The Other Side of Mrs Wood

Copyright4th Estate An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.4thEstate.co.uk HarperCollinsPublishers Macken House 39/40 Mayor Street Upper Dublin 1 D01 C9W8 Ireland This eBook first published in Great Britain by 4th Estate in 2023Copyright © Lucy Barker 2023Cover design and illustration by Emma PidsleyLucy Barker asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this workA catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollinsSource ISBN: 9780008597207Ebook Edition © June 2023 ISBN: 9780008597221Version: 2023-05-02 DedicationFor my dad EpigraphNothing is so firmly believed as what is least known.Michel Eyquem de MontaigneWhile inspired by a true story, most of what follows is imagined – although exactly how much, who can tell. ContentsCoverTitle PageCopyrightDedicationEpigraphChapter 1Chapter 2Chapter 3Chapter 4Chapter 5Chapter 6Chapter 7Chapter 8Chapter 9Chapter 10Chapter 11Chapter 12Chapter 13Chapter 14Chapter 15Chapter 16Chapter 17Chapter 18Chapter 19Chapter 20Chapter 21Chapter 22Chapter 23Chapter 24Chapter 25Chapter 26Chapter 27Chapter 28Chapter 29Chapter 30Chapter 31Chapter 32Chapter 33Chapter 34Chapter 35Chapter 36Chapter 37Chapter 38Chapter 39Chapter 40Chapter 41Chapter 42AcknowledgmentsAuthor’s NoteAbout the AuthorAbout the Publisher Excerpt from the Editor’s Column Magnus CloreSpiritual Times, 30th January 1873Let us begin by addressing society’s recent affliction: the disgrace of Mrs Trimble.Of all those Mediums who have been exposed as charlatans, this has been, for those who knew and loved her, perhaps the most painful to reconcile: we have believed in the power and abilities of Mrs Trimble for many, many years; we have been enchanted at her table and succoured by her readings. To determine that this woman we perceived to be wholly of truth and honesty has been hoodwinking us all the time is almost unbearable. Her ruin is one I certainly never anticipated but fully support after such disgusting revelations.I can only hope that Mrs Trimble is the last cherished Medium proven to be false, although I fear that this shall not be the case.Thank goodness for those Mediums who continue to evidence their gift for the greater good, the unblemished Mrs Wood remaining their standard bearer for excellence, integrity, and truth in her unparalleled work with the spirits. How fortunate we are to enjoy her glorious gift each month at her Grand Séances – those of us who are lucky enough to be offered a seat, that is!Long may you reign, dear lady. CHAPTER 1FEBRUARY 187327 CHEPSTOW VILLAS, NOTTING HILL Mrs Wood’s séances took place in the dark, just as all interesting things should.That evening, as the last candle wavered on the sideboard in the smart Notting Hill villa, London’s most influential and affluent believers held their breath. In a few moments, the corridor to the Other Side would open and any one of their desperately missed beloveds might make their way through.Taffeta shifted and bracelets shivered amidst a flurry of cleared throats but the Great Medium Mrs Wood was in no hurry. She sat calmly in her ornate chair before them all, her flickering shadow cast long against the closed shutters of the bay window behind. She drew in a long, slow breath, her eyes moving easily over the faces turned expectantly back. She was their sun, and they were her blooms.There were, as usual, twenty-four guests, poised for an evening of spirit and spectacle. Most were patrons, their gems signalling to her in the gloom, but here and there were the unfamiliar faces of those grieving souls who had applied to enter the monthly ballot for one of only eight seats available to the masses at each of her monthly Grand Séances.Tonight, Mrs Wood looked for those carefully selected eight for whom she had tailored the evening. In the front row, she noted a pocket-eyed woman clutching a carte de visite. Beside her sat a man of clearly moderate means, a careless nature betrayed by his unappealingly splayed knees. Behind them she took in the mother and daughter in twee matching dresses, and another man a little further along the row whose jacket was coming unstitched along the left lapel. A well-padded woman sat in the back row, fanning herself with a ringless left hand. And there, in the far corner, a young couple.Ah.There they were.So easy to spot in the end: the only two people in the entire room not staring back at her. Instead, they sat pressed together staring silently into their laps, their sadness so captivating that for a moment she was snared, unable to look away. But then the faintest of coughs by her ear returned her to the room and, drawing in a long breath, she released one last enigmatic smile.‘The candle, Mr Larson,’ she said, and her candle-snuffer extraordinaire leapt from his seat at the end of the front row, docking the final flame and plunging the room into a darkness as absolute as death.Mrs Wood inhaled the collective frisson before exhaling loudly and pronouncing: ‘We begin, as always, with the Lord’s Prayer. Our Father …’It took only a few moments from the end of the prayer for Mrs Wood to descend into the trance that would link her to the Other Side. After a little humming and a discreet moan, she was ready, opening the door to the first of an entertaining cortège of the dead through her lively spirit guide: the reformed – but still occasionally salty – pirate of the high seas, Jack Starr.She had learned over the years to pay attention to a séance’s emotional journey: too much frivolity and you became a sideshow, but wallow in too much melancholy, and you created a wake. She therefore limited herself to one tragic death per half, keeping