Velvet (27 page)

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.

The police. Thinking of this latter scenario made her feel uneasy in the extreme.

The week passed very slowly. Madame was as charming as ever, giving Velvet an ocelot fur tippet and muff ready for the encroaching winter and engendering a terrible guilt in her. Madame was so kind and generous; how could she be so wicked as to even consider betraying her? But then she thought of Mrs Fortesque and of all the people who had been persuaded to part with their money on the basis of false communication with their dead relatives. Madame had many rich private clients, too, whom Velvet never saw. What had Madame purloined from
them
, she wondered?

One evening during the week, Velvet went to Lizzie’s house and, after telling of her visit to Mrs Dyer’s (Lizzie sat gasping with horror throughout), went on to confess that she had suspicions about Madame.

‘I wondered if you would come to Darkling Villa and play the part of an heiress,’ she said. When Lizzie began laughing, she added, ‘It would be similar to the part you played at Mrs Palladino’s – but not in my clothes, of course, because Madame would recognise them.’

Lizzie nodded eagerly, saying it would break the awful tedium of working at the laundry. ‘Besides, Pa always said that those mediums were frauds. And I remember Charlie saying so, too.’

‘Charlie,’ said Velvet thoughtfully. ‘Have you seen anything of him?’

Lizzie shook her head.

‘I went to his police station on my way here to ask more about the arrest of Mrs Dyer, but they said he was away on a course.’ She smiled rather wistfully. ‘I’d have liked to have seen him. He plans to be a detective, you know.’

Lizzie giggled. ‘Like Sherlock Holmes?’

Velvet nodded. ‘He’ll probably be very good at solving crimes – when Charlie gets hold of something he doesn’t let it go.’

Lizzie gave a sad little laugh. ‘He doesn’t want to let
you
go, you mean. He was always talking about you.’

‘We’ve only ever been friends . . .’

‘Friends, was it?’ Lizzie teased. ‘He told me that you two once had a mock wedding. He wore his pa’s top hat and you were dressed in your ma’s petticoat.’

‘We were only eight years old!’

‘Even so . . .’

‘Oh, I think he’s realised now that I only like him as a friend,’ Velvet said and, as she spoke, felt an unaccountable sadness creep over her. Suppose Charlie
had
found someone else? Suppose she never saw him again?

On the afternoon of the séance, things were very much as usual. Madame, who had spent the morning at the hairdresser’s having a Marcel Wave, was upstairs resting. Velvet was putting last-minute touches to the flowers, Mrs Lawson was making savouries and Sissy Lawson was flirting with George (who was studiously ignoring this, Velvet was pleased to see). Watching him go up and down to the cellar selecting the champagne and checking the glasses for smears, Velvet wondered how on earth she would tell him about Madame. Or had he already worked things out for himself?

About forty people were attending that evening, so the séance was not going to be held round the table, but with everyone seated in rows and with Madame in her cabinet. There might, George said after consultation with Madame, be a manifestation of spirit into flesh, but it was impossible to say for sure as this depended on so many variables. He said this so earnestly, so seriously, that although Velvet longed to make a comment about the only spirits she’d seen looking suspiciously like bunched chiffon, she thought better of it.

When the audience arrived, Velvet found there were about ten clients who had never been to Madame’s before, so she took some time to speak to each of these to make sure they were relaxed and comfortable. Lizzie was amongst them, wearing her mother’s best jacket over a plaid skirt belonging to her sister with a hat borrowed from someone at the steam laundry. She didn’t exactly look fashionable, Velvet thought, but then not every heiress was interested in the latest styles. Dressed as she was, Lizzie could easily pass for a rather quaintly old-fashioned girl from a good family. Knowing that her accent, however, might give her away, she and Velvet had decided that she should plead a cold and speak to Madame, if she had to, in a hoarse whisper.

About ten minutes before the evening’s proceedings began, Velvet went up to talk to Madame as normal. Sick with dread, she thought to herself that if Madame were truly psychic then she would detect that something was very wrong and surely know if Velvet was lying. But no, stretched out on her chaise longue as usual, wearing a gown made entirely of artificial flowers, her hair slicked to her head in wavy lines, Madame asked if everything was in order and if there were any new clients.

‘Several,’ Velvet reported. ‘Mostly older ladies. Two sisters have come together to try and contact their brother – he passed away last year and his name was Cyril. There’s a gentleman who hopes to get in touch with his wife, but is worried that because she passed over some ten years ago this might be difficult.’

‘Did you get her name?’ Madame asked.

Velvet shook her head. ‘Not her right name. He referred to her as Pippin, though, because he said she had a pretty round face, like an apple.’

‘That is most helpful,’ Madame said. ‘Anyone else?’

‘There’s also a girl who has only recently been bereaved of her grandfather, who she lived with from a young age,’ Velvet said, giving Madame the story, word for word, that she and Lizzie had concocted. ‘He left her all his money, but she told me that she misses him so dreadfully she’d give anything just to have him back.’

‘How interesting,’ said Madame.

‘Her family, apparently, are terribly jealous of the fact that she was the beneficiary of his will and they’re going to contest it in court.’

‘That’s very mean of them,’ Madame commented. She was wearing a new piece of jewellery, Velvet noticed: a flower brooch heavily encrusted with diamonds. ‘I shall try and help this little lady if I can. Do you recall her name?’

‘Sara. Sara Pilkington-Smith.’

‘Well,’ said Madame. ‘I’ll most certainly do my best for Miss Sara Pilkington-Smith.’

The séance began as usual, with spirits arriving and departing and being claimed or not, including a ‘lovely older lady who passed over some ten years ago, known to her husband as Pippin’. As the evening progressed, Velvet began to wish most desperately that she hadn’t stooped to carrying out this plan. Either that, or that Madame would not select Lizzie, or would say to Velvet afterwards that it had been a pity that the young lady’s grandfather hadn’t come through. How pleased Velvet would be to hear this!

Halfway through the evening there was a pause for another glass of champagne, and George was besieged by middle-aged ladies wanting to confide in him. He looked across at Velvet once and gave her a faint wink, which – as ever – sent butterflies fluttering around inside her, and she wondered again what would happen if he chose Madame over her.

‘I have several more spirits waiting to be heard,’ Madame said as she began the second half of the evening. ‘One in particular is rather reluctant to linger here too long. He’s telling me that he was always very punctual in life and remains so now.’ Madame looked across the audience. ‘He’s an elderly gentleman, possibly in his seventies or even eighties. He has a full white beard and lovely white hair. He’s related to someone here. A young woman.’

As nearly every gentleman over the age of sixty-five had a grey or white beard, this appearance was a reasonable guess. Madame was fishing, seeing if ‘Sara’ would catch the line she was throwing out. Hearing her, Velvet went cold. She knew, with a terrible certainty, that every word Madame said from then on was going to be a lie.

Lizzie raised her hand. ‘I believe I know the gentleman you’re speaking of,’ she said hoarsely. ‘He was always very punctual, and he had a beard.’ She put her hand to her throat. ‘Will you please excuse my voice – I’ve taken a chill.’

‘Of course,’ Madame said. She closed her eyes. ‘He says he’s the grandfather of someone here tonight. Is that you? Does your name begin with . . . “S”? It’s Sara, isn’t it?’

‘Sara’ nodded, smiling, and the audience applauded enthusiastically.

‘And your second name, and his, is something double-barrelled. The first name begins with “P”, I believe, and then there is a commonplace name which begins with “S”. Smith?’

‘All that is perfectly correct,’ Lizzie croaked, affecting great surprise.

Velvet’s heart began to thud. It was turning out just as she’d feared: Madame was a trickster, an imposter, a fraud . . . one of those mediums being sought out by the psychical research people.

‘May I converse with this gentleman on your behalf ?’ Madame asked, and Lizzie gave permission. Madame put her head on one side, in her ‘listening to spirits’ mode, and said, ‘It seems that your grandfather only passed to the Other Side a month or so back.’

Lizzie nodded.

‘And you’re a named beneficiary in his will.’

‘That’s right,’ said Lizzie.

‘You’re the only beneficiary, in fact. He’s telling me that he has left you his entire fortune.’

There was a stirring in the audience as everyone heard the word ‘fortune’ and turned to see who Madame was talking to.

‘I see some dark clouds over this money, however, because – please correct me if I’m wrong – it seems that there are others in your family who think they’re entitled to it. They intend to take the matter to court.’

‘That’s right,’ Lizzie said in hoarse amazement.

Madame gave a little laugh. ‘But your grandfather says you must fight them all the way! He says he doesn’t want you to give in. If he’d wanted his money to go to anyone else, he says, he would have left it to them. His last will and testament is very clear and there’s no room for any deviation from it. You’ll win any case brought against you.’

‘Thank you so much,’ said Lizzie.

‘Has that helped?’

‘It has! I can’t thank you enough.’

‘If you come and see me again on your own I may be able to summon the spirit of your grandfather to speak to you personally,’ Madame said. ‘I had hoped to materialise someone tonight, but I’m afraid I’m now completely exhausted and don’t have the strength. If you come to me privately, however, I’ll see what I can do.’

‘I will,’ Lizzie said. ‘And I’ll tell everyone what you’ve done for me.’

‘Just one moment!’ Madame said. ‘Your grandfather tells me that you are in pain with your throat.’

Lizzie nodded.

‘He instructs you to gargle with an infusion of six sage leaves steeped in a cup of boiled water. He says that will cure it.’

Lizzie smiled. ‘I shall try that. Please thank Grandfather for me.’

‘I will,’ said Madame graciously. ‘And if you come for a private session you may be able to thank him yourself.’

There was one more rambling spirit message for someone who was rather mystified at being its recipient, some general chit-chat about spirits watching over people, and then the evening was over. Velvet showed Lizzie to the front door and there was just time for them to briefly – meaningfully – clasp hands before they parted.

Velvet helped with the clearing away and washing of glasses, then Mrs Lawson went to bed and George left to walk Sissy home (Velvet, for once, hardly cared about this). After taking the flowers downstairs to the scullery, she set a candle in a holder, carried it to her room and sat down on the bed, her head swimming. She’d set the trap and Madame had fallen straight into it, but what was she going to do next? Fear flooded through her. Why, oh why, had she ever done such a thing? It meant that she would have to leave the house and never return.

Never return
. At this thought – the thought of leaving the comfort, warmth and luxury of the house and of saying goodbye to everything she loved most dearly – Velvet’s heart felt as if it were on the verge of breaking. But how could she stay now that she knew what she did? She couldn’t live with herself if she kept her position whilst knowing the truth.