Pressed into the corner was a wooden counter behind which a dissolute hag stood watch. She found a glass and placed it on the bar. Without a word she tipped a measure of clear liquid into the glass.
“I do not believe I have made a request yet.” I spoke with more assurance than I felt for this was unlike any place I had ever been.
“This is all there is. No one comes ‘ere to talk, just to drink.”
I took the glass. It bore the greasy finger marks of the previous user yet I poured the liquor into my mouth and swallowed.
“More.” I ordered.
“Where’s yer money?”
I slammed a handful of coins onto the counter. “More!”
The afternoon passed in a debauched haze. Men came in and stood beside me, caring not whether I wore a top hat or cap for we had the same purpose. That purpose was to drink. They left while I remained, until I could no longer stand and was pushed from the room like the filthy drunk I had become.
Before me two men fought. Their savagery was appalling, as they beat and kicked each other until the weaker man was felled. His head hit the cobbles with a terrible thump and he was clearly insensible from the impact. Yet, the other man crouched beside him and continued raining blows about his head until his blood ran into the gutter with the other offal.
I slumped beside the door and closed my eyes. Thoughts of Lily with our mother and father swam across my vision in a horrifying carousel of death. In my inebriated state I was unable to vanquish them and joined the other drunken lunatics in their howls of despair.
I do not know how long I remained there but I heard the raucous laughter of those passing by and felt their eyes upon me. The cold of the afternoon crept under my coat and spitefully pinched at my flesh. I hoped the pitiless God of my bleak life would at last show some mercy, and take me to my family.
“Stand, sir. You cannot stay here.” I felt a tug on my sleeve.
“I will stay where I fell. I want no help.”
“Then you will be up before the magistrate in the morning. Now get up, you do not belong here.” The voice was dissimilar to those I had encountered in this district. “Take him under the arms. We shall carry him if we must.”
I felt my body being lifted. I gave them no help, yet they lifted me as a child, and dragged my limp body across the wet cobbles; I could not look them in the eye for my shame was complete. I did not care where they took me, for I was already in hell.
“Put him in this chair, then bring him some coffee.” I was dropped into a chair and a mug of coffee forced between my clasped hands. The heat from the drink sent a painful spasm through my arms but the warmth was a delicious pleasure. I lifted my head and for the first time looked upon him.
“Where have you brought me, sir?” He was as old as I.
“You are safe in God’s house. Drink your coffee and I will return.”
I took a sip as instructed and looked at my surroundings. The coffee was laced with molasses and was powerfully rich. If I were truly in God’s house, it was unlike any church I had ever entered before. There were none of the familiar pews and the room was scarce any larger than my parlour. Simple wooden chairs lay scattered around the room and in the centre, a crude yet striking crucifix sat atop an altar. Wretched looking creatures filled every one of the chairs, sipping at their sweet coffee. I wondered; did I appear as they did? Abject and without hope?
I rose to my feet. The liquor still held sway over my body but I did not desire to remain in a place dedicated to an entity so pitiless and malevolent.
“You are not fit to step outside yet, sir. Please stay and get warm.”
I looked to him again. His face was creased with the expressions of kindness, not of vitriol. “I must go,” I muttered.
He placed his hand on my shoulder. “You are not like these others, sir, I can see that, but you have one thing in common; you all possess a broken spirit. Stay and allow me to repair it.”
“With God’s help?” I hissed the words. “He has sent me to the very abyss in which I now dwell. He does not wish to help.”
“Perhaps those who have passed can help you.” He smiled and turned away. His answer was simply a statement of belief.
I sat back down. In truth, my legs would not carry me further than the door and the thought of appearing in court was too much to bear. I consoled myself with the coffee and watched him at work.
One by one, the bedraggled guests departed leaving me alone in the church.
“What is the name of this church, sir?” I asked. The coffee had raised my body from the depths, although my spirits still languished in the mire.
“It is a church like any other.” He spoke with the voice of a gentleman yet his attire closer matched those of a working man.
“Sir, I thank you for your kindness in bringing me here and away from that miserable street, but please do not seek to make a fool of me.”
He held up his hands and smiled. “I do not seek to make a fool of any man. This is the house of God and you are as welcome as any man, woman or child of this earth. If you insist on a name; this is the Spiritualist Church of Spitalfields.”
“Then I would be better served in the cell of the police station than here.” I stood and made ready to leave.
“You do not belong in the gutter, sir. Seek guidance before it is too late.”
I raised my hand to strike him. How dare a spiritualist address me in this manner? What did he know of my situation or my pain? He did not move or flinch, although he was aware of my hand.
“Stop!” A female voice called.
I turned. The strength of the voice belied the diminutive stature of the figure before me. The heavy, hooded cape she wore revealed only a small part of her face, yet from that glimpse I could see there was beauty. “You are forbidden to use violence in the house of God.”
I walked toward her. “This is no house of God. It is nothing more than a penny sideshow.” I threw a penny to the floor. “Take my penny in payment for your aid.”
I brushed past her and opened the door. A gust of icy wind stung my tired eyes halting me on the threshold.
“She is with you,” she whispered into the wind. Her words were gone in an instant; buffeted away on a wind which carried the fetor of the slums. I stepped onto the street and under the gaze of an elegant church. Its spire pointed into the gloom like a needle through the dirty linen of the street. I looked to the leaden sky, “Where is your solace?” I asked.
*
When at last I reached my home again, I was exhausted. The words, ‘She is with you,’ haunted each and every one of my steps. Without Lily, the house had been left empty and cold. No fires had been lit, and no supper prepared. It was desolate and I was alone. I collapsed in my chair in the parlour and stared at the darkened hearth. I did not care what faces might appear from the shadows nor what ghosts might crawl from beneath the boards for I had not the strength to fight them off.
I was not some naïve child upon whom parlour tricks could be played; yet her words struck home and scratched at my heart. Had I been too harsh and dismissive of the kindness imparted by that gentleman? Was my life so utterly miserable that I could no longer treat others with respect? Lily would have berated me for behaving in that manner and she would have been correct. I buried my face into my hands and wept.
A Séance
“I have acted in an appalling manner, quite inexcusable.” Booth sat quietly having listened to my account of the previous day’s events.
He removed the pipe from his whiskered mouth. “In the circumstances, it is quite understandable.” He leaned closer. “Just think of the scandal if you had been up before the magistrate!”
“I dare say nobody would have been in the slightest bit interested.”
The glow from the fire transformed Booth’s smile into an evil sneer. “Lady Booth would have been absolutely horrified!” He flopped back in the armchair and carelessly wafted an arm above his shoulder. Immediately a boy appeared with a silver tray
. “A bottle of port wine for myself and Mr. Napier, I think.”
“Have you not listened to my account, Booth? Even the smell of your brandy makes me queasy.”
“Exactly. You need fortification. Port is the only answer!” He sent the boy away.
“I shall take one drink with you and one alone.” Booth was my friend and was the least judgmental of any of our associates, yet I paused before continuing. “How could it be she knew of my loss and the loss was of a woman?”
“Nothing to it. Why else would a gentleman like you be found as a common drunkard in the gutter? There is only one source of such misery in this world and that is the loss of a woman. It does not take a conversation with the dead to see that is exactly what caused your malaise.”
“Perhaps you have a point.”
“Of course I have a point! Ah here comes the port.”
Why was it then that I found myself in a cab rattling along the cobbles towards Spitalfields in the murky glow of the gas lit night? I had tried to convince myself that I had nothing more than an earnest apology in mind; but that was not the case. I knew I would never be able to rid my mind of her words unless I discovered the meaning for myself.
The driver had never heard of the church and in the darkness the streets looked as unremarkable as any other. Men lurked in doorways and the prostitutes plied their trade. The sots fell bleeding and drunken in the gutters while dogs fought over bones picked clean. Screams and cheers punctuated the dreary hum in equal measure. Wherever God was, he had not been here for a very long time.
“There!” I called, and thrust my cane into the roof of the cab. The spire of the church, which had greeted my departure from the spiritualist’s parlour, provided a useful landmark.
I had taken no notice of the door on my exit but now as I looked upon it I could see a simple wooden crucifix had been nailed on it. In comparison to what lay across the street it was a poor relation indeed.
The door opened under my pressure and I stepped inside. The interior of the church, if that was what it was called, was as cold as the street outside. Three small windows high on the wall allowed the insubstantial glow from a distant lamp to limp inside.
“Hello?” I spoke quietly into the void. When no answer came I walked further into the room. How this could be termed a church was beyond me. Where were the golden chalices or the bejewelled crucifixes of St Mary le Strand? There were none and the room smelled strongly of cheap brandy and gin. I had come to the wrong place if I expected answers of the divine kind and I turned to leave.
“I trust you are in better spirits tonight?” The sound made me start, though I recognised the voice from the previous day.
“I cannot see you. Please step closer.” I urged.
“Of course. I apologise.” His kindly face came in to view.
I removed my hat. “It is I who must apologise, sir. I fear I was not at my best yesterday and that is why I am here, to say how very sorry I am.”
He offered his hand and although our standings were clearly established I took it. “There is no need for apologies here. You were clearly troubled and I was only too happy to offer any assistance I could. I am John Collins and I am very pleased to make your acquaintance.”
His charming manner was disarming. “Matthew Napier.”
He released his grip. “Now, what can I help you with this evening. You certainly haven’t travelled this far to simply apologise.”
“You do not know my character Mr. Collins so do not presume to educate me on my intentions.”
“I do not presume anything. I simply observe.”
“And what is it you observe?” My hostility was beginning to show.
“I see a man who is lost. A man who does not know which way to turn and is looking for answers. Nothing more.”
His words rang an awful truth within me and I could not utter a word.
“I cannot provide the answers, Mr Napier but there are members of my congregation who may, if they so choose.”
“There is a congregation who worship here?”
“Yes, like any other church. I shall find my sister; she will be able to direct you better.”
“Your sister?”
“Yes, Anna. You met her briefly yesterday, at the door. She spoke to you I believe?”
I nodded in agreement, for she was the purpose of my visit. “Is she here?”
“She is currently engaged but you are welcome to wait. I shall bring a lamp.” Collins departed through the doorway from which he had appeared. As he left, I fancied I heard voices coming from beyond the door. My curiosity was piqued by this odd arrangement and so I followed his footsteps and peered around the door. A narrow corridor awaited on the other side. It was oppressively dark with an odour of dampness dominating the air, but at the far end, a sliver of light crept along the floor.
“Hello, Collins?” I cocked my head and listened for a response. No voices answered my call but instead the melancholy timbre of the flute snaked through the darkness to my ears. The haunting melody caressed my body and took my neck as a silken scarf, drawing me toward its source. ‘Come with me,’ the music whispered and urged me to the heavy curtain which obscured my sight of what lay beyond.
I could not help myself, nor did I want to, and brushed it aside. I had been seduced by the light kiss of the harmony and as my intoxication reached its zenith, I stepped into a world like no other.
The bland and soulless church seemed like a weak apology next to what lay before me in the lavish golden light of a hundred candles.
Had I not been in a supposed house of God I might have thought I had stumbled upon a bordello, such was the extravagant décor. My eyes flicked rapidly around the room waiting for someone to address me, someone to notice me. There were a dozen people in the room, reclining on luxurious leather settees and velvet crimson chaises, yet, none of them even looked up. They too were in rapture at the wonderful melody drifting languidly amongst them. My eyes stopped on the musician and even though I had only set eyes on the woman once before, I knew it was Anna. I cannot say how long I remained on the threshold but when the music ended I could not move. Not even when Anna opened her eyes and caught my gaze.
“Mr Napier?” John Collins spoke but I could not turn for I was under Medusa’s spell, albeit a delightful one.
“Sorry, Collins. You were gone for so long I suspected something had happened.”
I expected a reproach for blundering into a gathering which was clearly a private matter; but there was none, just a smile.
“Well you must come in and join us. My sister always starts the evening off by playing the flute. Come, I shall introduce you properly.” I nodded politely to the other guests as I crossed the room but they were all engaged with each other and appeared to care nothing for my impromptu appearance.
“This, Mr Napier is my sister, Anna.”
“You play beautifully. What was it called?” The capacity of my senses was being tested.
Anna held my gaze for a moment without replying. Her stare was cold. “It is from Dance of the Blessed Spirits by Gluck. Has your temper improved, Mr Napier?”
Her tone was one of amusement rather than reproach. “Yes, I’m afraid I owe you and your brother an apology.”
“And I am sure John has told you the apology is unnecessary. What brings you here tonight, Mr Napier?”
“I wanted to…” I paused. Why exactly was I there? What did I hope to gain? “I wanted to ask you what you meant when you spoke to me at the door yesterday?”
“Yes. I too must apologise for my rudeness. I intended no harm, Mr Napier. You are aware of our movement?” Her expression had softened.
“I have experienced spiritualism only once and it was not pleasant, but yes, I am aware, if somewhat ignorant.” I refrained from voicing my true opinion on the subject.
“I spoke only what I knew to be true when you brushed against me.”
“True? Of what truth do you refer? She is with me. That is what you said.”
> “A female walks beside you Mr Napier. I do not know her name and I do not know her purpose but she was there.”
“What did she look like?” I blurted out, unable to hide my impatience.
“I could not see her face. It was nothing more than a feeling,” she sighed. “I do not know how to explain it yet. My journey has only just begun, unlike some of our other guests who are vastly more experienced.” She took me by the arm, “I shall introduce you to them.”
She led me across the room to a couple enveloped in deep discussion. Anna spoke without waiting for them to turn.
“Mr Napier, may I introduce Louis Lightfoot.”
The gentleman turned and nodded sending his white hair into a merry dance. “Delighted to make your acquaintance. I am very happy we have more people here this evening. Last week there were only three of us and it was a terrible bore.” His speech was eloquent but betrayed the tone of a common man.
He turned and addressed the woman standing beside him. “May I introduce my sister, Susanna Lightfoot.”
I turned my attention to her and gasped. Flaming hair fell about her neck in loose coils. I had seen that hair before yet it could not be the same woman for she had not aged a day.
“Are you well, sir? You look washed out.”
I gathered my senses quickly. I must have been mistaken. “Yes, quite well. It has been a difficult time, that is all.” I turned my attention back to Mr Lightfoot for I could look on her no longer, “I have come only to speak with Miss Collins, here. I shall intrude no longer. Good evening.”
I turned away and took a step to the door. My heart was beating a terrible rhythm and it threatened to push through my ribs.
“Lily is with you.”
It was the voice of Miss Lightfoot. I turned quickly and glared at her. She smiled as she spoke.
“Mr Napier, your darlin’ sister is standing beside you as we speak. Her chestnut hair flows in a great cascade to her waist. She wears an exquisite locket around her neck, and within it a lock of her mother’s hair is kept.”
I felt the strength in my legs depart but I was determined not to fall, not in this room full of strangers. I felt a hand on my arm. “Do not be concerned, Mr Napier. Your sister is with you and that should be of great comfort, not horror. In his wisdom God has bestowed upon Miss Lightfoot a great gift and with that gift she gives relief to those in need.” She led me to a crimson chaise and urged me to sit.
The Macabre Collection (Box set) Page 11