the first woman was planning to swim the English Channel. Mother was in the drawing room, reading. The fire had burned low and there were no fresh logs. No sign of any supper either. It madecomplete sense to me, then, to try lifting her spirits by telling her that I had declined Price’s job offer. I knew she would be relieved. Since Price had shocked her on the opening night of his Laboratory she hadn’t had a good thing to say about him, and of course the loss of her bracelet hardly helped matters. The only problem was, I didn’t feel able to tell her what I was thinking: had I made the wrong decision?
A sensation of guilt began taking me over, and that was silly. No one had high expectations of me, but perhaps that was the point. Perhaps I wanted them to believe that I could succeed. That I wasn’t content just to sew and stitch or be an object of admiration. My mind was alive with images of Price’s modern equipment – cameras and X-ray machines – which automatically made me think of other impressive new types of technology: television sets, radio and the hand-held hairdryer. The world was striding forwards in so many wonderful and interesting ways and yet I felt cut adrift.
It occurred to me then that if I let this opportunity pass I’d never know where it might have led, and I’d always look back and ask myself what I might have learned. The idea was somehow alarming.
And that was how it happened. That was how a young woman who didn’t believe in table-levitators, healers and prophets returned to a place nicknamed ‘the ghost factory’ and looked into the eyes of its owner.
Determined, this time, to say yes.
– 6 –
FIRST DAY AT THE GHOST FACTORY
‘What on earth—?’
A terrifying woman lunged at me as she stumbled out of the doorway of number 16 Queensberry Place. My goodness, what a sight she was! Short and stout, with hard features and limp brown hair hanging in curtains around her face, she was dressed in a flowing black gown.
Worst of all, a sticky white substance, which smelt revolting, was bubbling out of her mouth and dripping onto her chest.
She stared straight at me, her bloodshot eyes wide and ferocious. I felt helpless, wanting both to help her and to run away, but before I could do either an urgent voice from inside the hallway beyond called out, ‘Helen, come back here!’
Pushing me aside, she hurtled into the road, screaming, retching and spitting that disgusting substance from her mouth.
‘Come back, I say!’
Two men were emerging from the doorway, the first a stranger to me. This was the man who had shouted and he seemed so genuinely concerned for the woman that I assumed he was her husband. The other man I recognised instantly. It was Harry Price.
He saw me at once. ‘Ah, Miss Grey,’ he said, beaming. ‘We’ll deal with this!’ he added, ordering me to stay exactly where I was.
As he bolted into the road, his white lab coat flying out behind him, he looked very much as if he were enjoying himself, but it took both men to tackle the medium and drag her to safety, their feet sliding as she kicked wildly, punching and shrieking into the wind. Her cries echoed up the street: ‘Let me go, I say! Let me GO!’
‘Please, my dear, just allow Mr Price to X-ray you,’ her husband insisted as he struggled to contain her. ‘Then we can go!’
‘No!’ she bellowed, promptly dealing him an almighty blow to the side of his head.
I watched in shock as Price stood back and observed the couple’s squabble with a look of great consternation. When they had eventually calmed themselves, he said quietly, ‘I think we’re done here for today, Mrs Tyler. I was hoping to inspect the contents of your stomach via my equipment,’ he frowned, ‘but I see now that won’t be possible.’
To my disgust, the formidable woman drew her head back and spat on to Price’s black leather shoes, covering them with the disgusting white mess. The repellence in his face showed so
A sensation of guilt began taking me over, and that was silly. No one had high expectations of me, but perhaps that was the point. Perhaps I wanted them to believe that I could succeed. That I wasn’t content just to sew and stitch or be an object of admiration. My mind was alive with images of Price’s modern equipment – cameras and X-ray machines – which automatically made me think of other impressive new types of technology: television sets, radio and the hand-held hairdryer. The world was striding forwards in so many wonderful and interesting ways and yet I felt cut adrift.
It occurred to me then that if I let this opportunity pass I’d never know where it might have led, and I’d always look back and ask myself what I might have learned. The idea was somehow alarming.
And that was how it happened. That was how a young woman who didn’t believe in table-levitators, healers and prophets returned to a place nicknamed ‘the ghost factory’ and looked into the eyes of its owner.
Determined, this time, to say yes.
– 6 –
FIRST DAY AT THE GHOST FACTORY
‘What on earth—?’
A terrifying woman lunged at me as she stumbled out of the doorway of number 16 Queensberry Place. My goodness, what a sight she was! Short and stout, with hard features and limp brown hair hanging in curtains around her face, she was dressed in a flowing black gown.
Worst of all, a sticky white substance, which smelt revolting, was bubbling out of her mouth and dripping onto her chest.
She stared straight at me, her bloodshot eyes wide and ferocious. I felt helpless, wanting both to help her and to run away, but before I could do either an urgent voice from inside the hallway beyond called out, ‘Helen, come back here!’
Pushing me aside, she hurtled into the road, screaming, retching and spitting that disgusting substance from her mouth.
‘Come back, I say!’
Two men were emerging from the doorway, the first a stranger to me. This was the man who had shouted and he seemed so genuinely concerned for the woman that I assumed he was her husband. The other man I recognised instantly. It was Harry Price.
He saw me at once. ‘Ah, Miss Grey,’ he said, beaming. ‘We’ll deal with this!’ he added, ordering me to stay exactly where I was.
As he bolted into the road, his white lab coat flying out behind him, he looked very much as if he were enjoying himself, but it took both men to tackle the medium and drag her to safety, their feet sliding as she kicked wildly, punching and shrieking into the wind. Her cries echoed up the street: ‘Let me go, I say! Let me GO!’
‘Please, my dear, just allow Mr Price to X-ray you,’ her husband insisted as he struggled to contain her. ‘Then we can go!’
‘No!’ she bellowed, promptly dealing him an almighty blow to the side of his head.
I watched in shock as Price stood back and observed the couple’s squabble with a look of great consternation. When they had eventually calmed themselves, he said quietly, ‘I think we’re done here for today, Mrs Tyler. I was hoping to inspect the contents of your stomach via my equipment,’ he frowned, ‘but I see now that won’t be possible.’
To my disgust, the formidable woman drew her head back and spat on to Price’s black leather shoes, covering them with the disgusting white mess. The repellence in his face showed so