Mrs Midnight and Other Stories Read Free Page B

Devised a treatment known as zoophagy in which patients were treated by being fed organs from still living animals, by means of vivisection.” Bloody hell, that’s absolutely disgusting!’ Bill, the ripperologist, seemed genuinely shocked. ‘ “Wrote a book on the subject: A Treatise on Brain Food, Or the Benefits of Zoophagy Explained . . .” Etcetera, etcetera. “Struck off the register for misconduct towards a female patient. Thought to have been suffering from the early stages of tertiary syphilis . . .” Ah! Listen to this! “Became an entertainer known as ‘Mrs Midnight’ who performed with a troupe of trained animals. The times and locations of his appearance at various East London music halls were said to have coincided with some of the Ripper murders, but this has not been confirmed. It is believed that he died in 1889 or 1890 in an institution for the insane, having been injured by fire in an accident.” He gets two bleeding daggers out of five on the Suspect Rating. Wait a minute, there’s a book referred to here in the bibliography: Quacks and Charlatans, Alternative Medicine in late Nineteenth Century England by Harrison Bews. Might be worth a look.’
    He then asked me why I was so keen on the Old Essex project. I tried to sound genuinely enthusiastic, but I think he saw through it.
    After a pause he said: ‘The thing these restoration nuts don’t get is that some old things are best left buried and unrevived. Just because it’s old doesn’t mean it’s good; quite the opposite sometimes. I come from down that way myself, and my old Dad wouldn’t go near the Old Essex. He never really told me why, but he did say that just after the war they tried to turn it back into a theatre or something. I don’t know what happened exactly, but he said it was a disaster.’
    That afternoon I rang Jill and proposed that we should meet for dinner in the evening at my local gastro-pub, The Engineer in Primrose Hill. I thought dinner at my house might seem a bit forward for her. She accepted.
    Sometimes I’m a good judge, though that’s not what people say about me in I Can Make You a Star, but I thought Jill would like The Engineer and she did. The food’s well cooked and imaginative, all organic of course and that sort of rubbish; but it’s classy and modern without being pretentious and overpriced. She seemed in her element there.
    You know how when you meet someone and you go away and start fantasising about them; then when you meet them again it’s a terrible let down? With Jill, it was the opposite. She was even better. I don’t want to go on about it but everything about her was somehow clear: clear skin, clear eyes, clear laugh. She dressed nicely but obviously didn’t worry much about her appearance. Her hair was mousy coloured, not dyed.
    Immediately I wanted to start talking about her and me, but I knew this would be fatal, so I told her about my researches. She gave me her full attention and seemed thrilled by the information I gave.
    I said: ‘You don’t think it’s all a bit sordid and sinister?’
    ‘Good grief no! Fascinating stuff. It all helps to raise the profile. There’s no such thing as bad publicity. You of all people should know that.’
    I could tell she was teasing me, which I liked, but it was in the way you tease a favourite uncle, not a friend, or a lover. Still, I had done well, so I told her grandly that there were a couple of books I thought I would look out at the British Library which might help. She stretched out her hand and touched mine.
    ‘You know, when somebody suggested you to help raise money for the Old Essex, I didn’t like the idea. I thought you would be, well . . . I mean, your reputation, the kind of programmes you do . . .’
    ‘I know. A case of Pride and Prejudice on your part.’
    ‘Well, sort of. Not that I’d exactly describe you as Mr Darcy.’
    ‘You wound me, Jill.’
    We both laughed, but she had wounded without knowing. Then we