bullish nape.
‘Mr Walser,’ she went on earnestly, spinning on her stool towards him. ‘You must understand this: Nelson’s Academy accommodated those who were perturbed in their bodies and wished to verify that, however equivocal, however much they cost, the pleasures of the flesh were, at bottom, splendid. But, as for Madame Schreck, she catered for those who were troubled in their . . . souls.’
Darkly she turned her attention for a moment to her treacly tea.
‘It was a gloomy pile in Kensington, in a square with a melancholy garden in the middle full of worn grass and leafless trees. The façade of her house was blackened by the London soot as if the very stucco were in mourning. A louring portico over the front door, sir, and all the inner shutters tightly barred. And the door knocker most ominously bandaged up in crepe.
‘That self-same fellow with no mouth, poor thing, opens the door to me after a good deal of unbolting from the inside, and bids me come in with eloquent gestures of his hands. I never saw eyes so full of sorrow as his were, sorrow of exile and of abandonment; his eyes said, clear as his lips could have, “Oh, girl! go home! save yourself while there is yet time!” even while he takes away my hat and shawl, but I am the same poor creature of necessity as he, and, as he must stay, then so needs I.
‘Early as it was in the morning for a house of pleasure – it was not yet seven – Madame Schreck, it seems, was wide awake but still in bed, taking her chocolate. She had me sit meself down and have a cup with her, which I did willingly enough, in spite of my trepidation, for that long walk had worn me out and I was starving hungry. The shutters were up, the blinds down, her heavy curtains drawn across and the only light in her bedroom a little nightlight or corpse light on the mantel so I was hard put to it to see what witches’ broth there is in my cup and she’s laid out in an old four-poster with the embroidered hangings pulled almost together so I can’t make out the face or shape of her, and all cold as hell.
‘“I’m glad to see you , Fevvers,” she says, and her voice was like wind in graveyards. “Toussaint will show you to your quarters, presently, and you can take a rest until dinner-time, after which we shall measure you for your costume.” From the way she said it, you’d think that costume was to be a winding sheet.
‘As my eyes grew used to the penumbra, I saw the only furniture in the room, besides her bed and my chair, was a safe the size of a wardrobe with the biggest brass combination lock on it that I ever did see, and a desk with a roll-top all locked up.
‘That was all she spoke to me. I made haste to finish my chocolate, I can tell you. Then the manservant, Toussaint, with the tenderest gesture, covers my eyes up with his hand, and, when he uncovers, Madame Schreck is up and dressed and stood there before me in her black dress and a thick veil such as a Spanish widow wears that comes down to her knees, and her mittens on, all complete.
‘Now, Mr Walser, do not think I am a faint-hearted woman but although I knew very well it was all so much show, the black carriage, the mute, the prison chill, all the same she had some quality of the uncanny about her, over and above the illusion, so you did think that under those lugubrious garments of hers you might find nothing but some kind of wicked puppet that pulled its own strings.
‘“Be off with you!” she says. But I thought of my little nephews and nieces who, that very minute, would be plaguing Lizzie for a bite of breakfast when we’d shared the last crust in the house at last night’s supper, and I sang out: “How about a bit on account, Madame Schreck? Or else I fly straight up the chimney, you won’t see me again.” And I swept over to the fireplace, that ain’t never seen a burned stock in its life, shoved aside the firescreen, ready to make good my promise.
‘“Toussaint!” she says.
‘Mr Walser,’ she went on earnestly, spinning on her stool towards him. ‘You must understand this: Nelson’s Academy accommodated those who were perturbed in their bodies and wished to verify that, however equivocal, however much they cost, the pleasures of the flesh were, at bottom, splendid. But, as for Madame Schreck, she catered for those who were troubled in their . . . souls.’
Darkly she turned her attention for a moment to her treacly tea.
‘It was a gloomy pile in Kensington, in a square with a melancholy garden in the middle full of worn grass and leafless trees. The façade of her house was blackened by the London soot as if the very stucco were in mourning. A louring portico over the front door, sir, and all the inner shutters tightly barred. And the door knocker most ominously bandaged up in crepe.
‘That self-same fellow with no mouth, poor thing, opens the door to me after a good deal of unbolting from the inside, and bids me come in with eloquent gestures of his hands. I never saw eyes so full of sorrow as his were, sorrow of exile and of abandonment; his eyes said, clear as his lips could have, “Oh, girl! go home! save yourself while there is yet time!” even while he takes away my hat and shawl, but I am the same poor creature of necessity as he, and, as he must stay, then so needs I.
‘Early as it was in the morning for a house of pleasure – it was not yet seven – Madame Schreck, it seems, was wide awake but still in bed, taking her chocolate. She had me sit meself down and have a cup with her, which I did willingly enough, in spite of my trepidation, for that long walk had worn me out and I was starving hungry. The shutters were up, the blinds down, her heavy curtains drawn across and the only light in her bedroom a little nightlight or corpse light on the mantel so I was hard put to it to see what witches’ broth there is in my cup and she’s laid out in an old four-poster with the embroidered hangings pulled almost together so I can’t make out the face or shape of her, and all cold as hell.
‘“I’m glad to see you , Fevvers,” she says, and her voice was like wind in graveyards. “Toussaint will show you to your quarters, presently, and you can take a rest until dinner-time, after which we shall measure you for your costume.” From the way she said it, you’d think that costume was to be a winding sheet.
‘As my eyes grew used to the penumbra, I saw the only furniture in the room, besides her bed and my chair, was a safe the size of a wardrobe with the biggest brass combination lock on it that I ever did see, and a desk with a roll-top all locked up.
‘That was all she spoke to me. I made haste to finish my chocolate, I can tell you. Then the manservant, Toussaint, with the tenderest gesture, covers my eyes up with his hand, and, when he uncovers, Madame Schreck is up and dressed and stood there before me in her black dress and a thick veil such as a Spanish widow wears that comes down to her knees, and her mittens on, all complete.
‘Now, Mr Walser, do not think I am a faint-hearted woman but although I knew very well it was all so much show, the black carriage, the mute, the prison chill, all the same she had some quality of the uncanny about her, over and above the illusion, so you did think that under those lugubrious garments of hers you might find nothing but some kind of wicked puppet that pulled its own strings.
‘“Be off with you!” she says. But I thought of my little nephews and nieces who, that very minute, would be plaguing Lizzie for a bite of breakfast when we’d shared the last crust in the house at last night’s supper, and I sang out: “How about a bit on account, Madame Schreck? Or else I fly straight up the chimney, you won’t see me again.” And I swept over to the fireplace, that ain’t never seen a burned stock in its life, shoved aside the firescreen, ready to make good my promise.
‘“Toussaint!” she says.
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