Thursday, August 30, 1888
Tapping my fingertips on the table, I frowned at Everett. He leaned against the wall nearby, watching out the window for potential customers. Only one young lady had come round earlier in the evening and the session had gone reasonably well. However, no other patrons had come by since.
“We had more customers from our first advertisement,” Everett said. “Maybe we should—”
“Do not even think of it,” I snapped. “I am never spending a penny at that newspaper ever again. Our customers have dried up because of that stupid article.” I sat back, my arms crossed tight. “I have never been so insulted.”
The editor would not even offer a partial refund for my advertisement. Instead, I had been offered a discount on a subscription. He had laughed and requested I leave when I demanded a retraction. The nerve!
Everett stayed quiet, his eyes moving between each pedestrian passing by. He had been unnervingly quiet since my visit to The Gazette Weekly and it was wearing on my nerves. Finally, his silence forced me to make conversation.
“Do you think our session earlier this evening went well?” I ran my thumb over the nail on my opposite thumb.
Everett glanced at me before looking back at the window. “Yes, it was fine.”
“Fine?”
He looked back at me again, one eyebrow slightly arched. “It was good.”
“Was it fine or was it good?”
His mouth tightened as he looked from me to the window again. “It was good.”
I straightened my back and tipped my nose up. “I was. It comes very naturally to me.”
A tiny glimpse of a smile flickered at the corner of his lips. “Indeed.” He stiffened. “Oh, we’ve got someone.”
Everett gave Frank—once again acting as our doorman—a quick nod and smiled wide at the thin man who entered the flat, his eyes slowly roaming every surface of the small room. He was an older man, possibly over sixty, and likely over six feet tall, even with his slightly hunched shoulders. His top hat was scuffed at the edges and his cheeks were so sunken that they formed a hollow dip in each side of his face. He leaned his cane against the table and he and Everett took their seats at the table with me.
“Are you the Madame Pringle I’ve heard so much about?” the man queried in an exceptionally deep voice—a much stronger sound than I had been expecting from such a withered man.
“I am,” I said.
“My name is Jasper Hill. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Madame Pringle.”
From the corner of my eye, I could see Everett’s eyes widen and his friendly smile disappear.
“Who are you looking to communicate with this evening, Mr. Hill?”
“My late wife, Edith.”
I nodded and closed my eyes, my hands outstretched on both sides of me, Mr. Hill and Everett each hesitantly taking one. I breathed deep and began my routine.
“Voices of the spirit realm,” I began, “come to us this night, we beseech you. We ask you to bring forward our friend Edith, wife of Mr. Hill, from the other side. Oh, wise and mysterious spirits, please bring her to us.”
Everett gave my hand a squeeze. Something was wrong.
My breaths grew shallow and I let my head fall, rolling to one side. When the moment felt right, my eyelids slowly slid open.
“You seek Edith,” I said in my special voice reserved for The Other, the character I had created to act as a conduit between myself and the spirit realm. “She’s a pretty one.” I looked at Mr. Hill, my eyes narrowed. “She’s feeling shy. What do you want to ask her?”
Everett’s fingers tightened in my hand again. I wanted to kick him under the table, but I did not dare. Even if something was amiss with Mr. Hill, there was nothing to be done for it now.
“I wish to ask her if our children are there with her in Heaven,” Mr. Hill said somberly. “And I wish to know if she approves of my second wife.”
“Alright, sir. Seems simple enough. I will find your Edith, sir,” I said, my tone gritty. I closed my eyes again and, after a moment, I summoned a sweet voice with some maturity to it. “Jasper. You have come.”
“Edith?”
“Yes, my dear. I am here, and so are the children. We are all here together.”
Mr. Hill nodded, his face grave. “You know of my new wife?”
“I do.”
I lifted my eyelids just enough to see Mr. Hill through my eyelashes. His posture was rigid, his jaw tight, but his eyes had remained closed as I had directed.
“And?”
“She is kind of heart,” I said, “and she will be a fine companion for you.”
Mr. Hill scoffed and let go of my hand, yanking his palm away roughly. “That is quite enough. You can stop the charade, Mrs. Pringle. I have what I came for.”
Everett let out a sigh and let go of my other hand. I stayed in character, desperate to win back Mr. Hill’s trust.
“My dear, why do you—”
“Hold your tongue, you witch,” Mr. Hill snapped. “You are nothing but a fraud and a trickster—and a bad one at that. There is no Edith, all of my children are living, and I have no second wife.”
“I see.” My voice was barely above a whisper.
“I read an article in the paper about you and had to come see for myself,” he continued. “I was especially surprised when I saw that Madame Pringle operated her schemes from my property.”
Everett, wincing, tried to cut in. “Mr. Hill—”
Mr. Hill rose to his feet. “I am a Christian man, Mrs. Pringle, and your practices are nothing less than the devil’s work. The pair of you will be out of this flat by the end of the month.”
He grabbed his cane and started for the door, Everett following after him.
“Please, Mr. Hill,” he said. “We are in a desperate situation. We will cease our act, we promise, if we can remain in your building. I have paid my rent on time for five years. Please do not turn us out, I beg you.”
Mr. Hill just glared at Everett. “My decision is final, Mr. Rigby. Good day to you.” He slammed the door behind him.
Neither of us moved as we absorbed what had just happened in what seemed like an instant.
“This is my fault,” I whispered. “This is all my doing. I am so sorry, Everett.”
He shook his head. “It is my doing just as much as yours.”
My lower lip quivering, I felt a tear slide down my cheek. “You would be much better off if you had not met me. You would have a home and a job.”
Everett smiled wearily. “Please don’t cry.”
“What will we do?” I sobbed. “That article has ruined everything. I have ruined everything.”
Just then, Frank burst through the door, his chest heaving. “What has happened? Mr. Hill—”
“Has evicted us,” Everett finished for him, running a hand through his thick dark tresses.
“Oh, no, Mr. Rigby,” he said, his long, lanky arms dropping to his sides. “That’s awful.” His face contorted as he struggled for a reply. “I’ll tell my pa to keep an ear out at the pub, to see if anyone has a room to let for the pair o’ ya.” He glanced between us. “I mean, I assume you two will be stickin’ together.”
I looked up and met Everett’s gaze, his image blurry through my tears. “I would not blame you if you abandoned me after all the suffering I have caused you.”
His mouth tightened. “I am not going to abandon you.” He looked back at Frank. “Yes, please do tell your father for us.”
Before rushing off, Frank stopped short. “Oh, I almost forgot. The lady that came by earlier this evening. She came back with a letter for you, Mrs. Pringle.”
He delivered it to my quaking hand before scuttling off and I hastily opened the note. As the words swam upon the page, I wiped my eyes furiously and attempted to read it again.
“This,” I said, “is our salvation.”