the man now, he would not give up. She imagined him lying in wait for Nancy, watching her movements from a niche across the canal and springing out to seize her by the arm in some deserted street. In her own youth she had suffered a similar attack and the memory of it would never leave her.
It would be better to confront this business. She wished Devil were here, but then Devil’s response would certainly be aggressive and Lawrence Feather might be better handled with greater cunning. Eliza took her seat again. She seemed to consider and then reach a decision.
‘Please join us, Nancy. Mr Feather and I were talking about his sad loss and then a little about his psychic theories.’
She spoke neutrally, as if the theories related to nothing more controversial than gardening or dog breeding.
Nancy obediently sat behind the shelter of the tea table. She glanced from her mother to the visitor.
Feather didn’t hesitate.
‘You will recall what happened on that terrible morning, Nancy, when I found you on the beach?’
Nancy pressed her lips between her teeth. ‘Yes.’
‘I was explaining to your mother that I had already recognised you as one of our number. It is one of my best-developed skills, and a source of particular satisfaction to me, to adopt and encourage new practitioners in the psychic arts.’
Eliza almost smiled. The man was preeningly vain, and his absurdity immediately made him seem less alarming. Nancy was young, but she would surely see that he was ridiculous.
‘That morning we shared a psychic experience, did we not? I told you that you are a seer, and you should not be afraid of your gift.’
‘Is this what happened, Nancy?’
Nancy gave the smallest possible nod. She felt as if she were being goaded into an awkward place between the rock of her mother’s hostility and the chasm of Mr Feather’s horrible powers. Then it came to her, with a surge of rebellion, that neither of them could really know about the Uncanny. Mr Feather might have tipped her deeper into it, with his heavy hand on her head, but he didn’t see inside her. He hadn’t glimpsed the mud and the trees and the shattered men, nor had her mother.
The Uncanny was hers alone. The privacy of it seemed suddenly to be her strength as much as a weakness. At the Lord’s match, she had even established some control over it. She didn’t know what the gift really was or why it had been granted to her, but maybe the man was right. There would be a use for it.
‘What else?’ Eliza asked.
Nancy slowly shook her head.
‘Nothing.’
‘I know you will tell me the truth, Nancy.’
Eliza expected nothing less than absolute candour.
‘There is nothing, Mama.’
Feather put in, ‘Mrs Wix, this is not the place to discuss such matters but I assure you …’
Eliza held up her hand.
‘The psychic arts.’ Her tone was wintry, with mockery in it keen as a blade. ‘Mr Feather has a theory, Nancy. He believes that there are voices from beyond the grave, and it is his work, or profession – he tells me that he is a professional medium – to channel them, as he calls it. It’s in relation to this work that Mr Feather has called today to ask a favour of you.’
‘Of me?’
Eliza was confident now. She had all the ammunition she needed.
‘He believes that you can help him to speak to Mrs Clare.’
Nancy’s dry lips cracked and made her wince. ‘But Mrs Clare is dead. And Phyllis and Mr Clare and the little girl.’
‘Yes, very sadly that is true. Unfortunately, Mr Feather can’t reach his late sister on the other side or hear her messages himself, despite his skills. He believes that you will be able to do this for him. Under his control, that is.’
There was a silence. Lawrence Feather’s eyes implored Nancy. She sank lower in her chair.
Eliza asked, ‘Do you think you can do this, Nancy?’
‘No.’
The monosyllable dropped into stillness. With a stage artist’s timing Eliza let the silence gather and deepen. At last she said, ‘There you are. You asked to be allowed to consult my daughter, and against my preference you have been able to do so. You have your answer, Mr Feather.’
He started forwards in his chair. ‘Nancy, please listen to me. You and I both know …’
Eliza cut him short. She stood again, ignoring the pains in her back. Her demeanour was so forbidding that the medium fell silent.
‘There’s nothing more to be discussed.’
She crossed to the door and held it open.
Only when she had seen him out of the house and watched him walking to the tram stop did she return to Nancy. The girl was hunched in her chair, her arms wrapped around herself. Eliza believed the child was telling the truth – she was too obedient to do otherwise – but the afternoon’s events were still troubling.
‘What nonsense. The poor man must be unbalanced by grief.’
Nancy raised her head. ‘Perhaps,’ she said.
Her gaze seemed clouded, no longer quite that of an innocent child.
‘I ask you one more time, Nancy. Are you quite sure that nothing untoward happened with that man? Did he touch or even speak to you in any way that was improper?’
Nancy’s face flooded with colour.
‘No, not at all.’
‘Then why does his presence trouble you? It’s obvious that it does.’
‘I’m not denying it, Mama. He is strange, and to see him makes me think of the steamer and Phyllis.’
It was an oblique version of the truth and Nancy reddened at even slightly misrepresenting herself to her mother.
Eliza considered. Nancy wasn’t an actress, she couldn’t feign distress so convincingly. The Queen Mab had been a shocking experience for all three children, and it was natural for Nancy to be upset by the reminder. She put her arm around her daughter’s shoulders.
‘I understand.’
Eliza and Devil had decided that they should not dwell on the circumstances of the tragedy. In their own experience the best way to deal with shocking events was to leave them in the past. She hugged Nancy briefly and then released her.
‘You will not have to meet that man again.’
‘Mama?’
‘What is it?’
‘Is there such
