The Darke Chronicles (6 page)

‘Now I am intrigued,’ said Inspector Edward Thornton taking a sip of whisky.

Darke’s face creased into a smile. ‘I thought you might be. When the father and daughter had regained their composure, they gazed out of the window into the garden, but there was no sign of anything unusual. The angel, the celestial visitor, call it what you will, had left no trace. However, now his daughter had seen it, Cornelius Hordern was convinced of its existence.’

Plover Mansions was a smart address and number 13 was the large penthouse apartment at the top of this modern building. A young, tall, dark-haired man wearing a short beard and dressed from head to foot in black showed Cornelius Hordern into Sebastien Le Page’s study.

Le Page looked up from his desk and gave his visitor a self-satisfied smile. ‘Take a seat, Monsieur Hordern. I felt sure that we should meet again. Perhaps not as soon as this, but here you are. And … now you believe.’

Hordern nodded dumbly.

‘Excellent. Now it becomes possible for us to help each other.’

‘Tell
me, Luther, how did you get mixed up in this business?’

‘Indirectly – as always. It was Carla who first told me of the affair. She knows Sarah Hordern through a women’s discussion group they both belong to. One night after a meeting, Miss Hordern sought out Carla for advice. My darling Carla, being the kind soul she is, whisked the creature off to her own apartment in Bloomsbury so that she could unburden her soul or whatever was necessary…’

‘My brother is away in America on business and I’ve no one else to turn to for advice. I feel stupid for being so weak but…’ Sarah Hordern’s lip trembled and for a few moments Carla thought she was going to burst into tears.

‘It’s a weakness to bottle things up inside you, Sarah. Tell me everything you wish and I will help if it’s possible.’

‘Thank you. The whole situation is a crazy one. My father is giving away the family fortune to a crank medium. Before long we shan’t have a home to live in.’

‘You realise, Monsieur Hordern, that I do not usually carry out a séance with only one disciple present, but thanks to your extremely generous contribution to the coffers of the Church of the True Resurrection, I am more than happy to make an exception.’

‘It is I who cannot thank you enough.’

‘We are both satisfied then. Well, if you are ready, let us go through to my communication chamber.’

Le Page led his new disciple into a small room off his study. The chamber was lined with black velvet curtains. A round table stood in the centre of the room upon which was placed a single candlestick, the solitary, erratic flame the only source of illumination.

‘Sit
on my right,’ said Le Page taking the most ornate chair. ‘Place your hands on the table. It is essential that they remain there throughout the whole course of the séance. Is that understood?’

Cornelius nodded.

‘You must prepare yourself mentally for what is about to happen. It is most likely that your wife will speak to you – in some form – tonight. After all she did send an angel to bring you to me, but you must not be too disappointed if very little happens on this occasion. Just as this is a strange and daunting experience for you, so it will be for your wife. You can only expect to build up trust over a period of time.’

Cornelius was so emotionally strained at this point that he could barely respond with a nod. The thought of being able to communicate with his beloved Gwendolyn again was almost too much for his weary constitution to bear. He sat quietly in a frozen state of anticipation.

Le Page flicked him a quick smile. ‘Very well, let us begin. First of all clear your head of all thoughts except for the image of your wife, Gwendolyn. Fix her face firmly in your mind.’

Hordern did as he was bidden.

Le Page sat back in the chair. He remained still for some moments, breathing deeply with his eyes closed. Then with a sudden movement, he flung his head back as though he were addressing the ceiling and he began talking in a strange strangulated whisper. ‘Listen to our plea, oh silent spirits of the other world. We are believers, longing to reach out through the invisible barrier that separates the flesh from the soul to send our love to you. Let us speak with you, oh spirits. We are your devout believers. Speak to us.’

The candle flame flickered and went out.

There was silence for a moment and then Le Page repeated his plea: ‘Speak to us.’

‘Who is it who calls to us?’ The voice was strange, muffled and indistinct, and, to Hordern’s heightened senses, it seemed to be emanating from the ceiling.

‘We
have a sad earthbound soul here who wishes to speak to a loved one who has passed through the veil. Our friend is Cornelius Hordern.’

The strange voice came again. ‘What is it he wishes to ask?’

‘Speak. Ask,’ prompted Le Page, squeezing Hordern’s arm.

For some time, Cornelius Hordern could not utter a word. Now he had arrived at this longed-for moment, his brain was not able to function. The fear of disappointment was crippling his faculties.

‘You must speak. She will not respond to me,’ said Le Page in an urgent whisper.

With trembling tones, Hordern addressed the darkness. ‘Gwendolyn, my darling, are you there?’

There was a moment’s pause and then a rustling sound came to his ears. ‘Gwendolyn,’ he asked with greater urgency. And then he froze, for on the air he smelt the faint traces of perfume wafting around him. It was his wife’s favourite fragrance. As his racing brain was trying to assimilate this sensation, there came another voice.

‘Darling, darling Cornelius.’

It was Gwendolyn. It must be.

‘My dear,’ Hordern sobbed, his hands momentarily raised from the surface of the table as though he was going to reach out and embrace his dead wife.

‘Oh, Cornelius, do not fear. I am happy, my darling, and I will wait for you.’

‘Can’t … can’t I see you?’

‘Come again,’ replied the voice as it trailed away to silence.

‘Gwendolyn!’ Hordern cried, tears now falling down his cheeks.

But there was no reply.

‘You have been lucky, my dear sir. Very lucky indeed.’ It was Le Page who was talking, in his normal voice. ‘That was a remarkable contact for the first time. Remarkable.’

In the darkness Cornelius Hordern sought out the medium’s hands and wrung them with gratitude. ‘It was a miracle. My darling Gwen so near. How can I ever repay you?’

‘Since that first séance, there have been three more. Each time, my father has made huge donations to this so-called Church of the True Resurrection. He cannot see that this Le Page is a charlatan.’

‘Are you sure?’ asked Carla, in all seriousness.

Sarah Hordern looked shocked. ‘I have no doubt in my own mind.’

‘Despite the fact that you witnessed the visiting angel?’

‘Well, it is true that I cannot explain what I saw, but I am convinced that my father is being tricked in the most treacherous fashion.’

‘I think you should meet a friend of mine. He is very good at explaining the inexplicable.’

Luther Darke listened to the whole story without interruption. He sat with his eyes closed, stroking his cat, Persephone, who lay upon his lap. When Sarah Hordern had finished her narrative, he sat thoughtfully for a moment and then suddenly jumped from his chair, an action that sent the slumbering cat spinning into the air. With muttered apologies to Persephone as she landed in an undignified fashion on the rug by the fire, Darke rushed to the bookcase.

‘Just let me check something out, Miss Hordern, and then I will attend to your little problem,’ he said, poring over one of his own commonplace volumes. ‘Ah, here we have it. I thought the name was lodged somewhere in the great cluttered attic of this brain of mine. What detritus I do collect there.’

With a satisfied grin, he returned to his seat.

‘What name do you mean? Sebastian Le Page? Do you know him?’

Darke waved his hand casually. ‘Not personally. We shall come to that later. First of all, let me deal with the séances. From what you have told me these are simple, amateur affairs. Your father has never actually seen your mother at one of these shows?’

Sarah
Hordern shook her head. ‘According to what he told me, the nearest he came to that was a shadowy female figure wearing a dress similar to the type my mother wore.’