Soon after luncheon, Enid announced that she would like to take a walk on the West Pier, where she was happy to be squired by her attentive husband. Mina’s mother was fawning over the new baby while Mrs Wheedon amused the twins, and Rose was kept constantly busy with trivial demands blown into extraordinary proportions. Mina would have to go out alone.
A little expedition of this kind would have been very pleasant in the company of her good friend Nellie Jordan, whose husband was a partner in the fashionable costume emporium of Jordan and Conroy. Nellie had recently returned from Italy, where she had amused herself in the company of acquaintances while her husband visited silk weavers and purchased fabrics and trimmings to astonish and delight his customers.
Nellie kept a smart little carriage and frequented all the best teashops, but it was not possible for her to accompany Mina on this occasion as it meant visiting Richard’s place of work. For Nellie, visits to Richard were strictly forbidden, and not without good reason. Richard and Nellie had been affectionate companions before her marriage, and their continuing friendship following that event had not met with her husband’s approval. To Mr Jordan, his attractive wife, tricked out in the pinnacle of fashion, was a travelling clothes form, an advertisement for his business; to her, he was the entrée to the life of comfort she had always desired. It was a fragile arrangement. There were watchful eyes on Nellie. One slip and she would be a ruined woman.
Mina took a cab that travelled east along Kings Road. Even after more than three years in Brighton, she still found the views a delightful and invigorating prospect, on one side the cool elegance of Regency Square, on the other, the fashionable West Pier making its dramatic incursion into the glittering endless sea.
On her way to Ship Street the carriage passed the Grand Hotel, its frontage like a high white cliff. Designed to accommodate visiting nobility and gentry, it had first opened its doors in 1864, and had quickly secured its reputation as the premier and certainly the most expensive hotel in Brighton. Next door to the hotel was the important and exclusive photographic business of Mr J E Mayall, the superior fine art portraitist. Mr Mayall’s studio occupied an enviable position on an upper floor where large areas of glass could admit the maximum light. He had been a presence in Brighton since the opening of the hotel, leaving his original London business in Regent Street in the capable hands of his eldest son, and was a prominent influence in town.
Photography, Mina knew, was a thriving commercial activity in Brighton. New buildings such as the Grand Hotel and the West Pier held a fascination for the public. They had been portrayed from all angles during the course of their construction, and again when they were opened. Photographers also liked to make wistfully nostalgic images of the old Chain Pier, whose days were most probably numbered, and artistic portrayals of the beaches where rows of pleasure boats were lined up like the bodies of stranded dolphins, ready to take visitors on excursions.
Mr Mayall’s greatest claim to fame was having photographed most of the royal family, a fact he never lost the opportunity to advertise. He should have been engaged to take the images of Enid’s wedding, but due to the impetuosity of the arrangement in a household mainly concerned with consoling her recently widowed mother, the photographs had been forgotten until the last moment. Mr Mayall had not been available, and thus the Scarlettis had engaged Mr Simpson of Ship Street. His quiet, respectful and unfussy dedication to his profession had struck the perfect note on such a sombre occasion.
Mina ordered the driver to stop and alighted at the junction of Kings Road and Ship Street. From there it was thankfully only a short walk up to the shop. Mina was obliged to labour a little at the incline but was encouraged to discover that as long as she took suitable care, the walk did not overstrain her cramped lungs.
Mr Beckler’s establishment was far humbler than Mr Mayall’s, yet there was clearly room for another photographer in Brighton, as long as he knew his business and offered the public something of good quality, and affordable. But the fickle public also clamoured for novelty, and as far as Mina was aware Mr Mayall had never claimed to take pictures of ghosts.
Mina approached the shop cautiously. She had not visited or even passed the place of business since Mr Beckler had purchased it from the estate of the late Mr Simpson. Little had changed. It was a narrow building, with a single entrance door, and there were two floors above the shop. The window was crammed with displays and advertisements. There was every kind of portrait a family might want: stern gentlemen, dignified ladies, betrothed couples, weddings, mothers with babies and large family groups.
A notice announced: ‘Memento Mori portraits a speciality. Discretion and good taste assured.’ There was the advertisement Richard had mentioned, offering to take pictures of some of the notable monuments in the Extra Mural Cemetery. These were accompanied by framed portraits of important buildings to show the quality that could be achieved. These pictures, taken in beautiful and intense sunlight, were a marvel of clarity.
Mina, despite her contempt for their creator, could only admire the clear rendition of architectural features, the crisply defined embellishments and sharp contrasts between light and shadow. A printed card suggested that a selection of suitable frames was available inside, or could be made to order, and for a small extra charge the picture could be securely packaged and sent anywhere in the country or abroad.
Overseeing all this photographic plenty was the image of Mr Beckler’s distinguished patron, Mr Arthur Wallace Hope, with a notice saying ‘By appointment to the nobility’ in front of a display of that gentleman’s books.
There was, however, one other item which attracted Mina’s special attention. Handsomely framed and displayed on a small easel to emphasise its importance, it was a picture of a short, plump lady with a snub nose wearing a gown with so many frills that they threatened to obscure her figure. She was seated on a chair, not sitting upright but leaning a little with her elbow on a circular plant stand, on which there stood a branched candlestick, her head turned to cast a knowing look at the camera. Her eyes were small, dark and shiny, like those of a hungry rodent. Engulfed in her arms was a bouquet the size of a small canoe.
The picture had clearly been taken in Mr Beckler’s studio. Mina had seen others and recognised the balloon back chair, the scroll feet and barley twist legs of the plant stand, a draped velvet curtain behind the subject and the edge of a portrait frame carved with acanthus leaves. Hovering above one almost daringly bare shoulder was a cloudy shape which on close study might be taken to be that of a woman seen in profile and wearing a large hat. The lady did not appear to be taking any notice of the subject of the picture, which Mina thought strange, as this was supposed to be the spirit of the lady’s late mother watching over her. Instead, the ghostly head was tilted upward, as if gazing to the heavens.
Underneath the picture was a card, which read: ‘The famous ghost portrait. As reported in the Gazette, the Chronicle and the Illustrated Police News! Guaranteed genuine. No trickery involved. If you doubt us, come in and see for yourself!’
Mina hesitated, unsure of what to do. For a few moments there was a little tussle going on in her mind. She very much wanted to come in and see for herself. She wanted to learn all about the spirit picture and how it was made. She wanted to see what Richard really did in his daily occupation. She did not, however, want to see the horrible Mr Beckler, but Mr Beckler would undoubtedly be present. The last time they had spoken was in January at Hollow House, when she had told him to his face that she never wanted to see him again, and she had meant it. Richard had informed her that his employer lived in an apartment above the shop, and spent most of his time on the premises, so there was no prospect of his going out for meals, and therefore no opportunity for her to go in when she would be sure not to see him.
Mina decided to take the way of common sense. She comforted herself with the assurance that her curiosity had been partly satisfied, and perhaps a better opportunity for investigation would arise in future. Her b
est course was to return to Kings Road and stroll gently along to the Grand Hotel where, once her business was complete, she could pause to sit and refresh herself in the peaceful gentility of the tearoom before returning home.
‘Oh!’ came a little squawk behind her. ‘You must be Miss Scarletti!’
Mina turned. She was used to the fact that she was an object of curiosity to those who did not know her, and instantly recognisable to anyone who knew her description. Standing behind her with a broad smile was the plump lady who was the subject of the ghost portrait. She was accompanied by a young woman whose dark serviceable clothing and retiring manner proclaimed her to be a maid.
‘It is such a delight to meet you at last; you are so very famous, you know!’ enthused Miss Hartop. ‘Are you quite well now? Isn’t the air just so delicious! And what a pretty little shop this is! I am sure you know that your brother and I are very good friends. He must have mentioned me. I am Hannah Hartop. I feel we practically know one another already!’
‘I — er,’ said Mina, unsure of how to respond.
‘And we will be great friends, too, I am certain of it!’ Miss Hartop linked her arm firmly in Mina’s. ‘Come now, let us go in.’
Miss Hartop’s arm was a strong arm and would not be denied, and for a moment Mina had visions of her using that arm to wrestle a hapless Richard to the altar.
‘I can see you have been admiring my wonderful picture, and I am sure you want to hear all about how it was taken!’
That was undeniable, and Mina, unwilling to embark on a public quarrel or an unseemly struggle which she would inevitably lose, allowed herself to be guided into the shop. The maid followed unbidden, like a slight shadow of her mistress. She was a plain girl who might have been pretty if her hair had been better styled and her bonnet more flattering, but Mina guessed that this would not have been permitted. She particularly recalled that some months earlier the maid’s powers of observation and good memory had provided vital evidence in solving a mystery in which she had been interested, a feat for which Miss Hartop had been happy to accept the credit.
The premises were tidy but cramped, with every inch of available space in use. There was a long counter to the right, with a brass till, record books, leatherbound catalogues, a glass case displaying photograph albums, another with blank cartes de visite, and a tiered wooden stand with a selection of frames. On the wall behind the counter were rows of drawers labelled with their contents: printed cards, small frames, folders, picture hanging materials, envelopes and photograph mounts. A large well-dressed lady holding a lorgnette was standing at the counter and poring over a catalogue illustrating picture frames while Richard looked on with an expression of deep melancholy.
The facing wall was given up to displays of pictures featuring notable residents of Brighton, views of the Royal Pavilion, piers, beaches and gardens, and images from a recent exhibition, taken in caves and Egyptian monuments by the light of burning magnesium ribbon.
Mina looked about with some trepidation, but to her relief there was no sign of Mr Beckler. At the far end of the shop was a door which she recalled led to the manager’s office and studio. She assumed that he was on the other side of that door and hoped that he would stay there.
‘Oh, Mr Scarletti!’ exclaimed Miss Hartop. ‘You look so pensive today. Like one of those old Roman statues! How refined! How noble! Now here is somebody come to cheer you; see who I met outside looking in the window!’
Richard, who had flinched at the sound of Miss Hartop’s voice, stared at Mina in astonishment. ‘Mina!’
The customer glanced around with an expression of interest, and after taking a moment to study Mina, went back to contemplation of the catalogue, only giving it rather less attention than before.
‘I was going to the Grand Hotel to see if all was in order and I just chanced to be passing, and…’ Mina winced. It was not a convincing explanation.
‘Well, while you are here, I can make an appointment for you, if you like,’ said Richard.
‘Thank you, Richard, I don’t wish to have my photograph taken.’
‘Miss Scarletti is very curious about my portrait,’ said Miss Hartop. ‘Have you met Mr Beckler? I can introduce you if you like. He is an excellent photographer, although not nearly as handsome to look at as your brother.’
‘I have met him,’ said Mina. ‘He is obviously very busy at the moment.’ She glanced enquiringly at Richard.
‘Yes, he’s in the office with a client. Shall I go and tell him you are here?’
‘No, I would not wish to disturb him.’
‘But he will tell you all about my picture,’ said Miss Hartop. ‘Isn’t it a marvel?’
‘It is remarkable,’ said Mina. ‘Perhaps one day soon we will talk of it and you can tell me something about how it was taken?’ Miss Hartop was about to protest, but Mina quickly interrupted. ‘To be honest with you, Miss Hartop, I was not intending entering the shop at all today but was simply on my way to the Grand Hotel where I have important business. I need to make arrangements for my brother’s betrothal celebration. I am afraid I shall have to leave almost immediately.’ Now that Miss Hartop had released her arm Mina began to move towards the door, eager to take her leave as soon as possible.
Miss Hartop gasped and uttered a cry like that of a wild animal with its leg caught in a trap. ‘Oh, Mr Scarletti, oh dear me, oh my word, you have kept such a secret!’
Mina caught a panicked glance from Richard and realised the error. She was obliged to turn back. ‘No, no, Miss Hartop, please calm yourself, you are mistaken. I am not referring to Richard but to my older brother Edward, who is engaged to a Miss Hooper.’
The reassurance succeeded only in transforming an emergency into a drama. ‘Oh! What excitement! I do declare, you quite took my breath away. I almost think I might faint.’ Miss Hartop seemed to be considering fainting, but seeing as there was no means of support within arm’s reach other than Mina, who would not have been a good choice, she lurched heavily towards the counter and leaned on it.
In any other person this might have been quite alarming, but Richard merely looked unhappy and the maid, who had been studying the display of photographs, hurried to the side of her mistress and with an expression which suggested that this was a common occurrence, took firm hold of an arm. Miss Hartop clutched a hand to her chest and panted.
Mina, as the cause of the mishap, now felt obliged to remain a few more moments to see the sufferer recovered. The lady customer, who did not appear at all disturbed by the situation, came forward purposefully, dipping into her reticule to retrieve a smelling bottle from which she deftly removed the stopper and waved the pungent restorative under Miss Hartop’s nose.
The afflicted maiden gave a loud yelp and straightened up. There was so much attention devoted to her that it was not until then that Mina realised that Mr Beckler and his client, a bald gentleman with a heroic moustache, had emerged from the office and were standing at the far end of the shop, contemplating the scene.
CHAPTER FOUR
A host of conflicting expressions crossed Mr Beckler’s face when he saw Mina, and for a moment he appeared unable to move or speak, but confronted by a valued customer being supported by her maid and making a noise like a distressed walrus, he was obliged to recover himself quickly. He swallowed convulsively and stepped forward. ‘Miss Hartop, are you well? Is there something you require? A chair? A glass of water?’
‘Oh, Mr Beckler!’ cried the lady, still convulsively clutching at her bosom with a plump fist. ‘I had such a surprise just now, but it was all a misunderstanding.’
Mr Beckler made a curt nod and conducted the moustached gentleman to the counter. ‘Mr Scarletti, if you could make an appointment for Mr Winstanley.’
Richard was quick to take up this duty as a welcome alternative to dealing with Miss Hartop.
Mr Beckler regarded Mina and uttered a nervous cough. ‘Miss Scarletti —’ he began.
‘I really ought to be going,’ sai
d Mina to no one in particular. She turned towards the door.
‘Oh, but you cannot go yet!’ said Miss Hartop, reaching out and taking Mina’s arm before she could escape. ‘I know how interested you are in the spirit picture! I am sure Mr Beckler would be delighted to tell you all about it.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Mr Beckler, readily seizing on the opportunity. ‘That would be my pleasure. Perhaps you would like to see the studio where the portrait was taken. And I could tell you how the image was created in the camera and printed.’
There was a heavily awkward silence. Mina wanted to see and understand all of those things, but not if it meant being alone with Mr Beckler, however respectful and professional his manners might be in public. Neither did she wish to reveal her reservations to anyone, including her own family. Most especially her own family.
‘I would like to know more,’ said the lady customer unexpectedly. ‘Might I accompany you? Forgive me, Miss Scarletti, we have not been introduced. I am Clara McClelland. My husband is a medical practitioner. We have a mutual friend, I believe, a Mrs Holt.’
Mina had heard much that was commendable of Dr McClelland, although she had never met him. ‘I am delighted to make your acquaintance,’ she said, realising as she spoke that her voice must sound strained.
‘Are you quite well?’ asked Mrs McClelland, studying her anxiously. ‘You look a little pale.’
‘I am not long recovered from a serious indisposition,’ said Mina. ‘I may have overtaxed myself in coming here. But I would be extremely grateful for your company.’
Mr Beckler flicked an eyebrow at Richard, nodding towards Miss Hartop, then with a polite gesture towards the studio door proceeded to conduct Mina and her new companion to the rear of the premises. He looked to be about to offer his arm to Mina, but Mrs McClelland offered hers and Mina took it. Mr Beckler accepted the refusal with regret and pushed the rear door open. A narrow corridor stretched ahead, leading to an exit from the premises, its walls punctuated by side doors and a rear staircase.
The Cyanide Ghost (Mina Scarletti Mystery Book 6) Page 4
