Mr Scarletti's Ghost (27 page)

‘Do you mind if we talk?' she asked. ‘If you would rather be alone, let me know, and I will go at once.'

‘No, please stay. You were Eliza's friend, and even in such a short while you came to know her better than most. Towards the end, she said what a comfort you were to her and how she hoped that when she was well you would meet again. She liked the stories you sent her.'

Mina hardly dared look into his eyes, the irises like fractured marble, with splinters of pain. ‘I was so looking forward to seeing her. She helped me with a story I was writing, and I thought perhaps we might write one together.'

‘When she was a child,' said Dr Hamid, ‘my father was told that she would most probably not live past her twentieth birthday, but we gave her the best care we could, and she had a not unpleasant life, filled with interest. She inspired me, she inspired Anna and by her example we became better than we might have been and more able to help others.'

‘That is her monument,' said Mina. ‘She will live on through you and your sister. Please let me know when it would be appropriate for me to call.'

‘Of course. I know Anna would like to see you.' There was a long silence as they both looked out across the rolling sea. Carriages rattled past, like ships full of merriment and the promise of delight.

‘Too many losses,' he said with another heavy sigh. ‘Too many people taken away before their time. Eliza might have lived another twenty years, Jane another thirty. It is so cruel and unnecessary, when there are evil people in this world who live long and good people who do not. I wish I knew why that was! I can only pray, and …' For a few moments he looked as though he was biting back tears. Not so long ago they had sat beside each other in a circle and clasped hands, and she felt she wanted to reach out and touch his hand as a friend, but it would not have been right. ‘When Jane died it was like a light that had illuminated my life going out,' he said. ‘I would like to think that somewhere, somehow, that light is still burning, and that one day I will be able to see it again and go towards it. I need to believe. Surely we all do?'

Mina waited for him to say more but he did not. ‘I hope,' she said, ‘that you are not considering going to see Miss Eustace again?'

‘And why should I not?' he demanded with sudden ferocity.

‘You know why not,' said Mina, trying to speak as gently as possible.

He shook his head. ‘One of my patients told me that he went to her for a private reading and received information that could have come from no one other than the deceased.'

‘So some people claim,' said Mina, ‘but I am not convinced it is so.'

‘Well, you can hardly blame me for seeking the truth,' he said obstinately.

‘No, I cannot, but this is not the time to do it, when you are in pain and wanting to believe anything that will give you comfort. Please tell me you will wait awhile.'

He closed his eyes as if to shut out the world and be alone with his misery.

‘I would like to walk a little way,' she said. ‘Will you assist me?'

‘Yes, of course.' He offered her his arm, and they turned and walked along the Marine Parade with the sun reflecting off the bright white hotels to their right and the sea crashing like shards of blue-veined jasper to their left.

M
rs Peasgood was a lady nearer in age to sixty than fifty and nearer in weight to fourteen stones than thirteen. Her late husband had been a well-regarded surgeon and had thus left her in extremely comfortable circumstances, with an annuity, a property, three grown sons, and as many grandchildren as any woman could decently want. She lived in a very pleasant villa in Marine Square, the upper part of which she had converted to make a roomy apartment for her sister Mrs Mowbray, whose husband had left her with neither family nor fortune but a great many attentive callers asking for the urgent settlement of their accounts.

On the ground floor of the villa was a magnificent east-facing drawing room, where twenty-five people might easily assemble in comfort, or thirty if they were more determined and less particular. As if one drawing room was not enough, the house had provided a second smaller one, behind the first, the two rooms being separated by a pair of heavy damask curtains, and both accessible quite separately from the hallway, while the back room led through a set of double doors to a beautifully maintained garden. Mrs Peasgood was a lover of music and often gathered her friends for a recital, the main drawing room serving as a kind of auditorium and the smaller as a stage for the performers, so transforming her home into a theatre in miniature.

It was this enviable space into which Richard had somehow cajoled himself and his protégée the extraordinary Miss Foxton.

Mina, to her great relief, had discovered that her mother had no intention of attending the new sensation's séance. Not only did Louisa feel that patronising Miss Foxton impugned her loyalty to Miss Eustace, which had become immeasurably stronger since the unfortunate incident with Mr Jordan, but she had heard rumours that Miss Foxton was not all that she seemed, and could not imagine what Mrs Peasgood could be thinking of to admit such a creature to her house.

As the ladies assembled in Mrs Peasgood's drawing room, Mina looked anxiously about in case her mother had changed her mind, but fortunately she had not, and neither Mrs Bettinson nor Miss Whinstone were present. Mr Jordan and his friend Mr Conroy were there, and while the ladies were engaged in conversation the gentlemen dedicated themselves to the more businesslike task of obtaining the best possible seats. Mina wondered if another wager had been made, and feared that Mr Jordan was planning an assault upon Miss Foxton and an exposure of the dastardly Mr Ricardo. She could not imagine how she might protect Richard from such an attempt, which could well prove violent. If Richard brought disgrace on the family she could quite see her mother packing him off somewhere to manage a ranch or plant tea, and realised that she would miss him dreadfully.

Thus far, Mina felt confident that no one in the room knew Richard by sight, but then she saw a familiar figure enter discreetly and slip though the crowds to find a seat near the back. It was Mr Clee, and Mina surmised that he was there to see what the other medium in town was doing and report his findings to Miss Eustace. He avoided engaging anyone else in conversation, and seemed anxious not to draw attention to himself. Mina was unable to decide if it was more important to protect Richard from Mr Jordan or Mr Clee, but could not see how either feat could be accomplished. She sat where she could see them both, hoping that she would not find it necessary to create a scene.

At length, Mrs Peasgood suggested that those of the company who had not yet taken their places might like to do so. There was an unexpected difficulty when two ladies discovered that Mr Jordan and Mr Conroy had taken what they considered to be their seats, presumably because they always occupied those places at the musical evenings. Mr Conroy was all for giving up the seats to the ladies but Mr Jordan, claiming priority, was not, and incurred his hostess's grave displeasure by sitting with folded arms and stolidly refusing to move. It took all of Mr Conroy's tact and a promise of silk ribbon to enable the gentlemen to keep their places without a quarrel.

Mr Clee, Mina noticed, was watching Mr Jordan very carefully, although he was also pretending to read Professor Gaskin's pamphlet. She feared that even from the back row of seats Mr Clee would recognise Richard both by features and voice, as any man might another who had threatened to knock him down. She was uncertain what he might choose to do about it, and hoped she would be able to delay him if he made a sudden rush.

Mrs Peasgood glanced at her maid who turned down the lights. There were little exclamations of nervous anticipation as the room was plunged into semi-darkness, not the deep black demanded by many mediums, but a soft accommodating shadow. A moment or two passed during which the sea of onlookers rippled and settled into a pool, then gradually two hands pushed between the curtains and eased them apart. The draperies made a pointed arch in which stood an enigmatic figure, the faint light to which all eyes were becoming accustomed suggesting the form of a tall man.

‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!' he announced in an accent that was very nearly Italian. It was Richard, of course, and since no member of his family had ever met the great-grandfather whose surname they bore, the attempt was more theatrical than convincing. ‘Allow me to introduce myself. I am Signor Ricardo, and I have come before you to introduce a great wonder the like of which you will never have seen before.' He stepped into the room, allowing the curtains to fall together behind him. They could now see that he was in evening dress, but around his shoulders there swirled a long cape with something on it that glittered like stars. His hair had been brushed back, its unruly waves smoothed with an oily dressing that made it shine and appear darker than it was, and he sported a false moustache of evil aspect and a half-mask of black velvet edged with gold lace. It was a guise in which he might have personated Mephistopheles on the stage and wanted, thought Mina, only a blood-red waistcoat to be complete. She breathed a sigh of relief as he continued to speak.

‘Newly arrived in this country from her triumphant tour of the Continent of Europe where she appeared before the crowned heads and nobility – soon to be the honoured guest of a Very Exalted Personage – I bring you the beautiful, the astonishing, the unique Miss Kate Foxton!'

He threw his arms wide and gave a deep bow, then drew back the curtains on either side. The space behind them was nearly bare, and appeared to have been darkly draped. All that could be seen was, to the right, a deep armchair, and in the centre of the stage a tall oriental vase, which looked very similar to the one that had until recently stood in the Scarlettis' hallway. Not only similar, reflected Mina, but identical – in fact it was the one that had stood in their hallway, and she was in no doubt that it was Richard who had, under some pretext or other, managed to abstract it.

Signor Ricardo strode across the stage with an attitude appropriate to a tenor at the opera expressing his undying love for a mature soprano, extending his hand towards the space that lay behind the fall of draperies to his left. He then moved backwards, with the lithe tripping gait of a dancer, leading with him the figure of Miss Foxton, whom he conducted to the centre of the stage for the examination and admiration of the audience.

Miss Nellie Gilden, for it was certainly she, was attired quite differently from the revealing costume in which she had posed for the
carte de scandale
which Mina had seen. She wore a plain drab-coloured costume so voluminous as to conceal her pronounced womanly form almost entirely, and neat little gloves and boots. Her hair, which the photograph had suggested might be gold with more than a hint of amber, had been transformed into a knot of glossy brown curls heaped high and surmounted by a wide hat trimmed with feathers. Mina, knowing that Nellie was an actress and therefore a woman who had abandoned all claims to respectability, looked in vain for anything in her features that might reveal a disreputable mode of life. The portrait, she was obliged to admit, had not done the lady justice. Miss Gilden might have graced any drawing room, any court even, and carried off the guise of a lady with complete success. The freshness of her complexion, which if painted was done with such subtlety that it appeared to be entirely natural, the brightness of her eyes, the curve of her lips, gave her a discreet yet alluring charm. All around, the audience gave a soft murmur of approval.

‘Do not be concerned at this lady's youth,' said Mr Ricardo. ‘True, she has not seen eighteen summers, but her abilities have been strong since she was but a small child. When only seven years of age she dreamed of the tragic death of a beloved royal personage. Just over six years ago she was in America and begged to be allowed to send a message to a very great man to say that he should not think of going to the theatre that evening. But the words of a young girl carried no weight – would that they had!' He shook his head sorrowfully.

‘But now!' he exclaimed, with a suddenness that make everyone jump, ‘to happier thoughts! Miss Foxton will shortly enter a state of trance and I beg you all to strict silence and contemplation.' He escorted Miss Foxton to the armchair and there she was seated, taking more care, thought Mina, than one might expect over the exact arrangement of such a simple costume. He then held his hands over her head, and moved them about in circles, to suggest that he was subjecting her to mesmeric influence. After a minute or so, Miss Foxton's eyelids drooped, then closed, and her head sank forward, so that her face was hidden underneath the brim of her hat and the plume of gently quivering feathers. She appeared to be asleep, yet it was more than that, as he demonstrated, since he carefully raised her hand, and allowed it to fall back limply into her lap.

Mr Ricardo then removed his cloak and after swirling it about his head a number of times, for no apparent reason other than to add a touch of drama and perhaps also distract the audience's attention from anything Miss Foxton might be doing, he draped it carefully over the somnolent medium. When he stepped back, all that could be seen of Miss Foxton was a small gloved hand, a tiny foot, and the feathers on her hat.

‘The lady is in a trance,' he confided to the audience in a hushed whisper, ‘and while she is in this state of unconsciousness the vital energy will begin to flow from her body!'

Mr Ricardo began to make extravagant passes over the recumbent figure, then he stepped away, with gestures suggesting that he was pulling at an invisible cord.

Abruptly, Mr Jordan rose to his feet. ‘If I may be permitted,' he said in a voice more suited to a public announcement than controlled reverence, ‘I wish to take the lady's pulse.'

‘Mr Jordan!' whispered Mrs Peasgood. ‘Kindly moderate your voice! And will you please sit down!'