Uncle Montague's Tales of Terror - Chris Priestley [9]
'Mediums,.' said Uncle Montague, sitting down once more.
'Mediums, yes,.' I added.
'You said "claim", Edgar,.' said Uncle Montague.
'You are sceptical, then?'
'I have heard tell that there are those who say they have such powers, but who are fakers and conjurors, Uncle. I do not think it possible to speak to the dead.'
Uncle Montague smiled and nodded, tapping the ends of his fingers together and sinking back into the shadows.
'There was a time I would have shared your view,.' he said, looking back to the window. I followed his gaze and thought I heard running footsteps outside on the gravel path by the window. Surely, I thought, the village boys would not dare to enter my uncle's garden.
My uncle had either not heard the noise or was untroubled by it, because he leaned towards me, smiling.
'I have a story on that subject that may interest you, Edgar,.' he said. 'Perhaps it will change your opinion.'
'Really, Uncle?.' I said, still feeling a little self-conscious holding the tiny doll. 'Please tell it, then, sir.'
'Very well, Edgar,.' he said. 'Very well.'
Harriet edged backwards towards the door as her mother began to speak. It was dark at the outer edges of the room, though it was only two in the afternoon. The heavy velvet drapes at the window blocked the light of day. The only illumination in the room was a lamp in the centre of an oval table, around which were seated eight women, whose expectant faces were lit by its greenish glow.
'Is there anyone there?' asked Harriet's mother in the odd trapped-in-a-well voice she reserved for these occasions, a voice that her clientele seemed to find haunting, but which Harriet always found faintly ridiculous.
'Are there any among the spirit world who wish to come forward and contact their loved ones here today?'
Actually, the truth was Maud was not Harriet's mother at all - and that was not the only lie they told, not by a long way. For one thing, Lyons was not Maud's real name; it was Briggs. They took the name Lyons at Harriet's suggestion - Harriet's own name was Foster - because it sounded more sophisticated.
They told people they were mother and daughter because it made them feel at ease. They had just enough of a familial resemblance to make it work, but in any case, as con-artists they knew that in the main, people simply accepted whatever you told them, provided it was credible.
Harriet and Maud had met in a workhouse on the Kilburn Road. They got the idea for the con when one of the other women told them about a seance she had seen her mistress host, when she had been a parlour maid. The maid had stolen from the guests and been caught and kicked out - hence her presence in the workhouse - but Harriet had seen straightaway that there was money to be made, if gone about in the right way.
They refined this piece of opportunism by taking control of the seance themselves. They advertised in one of the better ladies' magazines and presented themselves as experienced medium and doting daughter.
Spiritualism was all the rage and they found their gullible clientele needed very little convincing. It was Maud's job to commune with the spirits of the departed and while the ladies (and sometimes gentlemen) were busy listening to her wails and mutterings, Harriet would raid the coats and bags, taking small but valuable items that would not be readily missed.
If a pair of earrings or a silver snuff box was discovered missing a week later, the devout mother and daughter who helped contact their dear-departed loved ones would hardly be suspected of involvement. And even if they were, they would be long gone.
They had already decided that they should leave London for pastures new. Maud knew some people in Manchester. There was a lot of money up north. Another week or two and they would have changed their names and be buying their tickets at Euston station.
Harriet backed through the door and out into the hall just as she had done in so many houses over the last months. She blinked into the relative brightness once she was out of the gloomy drawing room.