“Since I was a child, sir. My mother and grandmother had the gift. My grandmother was a gypsy. Same colour hair as you, miss.”
Nettie lays the cards out in a strange cross pattern with a few random ones dotted about. They are well worn, tattered but bright like butterflies. Rich jewel colours. I want to touch them and reach my finger out but Goliath pats my hand away.
Nettie examines the cards carefully, raises an eyebrow and looks directly at Goliath. “You are a very wealthy gentleman. You are as rich as a prince, but you have never lived the life of a prince. You are trying to help her; you are trying to find someone who can help her. I am not able to. You must keep her away from clocks and mirrors. She has power over them. But I do not know why. I keep hearing insects ticking around her, like tiny clocks.”
She stops. “I am sorry. I can’t seem to get much for you both. It’s the noise of the clocks. It’s muddling my thoughts.” She looks at the cards again. “You came over water on a little boat, a long journey from a beautiful place that you both miss. You will return there in the end. I can’t get anything else.”
“Thank you,” Goliath says gently. Nettie’s eyes glance at me.
“I can see the gift in others. Tea leaf readers, ghost talkers, dowsing with apple tree rods. I can see their light, it shines a little brighter than others. But I have no idea what you are little miss. You are something very different.”
“Tell me,” says Goliath, changing the subject. “Do you know of Mr Augustus Nightingale, the spiritualist?”
Nettie rolls her eyeballs and laughs, a deep warm chuckle. “I know cat turds with more psychic ability than that man. He’s a ham bone, born for the pantomime.”
“I am afraid we thought as much. We are seeing him tonight. Perhaps we shouldn’t go.”
Nettie smiled. “I used to know him when he worked in the pie shop. He was a creepy little fellow back then, but harmless enough.”
We leave the little shop holding hands and go back to our lodgings, where Goliath reads me the fairy tales from beginning to end.
When we arrive at the little spiritualist church, people are stuffing themselves in like sardines in a fishing net. A great poster of Mr Nightingale hangs over the door, posing theatrically, holding a transfixed white owl that looks stuffed to me. The writing above:
* * *
The Gateway to the Spirit World
can now be Open
Augustus Nightingale,
Master Spiritualist.
* * *
A small stage draped in black velvet, with a giant eye painted in silk, adorns the centre of the room. There must be about fifty people here; all begin to seat themselves. Goliath and I select the back row to get a good overall view of the spectacle. Goliath has brought a bag of vanilla bonbons and some aniseed bullseyes to suck during the performance. My hand rustles in the bag and I drop a bonbon into my mouth. The lights dim and the audience stops nattering and adjusts themselves and all eyes gaze upon the stage. The giant gold silk eye shimmers and out he steps delicately, tiptoeing with fairy steps and bows, a low deep ascent, his cloak sweeping like black waters around him.
“Welcome, all. Tonight, I, Augustus Nightingale will invite the spirit world to communicate with me and depart messages to those amongst us. I would ask you all to be quiet, to help me concentrate, for I am the channel to their world, and it requires a great deal of my energy to maintain the link.”
“And so we begin.” He steps light footed around the stage, whipping up air under his cloak and with one hand rested on his brow and another pointing to the ceiling he cries, “Come forth spirits this night. Use me as your conduit. Give these poor people some advice. Aid them during this dark age. Enlighten us with your wisdom.”
His eyeballs freeze into a trance-like state and he sighs a long, feminine sigh. He steps towards the front of the stage. “Ah yes, I can sense a man’s name: John. There is a message for John.” Three men stand up, presumably all named John. Nightingale points to the largest of the three. “You sir, within one full year you will be afflicted with the gout. Take measures to prevent this sir. No more puddings and pies. Listen to the spirit world. You may sit down.” And so he does.
Nightingale gives a little whimper while Goliath hands me another bonbon. Nightingale points at a very elderly lady in the front row. She has some troubled standing up but holds herself steady with the back of her chair. She must be nearly a hundred years old.
“Madam. I sense your mother is in the spirit world.” At this remark Goliath bursts into laughter and has to cover his mouth up with his hand. He swallows his bullseye in one mighty gulp. Nightingale thankfully ignores him and continues, “Madam, I have a message from your mother. She says get yourself a cat to keep yourself company. And she’ll see you soon.”