‘But this is different, it is nothing to do with gypsies. It is getting in touch with the dead and hearing their messages. In fact, all their messages were reassuring. Did you notice, Tom? Everything was all right, everything was going to be all right.’
‘I thought you didn’t believe, Helen. You’re the sceptic. You’re convinced none of it is true.’
‘I am still a sceptic. It will take more than this evening to unconvince me. But Tom, you have heard from the spirit of your father!’
‘My father? I don’t know. How could it have been? A man in a blue uniform. It might have been a lucky guess by the medium.’
‘But the person he saw was soaked to the skin — and your father was buried at sea.’
‘Twenty years ago. He should have got out of those clothes by now. He’ll catch his death.’
‘You are making jokes about it but I can tell you were affected by what Mr Smight saw. What he said he saw. Your hand was in mine, remember. You were sweating and tense.’
‘Let’s be rational about it. How many people know some details of my father’s death? Quite a few. Others could find out. It’s probably written down in some army record. And there’s your mother! She knows of course. And it was your mother who told us about Ernest Smight. She suggested we went to consult him. Probably she mentioned something about my father’s death to him or to his sister. And there’s another connection. Miss Smight used to know your aunt.’
‘But Miss Smight did not seem to have any warning we were coming.’
‘She’s a good actress.’
‘Besides I don’t think my mother has communicated at all with the Smights even though she might have known them once. Mother is not well disposed towards mediums and the spirit world. Why should she have said anything to a man she distrusts?’
‘Then why did she ask us to go and see him?’ said Tom.
‘You know why,’ said Helen. ‘Because of what she has asked me to do. She wants me to have some knowledge of the world I am entering.’
‘Like Daniel going into the lions’ den.’
‘I hope not. Anyway, you’ll be with me,’ said Helen. ‘What will happen to him?’
‘Him? Oh, Ernest Smight. He’ll be lucky if he is only fined. He could get a month or two in gaol, perhaps with hard labour.’
‘Hard labour? But that might kill him. He did not look strong.’
‘He’ll only get that if he comes up before a magistrate who doesn’t like mediums.’
‘What if we are called on to give testimony? That policeman took down all our details.’
‘He was doing it for effect, to show his authority.’
‘We could always say that we saw no money change hands. I would not like to be responsible for sending a man to prison. I didn’t care for Mr Smight or his sister very much but they seemed harmless enough.’
‘I doubt if we’ll have to testify. The word of the policeman and his wife will probably be enough, especially if Smight has performed these tricks before.’
‘I agree with Miss Smight. It still does not seem fair. Tom, I have had enough of walking.’
They hailed an omnibus which was going towards Kentish Town. They might have taken a hansom but two journeys by cab in one day seemed an extravagance. Tom, by himself, would have climbed to the roof of the bus but the exposed seating was not really suitable for ladies even if Helen had made a point of doing it a couple of times in fine weather. So the Ansells sat in the cramped interior which was oddly like the Smights’ front room, stuffy and cold at the same time. It was like the Smights’ too because there were half a dozen other people inside the compartment, strangers pushed up against each other.
The Ansells got out of the bus at the near end of Kentish Town Road. They walked the short distance to their terraced house in Abercrombie Road. Number 24, which they had taken on a three-year lease, was newer and in better condition than the houses in Tullis Street. This spot on the edge of town was about right for Tom and Helen. It was affordable, although they had to be careful with their money (saving on hansom cab journeys, for example). The air was good, or at any rate less dirty and smoky than the air in the centre. There was quite a bit of building going on as the suburbs spread north, and there was a sort of bustle associated with the whole area. The people moving into their street and the neighbouring ones were, by and large, professionals like Tom.
Tom and Helen employed a maid-of-all-work — an amiable, youngish and plain woman called Hetty — who helped with the cooking. They’d contemplated doing without anyone but it didn’t seem right somehow. Tom was glad there was company in the house for Helen while he was at work. The place would do for a couple of years until they needed somewhere bigger when the children arrived, or until Tom increased his salary at the law firm of Scott, Lye amp; Mackenzie in Furnival Street.
Helen was born a Scott, as Miss Smight had accurately remembered from the marriage announcement. Her father, one of the original founders of Scott amp; Lye, had been dead these several years, and while Mr Alexander Lye occasionally shuffled into the office, his chief activity was to scrawl his signature on correspondence placed in front of him. That left David Mackenzie as the principal partner. Tom had hopes of becoming a partner in due course but he wanted to do it on his own merits and not because of his marriage.
Helen was not content merely to sit at home, presiding over a house which was much smaller than her family home in Highbury while she waited for the almost inevitable children to appear. Instead, she was writing a ‘sensation’ novel, a three-decker along the lines of those penned by Mary Braddon. Helen’s novel involved an heiress who had been cheated out of her property and abandoned by her fiance because of the actions of a villain. The heroine, whose name was Louise Acton, was compelled to go to extreme lengths to regain her place in the world. Tom hadn’t been allowed to see any of this unfinished book, although he did hear from time to time that his wife had enjoyed ‘quite a good day’ at her desk or that she was reaching an awkward corner in the plot.
Recently, Helen had a short story published in Tinsley’s Magazine. It was her first appearance in print. William Tinsley himself wrote a gracious note to accompany the cheque for five pounds. The story was called ‘Treasure’ and Tom read it with admiration and a touch of amazement, hardly able to link the words on the page with the person who was sitting on the other side of the fireplace and pretending to read a book while covertly watching for his response.
Once inside number 24, they settled to a cold supper which Hetty had left for them. As she usually did on Sunday evenings, the maid was out visiting her sister who lived a few streets away. Tom and Helen’s mood was subdued, mostly because of what they had seen and heard at Tullis Street. More than once, Helen mentioned Mr Smight’s likely fate of a term in prison. After supper Tom tried to cheer her up. He mentioned Ethel Smight’s attempts at phrenology, the science of reading character by feeling the bumps on the skull. Helen reminded him that his bumps of Conscientiousness and Hope were well developed.
‘And Secretiveness,’ said Tom.
‘A useful trait in a lawyer.’
‘And don’t forget my bump of Amativeness. It is unique, according to Ethel Smight. You may feel it. Feel my bump of Amativeness.’
‘Where is mine, I wonder?’ said Helen.
Tom ran his fingers through Helen’s fair curls and one thing began to lead to another. They were suddenly disturbed by the sound of the key in the door and the return of Hetty from her sister’s. They giggled like children.
‘Later, oh amative husband,’ said Helen.
The Mission
Tom and Helen Ansell had gone to visit Mr Smight at the suggestion of Helen’s mother. A week before the seance the couple had been having tea with Mrs Scott at the Highbury house, an occasional Sunday ritual. Although Tom no longer regarded his mother-in-law as a dragon-lady, which was his view of her before the marriage, and although he had even caused her to break into a smile once or twice, he didn’t enjoy these occasions much. Mrs Scott would quiz him about Scott, Lye amp; Mackenzie, in which she still felt a proprietorial interest, or she’d comment on Helen’s appetite — which was either too feeble or too eager — as a roundabout way of establishing
