Authors: Mary Hooper
She looked around her room, seeing it in a teary haze. She could take the clothes she was wearing, of course, but most of her other things would have to be left behind. And once she left Darkling Villa, she’d be without a job, a home – or money, she realised now, for she’d scarcely saved a thing since she’d been working for Madame, so intent had she been on buying ribbons, parasols and scented lipsalves to help her look the part. She’d probably be forced to return to the laundry – if they would have her – and work there until her health gave way. Unless, perhaps, George believed her, supported her . . . and married her.
But when ought she go to the police? She had to wait for George to return, she decided, and catch him as he was going to his room, then tell him everything. He would either bitterly hate her for the trick she’d played and say that she’d betrayed them all, or praise her for her astuteness. He would either go with her to the police that very night, or she would leave the house without him and never see him again.
She went over to her door, opened it a little, then sank to the floor and rested her cheek against the door jamb to wait for his return.
It all depended on George.
In Which an Incredible Truth Is Revealed
The next thing Velvet was aware of was the sound of the wooden wheels of a milkman’s barrow on the cobbles outside the house. It was still dark, her neck ached and she could feel a long dent in her cheek where the door jamb had marked it. She didn’t quite know how she could have managed it, but she had fallen asleep.
Shivering, she got to her feet. About an inch of candle stub remained burning; it was probably somewhere between four o’clock and five o’clock. She looked longingly at her bed with its pristine linen sheet folded back over an embroidered pillowcase. For a moment she thought about forgetting everything she had discovered and of just undressing, getting into bed and going to sleep; of letting things go on as before.
But how could she do that? Now that she knew the truth, how could she let those sad, bereaved souls who came to Madame’s special evenings continue to have their misery exploited? No, she would have to go on with what she had started.
Where was George? Her candle had been burning and her door was slightly open all night, so George couldn’t have failed to see her if he’d walked along the passageway to his own room. He would have known that she’d been waiting to talk to him.
Unless, of course, he hadn’t seen her because he hadn’t come home. Unless – the thought cut through her like a knife – he had taken Sissy home and then stayed the night with her.
There was only one way to find out.
She stood up, brushed herself down and tiptoed along the dark landing, past Mrs Lawson’s bedroom and towards George’s room at the end. She tapped on the door. There was no answer and she tapped again, then carefully opened the door and looked inside. The moon shining into the room showed that his bed was empty and had not been slept in.
The shock of discovering this was much greater than discovering that Madame was a fraud for (now that she really thought about it) hadn’t she suspected her for some time? She had trusted George, but it seemed that he’d flattered her, led her on and made her believe that they had a future together, whilst all the time having a relationship with Sissy Lawson.
She would have to go to the police without him.
Shakily, she went back to her room to gather up a few things. Feeling that she deserved one or two of the garments that Madame had given her, she pulled on an extra skirt and waistcoat, together with her mother’s old lace petticoat, underneath the clothes she was still wearing from the night before, then put a spare pair of shoes, two pairs of stockings and a hairbrush in a bag and closed the door on her room for the last time.
By seven o’clock or thereabouts, she thought, Mrs Lawson would be wondering where she was and come looking for her. When she couldn’t find her she would go to Madame or George and tell them that she was missing. What would they think? Would they realise that she’d gone to the police, or would they just think she’d run away?
Slowly, carefully, she made her way down the three flights of stairs, being extra careful on Madame’s floor not to make a sound in case she woke the dog. Reaching the hall, she began to cry quietly, for she couldn’t help remembering how, when she’d first arrived at the house, she’d been quite overwhelmed by the elegance and the ambience and the wonderful welcome she’d received from George and Madame. How happy she’d been then, how incredulous of the luck which had come her way after getting the silver horseshoe in her Christmas pudding. And now she was going to throw it all away!
Fumbling in her pocket for a handkerchief to wipe her eyes, she almost missed seeing the small white envelope lying on the mat. Picking it up, she saw
VELVET
written on it in Charlie’s sturdy hand and was about to open it when there was a whistle from the direction of the kitchen stairs.
George’s voice hissed, ‘Velvet! What are you doing at this time of the morning?’
One hand already outstretched towards the front door, Velvet stopped dead and turned to look at him incredulously. ‘
George!
’
He looked tired and a little bit flustered. ‘Where are you going so early?’
‘To . . . to . . .’ But Velvet couldn’t bring herself to say it. She tried to keep the note of reproach out of her voice. ‘Where have you been, George? I looked for you in your room.’
He shrugged and gave an embarrassed grin. ‘I took Sissy home and when I came back I had one last glass of champagne – just to clear the bottle, you know. It was obviously one too many for me, because I fell asleep at the kitchen table. I only woke just now when I heard the stairs creaking.’
Velvet felt relief rush over her. ‘I wondered where you were. I could only think that –’
‘Out like a light, I was!’ He rubbed down his arms. ‘Damned hard, that table.’
‘Oh, George!’ Velvet discreetly stuffed the envelope into her jacket pocket and looked up at him tearfully. ‘I’m in a terrible dilemma and don’t know what you’ll have to say about it.’
‘Really? What’s going on, then?’
She sighed. This, surely, was the hardest thing she’d ever had to say in her life. ‘You know that we agreed that Madame was the most incredible person in the world and that we would go to the ends of the earth for her?’
‘Yes. We did.’
‘Well, what would you say if I told you that she’d been misleading people all along . . . that she was just a hoaxer? A fraud.’
George’s face hardened. ‘What are you talking about?’
She sighed again. ‘There are so many ways in which she’s been deceiving people,’ she said. ‘But I know one way most particularly because one of the girls who came to the séance last night was . . .’ She paused. ‘I’m not proud of this, George, but she was a friend of mine whom I’d asked to come and act a part. You remember the girl who stood up and said that her grandfather had left her a fortune?’
George gave a brief, stern nod.
‘Well, that wasn’t true – any of it. I asked her to play that part to see what Madame would do with the false information.’
‘
What
?’
‘Because I suspected Madame was a fraud, you see.’ And then everything came tumbling out. ‘There have been so many other things, George. The baby, the questions in the envelopes at the mediumship evenings – I know there’s something odd going on there. The way Madame picks up on little things we tell her, and her materialisations look more like billowing chiffon than anything else! I know you think the world of her but it can’t be right to deceive grieving people just to get at their money.’ Velvet sighed and blew her nose. ‘In the end there were just too many things, too many lies, to overlook.’
‘And where are you going now, then?’
‘I’m going to the police station,’ Velvet said.
‘Why? I don’t understand.’
‘I have to report Madame to the police. Will you come with me?’
‘
What
?
’ George asked again, looking at her with horror.
‘Please, George. You will back me up, won’t you? I’m sorry and I know it’s both our livelihoods at stake, but the things Madame is doing are really and truly wrong. And sooner or later those psychical research people will come and find out everything anyway.’
George did not give any answer for some time. A score of emotions ran across his face but Velvet could not work out what he was thinking or what he might do.
Anxiously, she slipped her hand into his. ‘I feel terrible, awful, I really do, but I just knew I had to do something. Please say you’ll come with me!’
George hesitated again, sighed and eventually nodded. ‘I suppose it’s only what I’ve been thinking myself.’
‘I did wonder if you had.’
‘We’d better get it over with.’ He buttoned up the jacket he was wearing, unbolted the front door and opened it. ‘Which police station were you going to?’
‘The big one in Harrow Road,’ Velvet said. ‘I’ve heard that it’s one of the few that are open all night.’ She would rather, of course, have gone to Charlie’s station, but didn’t want to risk it being closed when she got there.
Together they went down the front steps into a dark, damp and misty London morning.
‘We’ll go by the Marylebone Road,’ George said, turning left. Then he stopped. ‘No, I know. We’ll take the shortcut along the canal.’
Velvet saw no one as they crossed the road towards Regent’s Canal, just heard the hollow clatter of a horse’s hooves on the cobbles and a milk cart somewhere in the distance. Suddenly remembering the envelope with her name on it, she reached into her pocket as they went down the steps which led to the water. There were a few longboats moored here, but none showed a light. Here and there, however, a lamp glowed from the wall, and Velvet waited until they were under one of these, then pulled at the envelope flap.
‘Just a moment,’ she said.
‘What have you got there?’
‘Something from my friend Charlie.’ Velvet was torn between getting to the police station and reading the note. Deciding that it must be something very urgent for Charlie to deliver it overnight, however, she pulled a square of paper from the envelope and held it under the light.
It was a piece of newspaper printed with a photograph of a sullen-looking couple. Underneath it said:
Mr and Mrs George Wilson, a married couple who were formerly performers at the Britannia Theatre in Hoxton, appeared at the Old Bailey yesterday on a charge of Gross Deception. They were apprehended at Epsom Races, where they were working a confidence trick which required Mrs Wilson to pose as a socialite who had had all her money stolen. Found guilty, they were both sentenced to six months’ hard labour. Full story on page 3.
Velvet read the paragraph swiftly and, hardly understanding its significance, read it again, then studied the photograph.
The married couple pictured were George and Madame.
In Which Velvet Experiences Her Final Moments
Velvet’s legs wobbled and felt as though they might give way beneath her. Of course! It hadn’t been Sissy and George she’d walked in on after the séance – it had been
Madame
and George. She knew that she should drop the piece of newspaper over the side of the canal and let it float away, or screw it up quickly and say to George that it wasn’t anything important. She was so horror-struck, however, that she just stood there holding it, staring at the photograph of George and Madame outside the Old Bailey; George unkempt and looking a little younger, and Madame, her hair all anyhow, in drab, workaday clothing.
George inclined his head to look at the picture over Velvet’s shoulder, then caught her wrist between his thumb and first finger. The night seemed to grow very still; the only sounds were of the water lapping against the sides of the canal and, somewhere far off, the call of an owl as it flew home to roost.
‘Ah, yes, the Help the Lady Scam,’ he said.
‘You were . . . thieves?’
‘When we stopped being actors. We weren’t bad at relieving folk of their money, either. One day we cleared over a hundred pounds.’
Velvet looked up at him and blinked.
‘But there was no really big money in it – it never brought the rewards that being a medium does. Mind you,
that
game’s becoming a bit too popular now. People are getting careless and bringing the profession into disrepute.’
Velvet’s breath felt very tight in her throat. ‘You and Madame . . .’
‘Been together four years now – since, like I told you, she picked me up from the gutter. Got married in ninety-seven, we did.’ When Velvet didn’t respond to this, he continued, ‘That’s why I wasn’t in my room when you called – because I spend my nights with my wife. When I heard you moving around upstairs I used the private staircase to get out and went back in the house by the kitchen door.’ He grinned. ‘Fooled you all right, didn’t it?’
Velvet began to shake all over. ‘So everything you’ve done, everything I’ve seen, has been fake?’