As yet, she had not had a great deal of conversation with Miss Cherry, who discouraged her from speaking too much, and issued advice in the manner of a benevolent but firm command. That afternoon, Mina was trying to enjoy a cup of broth while her nurse inspected the medicines on the night table and made notes in a little book, but every so often Miss Cherry gave Mina a glance as if she wanted to make an observation but didn’t like to.
‘Please say what you wish to say,’ Mina whispered. It was the only use of her voice that did not stimulate a fit of coughing. ‘If I am not long for the world, I really want to know so I can make any arrangements.’
‘Oh! No, that is not it, I assure you.’
‘Then what is it?’
Miss Cherry hesitated then closed her notebook. ‘I hope you don’t mind my asking, but are you the same Miss Scarletti who has been mentioned in the newspapers? The lady who goes to mediums and finds out which ones are true and which false?’
Mina smiled slightly and nodded. ‘I am.’
‘I ask because there was a lady whose family I attended recently, and she said that she was about to write to you about a pressing question. I expect that she was not aware that you are unwell.’
‘I have not received a letter at all for some days,’ said Mina. She paused. No excitement and no exertion, Dr Hamid had said. Of course, she realised, if there had been letters, they would have been withheld from her. ‘If you should see the lady, you must inform her that I am unwell,’ she said. ‘I will reply to her enquiry as soon as I am able.’
‘I will do so, of course.’ Miss Cherry opened her notebook and continued her work.
Mina laid her cup aside. ‘Do you know what the pressing question was?’
Miss Cherry paused and frowned a little. ‘I cannot reveal the secrets of the sickroom, Miss Scarletti.’
‘No, of course not. I understand.’
‘Although there are circumstances regarding the family that have already been published in the newspapers and are not secret. You must have read about it. The case of Mr Jasper Holt, the man who disappeared?’
Mina had lived in Brighton for three years but had never heard of this event. She might have been struggling to breathe but her curiosity and love of the outré were unimpaired. ‘When did this occur?’ she asked.
‘In 1864. But of course, with recent events, it has become the talk of the town again.’
‘Recent events?’
‘Mrs Holt’s remarriage. I am not a gossip by nature, but my mother works in Mr Grant’s drapery shop in St James’s Street, and she hears all the town news. It is a very superior establishment, and Mrs Holt was once a regular customer there. When the betrothal was announced there were many people in Brighton who recalled Mr Holt’s disappearance, and they began to talk of it again. Mrs Grant especially; she kept all the newspapers and brought them out for her friends to look at. I saw them myself only the other day. All the old stories; the reports, the rumours and the suspicions have been dusted off and examined very closely. Of course, Mr Grant does not tolerate idle conversation, but much may be said over the counter while measuring ribbon.’
‘I may have forgotten the details,’ said Mina. ‘Help me sit up a little more and tell me all about it.’
Miss Cherry complied. ‘I read about it in the Brighton Gazette at the time,’ she said, ‘but somehow, it seems just like yesterday. It was July; the town was crowded with visitors, and it was a beautiful warm day with a calm sea. Not a hint of any danger. Mr Holt was a wine and spirit merchant, a family man, very well liked, and he wanted to take a trip on a yacht. He told the boatman that his doctor had recommended he should take the sea air for his health, and he thought he might purchase the yacht, but wanted to sail in it first. The yacht — it was a very small one — was called Ocean Breeze, and it was owned by a Mr William Sutherland. They took off near to the West Pier and lots of people on the shore saw them depart, and gave them a cheerful wave, and both men waved back. But when the yacht returned, some hours later, only Mr Sutherland was aboard. He was terribly upset and alerted the police immediately. He said there had been a tragic accident.’
Miss Cherry paused dramatically. Mina knew better than to interrupt and waited expectantly.
‘Mr Sutherland told the police that once the yacht was on its way, Mr Holt said he wanted to sail to Shoreham, so he turned the vessel to the west. They had been going on well for about half an hour when there was a sudden strong gust of wind. Yachtsmen like Mr Sutherland know that this can happen from time to time in hot weather, but Mr Holt, not being an experienced sailor, thought that the vessel was in some danger. Mr Sutherland did his best to reassure him that all was well, but Mr Holt became very agitated. He rushed to the side to see if there was any assistance nearby, stumbled, and a sudden movement of the yacht threw him into the sea. This caused the yacht to roll most alarmingly, and Mr Sutherland had to work hard to avoid a capsize.
Mr Holt must have struck his head on the side of the boat as he fell, because Mr Sutherland saw him floating on the water unconscious, and tried to steer towards him to make a rescue, but he was unable to reach and recover him before he sank, weighed down by the sea water saturating his clothing. His body was never found.’
‘His poor family,’ said Mina. ‘How old was he?’
‘In his forties. And there were two young children. But there was more grief to come,’ said Miss Cherry. ‘It was found that Mr Holt’s business was in terrible debt and was about to fail, something that he had kept very carefully hidden. In the week before he disappeared, he had insured his life with the Brighton and Hove Insurance Company for a very large sum. But the insurance company refused to make any payment. They said that there was no proof that Mr Holt was dead.’
‘They suspected fraud,’ said Mina.
‘They did. In fact it was suggested that Mr Holt had planned the whole adventure, to make it seem that he was lost at sea when he was actually still alive and in hiding. Both Mrs Holt and Mr Sutherland were suspected of being involved, and they were questioned by the police, but they weren’t charged.
So Mrs Holt’s solicitor wrote to the newspapers saying that she didn’t know anything about her husband’s business affairs, and didn’t know if he was alive or dead, but if he was alive, she begged him to surrender himself.’
‘Who was her solicitor?’ asked Mina.
‘Oh — I am not sure, a Mr Phipps, I think.’
Mina nodded. Not her own solicitor, she thought, Mr Ronald Phipps, who would have been too young in 1864, but presumably a member of that partnership.
‘Then Mr Sutherland’s solicitor — I don’t know his name — made a statement saying that he had told the truth about Mr Holt’s fate and firmly believed him to be dead.’
‘And has nothing been heard since?’
‘Nothing. Mrs Holt’s brother — he’s Mr Gordon Saltmire — you might have heard of him, he has the porcelain business in Hove — he engaged a private detective, but I never heard if anything came of that. And someone called ‘Clarity’ wrote to the Gazette to say that Mrs Holt was a highly respectable lady who would never tell a lie, and that Mr Holt’s spirit had sent messages to say that Mr Sutherland’s story was true.’
‘I assume Clarity’s testimony did not convince the insurance company to pay?’
‘No. But seven years later with no sign of Mr Holt, a court declared him dead, and Mrs Holt married a Mr Vardy. But of course, that is only what was printed in the newspapers,’ said Miss Cherry as she finished her story, and adjusted Mina’s pillows. She had a superior knack in that skill which made Mina feel instantly more comfortable.
Mina, trying her best to control her surging interest, reflected that since her mother had been in London with Enid during the last few weeks there had been no teatime gatherings of ladies in her home, where such exchanges as this would have been relished. Town gossip was a tawdry commodity but if well sifted it could yield something of value. ‘How very interesting,’ she said. ‘Is there more
?’
Miss Cherry continued her pillow-smoothing which appeared to take rather longer than required, and Mina realised that she was thinking about how to respond. ‘Dr Hamid has ordered no excitement and no exertion,’ she said at last. ‘I think I have said too much.’
‘Then there is more,’ Mina whispered hopefully, trying not to overtax her voice. ‘Do tell. If the excitement should become overwhelming, I will let you know.’
Miss Cherry, who looked eager to tell her tale, despite the reservations imposed by her profession, drew up a chair beside the bed. ‘I have been told that there have been letters written to the newspapers very recently expressing ideas about what Mr Holt’s fate might have been, but these letters were never published, because it would have been unwise to do so.’
‘For fear of legal action,’ said Mina. She had no difficulty in imagining what those letters might have said.
‘Oh, there are a dozen different ideas about the true facts of the mystery. Much of it, I am sorry to say, is very unflattering to both Mr and Mrs Vardy.’
‘Since the lady has remarried, she must now accept that her husband is deceased,’ said Mina. Even as the sensible words left her lips Mina reminded herself that a second marriage where the first spouse was known to be alive was a circumstance that did occasionally trouble the courts. Without having met the lady in question she could not guess at her thoughts and motives.
‘Naturally, Mrs Vardy has not discussed her private affairs with me,’ added Miss Cherry, primly. ‘I am not, therefore betraying any confidences.’
‘It must be mortifying for her if she is aware that the whole town is discussing her situation.’
‘She cannot be unaware,’ said Miss Cherry.
A few moments passed before Mina understood the subtle meaning. ‘You mean that Mrs Vardy has been receiving letters, too?’
Miss Cherry made no reply.
‘And there must have been looks, and whispers.’ Mina was very familiar with the stares and comments she attracted in town due to her unusual appearance, her twisted, child-sized body and ungainly lurching walk. But this was the curiosity of strangers, not the repugnance of former friends. ‘And, I suspect, there have been fewer social calls and invitations.’
Still Miss Cherry said nothing.
‘Why does Mrs Vardy think I can advise her?’ Mina wondered. ‘Perhaps she wishes me to recommend a good medium. I do have correspondence of that sort.’
‘She visits a medium once a week and places great trust in her. It is a very select circle, and has existed for many years. The lady is quite old, and she has a remarkable machine, said to be the only one of its kind, that receives messages from beyond.’
Mina was about to comment but the effort of speech had been too much for her and she began to wheeze again. The air vanished from her lungs and the horrid cough came back to plague her.
Miss Cherry quickly leaned over and rubbed Mina’s back until she had recovered her breath, then poured a glass of water. ‘There now,’ she said as Mina took small rapid sips. ‘That is quite enough conversation for the present. Just rest.’
‘What of the boatman, Mr Sutherland?’ asked Mina — at least she tried to ask, but was prevented by a fresh fit of coughing which she attempted to stifle with a handkerchief.
At that moment, Rose entered with the poultice of boiled linseed spread on linen and Mina was obliged to submit to its application. Rose had a habit of making it a little hotter than necessary, presumably so it would last longer. Rose had to wait until Mina had coughed herself into a strained silence, then extracted the handkerchief from her grasp, inspected it and took it away for laundry.
‘How is mother?’ Mina gasped.
‘Mrs Scarletti wishes you to know that she cannot come to see you today as she is prostrated by anxiety and exhaustion, but she prays for you and Mrs Inskip three times a day,’ said Rose, tonelessly.
Mina tried to reply but unable to catch her breath, could only nod.
That night Mina’s temperature unexpectedly soared again. In a clammy shivery haze, the plight of the unfortunate Mrs Vardy and the mystery of Mr Holt remained on her mind. She did not want to slip away from the world without knowing the answer; or would death provide her with all the answers she craved?
Her brow was glazed with perspiration, carefully blotted by a kind hand that seemed to descend from Heaven with a cooling cloth. Still, she burned and ached, and as her temples began to throb a spectre hovered before her, the figure of a man without a face. Somehow, she knew that he was Mr Jasper Holt, not a ghost, but a vision created by her fever, tantalising, beckoning, inviting her to find him if she could.
Every time she sank into sleep, she thought she might never waken again. When she opened her eyes, faces hovered over her and shapes moved quietly about the room, anxious voices whispering in case she overheard their dire predictions. The loudest voice was that of her mother, who sat at the foot of the bed like a marble monument of a weeping angel over a grave, bemoaning the sufferings inflicted upon her by cruel fate.
The spout of a feeding cup was presented to her lips and cool water trickled down her throat. A cold pack descended on her forehead and strong fingertips grasped her wrist. She felt her pulse flutter. Mina closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on the important thing that was now taking all her slight energy — breathing.
Consciousness came and went, and time passed. For a while, she believed that she was dead. She was floating like a wraith above her own body, which lay on the bed looking small and shrunken, drowned in a sea of flowers. Worse still, she thought she saw the young photographer Mr Beckler. She had met him last January when he had insulted her in a manner that was so distressing, she had spoken of it to no-one. In her imagination he had come to take a portrait of her corpse, hoping to capture on his glass plates an image of her angry spirit. In her vision, her dead eyes snapped open, creating alarm in the onlookers, and she returned to her body with a shock.
Slowly, Mina came to herself and found that she was alive. It was almost as if her desire to chase the elusive truth of Mr Holt was the only thing keeping her in the world.
She fell at last into a deep healing sleep.
CHAPTER TWO
When Mina next awoke, she was content for some time simply to take pleasure from the fact that she was not drenched in perspiration, her head no longer imitated the beating of a drum and her breathing while not precisely painless, was much less of an effort. She became aware that a hand was gently holding hers and opened her eyes. Sitting beside the bed was her younger brother Richard, the handsome scapegrace of the family. He usually lodged with their older brother Edward in London, and his visits to Brighton tended to be impetuous and unannounced. Exasperating as he so often was, it always warmed her heart to see him.
‘Mina?’ he asked, hopefully. She squeezed his hand, and he laughed in relief. ‘Darling girl, you have given us all such a fright! How are you now?’
Mina considered this. ‘Thirsty,’ she whispered.
Miss Cherry was at her side in a moment, offering a cup, and Mina drank deeply, with only a slight cough marring the exercise, then sank back onto the pillows with a sigh. ‘I think I would like to sit up.’
Miss Cherry placed a hand to her forehead and smiled. ‘The fever is gone. Would you assist me, Mr Scarletti?’
Mina was carefully raised into a better position, then Miss Cherry went to refill the cup from the carafe on the night table, but there was not enough left. ‘I’ll fetch some fresh,’ she said, and left the room.
‘I suppose you know that Nellie is abroad at present?’ Mina asked.
In the recent past Richard’s visits to Brighton had by some extraordinary chance coincided with the absence on business of Nellie’s husband, John Jordan, who was a partner in the fashionable clothing emporium of Jordan and Conroy. Richard and Nellie had been intimate friends before her marriage, and the friendship had continued subsequently to an extent that society would have considered inadvisable and a sus
piciously jealous Mr Jordan unacceptable.
‘I do, yes,’ said Richard, ‘She and her horrid husband are in Italy. Darling girl, I came to see you. Dr Hamid wrote and told us you were unwell, and I came as soon as I could.’
Mina was unusually touched by his concern. ‘It was very good of you to come. I suppose Edward is occupied with business as usual?’
‘Oh yes, he seems always to be working in that drab office, or talking about his wedding. He has almost no time for anything else. Miss Hooper has him well in harness, but he doesn’t seem to see it. I never saw such a girl. She seems so meek, but she can crack a whip with a flutter of her eyelids.’
‘I wouldn’t insist that Edward abandons such a paragon,’ said Mina, who, to her great shame, was rather fonder of Richard and his foolishness than of their sensible but duller older brother. ‘I think if I was to find all the family standing in a circle about my bed it would not be a good sign. But, tell me, how is Enid? I assume there is still no word of Mr Inskip and when he might return?’
Richard rolled his eyes. ‘No, and the matter is a constant trial to her, as it is to us all. I do try to be sympathetic, but it is very hard when so many of her woes she brought upon herself.’
Mina reflected sorrowfully on the tribulations of her vain and wilful younger sister and found it hard to disagree. Enid’s husband, whom she had married on a whim and grown to despise was negotiating some property business with a Romanian count and had spent much of the autumn and winter hemmed in by snow and wolves and fighting an unnamed indisposition. Letters had been scarce, and he had not yet been apprised of Enid’s blossoming condition which was incompatible with the period of his absence. The previous autumn Enid’s undisciplined and selfish nature had led to indiscreet assignations with Mr Arthur Wallace Hope, the famous explorer and crusading spiritualist whose lectures had taken Brighton by storm. Too late, she had discovered that he had been associating with other foolish wives and cared nothing for any of his conquests. Some two or three months were required before Enid’s delicate situation could be restored.
His Father's Ghost (Mina Scarletti Mystery Book 5) Page 2
