family of sorts, with Flask as the uncle, Kitty his niece and Ambrose some kind of cousin. But no one did ask because in this area of back-to-back terraces, boarding houses, small shops and drinking places on the fringe of a colliery, there was little neighbourly curiosity. Besides, Ambrose had a faintly threatening air to him that discouraged questions.
If the old part of the city was dominated by the cathedral and castle, this more recently built quarter was the location for the new court and police-house and an imposing prison. Ambrose might have seen more than one prison from the inside — he looked the type — but if it disturbed him to glimpse the high walls of Durham Gaol first thing in the morning and last thing at night he did not show it.
Now he finished stowing away the handcart containing the dismantled cabinet which he had wheeled down from the old maid’s place in the South Bailey. The terrace house was backed by a tiny yard, convenient for storing the equipment required by the guv’nor. The guv’nor! Ambrose was able to maintain a sober face while Flask was pulling his tricks but the moment the show was done with and they were away from the spiritualist mob and their trusting sheep’s eyes he could hardly keep himself from sneering and cackling at the stupidity of humankind.
This attitude did not extend to Eustace Flask himself for, although Ambrose was often nettled by the airs and graces of the medium, he recognized that the man had a real talent for deception and moneymaking. He called him Eustace but also the guv’nor sometimes and it was not altogether ironic. It was his appreciation of Flask’s skills that made him bite his tongue as he watched the medium and his ‘niece’ Kitty walking ahead while he trundled the cart behind them over the cobbles, feeling a bit like some beast of burden. He knew that if they were to be stopped by one of the town police — which had happened more than once — Mr Flask would soon knock any suspicions on the head. He’d talk in that superior way of his and refer in a familiar style to the Chief Constable and his superintendents and other town worthies as if he dined with them every day. Nevertheless, it hurt Ambrose in the heart to see Kitty next to Flask and touching his arm so constantly with her little paws as they walked so close, to see her whispering and giggling all confidential in his ear, and altogether behaving like a silly chit.
Ambrose had always taken Flask for a molly, a Mary Anne. The guv’nor slipped into the manner easy enough and he was relaxed in the company of women, especially older ones, which could be a sign of molly-hood. But perhaps the truth was that he was something in between, or a nothing in between, neither fish nor fowl. Yet it disturbed Ambrose to see Eustace and Kitty so cosy. He’d have words with Miss Kitty Partout later on, he would.
He pronounced her name Par-tout, putting the stress on the second part and rhyming it with ‘out’, which she said was wrong because it was French and she should be pronounced Par-too. Kitty claimed to be French originally, a generation or two back. In that case, said Ambrose, what’s Par-too mean? Does it have a meaning? Dunno, said Kitty. My mum never said and my dad wasn’t around to ask. But Ambrose did believe that Kitty might have Frog blood in her. She had a saucy air sometimes and a way of looking up from under her lowered lashes that was, well, foreign as far as he was concerned.
Ambrose made certain that the gate to the yard was locked before he entered the house by the back passage. He heard rustlings from the parlour and walked into the room just as Mr Flask and Kitty sprang apart from each other. Ambrose thought that his guv’nor’s hand might have been on her tit. Trying the goods, eh? He almost laughed to imagine what that old maid and the other worthies up in the high town would say if they could see their precious medium fondling the boobies of his ‘niece’. He almost laughed. Instead, he promised himself he’d definitely be having words later on with Miss Kitty.
‘Ah, Ambrose,’ said Flask. ‘Everything tucked up for the night? Join us for a libation?’
There were glasses of some sticky pale brown stuff on a table. Sherry or something.
‘There’s a jug of porter in the kitchen. I’ll have some o’ that. Run and fetch it, Kitty Par-tout, there’s a good girl.’
Kitty hesitated for a second and Ambrose saw Flask nod almost imperceptibly before she scampered off to the kitchen. But he put his best face on it and said, ‘Find anything in York, Eustace? That’s where you was this afternoon, wasn’t it?’
‘A couple of likely prospects,’ said the medium. ‘One of them a widower.’
‘Thought you found women easier to work with than men, guv’nor. More — what’s the word? — pliant.’
‘It depends,’ said Flask.
Kitty returned carrying the jug of porter and a tankard. She made a show of pouring it out for Ambrose and not spilling more than a drop or two, as if she wanted to demonstrate what a careful girl she was. Then, picking up her own sticky brown libation, she flung herself into a battered armchair, one of a pair. Eustace Flask settled in the other while Ambrose had to content himself with an even more dilapidated rocking chair which was hard on the bum and pinched the hips.
‘We did well tonight. Here is a contribution for the cause,’ said Flask, producing the cheque which Julia Howlett had presented to him. Ambrose noticed that he didn’t let it out of his hands or even say how much the cheque was for.
‘Who was that terrible man with the moustache?’ asked Kitty.
‘I think I know who he is,’ said Flask, without enlarging on it.
‘He nearly spoiled everything.’
‘That’s where you are wrong, my dear Kit. He made an exhibition of himself and, far from convincing the congregation he was right, he made them feel I had been hard done by. I am sure that Miss Howlett gave us more than she would have done without his intervention.’
Eustace Flask sometimes referred to his audience as a ‘congregation’. He did it with a straight face, which you had to admire him for.
‘What about that other couple, Eustace?’ said Ambrose. ‘The tall, dark-haired geezer and the pretty piece with fair curled hair. What were they up to?’
‘I understand from Miss Howlett that the woman is her niece and the man is her husband. They are newly married and visiting Durham for the first time. As a matter of fact, I met them on the train from York. I don’t think there is any harm in them.’
‘Oh, we know all about nieces, don’t we Eustace?’ said Ambrose.
Eustace ignored the remark. He said, ‘We must tread very carefully over the next few days. That is why I responded with calm and dignity to the attack on me this evening. We have reached a critical moment. Miss Howlett is primed to provide me with an allowance so that I can continue with my good work for the cause. And I have high hopes of something more…’
Ambrose was wondering what the ‘something more’ could be when Kitty broke in. ‘Does that mean we’ll have to stay in Durham, Eustace? I am getting tired of the city.’
‘We shall not be staying here for much longer. I shall make it a condition of any allowance that I — or we, rather — would have to continue with our journeying, to spread the word. Now, Kit, we are ready for a little supper after our exertions. You purchased some pork chops earlier today, did you not? It must be time for you to go and cook them up.’
Kitty refilled her glass and then busied herself in the kitchen frying the chops. Eustace and Ambrose sat in silence in the parlour, drinking. By the time the food reached the table, all three of them were sozzled.
When he got Kitty to bed that night, Ambrose had more or less forgotten his earlier irritation at seeing Eustace and her so comfortable and familiar together in the street and the parlour. He did give her nipples a few extra twists but it was half-hearted, like her little shrieks in response. The two shared a room at the back of the house, with a view of the stern prison walls, while Mr Flask had the bigger room at the front.
The nipple-twisting had turned to stroking and fondling, and Kitty’s little shrieks to sighs. But before they got on to the main matter, Ambrose had something he wanted to ask her. ‘What’s the guv’nor hoping to squeeze out of the old maid? She’s going to give him an allowance — more fool her, if she does — but he was talking about something more. What’s he mean?’
‘I don’t know, Ambrose. Ah… yes that’s it. And I’ll just put my hand here…’
There was an extended pause but suddenly Kitty said, ‘Maybe he’s trying to get her to put him in her will.’
‘Who? What you talking about?’ said Ambrose, who was rather distracted at this point.
‘Eustace and Miss Howlett. He thinks she might leave him something in her will.’
‘She’s not dead yet.’
‘She’s old.’
