“Of course, my apologies.” He tips his head, so the brim of his hat casts hollow shadows over his eyes, and I shiver. I tell myself it’s just the air-conditioning. He leans closer and flashes a toothy smile. “A terrible state of affairs, isn’t it? You know...” He looks around and lowers his voice conspiratorially. “I heard it’s not the first attack this week either. Did you know a young woman died?”
My face must clearly say that, yes, I do know. I blink back tears as he looks at me blankly.
“Well.” He claps his hands together with forced cheeriness. “Let me call someone to man the desk and I’ll take you on the grand tour. Make yourself comfortable.”
“Thank you,” I murmur.
I wander to the brochure rack by the entrance and half-heartedly study the glossy leaflets, more to distract myself than anything. I pick up one for the museum itself. It’s featured on a local ghost tour, which Meghan would love, but the idea turns my stomach a little now.
The last thing I need to see is a ghost.
“Ready, Miss?” The man reappears, followed by a small, curly haired woman in a bonnet who replaces him behind the desk. “Sue, this is young Niamh, our new Jane!” She greets me curtly. Friendly soul.
“Ready?” the man says with a smile. “Let’s go.”
I follow my tour guide through the turnstile and into the museum. “I’m Geoffrey.” He smiles beneath his heavy white beard, extending a large, warm hand which swallows my hesitant one. “I’m the Performance Coordinator here at the museum. Any problems, please come to me. I’ll show you around and give you a bit of history before outlining your duties. How does that sound?”
“Great, thank you,” I reply. His demeanour has totally changed and I wonder if I imagined the sinister edge to him. I mean, he’s more Santa than Satan now. I follow him through a small gift shop (“The tours begin and end here, clever marketing, don’t you think?”) and down a short, dark corridor.
The scene at the other end of it takes my breath away.
Victorian shopfronts line a rocky, cobbled street and for a second, I think we’ve gone back outside. Bright sunlight streams in from behind old, lead-lined windows and I have to remind myself we are definitely below street level. A mixture of odours fill the air: hot cocoa, tobacco smoke and something farmyard-familiar and slightly unpleasant. It’s like stepping on to the set of a period drama.
“It’s quite something, isn’t it?” Geoffrey’s voice still manages to boom even though he’s barely speaking above a whisper. I nod, speechless. “This building was once a cotton mill. The upstairs section was converted into overpriced apartments long ago but when the contractors who bought it looked at the deeds, they realized this was all down here. That’s when it was decided to preserve it as a museum.”
“How did it all get here?”
“The great-grandson of the original mill owner was quite the wealthy eccentric. He was a doctor who enjoyed collecting bits and pieces of local history. He purchased shops and businesses that were about to be torn down back at the turn of the century. Then, he had them all reassembled here, beneath the old mill. A kind of large-scale cabinet of curiosities, I suppose.” I gaze around in awe, imagining all the work that must have gone into this place. “Of course,” Geoffrey lowers his rumbling voice, “there are accounts of the place being terribly haunted, but that’s a story for another time. Can’t say I’ve ever seen anything myself, mind. Ah.” He straightens up suddenly, making me jump as he taps his silver-tipped cane and points it towards a figure emerging from the gloom. “Tommy! Come over here and meet our latest victim – I mean recruit.” He laughs heartily, and I try to join in, but my mouth is full of sawdust. “Niamh, Tommy, Tommy, Niamh.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Miss.” He says jokingly and sweeps his flat cap off to doff it in my direction before I can get a good look at his face. Like Geoffrey, he’s dressed in period costume, but while my guide is obviously a higher-class sort, Tommy has something of the street urchin about him. I try to squint a good look at him as he replaces the hat and realize that the entire room has gone dark, bar the glow from a tall black streetlamp.
“You too,” I say, distracted. “Is there something wrong with the lights, Geoffrey?”
“Oh, no.” Tommy smiles. His teeth flash white in the dark and I spy the shadow of a dimple in his left cheek. I’m a sucker for dimples. “They’re on a timer. It’s rigged so it goes from sunrise to sunset every fifteen minutes. Listen.” Sure enough, I hear the faint hoot of an owl where I’m fairly certain there was birdsong not long ago. “It’s all to add to the atmosphere.” It gradually becomes a little lighter. The dark blonde strands of hair that peek from his cap gleam in the gathering light. He isgorgeous.
“Tommy here is a volunteer, too.” Geoffrey’s voice breaks the spell – I almost forgot he was here. “Feel free to ask him anything.”
Tommy beams at me and hooks his thumbs behind the braces holding up his loose cotton trousers. “Absolutely anything.” He grins. I’m grateful it’s not fully light. Oh, my.
“Come on, let me show you the staff area and find your costume, Niamh.” Tommy gives me a cheeky wave as I follow Geoffrey once more, desperately trying not to trip up over my own feet. My knees have turned to jelly, and my cheeks are flaming. I chance one more look behind me, but he’s already gone. My heart drops somewhere around my knees.
Oh, girl. You’re in trouble.
I twirl around in the small staff dressing room, admiring myself in the mirror. I thought I’d end up with some kind of tacky, Victorian maid’s outfit but instead I’m wearing one of the most beautiful dresses I’ve ever seen.
It turns out I’ll be playing the part of the wealthy mill owner’s daughter, loosely based on the family who once lived here. It’ll be my job to wander around the street with my little wicker basket, approaching groups who visit to tell them stories, all the while taking on the persona of an early nineteenth century lady. I have a bit of recommended reading to do from Geoffrey, to get myself caught up with the history of the area. I remember Ruth at the library and I’m pretty sure she’ll be able to help me out.
I dig my phone out of my newly allocated locker. Meghan definitely needs to see this dress; she’ll lose her mind over it. Luckily, as it’s only a costume, it doesn’t have the layers of corsetry and petticoats that Geoffrey assured me were the order of the day, but some clever dress making has created the illusion of both.
I snap a mirror selfie, poking my tongue out for my sister’s benefit, and study the picture before I send it. The fabric of the dress is a shiny, satiny silk, embroidered all over with tiny sprigs of pink blossom and delicate green leaves. It has a high, square neckline, overlaid with the most delicate lace. Wide sleeves puff out from my shoulders before tightly gathering back in at the elbow, where they enclose my arms all the way down to the wrist. Tiny buttons march down the front of the bodice to my waist, which is wrapped in a thick, black velvet ribbon. The skirt billows out in an explosion of fabric, skimming the floor and sweeping a large circle around my feet.
I feel like a princess.
I loosen my hair from its messy French braid and smile as the dark waves cascade down my back. Perfect. I send the first snap and take another, of the back this time. The ribbon around my waist is thicker at the rear and a large bow sits atop the small bustle, which I adore. I pout and add a little crown emoji to the photo and send that one too, before I realize there’s no signal on my phone, nothing at all. Great. Must be because we’re in the basement – I bet the walls are two feet thick in an old building like this.
I shove the mobile back in my locker and close the door. A few of them have already been claimed, some decorated with scraps of masking tape that have names scrawled across them and others, like Geoffrey’s, with more permanent, laminated signs. I don’t see Tommy’s name, though some of them have been left blank. I spot a roll of masking tape and a felt pen on the shelf below the mirror. Perfect. I peel off a piece, rip the end and stick it on my locker, printing my name with a flourish. There. I am officially a member of the performance team.
I can’t decide whether I’m more nervous or excited as I walk back to the museum floor and I marvel at where I am. Has it really only been two days? It feels like a lifetime ago since I waved my family off at the docks, but it was only Saturday night. Crazy.
