I give him a big cuddle. “You are the bravest man in the world, Mr Goliath Honey-Flower and I love you.” And his smile is enormous.
We head through the streets of Whitby, passing the smoked kipper shop whose occupants hang upside down, dead eyes following us. The fish remind me of Captain Mackerel and his cat and I imagine them in their little boat exploring the oceans of the world, searching for mermaids. We wander past a cake shop with gypsy tarts and sticky buns. Goliath’s dark skin and huge size attracts some attention from the locals, and an old woman mistakes Goliath’s silver cane for a trident and declares him the God Neptune come from the sea. When we get to the beach, we sit on a large rock and feed the seagulls with pieces of cake from Goliath’s pockets.
The sun lowers itself, and we sink into starlight on the mile walk to the Pigwittle Estate. I hold Goliath’s big hand. When he was in Scotland Yard he won many medals for bravery. He saved a little boy from a fire and tore down a door and part of a wall to reach him. When he carried him out his beard was singed black and his hands burnt. His hands still have those marks from the fire lines etched into him like an artist’s drawing, and I love those lines.
It was he who found my sisters dead under the bed and he said it had broken his heart. I imagine him carrying them in his arms, like Egyptian princesses, and covering them in moon flowers and daisies. Safe in his arms. When he arrested my grandfather he told me that he had nearly broken his neck with his giant hands he was so full of rage and sorrow; other police officers had to pull him off.
I wish he had done it. I wish he had done it.
The path to the Pigwittle estate is lined with small yellow flowers and strange weed grasses that shift in the wind like strands of hair. We see two carriages move past us through the gates, carrying guests for the dinner and séance. The first carriage is pulled by two great big brown horses and carries a handful of guests, laughing and chatting colourfully. The second carriage that follows is smaller , pulled by two beautiful black horses whose manes and tails are decorated with purple feathers. Goliath watches carefully as it passes. We both sense something strange about the occupant of that carriage. A white-gloved hand rests on the window ledge.
We wander down the path. The house is impressive, with many red lanterns hanging outside, containing little flames dancing like tiny devils. Goliath knocks on the front door, and an elderly butler opens it and examines us with interest.
“Goliath Honey-Flower and Miss Mirror.”
The house is full of the exotic and strange: Persian carpets, dark eerie paintings of weird and wonderful ancestors, a great stone Indian elephant, a hand of Fatima encrusted in gold and hanging on the wall, a wooden shaman mask with white painted teeth and red lips and black snake hair. Wonderful, curious things.
We follow the butler into the dining room, where a fireplace roars and the guests are already seated, engaged in conversation. At the head of the table sits Mrs Pigwittle, the famous Spiritualist Medium. She reminds me of the tubby children in fairy tales who get fed sweets by the witch and then put in the oven. Rising from her chair, she approaches us; I notice her feet are slippered, with a pearl dangling off each silk-shod toe.
“Welcome Mr Honey-Flower and Miss Mirror.” Her eyes ghost blue, her little plump hands shake mine. “Lovely to meet you. Do make yourselves acquainted with the other guests. The séance will begin after dinner.”
There are two empty seats. We sit down to complete the party. Four other guests are seated round the dining room table, whom we are introduced to. First, a bushy red haired gentleman and explorer who has recently returned from South America is seated next to Mrs Pigwittle. His name is Rufus Hazard. He has a medical background and a fascination for unusual botanical specimens and their uses in poisons and remedies. He reveals his yellowish teeth through a fuzz of red moustache.
“Same colour hair as me,” he says to me. “In Peru they kept touching my hair. Thought I was a devil, I’m sure they would have kept you as some sort of pet.”
Sat alongside Mr Hazard are Sophia and Clarissa, who are identical twins. Bird-like faces with pale coloured hair. Mrs Pigwittle explains that they are able to read each other’s minds and read the thoughts of others.
And finally, a curious looking gentleman with bright lemon coloured hair, which is sticking up on end as though as he has been electrocuted. And he’s wearing a white waistcoat embroidered in red hearts.
“Do you believe in the afterlife, Mr Hazard?” asks Goliath.
Mr Hazard responds nervously. “Well, it’s a bit of fun, isn’t it? A lot of nonsense, really. Quite frankly when I’m dead I hope that’s the end of it. I really don’t want to be loitering about haunting someone, banging on doors and making daft noises in the night, playing silly beggars!”