‘I am sorry to be a disappointment,’ he said. ‘The pictures I took in the cemetery were all taken on the same day in good light; however, the images of the persons that appear, while they are very clear, are also in fact copies of pictures formerly taken by Mr Simpson of living subjects. I have abundant evidence to prove this, which I am willing to show to anyone. I know that many people did purchase copies under the impression that these portrayed the spirits of their departed relatives, but now that I have established the truth of the matter, I will be happy to refund any purchase money without quibble on application.’
There was an immediate public sensation. All the assembly broke out in excited chatter and several gentlemen jumped to their feet and made loud vocal demands.
Mr Hope’s eyes blazed with rage, and he seized Mr Beckler by the lapels and shook him, letting go only to wave a large fist in his former protégé’s face. ‘You snake! You reptile! This is nothing short of slander! You won’t get away with this! I will ruin you! I can do it in a day! You will be bankrupt by tomorrow! I will see you locked away as a madman!’
Despite the fact that it appeared that Mr Hope was on the verge of punching him on the nose, Mr Beckler seemed remarkably calm. ‘You may do your worst,’ he said.
Mr Hope, on a sudden thought, turned to where Mina was sitting and pointed a finger. ‘It’s you! You are the bad influence! You have used your horrible wiles, mesmerised and corrupted an honest psychic, destroyed his abilities.’ He leaped down from the platform and advanced on Mina, but was unexpectedly confronted by Dr Hamid, who had risen to his feet and faced him with stonily determined calm.
‘Have a care, sir,’ said Dr Hamid, ‘have a care.’
The two men stood there for a moment, one red-faced and quivering with rage, one set and immovable.
‘Excuse me, sirs, but is anything the matter?’ said a voice close by, and Mina saw that the official had summoned a police constable from the offices below. Mr Hope growled but was wise enough, even in his fury, to say no more, then he abruptly turned and stormed away.
‘Thank you, constable,’ said Dr Hamid. ‘I believe the danger is past.’
‘Very well, sir,’ said the constable politely, but after a brief word with the official, he did not withdraw but remained to keep an eye on the room.
No one complained about the early termination of the lecture; rather, the audience began to leave their seats and mingle to discuss the remarkable conclusion. Many people, including Mr Mayall, were eager to speak to Mr Beckler and examine the photographs he had brought.
Mina noticed Mr Hartop approach Mr Beckler and shake him warmly by the hand. In the general hum of conversation surrounding the young photographer, it was hard to make out what was being said, but both men were all smiles. If Mr Beckler was concerned about the prospect of Mr Hope demanding immediate repayment of his loan, or repossession of the business, he was concealing it well.
Charles Samprey rose to his feet and turned angrily on his cousin. ‘Now you can see the shameful influence to which you have almost exposed Clarissa!’ he exclaimed. ‘I will take her home at once. And we will have no more of this nonsense!’
‘But you can’t deny the power of her dreams,’ pleaded Mr Clover.
‘A dream is only a dream, a thing of fancy and imagination,’ said Samprey. ‘If Clarissa is allowed to forget all about her dreams as I have constantly advised, they will trouble her no more.’
‘It wasn’t a dream,’ said Clarissa, sulkily. ‘Everyone keeps telling me it was a dream, but it wasn’t, it was real.’
‘Well, I still mean to see if I can find someone to help you,’ said Mr Clover. ‘Not Mr Hope, I have to agree with Charles on that. But we will find the right person, I promise.’
‘And I think I know what is best for my sister!’ said Charles. ‘You have no control over her. I do!’ He went to take her by the arm, but she shrank back.
‘It was real, Septimus, it was real!’ squealed Clarissa. ‘I saw him with the gun. I smelt it! It was like burning!’
‘But Clarissa, you can’t have seen Hector with a gun,’ said Mr Clover, soothingly. ‘Unless — did you follow him?’
‘Come home now!’ insisted Charles. ‘You foolish girl!’
‘It wasn’t Hector,’ said Clarissa. ‘It was Charles with the gun! Father’s gun. He went after Hector that night. And when he came back, he was holding the gun and I smelt the smoke. He told me I must have dreamed it, and I got it all mixed up in my head.’
‘You see, Septimus, she is insane! I have done my best to manage her and find her a husband, but all you do is stir her up, and she will never be free of these delusions!’ Charles Samprey pulled his sister to her feet and despite her protests and Mr Clover’s objections, hustled her roughly from the hall.
Nearby, the police constable was writing busily in his notebook.
Mr Clover slumped despondently in his seat. Mina went to talk to him. ‘What can I do now?’ he moaned. ‘Miss Scarletti, you must help me!’
‘Might I ask you something first?’
‘Yes, of course, anything!’
‘This may appear to be a trivial matter, but I believe it is important. When your cousin held the tea party for Miss Samprey, where did he order the cakes from?’
This was clearly the last question Mr Clover had expected. ‘I — I’m not sure.’
‘You mentioned her eating sugared almonds. Were there any other sweets?’
‘Um — yes, there were. Bon-bons and chocolates. That’s right, I do recall now. Veale’s creams. I forget the flavour. But they were in little bags. But why do you ask? How is that important? And can you help me?’
The police constable completed his notes, put his notebook in his pocket and left the room with a very determined expression.
‘I suggest,’ said Mina, ‘that you go home and think very hard and try to remember all you can very clearly and prepare yourself for a more thorough questioning in the near future.’
He looked very surprised at this reply but agreed.
Richard had been deputed by Mr Beckler to compress the camera into its carrying case, and fold and fasten the tripod in preparation for removing them back to the shop. Mr Beckler was also assembling his materials for transport and had closed the album. Despite what he had said, he had received several offers for purchase but had declined them all.
Mina took the opportunity to thank Dr Hamid for his courageous defence of her in the face of her enemy. ‘I hardly dared imagine what might have transpired if that policeman had not been summoned,’ she said. ‘I do not think Mr Hope would have held himself back from violence.’
‘Mr Hope is a much larger man than I, but I sensed that his is the method of brute force without control,’ said Dr Hamid, with a smile. ‘I took up the art of boxing in my youth, and I still exercise when I can.’
‘Then you might have surprised him,’ said Mina. ‘That would have been a very interesting sight to see.’
‘It is better to avoid violence,’ said Dr Hamid. ‘But if it is unavoidable, one must engage fully.’ He glanced at her. ‘Are you well, Miss Scarletti? You look a little flushed. Here, sit down and rest for a while.’ He conducted her back to her seat. ‘I am greatly relieved,’ he commented to Mr Merridew, ‘that no one suggested that Dame Freda Fay was the real mother of Miss Hartop. That would have been most insulting to Mr Hartop, whose respectability has never been in question.’
‘I can only imagine,’ said Mr Merridew, ‘that there were persons present who did recall Dame Freda Fay but decided not to speak out.’
‘Oh?’
‘Dame Freda could not have been anyone’s mother. That was only her professional name. When not on the stage, she was Freddie Finklestein.’
‘Freddie — oh, I see. Well, it was the musical stage, which does so delight in a novelty.’
‘Not as novel as one might suppose in the world of the theatre.’
Richard was heading for the exit door, burdened with equipment, but h
e stopped on seeing Mina. ‘Mina, I know my memory is wretched, sometimes, but — I had a thought, an impression — about the man who came into the shop with the chocolates. The man with bad eyes who squinted at everything.’
‘I think I know what you are about to say,’ said Mina. ‘We will talk about it later.’
Mr Merridew kindly went to help Richard with his burdens, and they proceeded back to the shop.
Mr Beckler was walking past, carrying all his papers and pictures. He didn’t look at Mina, but on an impulse, she called out to him, ‘Mr Beckler.’ He stopped and turned to stare at her in surprise. She rose and approached him. ‘I don’t know why you did what you did, and what it might have cost you to do it, but I just wanted you to know that I am grateful for it.’
There was a little hint of a smile, and he made a slight bow. ‘Thank you, Miss Scarletti.’ He walked on.
But Mina had already begun to suspect what it had cost him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
On the afternoon following Mr Hope’s abandoned lecture, Mina was entertaining her new friend Mrs McClelland. Her doctor husband had been amongst the audience at the Town Hall, since as Miss Hartop’s medical man, he had thought it advisable to keep an eye on her during what was her first public engagement since her illness.
‘She is doing very well, and he has hopes that her voice will recover a great deal of its strength in time, although he believes that it will not be as shrill as it once was.’
‘I hesitate to say so, but that could well be an improvement.’
‘I do not hesitate. It will be. And much appreciated by her new husband.’
‘Husband?’ queried Mina, although she felt sure she knew what the answer would be.
‘Yes, it has not yet been officially announced, but I have heard that she and Mr Beckler are betrothed. It was quite a sudden romance and will take the town by surprise, as there had never been any suspicion of an attachment before. In fact, I must confess that I had always been under the impression that he did not care for her at all. Her father, however, is very pleased and I am sure that Mr Beckler will find the marriage settlement of great benefit to his business interests.’
‘But he will not be making any more spirit pictures,’ said Mina, refreshing the teacups. ‘My brother tells me that a large placard was placed in the window last night advising customers that whatever they may hear to the contrary, that part of the business has ceased.’
‘And is it true that in the cemetery images the ghosts were all falsified by Mr Beckler? That is what the town is saying.’
‘He admitted only to making an error, not to outright fraud. The quick retraction of his claims will probably save him from any police investigation. My belief is that he made them to please his patron. Former patron, I should say. Mr Hope showed him a list of prominent Brighton families who were interested in spiritualism. Mr Beckler studied the list and found suitable pictures in Mr Simpson’s collection which he could use. It was actually Miss Hartop who gave him the idea of photographing the graves. If he ever does so again, I doubt very much that the occupants will make an appearance. But the enterprise has had a good result, in that he has learned fresh skills, which will enable him to introduce a new line in novelties.’
Mrs McClelland finished her slice of marble cake with evident satisfaction. ‘Oh? What kind of novelties?’
‘I understand that it is possible, if one knows the art, to produce a photograph of a man with the head of a rabbit.’
‘Indeed? Is there much call for such things?’
‘I’m really not sure.’
Mina cut some slices of fruit tart and they helped themselves.
‘I have been told,’ said Mrs McClelland, ‘that the posters outside the Town Hall advertising Mr Hope’s lectures have all been altered to say that they are cancelled. It is rumoured that he left town last night. He is a boorish creature, despite all his connections. My husband believes that he has lost many friends due to his outrageous behaviour and may not be seen here again.’
‘As he has severed his association with Ship Street, there will be little to tempt him back.’
‘I assume that Mr Beckler is no longer employing a spirit medium on the premises?’
‘No, the booth where Lady Brighthelm once conducted her consultations has been removed. That is a line of business which I think he will not stray into again.’
Mrs McClelland sipped her tea very thoughtfully. ‘And — forgive me if you think I am prying, but — is there still a coldness between you?’
Mina hesitated. ‘Mr Beckler has long made it plain that he was very sorry for his earlier behaviour towards me, and I admit that until yesterday I was still very angry with him and not inclined to accept any apology or attempt to make amends. But he has shown concern for my welfare, warning me to be on my guard against Mr Hope, and his actions last night meant a great deal to me. We will never be friends, but I believe we have made our peace.’
Their conversation was interrupted by a vigorous knocking at the front door.
‘Dear me, I hope there is no dreadful emergency,’ said Mrs McClelland, who as a doctor’s wife must have been used to such things.
‘If there is, it will almost certainly be for my attention,’ said Mina. ‘If you would be so kind as to remain?’
‘Of course,’ said Mrs McClelland, eyeing the marble cake and taking another slice.
Rose came in with a card. ‘I’m sorry to trouble you, but it’s a Mr Clover from Samprey Brothers house agents. He wants to speak to you if he can. He’s very agitated.’
‘Please show him in,’ said Mina, pouring a cup of tea for the visitor, ‘and refresh the teapot.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Mrs McClelland, ‘my husband mentioned that last night the young gentleman had some altercation with his cousin of a rather peculiar nature.’ She opened her reticule and took out the smelling bottle just in case.
Mr Clover arrived out of breath. He was a little surprised to see Mrs McClelland, but on being told that she was Mina’s trusted friend and the wife of Doctor McClelland, he was mollified and sat down.
‘It’s the most dreadful thing!’ he said. ‘And you were quite right in what you told me yesterday, that I should prepare myself to be questioned. How did you know? I think you must be a psychic after all, despite what you say.’
‘Please calm down and be sensible, Mr Clover. You may have a cup of tea, but the only spirits I will produce are a few drops of medicinal brandy if required. What has happened?’
‘The police came to see me. I told them all about what Miss Jemson told me, and they have gone to see her.’ He turned to Mrs McClelland. ‘Miss Jemson was the wife of Barnes, the man who was hanged for my cousin Hector’s murder.’
Mrs McClelland’s nod of understanding showed that she was familiar with the case.
‘Jenny — Miss Jemson — she always said that Barnes was at home that night, but she was never believed. She had heard Hector speak cruelly of his father as an old fool who would die soon, and then he would inherit the eldest son’s portion. He had promised to be a model son, but he never meant it. He even tried to kill his father once by damaging the axle of his carriage so the wheel would come loose and cause an accident. It killed his poor mother instead.’
Mrs McClelland said nothing. One rarely insulted a man’s relative to his face, but her eyes said it all, that whoever had shot Hector Samprey had done the world a service.
Mina handed Mr Clover his tea and he drank it in a single gulp. ‘I told the police everything I knew,’ he continued, ‘and they wanted to look at the business appointment books which I keep. Both Charles and Mortimer see clients at the office. There was one day they were especially interested in. I was in the office all day, and so was Mortimer. And Charles claimed that he was there all day, but in fact he wasn’t. He went out on an errand. I remembered it because a customer called to see if he was available for an urgent consultation, and he had gone out. I gave the police the name of the customer, and
they said they would talk to him. And then I realised that that was the day when someone delivered the poisoned chocolates to Lady Brighthelm. Miss Scarletti — the police have just come back to the office and taken Charles away to question him. They think he poisoned Lady Brighthelm. They even think he shot Hector!’
Rose came in with a fresh pot of tea, and Mina asked her to bring the medicinal brandy. When the maid returned, she handed Mina a letter.
Dear Mina,
Hoping this finds you and the family in good health.
I thought you would be interested to know that the Porterson-White case has, quite unexpectedly, been resolved. It appears that the lady did make a will, but it was many years before her death, and before she left London. It was lodged with an elderly solicitor who, it seems, was not aware that she had passed away. He departed this life only recently at the enviable age of 97, and it was found amongst his papers. She left the sum of £1,000 to each of the two cousins, a Mr Porterson who lives in London and Mr Winstanley who resides in Brighton, which will go some way towards settling their debts, and the remainder will go to a foundation for the establishment of a home for the relief and education of orphan children.
Respectfully,
Peter Inskip
EPILOGUE
The trial of Charles Samprey for the murder of his brother Hector was a sorry affair, the prisoner standing in the dock quietly weeping as the evidence was presented for the defence.
Expert counsel first invited the court to consider that Hector Samprey had been a disreputable individual whose associates were the lowest and most vicious of criminals. He had on his own admission attempted to kill his father and caused the death of his mother. Both his brothers had begged their father to cut him out of his will, as they believed he would dissipate the family fortune by leading an immoral life. His unfortunate father, who could not help but love his son, never lost hope that he would turn to the path of honesty. Hector had played upon his father’s affection, warming the old man’s heart with a promise that he would reform, but it was a cruel lie. The brothers had asked a detective to follow Hector to see who he met as proof that he had not shaken off his previous associates, but the detective, concerned for his own safety, had declined the commission.
The Cyanide Ghost (Mina Scarletti Mystery Book 6) Page 27
