritualists – in attendance. Madame had given Mrs Lawson and Sissy a week’s leave so they would know nothing of these events.

  ‘You, myself and George will be the only people involved,’ Madame said. ‘It’s a solemn undertaking which will bind us together for ever.’

  Just before eleven o’clock, Velvet swaddled Claire tightly in her new white blanket and went downstairs. She found George in the front room, kneeling down to adjust something in Madame’s cabinet. He jumped to his feet as she appeared.

  ‘How’s our little charge?’ he asked, looking down at the baby.

  ‘Doing quite well, as far as I know about babies,’ Velvet replied. ‘But I’ll just be glad when this is over. I can’t sleep for fretting about her – and
all the others in that awful place . . .’

  ‘But just think what you’ve done! You’ve rescued this child, saved Mrs Fortesque from a broken heart and gained enormous regard in Madame’s eyes.’

  Velvet was still looking anxious, so George took Claire from her and settled the baby into the hollow of a large cushion on the cabinet floor. ‘Now,’ he said kindly to Velvet, ‘you can stop your fretting.’

  Velvet sighed. The truth was, she was not sure exactly what was worrying her; she simply felt overwhelmed, anxious and beset with doubts of all kinds. Because some of the worries she had were about Madame and her methods of working, however, she did not dare articulate them to George.

  ‘You have done the most wonderful thing,’ George said. ‘It will mean that we can all continue to live together. You, me and Madame.’

  ‘Yes,’ Velvet said uncertainly.

  ‘And then, later, we must see . . .’

  Tantalisingly, he said no more, but seemed just about to kiss her when there came a knock at the front door, which signalled that the Fortesque party had arrived. Velvet, pressing her hands to her flushed cheeks to try to cool them, went to answer it. If she had felt confused and bewildered before speaking to George, she felt more so now. And then, later, we must see . . . What had he meant by this?

  Velvet showed Mrs Fortesque’s sister and aunt into the darkened front room, whilst George took the woman herself upstairs to conclude some business with Madame. (How much, Velvet could not help but wonder, would it cost to materialise a baby?)

  When the two ladies appeared downstairs, both were pale and anxious. Madame greeted the aunt and sister in little more than a whisper, explaining that she was conserving her strength for what was to come. She could make no promises, she said, but would do her utmost to manifest little Claire from spirit to flesh.

  She took her usual position in the cabinet and George pulled the curtain across to hide her from view. ‘So that Madame can begin to communicate with her spirits and ask for their guidance,’ he explained.

  The spirits sometimes need a helping hand, Velvet thought, and wondered just how much of a helping hand Madame had to give them. Sometimes there seemed – dare she think it? – to be no spirits, but only a very clever woman.

  Velvet dimmed the lamps, Madame went into trance and George opened the heavy cabinet curtain. After a few moments Madame, her silky turquoise gown glimmering in the darkness, began to breathe in a rough, rasping way.

  ‘I seek the spirit of Claire!’ she called. ‘A little child who passed before her time to the Other Side, and now resides in the Vale of Darkness.’

  Velvet, her mind befuddled through lack of sleep, felt her usual shiver at these words. The work of a medium might not always be a strictly honest one, but the basic principle remained: that the dead, through the channel of a medium, were able to speak to the living. It was a truly portentous and chilling thought. If it were true . . .

  ‘Come closer to our world, Claire,’ Madame called into the air. ‘Come towards those who love you best. We’re not ready to lose you, Claire!’

  There was complete silence. Velvet’s heart was in her mouth. She just wanted it to happen quickly; for Mrs Fortesque to take up the child and go.

  ‘Your mother wants and needs you in this world, Claire!’

  Another long silence, then they heard, ‘Mama! Mama, where are you?’

  ‘I am here, my precious,’ Mrs Fortesque replied, her voice thick with emotion. ‘Come towards me!’

  ‘I want to see you, Mama!’

  Madame began to call upon all manner of ethereal assistants. There was much talk of angels coming back to earth and spirits seeking the light, of Mrs Fortesque being given another chance to keep her precious darling close by her. Then, dimly, something – the ectoplasm, Velvet thought – could be seen floating up from the floor, gathering and billowing around the big cushion. In the almost total darkness it looked strange and eerie, a thin film of shimmering gauze. But why was it appearing at all, Velvet wondered, when the baby was already there? Was it mere window dressing to give more of a theatrical look to the whole thing? If it was false, then what had happened when Sir Percy had materialised? Had that been false, too?

  ‘Is she there? Can I touch her?’ Mrs Fortesque asked urgently, trying to see through the darkness. ‘Oh, please let me hold her again!’

  ‘Mama! I want to come back to you!’

  Madame flung her arms wide. ‘Your child is there,’ she cried, pointing to the cushion in her cabinet. ‘Take her, and let the spirits do what they will with me!’

  Mrs Fortesque immediately darted forward and snatched the baby from the cushion, leaving Madame to scream dramatically as the three ladies fumbled their way through the darkness, into the hall and out of the front door.

  Chapter Seventeen

  In Which Velvet Tests Her Suspicions

  Velvet did not have to return to the police station to find out what had happened to the rest of Mrs Dyer’s victims because, two days later, going to the shops for fresh rolls for Madame’s breakfast, she noticed the headline in The Mercury was: POLICE RAID BABY FARM. She bought the newspaper, took it home and under the banner headline read the following:

  Yesterday, the Metropolitan Police, being in receipt of information about a so-called ‘baby farm’ in Reading, raided a squalid house and found there the lamentable sight of six distressed infants of various ages from a few weeks to eight months. The children were all found to be suffering from malnutrition, sores and scabies. There was also evidence of rat bites on two of them. It is said that some of the policemen who raided the house were reduced to tears on seeing the condition of these innocents.

  The woman responsible for this sorry state of affairs turned out to be the notorious Mrs Amelia Dyer. Dyer has been arrested at least twice previously for neglecting infants assigned to her care, sometimes to the point of death, and has twice been in prison. On leaving jail, however, it appears that she sets herself up under a different name to begin her cruel employment elsewhere.

  Dyer’s method was as follows. She advertised to adopt or nurse a baby in return for a one-off payment or a monthly fee, plus adequate bedding and clothing for the child. Once the unfortunate mother had handed these over, the clothing was taken straight to the pawnbroker and the child was put in rags and made to sleep on straw or newspaper. It was given opiates or sleeping powders to quieten it (Dyer’s neighbours said they had no knowledge of the fact that she had so many children in her care) and was fed a mixture of cornflour and sour milk, which slowly led to the child’s death by starvation. Any unsuspecting doctor asked to certify the death would merely put that age-old reason: ‘failure to thrive’.

  There have long been calls for baby farms to be regulated and inspected because at the moment anyone at all, with or without experience of children, is able to start their own nursery without any checking of credentials by the authorities. It is indeed symptomatic of our times that young working-class women are desperate enough to put aside their scruples and standards and to use these services. This newspaper believes it is vital that stricter adoption laws are imposed, that all adoptions should be vetted by the authorities and that personal advertisements placed in newspapers by those offering to adopt or nurse should be monitored.

  The River Thames is but a short walk from Dyer’s house, and there are now plans to search the river for the bodies of infants. Anyone who has left a child with Mrs Amelia Dyer is urged to put aside any consideration of propriety and go immediately to their local police station.

  Velvet put down the newspaper, her hands shaking. Thank goodness. Thank goodness! Maybe Mrs Dyer would be put away for life this time – and surely the remaining babies would be taken to a place of safety. No one need know that Velvet had had anything to do with it.

  Deep in thought, she prepared Madame’s breakfast and took it to her rooms and then, George having left a message that he had gone to try out a motor car, found herself alone in the kitchen. To be alone, s
he realised, was exactly what she wanted; time to sit down by herself and deliberate about things. She needed to think about George and she needed to think about Charlie. She needed to think about her work and where it was leading her and, most of all, she needed to think about Madame.

  Sometimes the spirits need a helping hand . . . But when did that hand stop helping and take over?

  That Madame was truly psychic and spoke to spirits seemed beyond doubt. Otherwise, how would she have known that her real name was Kitty, or all those other details regarding the death of her father? Yet – and here the doubts began creeping in – there were so many other things which had proved to be counterfeit: the evenings of mediumship with the questions in the envelopes, the billowing ‘ectoplasm’ which looked very much like a chiffon sack filled with air, and the flowers and other objects that had appeared at the first Dark Circle she had attended at Darkling Villa. Now that she had seen Madame in action on many occasions, she knew that much of what she said at séances was carefully built on what she herself and George had found out from clients beforehand.

  Stealing a baby, however, was a step too far. When Velvet had taken the job with Madame, she had never thought that kidnapping would be one of her duties. What would be demanded of her next?

  And what about George? Velvet sighed to herself. Madame had saved his life, so of course he was loyal to her and perhaps willing to forgive her transgressions. If Velvet found it impossible to carry on working for her, however – and felt compelled to tell someone of the things she’d discovered – what would happen about George? Would he support her, or decide to stay with Madame? What would George do?

  Velvet sat quietly for ten minutes or so until she’d thought of a plan. She didn’t want to do it, not at all, but felt she could no longer work for Madame without discovering the truth about her. The next evening of mediumship at Darkling Villa would be held at the end of the week, so what if Lizzie, who had never been seen at close proximity by either Madame or George, came along as a potential client? Velvet would tell Madame that Lizzie was a young heiress whose grandfather had left her a fortune, and then wait and see whether Madame made use of this false information. If she did not refer to it during the course of the evening, then life could go on happily as before. If Madame pretended she was in touch with the spirit of this completely fictitious grandfather, however, then Velvet would confide in George, tell him that Lizzie’s story was completely untrue and ask him to go with her to the police.