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They made awkward small talk at first, as they were shown to a table, and they gave their orders to the plump serving maid. Suddenly facing one another added a layer of stiff formality to their interaction. Anna was a dignified woman, and well-bred, but the manner of their meeting threw a pall over the proceedings.
“What a sorry state of affairs,” Marianne murmured. “It does make things disagreeable. We can hardly now chatter about fashion or gossip about well-known people in the newspapers, can we?”
Anna’s perfect eyebrows quirked a little and she looked up at Marianne under her wide lids. “And those things are your everyday and preferred topics of conversation, Miss Starr?”
“Why would you think otherwise?” Marianne felt immediately defensive. Was this woman about to reveal that she, like Jack Monahan, already knew all about her?
Anna said, “You are not a slavish follower of fashion, for one.”
“A polite way of saying I am dressed in a rather out of date way.”
“I would say classic, and restrained; not showy. Your hands – forgive me, but you did ask – have curious stains. Ink on your finger, so you like to write – maybe letters, maybe other things. But there is a slight roughness, too, and a hint of sun. You might enjoy gardens and you do not have an attentive maid, but you speak as if you are of the class to have a maid, so you are a poor relation. A governess?”
Marianne sat back in her chair and smiled. “I ought to be upset but I thoroughly enjoyed following your chain of thought! You are like the mediums but do not pretend that your insight comes from spirits. And you are correct in many particulars, except I am neither a gardener nor a governess; I am a woman of science.”
“Ah!” said Anna. “And here is the best place in all the world to be such a thing. London is so... forgive me. I run on, like a child.”
“There is nothing to forgive. Are you a visitor here?”
“I have recently moved here.”
“From?”
Anna turned her head to the approaching maid and their conversation had to be dropped in the flurry caused by setting out the tea things. Marianne decided, as Anna had said earlier that she was “not shocked”, to be blunt in her speech and approach. The tea arrived in an ornate pot. Marianne fiddled with the cups, and said, “So, how did you know Mr Bartholomew? You did not answer me, previously.”
“No, for it was a personal question.”
Marianne made steady eye contact with Anna but she didn’t blush or look away. Then Anna raised her left hand, and showed Marianne the silver ring set with pearls.
Marianne understood. “You are married – what, to...?”
Anna laughed. “No, not to George. Poor George! No, my husband remains ... abroad. There, I hope he stays. I shall never see him again. But this tells you all you need to know.”
It did not. It could have been hinting that Anna and George had been engaged in a scandalous affair, or it could simply be saying that their friendship was platonic. “I still do not follow,” Marianne said stubbornly. “I am not a clever woman.”
Anna sighed. “I rather think that you are, because of – or in spite – your education. I am a clever woman, too, and I know one when I meet one. Well, I met George in Prussia,” she said with reluctance, “a few years ago. Our paths often crossed at parties and banquets. He was lively and made me laugh. This was a rare thing. So we often spoke together.”
“Does your husband also work for Harker and Bow?”
Anna twitched her nostrils. It was a fleeting movement, but she blinked heavily at the same time. “He does not,” she said. “My husband and I are estranged, as I said. Naturally you understand that this is a sensitive topic and one that I am not prepared to discuss any further with a stranger.”
Yet you blithely analyse me as if I were a specimen, and speculate as to my background, quite openly. You are an arrogant woman, and I am too polite to say this. “Naturally. If I have offended you, please accept my apologies...” Marianne made a number of other pleasantries until Anna waved at her.
“Enough, now. Why do we English carry on so?”
We don’t, though, do we? Marianne thought. There was a hint of an accent in Anna’s speech. She had said she was not a Londoner. “Are you ...English?”
“Yes, of course. I attended school in Cheltenham. Though I have travelled widely since I was married.”
You are not at all who you seem to be, Marianne thought. Before she could say anything else, she was now on the receiving end of Anna’s questions.
“And how did you know George?”
“Through my own business,” Marianne said. It would profit her nothing to lie about this. “I said that I am a woman of science, but do not think that I spend my time on beaches, scrabbling for fossils, or drawing plants. I am a scientific investigator. I am particularly concerned with exposing fake mediums.”
“Oh!” Now Anna sounded genuinely fascinated and she leaned forward. “You do not believe in a world beyond the veil at all, then?”
“I will believe it as soon as I have evidence and facts.”
“Do not the testimonies of a thousand people convince you? Human experience, in a sense, is all that we have, is it not?”
“No – I will not believe it, not until these phenomena are tested in a laboratory.”
Anna cocked her head. “The very fact of being in a sterile place makes the manifestations far less likely, or at least, that is the argument that I have heard. As for me, I would like very much for there to be more to life than ... than ... well, all of this. Have you not read the phenomenologists? I urge you to look at Husserl.”
“He is not familiar to me,” Marianne said. “Are you a philosopher? You know about me but I know nothing of you.”
“No, I am no philosopher, but I have studied widely, across Europe, in every institution that has been open to me.” Anna sniffed. “Which are few. But tell me, why had George come to you? He is a ... he was a straightforward and honest man.”
Marianne sipped at her tea while she considered the question. But there was no reason not to tell Anna about this, so she said, “He believed that his father was an imposter and had asked me to investigate.”
“But that is nothing to do with mediums and all that you are engaged in.”
“I know,” Marianne said. “And so I initially refused him. However his father was acting suspiciously and in the end, I agreed to help. Now, though...” Now there was only George’s final exhortation to her – Do not let that man win.
“Well, that is your task over with. I am sorry,” Anna said. “In fact, it is a sorry business, all done, is it not?”
“It is. Although I am not sure that it is all over. Well, thank you for the company although it would have been nicer to have met under better circumstances.” She meant it, too. She could have had long and intense conversations with this woman.
They both stood up and began rearranging their outdoor clothing while the waitress hovered. Marianne insisted on paying and Anna only made the briefest of protests.
Once outside, they had another awkward moment as they faced one another for the parting. Impulsively, Marianne asked for Anna’s address in London. “As you were friends with George, I will pass on details of his funeral to you.”
Anna flinched, and frowned. Marianne wasn’t sure if it were just the mention of the funeral, or something else, but when Anna said, “I have rooms at number forty, Bird Street,” Marianne didn’t believe her. She had never heard of Bird Street, and found the name unlikely; but she did not know London as intimately as a cab driver, so she nodded and decided to check it.
“And your address?” Anna said, intently.
“I live in a house called Woodlands,” she said slowly, trying to sound confident, and worrying that the lie would be obvious. “Woodlands, just off the High Street in Upper Holloway.”
Anna accepted that, and gave no sign of suspicion. They shook hands again, and parted. Marianne walked slowly along the road and spent a long time looking in shop windows, and Anna seemed to do the same along the other side of the street. It became a test of nerves as they both watched each other while pretending not to.
Eventually Anna called a cab and rode away.
Marianne caught the train into town, and then asked a cab driver to take her to Bird Street.
“Ain’t no such place, miss,” she was informed chirpily.
She had suspected as much.
It was just her luck to have met another woman with broad interests and a high intellect, and have her to be an imposter full of lies.