Free Pyg by Russell Potter Page B

sure, my Master—that the
woman was completely convinced of her spouse’s infidelity, and sought only to have her suspicions confirmed. Were we, then, to give a Positive answer, we would incur her wrath—she might
well claim that our Clairvoyant act was a sham—and if we answered in the Negative, we would instantly offend her Husband , who would be none too pleased, and likely to condemn our Act
even more vociferously. Mr Bisset glanced furtively among the Audience, but due to the subterranean nature of the dim-lit Hall, he could not quite make out whether there was any Husband in
attendance. At last, he could defer no longer and gave me the Signal to answer freely. I readily spelt out: ‘N-O.’
    The audience immediately roared their reaction, with the women, and the more sober of the men, exclaiming against the Impropriety of such a question, while those at the rear of the hall laughed
uproariously, cheered and whistled. For the Subject upon the Stage, at least, this Answer proved to be precisely the one she had hoped to hear: she tossed a small silk purse at me—which we
later found to contain five Guineas in gold—and strode off the stage with a look of fierce Determination. Her two Companions, their moment of public fame now spoilt by this unexpected Breach
of Protocol , loudly expressed their disapproval, and ran—or nearly ran—as fast as their crinolined figures could carry them, down the aisle and out of the door behind her. The
hoots, the catcalls and the shouts continued to mount, and soon made such a veritable Cacophony of Noise that the unfortunate manager, Mr Atkins, could hardly make himself heard over the Din. We
endeavoured mightily to continue our Act, but were met only with raucous jeers and cries of ‘How ’bout you read my wife’s mind?’, ‘Bloody knackers!’ and
‘Geroff!’, such that we were shortly obliged to quit the Stage, and make a hasty exit via the back stairs.
    Luckily—or so it then seemed—the alley in which we found ourselves was adjacent to the yard of the Inn at which we were lodged, such that Mr Bisset was able to return me to my
Paddock and slip into his own rooms without attracting any further attention from the boisterous crowd, who had since moved out of the ‘Vaults’ and were milling about on the street,
looking for any sort of Trouble they could find, or make. From where I was confined, I could see the light in my Master’s chamber, and heard him in a heated discussion with Mr Atkins, after
which he paced back and forth before the Window, muttering words I could not discern. As nearly as I could gather, the manager had declared that he had sustained great Damage to his furniture and
equipment on account of our Show, and insisted that the cost must be deducted from our Take—and no argument of Mr Bisset’s could persuade him to withdraw this Demand . Shortly
after Mr Atkins had quit the room, I could see that my Master had ordered up a flagon of ale—a very unusual thing for him—and appeared to be drinking it down with great gusto.

    Not long after this, I must have fallen asleep, for my next recollection was of being awakened by an enormous clatter, like the crashing of a table laden with dishes as it was
knocked to the floor. There then came shouts and Curses , ffollowed by a series of dull thwacks, such as a heavy stick might make were it struck against a sack of Grain. Then the Door that
communicated with the Inn’s back stairs was suddenly thrust Open, and I beheld the figure of Mr Bisset in his Dressing-gown, which I saw was darkly stained with Blood . Immediately
after him came a tall Figure , clad in a double-breasted uniform of blue serge, wielding a night-stick.
    ‘ Mountebank! God damn you to Hell! Your sort of Filth will not be tolerated in this City!’ shouted the figure.
    ‘Mercy! Mercy! I have a Licence from the Magistrate!’ replied my Master, raising his hands in an attempt to shield himself from further blows.