‘That will cover the cab fare, just in case,’ she said, tucking it up my velvet cuff.
I smiled at her gratefully and gave Sarah a little nod. ‘We’ll be fine,’ I said grandly.
‘Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ said Mrs Briskett, folding her arms. ‘It’s not right and fitting, meddling with the supernatural. It’s just a form of witchcraft, that’s what I say.’
‘Well, we don’t care what she says, do we, Hetty?’ Sarah murmured to me and we set off.
WE WALKED AWAY from the town, along a stream, down many winding lanes. I tried to take note of the way we were going in case I had to steer Sarah back, but I soon became muddled. I was surprised when we stopped in front of a relatively modest cottage with an ordinary suburban garden. It had a little privet hedge, a patch of emerald-green lawn, and a bright flowerbed of marigolds and geraniums edged with scallop shells.
Sarah led me up the red and black tiled garden path and pulled the bell by the front door. A tall pale woman in black answered the door.
‘Is she Madame Berenice, or her servant?’ I whispered to Sarah.
‘No, no. She is Emily. I believe she is Madame Berenice’s sister. She will serve us refreshments afterwards.’
‘Afterwards!’ I repeated excitedly.
Emily took our shawls silently. Sarah pressed a little envelope of money into her hand and murmured something about materialization. Emily nodded, and still without speaking led us into a very dark room, the curtains shrouded with thick black velvet. I expected her to light a lamp but she went away again.
It was so very dark after the bright evening sunshine that for a moment or two I could see nothing, but I sensed we weren’t alone. No one spoke, but I could hear someone breathing, someone rustling. I could smell liniment and floral scent. I gradually began to make out a small group of people sitting on chairs set around a table in a circle. There was tall thin Mr Brown from Dedman’s grocery, sitting very erect; two elderly ladies, both in black – and a woman with compelling dark eyes wearing a strange feathered turban and extravagant robes. I did not need Sarah to introduce me. She was clearly Madame Berenice.
‘Sit down, Sarah,’ she said, in a deep voice. ‘And who is the little person with you?’
‘This is Hetty Feather, Madame Berenice. She is our new little maid, come to help me home if necessary,’ Sarah whispered deferentially. ‘I’ve asked for another materialization, madame. I do hope that’s convenient?’
‘I will do my best, but as you know, there are no guarantees. Our spirit friends are very sensitive, especially when there is a stranger in their midst.’ She was staring at me intently in the darkness, and I couldn’t help squirming.
‘Would you like Hetty to wait outside, madame?’ Sarah asked.
‘Oh no, please may I stay!’ I said, determined not to miss out on anything.
‘Are you a believer, Hetty Feather?’ asked Madame Berenice.
I wasn’t quite sure what she meant. ‘I go to church every Sunday,’ I said.
‘Do you believe in the psychic sciences, child?’
‘I – I’m not sure what they are,’ I said.
‘She’s very ignorant, madame. She’s a foundling, brought up at the hospital. She knows very little, but she’s a good helpful girl, eager to learn,’ said Sarah.
‘There is no greater wonder in all nature than the communication between the spirit world and our own,’ said Madame Berenice. She uttered her words with great expression, as if she were on stage. ‘Have you lost a loved one, Hetty Feather?’
‘I’ve lost my dear mama,’ I said huskily.
‘No, no, Hetty, your mother is still living,’ said Sarah. ‘Madame Berenice is asking you if any of your dear friends and family have passed away.’
‘I don’t think so,’ I said, a little flustered.
‘Can’t we get on with the seance, Madame Berenice?’ Mr Brown said.
‘Calm yourself, sir. There must be no impatience, no restlessness, or the spirits won’t come,’ Madame Berenice rebuked him. ‘Sit within the circle, Hetty Feather.’
I tried to find an empty chair in the darkness, and tripped over a footstool in my blunderings.
‘Hetty! Sit down! You’re keeping Madame Berenice waiting,’ Sarah hissed.
‘I can’t help it. I can’t see,’ I whispered. ‘Why can’t we draw the curtains a little?’
‘We need total darkness, child,’ said Madame Berenice. ‘Those dwelling in the spiritual sphere are shy and wary of our world. It is a harsh, crude environment, and we have to be considerate. If we are lucky enough to achieve a total materialization again—’
‘Oh please, please!’ Sarah begged.
‘Then it would be like exposing a newborn baby to blinding light,’ Madame Berenice continued. ‘We have to be in harmony with the creation of all animal structures, as they are created in the darkness of the womb. Now, are we all ready?’
I found a spare chair at last and sat down abruptly.
‘Let us join hands and see if the spirits will come to us today.’
I had to hold hands on one side with Sarah, which felt odd, and on the other side with Mr Brown, which felt even odder. They both gripped tightly, almost crushing my fingers. I had a sudden intense tickle on my nose, but I couldn’t wriggle either hand free to give it a good scratch. I was trapped in this silent circle in this musty dark room.
‘Is there anybody there?’ Madame Berenice asked, her voice even deeper.
I held my breath, but nobody answered.
‘Is … there … anybody … there?’ she cried, again and again, for a full five minutes.
Nothing happened. There was silence, though Madame Berenice was breathing heavily now, as if running to catch a train.
‘Speak now, dear spirits,’ she gasped – and then suddenly gave a little scream.
I jumped, and had to bite my lips to stop myself giggling hysterically.
‘Hello, dear Father!’ Madame Berenice lisped, in a strangely high-pitched baby voice.
‘It is my Cedric!’ Mr Brown choked, crushing my fingers.
‘Yes, Father! I have come to tell you how happy I am,’ the weird little voice squeaked.
‘Will you ask my little lad if he’s in any pain now?’ Mr Brown asked.
‘There is no pain in the spirit world, dear Father.’
‘Oh, thank God! So could you ask if he is keeping up with his schooling? He was always such a bright little lad.’
‘I know all the secrets of the spirit spheres, Father. I have no need of earthly schooling,’ said Cedric.
‘So what do you do all day, Cedric?’ I asked eagerly.
I wanted to know if he flew around the world, manifesting himself in and out of houses at whim, or whether he hovered in the same spot in space, waiting to be summoned. But Sarah shook my arm fiercely, practically detaching it from my shoulder.
‘You mustn’t speak directly to the spirits, Hetty!’ she hissed. ‘Besides, he’s not your loved one’s spirit. Be quiet at once, and let poor Mr Brown commune properly.’
‘Could you tell him how much his mother and I miss him?’ Mr Brown asked, his voice hoarse with emotion.
‘But I am always with you, Father. Please give my love to Mother,’ Cedric squeaked, his voice so high-pitched it made Madame Berenice gasp.
‘Oh, the Lord be praised,’ Mr Brown said, and the rest of the circle murmured this too. His hand was hot and damp and I could feel him shaking.
I did not know what to make of all this. Mr Brown clearly thought a miracle had taken place and that his dead little boy had actually spoken to him. The voice hadn’t really sounded like a little boy. It had sounded like a middle-aged lady pretending to be a child. Perhaps it was inevitable that Cedric would sound like Madame Berenice if he were using her as an earthly vehicle.
She was gasping again, almost as if she were having a seizure.
‘Could you ask my Cedric if he could visit us in our own home?’ Mr Brown asked desperately.
‘Is it Mother? Oh please, let it be my mother,’ Sarah begged.
But it wasn’t Sarah’s mother this time, it was a dear friend of one of the old ladies. She spoke in a quavery voice, and told us that she had fully recovered her health now, and did not even cough. Then the other old lady spoke to her dear departed friend, who said that she was feeling fit and well too, and that she was reunited with her little cat now, and very happy.
It was almost like listening to real old ladies conversing in a shop queue, and it all went on for so long that I began to feel restless. Both my hands were numb now, as Sarah and Mr Brown were still clutching them fiercely, and the room was oppressively hot and dark.
Madame Berenice began her throaty gasping again.
‘Is it Mother this time?’ Sarah begged.
‘I think … yes, I think it is,’ Madame Berenice panted.
‘Can you ask her if she’ll come here to me again? Oh please – it meant the world to me.’
‘I – am – coming – Sarah,’ said another strange whispery voice from Madame Berenice’s lips.
‘Oh, Mother!’ Sarah said, half standing in her eagerness.
‘Sit still, my child. Sit very still, all of you,’ Madame Berenice interrupted. Then she gave a final gasp and fell face down on the tablecloth.
‘Oh my Lord!’ I whispered, fearing she had died too, and gone to join all her spirit friends in person. I wondered why everyone was still sitting there, not trying to revive her. Then I saw a wisp of strange white smoke, and glimpsed a figure all in white gliding slowly across the room. I could barely breathe for shock. The white figure was moving slowly but surely in my direction. I could see her more clearly now, though her face was obscured by a white veil. Sarah shivered, making little moaning noises. The apparition glided onwards. I ducked my head as she came nearer, terrified she might speak to me, or maybe slide straight through me – but she was only concerned with Sarah.
‘My little girl,’ she said, in an eerie whispery voice.
‘Mother!’ Sarah sobbed.
She wasn’t a little girl at all, she was a great lump of a woman, and yet somehow she seemed to be shrinking back to childhood again. I could picture her in a pinafore, her hair down her back, tears running down her round moon face.
‘Oh, my mother!’
I found there were tears blurring my own eyes as the white figure hovered beside her. She gently touched Sarah’s head with her fingertips, then bent and kissed her.
‘Oh, Madame Berenice, please may she stay just a little longer?’ Sarah begged.
‘No, my dear, her visits must be brief. I think her psychic essence is already fading – yes, fading …’
‘Goodbye – but not for long,’ the white figure whispered.
‘Let us close our eyes and give thanks to our spirit friends,’ said Madame Berenice.
We all closed our eyes and murmured thank you, while Sarah sobbed convulsively. When we opened our eyes, the spirit was gone.
‘Oh thank you, thank you!’ said Sarah, weeping and sniffing.
She clearly needed the handkerchief that was tucked up my sleeve, so I tried wriggling my hand free.
‘Do not break the circle! There is still a spirit there, clamouring to be heard,’ Madame Berenice snapped.
I gripped hands again, peering around the circle in surprise. It was difficult to see properly in the dark, but it seemed as if everyone had had their visit. Sarah’s mother materializing had been the star spirit turn. Was there to be some sort of encore?
‘Who is there?’ Madame Berenice asked. ‘Oh, oh, it is a young boy!’ she answered herself. ‘A little stranger determined to make himself known. Who do you wish to communicate with, child?’
He whispered something indistinctly, his voice high and reedy. We all had to strain to hear him.
‘Try again, try again,’ Madame Berenice commanded.
The whispering was a little louder this time.
‘Hetty! Hetty Feather!’ the ghostly voice hissed.
‘Oh, Hetty, dear!’ Sarah said. ‘It’s a spirit come to talk to you!’
‘No! No, I don’t want him to,’ I said.
‘There is no need to be frightened, child,’ Madame Berenice tried to reassure me. ‘Just relax and clear your mind. You said you did not have anyone dwelling in the spirit realm, but you were clearly wrong. I will try to connect more intensely.’ She breathed heavily in and out, while my mind whirled. Who could it be?
‘It’s not – not a brother, is it?’ I said, panicking. Oh dear Lord, was it Gideon? Had some terrible accident happened at the barracks? Had Gideon found it so unbearable he had taken his own life?’
‘It can’t be Gideon,’ I whispered.
‘Have you forgotten me, Hetty Feather?’ said the voice, sounding reproachful.
Then there was a sudden rap beneath the table – a tap-tap-tapping, like a stick … or a crutch!
‘Saul!’ I screamed.
I had never loved Saul the way a sister should. We had always fought. I had been made to feel deeply ashamed because he had a withered leg and it was very bad to torment a crippled boy – though Saul tormented me for all he was worth. He had lived with Gideon in the boy’s wing, but he had died of influenza.
I had been so anxious that Gideon might die, because he was so unhappy and weak and delicate. I hadn’t even thought about Saul dying. Now here I was, years later, making the same mistake all over again. I had almost forgotten Saul – but he had not forgotten me! He was here now, coming to get me!
‘No! No, no, no!’ I screamed.
I wrenched my hands away from Sarah and Mr Brown, and ran from the room. I was down the hallway, out of the door, through the garden gate and halfway down the road before Sarah caught up with me.
‘Oh, Hetty, come here!’ she cried, and she threw her arms around me.
‘No! I won’t go back!’
‘It’s all right, I won’t make you. Don’t worry, dear, I know it can be overwhelming at first. But the spirits are our friends, Hetty, our dear loved ones returning to us. Oh, did you see my dear mother, as distinct as anything?’
‘Yes, I am happy for you – but I don’t want to see my brother Saul!’
I kept thinking I could hear the tap of his crutch, even out here in the gentle twilight. I was in such a state that we had to take a hansom cab home for my benefit.
Mrs Briskett was waiting for us in the kitchen. When she saw me shaking, she shook her head furiously. ‘That’s the giddy limit, Sarah! If you want to waste all your hard-earned savings and make a spectacle of yourself in that spooky place, then that’s your affair, but I won’t have you reducing the child to such a state. Just look at her, poor little lamb.’
Mrs Briskett sat me down and made me a cup of tea and a slice of bread and butter in an effort to calm my nerves. I was still shivering so much that my teeth clanked against the cup and I could barely swallow my bread.
The two women put me to bed with an extra coverlet and a hot-water pig. They sat on either side of me, patting my hands, until at last the shivering subsided. I drifted off to sleep – but Saul pursued me in all my dreams that night, his crutch tap-tap-tapping as he searched for me.
‘I AM SORRY if I got you into trouble with Mrs B, Sarah,’ I said the next day as we made Mr Buchanan’s bed together.
‘Oh well, it wasn’t really your fault, Hetty. You were just that worked up and over-excited. It happens frequently at Madame Berenice’s sessions. You’re a girl who’s for ever working herself into a passion, anyways – but I know you can’t help that. Your temperament’s fiery, just like your red hair.’
‘Perhaps I can work on it, Sarah. I feel it is time I learned to stay composed.’
‘That’ll be the day, Hetty!’ said Sarah. ‘Smooth out t
he creases your side of that sheet now. Hurry up – we should just about have time to do the master’s study while he’s still having his breakfast.’
We went into Mr Buchanan’s study together. He had clearly already been working on a story that morning. Papers were scattered across his desk, and several were screwed into little balls in his wastepaper basket.
‘Dear, dear, he’s always like this at the beginning of a story. He makes so many false starts,’ said Sarah, dabbing at a fresh inkstain on his desk.
I squatted down beside the wastepaper basket, picking up the crumpled pieces of paper and smoothing them out, thinking that I could use the unwritten sides for my own stories. I had in my hands a discarded version of his first page. I started reading – and my hands shook.
My name is Emerald Greenwich. Is that not the most beautiful name in the world? My dearest mama called me Emerald because my eyes are deep emerald-green. Oh, how I miss my mama now. I know she committed a grievous moral sin when she bore me out of wedlock, but she repented abjectly, and suffered greatly when she handed me in to the fine Christian guardians at the Foundling Hospital.
I spent a few years with some simple country folk, but my true education began when I returned to that splendid institution and learned the hard but necessary lessons of obedience and humility. I am afraid I still find it a struggle to hold my tongue and remember my place, but I am learning from the kindly example of my benefactor and employer—’
‘Kindly! He has stolen my story – all of it, blatantly! How dare he! How dare he!’ I shrieked.
Sarah looked at me, astonished. ‘Hetty? For heaven’s sake, child, lower your voice! The master will hear!’
‘I don’t care if he does. He is a wicked hypocritical thief! I tell you, Sarah, he has stolen my story.’ I was shaking so badly I could barely stand upright. I seized the wastepaper basket and shook the entire contents over his desk.
‘Hetty! Have you gone mad? Dear heaven, stop it this instant. Get back to the kitchen.’ Sarah tried to grab hold of me, struggling with me so that we both toppled over with a thump.
‘What on earth is going on?’ Mr Buchanan came stamping into his study, his napkin tucked into his shirt, a fork still in one hand.
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