Florence And The Spirits: Chapter One

Florence stood by the window, looking out onto the busy street below. Hansom cabs hurried by, conveying finely dressed gentlemen to their business meeting in the city, other gentle strolled by, accompanied by ladies in long ankle-length skirts, their heads adorned with hats of all descriptions. Some we’re small and pinned, precariously on top of meticulously tended hair styles, many were decorated with fine lace that draped over their faces, leaving on-lookers with only their imagination to determine the identity of the features hidden beneath. On the opposite side of the road, a small crowd of people gathered by the park gates, where street sellers peddled their ware to anyone willing to pause on their hurried journeys long enough to make a reluctant purchase.

Every morning since her prolonged illness began; Florence had stationed herself by the window and watched the world pass by through envious eyes. She longed to taste the roast chest nuts the street seller sold from his traditional spot outside the gate of her parents’ house. She longed even more to feel the sun and gentle breeze against her pale face, but her cursed illness had cruelly robbed her of these experiences, when it ravaged her young body and imprisoned her in her room some four long weeks previously.

An hour passed and still there was no sign of Mary, the only friend who remained loyal enough to make daily visits to check on Florence’s slow progression towards recovery. The only one who accepted Florence’s ability to hear the voices that visited the young girl’s dreams every night, and communicated messages that only she could hear. Voices from unseen entities that promised they would emerge from the darkness of her dreams and bring with them many wonders as yet not imaginable in the waking world. They vowed to end her cruel torment of constant illness. She had been chosen to receive the privileged gift of exclusive communication with their world, and the ability to share the wisdom of their spiritual world. Her task would be to convince the world that another life existed long after the physical world dispensed their mortal shells to the ground.

The time of these great revelations was close and she was eager to share the news with Mary, her trusted friend and confederate in whatever mysteries lay ahead.

Florence’s face creased into a broad smile when she saw Mary, almost skipping her way down the street. She stood out from those around her who seemed to move with slow grudging steps, following the same route they had the day before, and every day before that, compelled to act out their mundane, daily existence. Mary relished the thought of arriving at her destination and sharing the news Florence imparted with such joyous enthusiasm.

"Mary! Mary! Hurry!" Florence called, pulling the fine lace curtain aside, affording her a clearer view of the gateway outside.

Instinctively Mary stopped and waved excitedly in reply.

Florence turned and rushed to the mirror, she had to look her best when Mary arrived. Quickly grabbing the hair brush from amidst the clutter on her dressing table, she starred at the image before her in disbelief. It was not the tangled state of her long dark locks that disturbed her, nor the pale, ashen reflection of her features starring back from the glass. Her unblinking stare was captivated by the two strange words, written faintly in large, red letters.

She studied them intently. Not in the least shocked by their sudden appearance, but her frustration at not being able to decipher their meaning.

Realising that they were fading she reached for the pencil and sheet of paper, left there from the previous night, when she had occupied herself with school work. Hurriedly, she copied down the remaining letters, still unable to understand their meaning.

Her frustration quickly evaporated when the door opened and Florence’s mother entered the room, accompanied by Mary.

"Look who’s come to see you, dear," Mother announced, cheerfully. "Now don’t you tire yourself out with your silly games,"

"Oh, Mary, it’s so good to see you," Florence greeted, "Do come in. I have so much to tell you."

"You two girls remember what I said. Remember you’re still very weak and need to rest," Mother said, as she retreated to the corridor outside, closing the door behind her as she left.

"Florence, you look so much better."

"Yes, I feel it. Now come and sit, see what I have found." Florence edged aside on her stool, availing enough space for her friend to sit beside her. "Look!" she said, excitedly pointing at the mirror.

Mary sat and stared at the glass. Instantly she appeared bewildered. "What am I looking for Florence? I don’t see anything."

"There! Can’t you see it? The letters!"

"What letters? I don’t see anything,"

Florence starred up at the mirror, at first overwhelmed with a great sadness as she realised the strange letters had completely vanished. Only the two young girls astonished reflections adorned the glass. "But they were there only a minute ago. Look I jotted them down."

Florence picked up the sheet of paper and held it for Mary to inspect.

"But it doesn’t say anything, Florence, it makes no sense."

Realising she had little option but to agree with her friend, Florence discarded it with some disappointment back on the dressing table.

Seeing the disappointment her friend had become besieged by, Mary reached out and rested her had reassuringly on Florence’s. "Please don’t upset yourself. I’m sure whatever you saw will present itself to you again."

Mary looked straight ahead into the mirror not wishing to gaze directly into the tearful eyes of her friend. She had witnessed so much of the torment Florence had endured over the previous weeks, and felt the fullest degree of sympathy for her seemingly endless ordeal.

However, Mary’s spirits were lifted when she caught sight of the reflection of the note in the lower corner of the glass and the words on it clearly legible.

"Florence, look!" she gasped, excitedly.

Florence followed her friends gaze towards the mirror. In her haste to through down the note on the dressing table she had inadvertently deposited among the clutter in a completely different orientation and the words upon were, as a result, perfectly readable in the mirror.

"Dalston Society?" Florence read aloud.

"What does it mean?"

"I have no idea," Florence replied, stating that maybe Mother might know and she would ask her when they went down for their traditional tea and cake later in the morning.

She had heard her Mother and Father talking of various societies and associations that had formed in the area, and assumed that the strange message could somehow pertain to one such organisation.

Some time later when the two girls retired to the parlour for their customary mid-morning treats, Mary eagerly reminded Florence of her earlier plan to ask Mother about the content of the message. Whereby Florence quickly obliged and began explaining how she had discovered the strange writing on the mirror.

To both the girls amazement Mother showed no initial signs of shock or surprise. For a moment Mother sat silently, gazing into her half empty tea cup. Slowly she reached forward and took her daughter’s hand, gently wrapping her fingers around it in an affectionate grasp.

"I felt sure that this day would come," she began, smiling at Florence and tightening her grip in a reassuring gesture.

"What does it mean, Mother?"

"It means that you have been chosen, my dear."

"Chosen for what?"

"Chosen to spread the word of Spiritualism. Just as I was, and my mother before me."

"But what is this Dunstan Society?"

"It is a local group of Spiritualists, and the spirits in their wisdom are directing you to them, they will help you learn many lessons my dear."

Florence had heard the voices in her sleep many times, and shown no concern believing them to be a product of her dreams. Now, however, hearing her Mother calmly informing her of the wondrous events that lay ahead unsettled her. Suddenly the gravity and realism of her unique situation was dawning on her.

"But mother, I am not ready for such responsibilities. I know nothing of Spiritualism, how can I convince others of its existence?" Florence’s voice gradually became nervous and shaky.

"Don’t worry my dear, there are many who will guide you and give you wise wisdom of how best to employ your gift."

"But Mother, I’m not sure I want to. I’m not even sure I can."

"I understand you must nervous. It’s a lot for a young girl to take in. But, I assure you the more you learn the more you will warm to the idea."

"I don’t know Mother, I really don’t."

"I will call on the Dalston Society and arrange for one of the Spiritualists to call on you and explain what a great privilege has been bestowed upon you."

Mary, who had until now sat mouth agape in amazement placed her cup of untouched tea on the table and stood, making her excuses to leave, sensing Florence’s understandable need to be alone and take in gravity of the news she had learned.

"I wish it had been I who had been chosen, Florence. You must be so excited, I know I would be."

"I’m sure you will play a big part in the events that are to come, Mary," Mother assured, "However, for now, we must allow Florence to rest and recuperate from the shock. "I’m sure Florence would like you to come back again tomorrow, when she feels a little stronger."

"Oh, yes, Mary. Please do come back tomorrow. I can’t go through this without you. Please promise you’ll come back."

"I promise," Mary said eagerly. "Thank you for the tea and cake, Mrs Cook. I’ll make my own way out."

When Mary had reached the parlour door, Mrs Cook followed her to the outer door. "Mary!" she called. "I know all this is very exciting, but for now it must remain a secret between the three of us, until we learn what our task is to be."

"Of course, Mrs Cook. I understand. I won’t say a word to anyone. It shall remain our secret."