The Oxford Set
Children’s book illustrator Evelyn Ashbrook’s agent lived in a tall, brown-bricked, Georgian townhouse in the Londinium Borough of Crampdown.
She was here to discover the fate of the book Nudge had commissioned her to illustrate, Little Grace and the Nasty Virus, and to hopefully finally meet the book’s illusive author, Nell Heep.
Occasionally, he would arrive at her house in Splitafields in his old-fashioned horse-drawn wagon and personally escort her to his house, but for her meeting today, she decided to take the Tube.
It was not that she didn’t like being stuck in standstill traffic between shiny Ferraris and Lamborghinis while passers-by stared at her and her agent like they were a pair of oddballs. Indeed, she very much enjoyed having the time to get out her sketchbook and draw the landmarks around her. It was just that today, she wanted a quicker journey.
Within a few seconds of Evelyn knocking on her agent’s aqua blue door, a rather plump, one-legged man bearing a resemblance to a Hobbit and dressed like a Dickensian character appeared to welcome her inside.
He wasn’t a ghost but Nudge Beggcock, Evelyn’s courteous agent, himself.
Despite living in the 21st century, he preferred to live as though he was born two hundred years earlier, believing he was indeed born in the wrong generation.
His office was homely, made entirely of wood panelling and filled with original Chippendale mahogany furniture. In the corner was an old globe.
Not that any of it was visible underneath the sheets of loose paper scattered about the place, but the thought of it was excellent all the same.
“I’ve been meaning to tidy the place up for quite some time,” Nudge said as he hopped behind his desk and sat down. “But I haven’t the time, unfortunately.”
”It’s OK,” Evelyn said, easing herself into a chair adjacent to Nudge, “I can manage.”
Nudge pulled himself closer to his desk and shuffled the papers before him.
”Now then, I’d like to get straight to it, if you don’t mind,” Nudge said. “I’ve taken the book to ScribbleWing, and they love it.”
A huge smile spread across Evelyn’s face. “That’s great.”
”Isn’t it just,” Nudge said. “They noticed a significant gap in the market for books explaining the sheer brutality of poverty in 19th Century Britannia to children, without being too traumatising.”
”It is pretty niche, isn’t it?” Evelyn said.
”Yes,” Nudge said, “but ScribbleWing are certain that Little Grace and the Nasty Virus will fit the bill.”
”I’m glad,” Evelyn said. “I was worried that my drawings would be a little dark.”
Nudge chuckled. “On the contrary, ScribbleWing thought your charcoal drawings harmonised beautifully with Nell’s haunting writing.”
Evelyn looked around the room that only Nudge and herself occupied. “Where is Nell, anyway.”
Nudge’s face fell. “That’s the main reason for bringing you here. You see, I have not been entirely truthful.”
Evelyn lowered her head, pressing her lips tightly into a grimace.
”I’m afraid a ghostwriter wrote the book,” Nudge said.
“Ah,” Evelyn said. “So, who wrote the book, then?”
“Oh, Nell Heep wrote it,” Nudge said, pressing a small button next to him, “but she is not, how I should put it, of the living, shall we say?”
Evelyn’s eyes bulged, and her face became pale.
”But that’s impossible,” Evelyn said. “Ghosts don’t exist.”
”That’s what most people incorrectly assume,” Nudge said. “But they are very much real if you look hard enough.”
He slowly turned towards the wall and examined it intently. “See for yourself.”
Evelyn faced the wall herself, trying to conceal her trembling body.
A small girl no older than eight, with unwashed mousy hair and a dirtied blue nineteenth-century dress, walked through the wall into the room. Her skin was deathly white.
”Evelyn, I’d like you to meet Nell Heep,” Nudge said. “She died of consumption in 1841 when she was eight, the poor thing.”
“Hello, Nell,” Evelyn said, raising a slightly trembling hand.
”Nell, this is Evelyn, the woman who has brought your stories to life,” Nudge said.
“Don’t be scared, miss,” Nell said, finally accepting and shaking Evelyn’s hand, “I’m alright.”
Nell’s hand was ice cold. Evelyn shot her hand away.
”How is that possible?” Evelyn said. “Ghosts aren’t solid, are they?”
”Not everything you know about ghosts is true, miss,” Nell said.
Evelyn relaxed slightly in her chair.
“No,” she said. “I suppose not.”
Nudge sat in his seat and ordered some paper before him.
”Now that we’ve got that out of the way, we need to get into the meat of the meeting,” Nudge said.
”Very well,” Evelyn said.
”ScribbleWing wants to meet both you and Nell next week before they publish the book,” Nudge said. “The only problem is, due to Nell’s unfortunate predicament, she’s unable to leave my house.”
“Is that because she’ll scare the publishers?” Evelyn said before turning to Nell and saying “no offence” as an aside.
”I psychically can’t leave the place of my death, miss,” Nell said. “If I try, I’ll just end up upstairs again.”
“Are we doing the meeting via Zoom, then?” Evelyn said.
”No, although that is rather ingenious,” Nudge said. “No, I was thinking you go to the meeting alone and pretend that Nell Heep is your pseudonym.”
Evelyn pondered the preposition for a moment.
”I can’t,” Evelyn said. “Nell deserves to be acknowledged for her work on the book.”
”I like the plan, miss,” Nell said. “I don’t need the credit. I’m dead, after all.”
“Exactly,” Nudge said. “And whilst you’re at the meeting, I’ve booked Nell onto a webinar on how to write happy stories as she sorely needs help in that department.”
Evelyn observed Nell for a moment, who smiled at her.
”Well, if Nell’s happy, then I’m delighted, Evelyn said. “But won’t the publishers wonder why I’ve been credited twice, under both my name and a pseudonym?”
“You could tell them that you don’t want people to know that you write, miss,” Nell said.
”I suppose it could be worth a try,” Evelyn said, sitting back in her chair.
“Excellent,” Nudge said. “Right, meeting over. You can return to your room, Nell, and write the next book in the series.”
“As you wish, sir,” Nell said. “Nice meeting you, miss.”
”And you,” Evelyn said.
Evelyn and Nudge watched as Nell melted once again through the wall.
”I pity her, really,” Nudge said. “Sometimes, I fear I’ll die of consumption when I eat a particularly hearty meal.”
He smiled to himself as he patted his round belly.
”You do pay her, I hope?” Evelyn said.
Of course. I don’t want people to see me as an exploitative agent, now do I?” Nudge said. “Not that I know what she does with the money, what with her being dead and all.”
“No, but it’s nice that you’re paying her,” Evelyn said.
”Indeed,” Nudge said, glancing at the clock. “If she is to haunt my house for all eternity, I might as well get her to write me some children’s books and make a profit.”
Nudge glanced at the Grandfather clock next to him and leapt out of his seat.
”Right, you can go now, Eve,” Nudge said, hopping over to the door and opening it. “I have other books to peddle to unsuspecting publishers.”
”Evelyn eased herself out of her seat and approached the door.
Before she left, however, she turned towards her agent.
”Are you sure you’re not a ghost yourself, Nudge?” Evelyn said.
Nudge chuckled. “No, I’m very much alive. But when I do die, you won’t even notice.”
”Don’t say that,” Evelyn said. “Your clients will miss you terribly.”
”I mean, I will still be here, I will still be your agent, but you won’t know whether I am alive or dead,” Nudge said.
Evelyn turned an even brighter white shade as she followed her agent to the door.
“Would you like me to give you a life home?” Nudge said, gesturing towards his wagon parked on the road outside, the Horses ready and raring to go in front.
Evelyn looked at them momentarily before saying, “No, I’m happy to take the Tube.”
“No problem,” Nudge said. “In which case, I’ll see you at ScribbleWing Books HQ next Thursday.”
”I look forward to it,” Evelyn said.
With that, Nudge retreated into his house, and Evelyn strolled towards Crampdown Underground Station, oblivious that, to everyone around her, she looked like she’d seen a ghost.
The Robinsonverse 