His Father's Ghost (Mina Scarletti Mystery Book 5)

by Linda Stratmann

  ‘I am struggling with a terrible dilemma!’ exclaimed Mrs Wandle. ‘Charlotte told me that Franklin had been very unhappy when Jasper was declared legally dead, and even more so when she remarried. The poor boy was so disturbed that they had to hire a nursemaid to watch over him, though that at least is no longer the case. I thought that if he could be told that his father had cared very much about him, so much so that he stayed away at great pain to himself rather than bring shame to the family, that he would get some comfort from that, and be able to visit his father’s grave. And Charlotte — she too would find peace at last by knowing the whole of the story right to the end. But —’ Mrs Wandle was too agitated to continue. The tea was gone, and Mina offered her a glass of water, but unable to speak, she waved it away.

  ‘But by telling her,’ said Mina, you would be confessing to having deceived her all these years.’ It had not escaped Mina’s notice that Mrs Wandle had several times referred to Mr Holt by his Christian name. She wondered if there had been more to their years of residing at the Inn together than she liked to admit. More than she would want her good friend to know about.

  Mrs Wandle dabbed her eyes with a large and serviceable looking kerchief. ‘Yes. And I would thereby lose a dear friend. I had thought perhaps I could write her a letter of explanation to be passed to her after I am gone, together with proof that Henry Brown was her husband. Is that cowardly of me?’

  ‘You have proof?’

  ‘Yes. Undeniable proof. He wrote a loving letter to Charlotte and the children shortly before he died. Then there are the clothes he arrived in. I still have them. I would have buried him in them, but they wouldn’t have fitted him of late, he had grown much larger about the waist, although I always thought it looked well on him, and there was a photograph, a family picture. He had it wrapped in oilcloth and wore it next to his heart.’

  ‘I think Mrs Vardy would be deeply moved to see those. I have another question. Did she tell you of her intended second marriage during Mr Holt’s lifetime?’

  ‘She told me that Mr Vardy had made an offer, and that she had decided to accept, but they had not yet set a date. I received an invitation, but I could not leave the bedside of a dying man. He expired soon afterwards.’

  There was a long silence during which Mrs Wandle gazed at Mina expectantly, and Mina realised that she was supposed to provide the answer to her visitor’s dilemma. It was as she considered the facts placed before her that she recalled that there was something she herself ought to impart.

  ‘Mrs Wandle, there are many persons who would be greatly affected by your story, including one you may not have thought of. There is an individual who has been suffering terrible consequences of what happened on the day Mr Holt disappeared.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Mr William Sutherland, the owner of the yacht. I don’t know exactly what happened on the day Mr Holt was thought to have perished, and we may never know, but it is my belief that ever since that time Mr Sutherland has been tormenting himself with guilt over Mr Holt’s death. Unnecessarily, as it now turns out.’

  Mrs Wandle looked shocked. ‘I — I had no idea. The poor man. It seems that so many of us have suffered needlessly from that day. But I have now told you all that I know. Please, Miss Scarletti — advise me! What should I do?’

  ‘I cannot tell you what to do,’ said Mina. ‘I can only listen to your story and comment on your difficulty. But I hope that now you have spoken all the facts aloud, and have the additional information I have provided, your conscience will tell you which course is the correct one.’

  Mrs Wandle’s expression told her all she needed to know.

  The next morning, Mina received a letter from Mrs Wandle.

  Dear Miss Scarletti

  I am extremely grateful to you for listening to me with such sympathy and earnest attention. I am still considering what I must do, but I am beginning to feel that I must gather my courage and speak the truth, even though I may suffer by it.

  The situation is even more complicated than I had thought. I have carefully preserved in my papers the invitation to Charlotte’s wedding to Mr Vardy and find that it took place on 24 January, that is the day before her first husband expired. Of course, no blame can attach to either party, and I am sure that that difficulty may be quietly smoothed over.

  Yours with great gratitude,

  Emily Wandle

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  ‘As I took my seat for Mrs Barnham’s next séance,’ confessed Mr Merridew after greeting Mina, ‘I did so with more nervousness than I had ever experienced before the curtain rose on a new play. In this case, there were few lines to learn, and performance was all, my appearance was for one night only, and there could be no rehearsal. So much depended on timing and chemistry, and chance, and most especially on little Maggie, who knew what she had to do, because I had schooled her, and whose courage and resolve and intelligence I could see gradually emerging from the fear and gloom of her unhappy existence, and beginning to shine in the light of hope.’

  Mr Merridew proceeded to recount his experience of the previous evening:

  I greeted Mrs Barnham and Miss Stone with the politeness that I knew neither of them deserved. I could not help thinking that it only wanted one more female of equivalent wickedness to complete the coven and stir the cauldron of their horrid deeds. I did feel, however, that apart from the unspeakable Mr Cobbe, none of the sitters, those who had come in good faith, with their own private griefs and anxieties, hoping for answers, knew of the evil to which their hosts would stoop.

  That night, I made sure to be the first of the guests to arrive so that I might sit closest to the fire. When Miss Stone went to tend to the coals, I quickly rose up, made a little bow and pleaded to be allowed to assist her. She was surprised, but quietly agreed to such a gentlemanly offer, and withdrew. By this means I was able to arrange the coals in the way that suited my intentions.

  Mr Eve arrived with his usual muttered grumbles, Mrs Anscombe billowed in on her cloud of camphor, and Mrs Vardy and Mrs Wandle sat together conversing in sisterly familiarity. Mrs Vardy was wondering if it was wise for her to leave the house as she had been so ill of late, and was beginning to regret being persuaded, but Mrs Wandle replied that she thought the air and the company would do her good. And there was, she added, something she wished to arrange. She wanted Mrs Vardy to pay her a visit at the little inn at Seabourne. How earnestly she reassured her friend that her home, though humble was respectable, and that her friends while appearing at first glance to be a little rough and ready were honest hardworking fisher folk. Images of the good hearted Peggotty family from David Copperfield in their quaint seashore home, were being conjured up as she spoke.

  Mr Cobbe strode in, and it was only now, knowing what I knew that I saw the avaricious gleam in Mrs Barnham’s eyes as she greeted the banker, and his mouth twitch in suppressed anticipation as he eased into his chair.’ Mr Merridew sighed. ‘What a world we live in when there are those who find pleasure and satisfaction only in harming those weaker than themselves, and creatures like Mrs Barnham who assist them for money.

  The séance proceeded, with the sliding of the mysteriously propelled table, the spiritoscope disk turning in its smooth oily fashion, and the cold pointing metal finger spelling out fates for all. That evening I received another message from the late King William confirming that his dear consort Adelaide was with him in heaven, and that she also gave her blessing to my literary endeavours. There was no message from the late King George IV which was as well, since in view of his notorious life this might have led the sitters to be concerned that the spiritoscope could communicate with less elevated regions.

  I watched the proceedings with care, deciding to ignore the action of Mrs Barnham’s hands, to which she always drew attention in order to demonstrate that it was impossible for her to influence the movement of the table, but looked instead to see if there was any opportunity for her nether limbs to be employed. I have heard of mediums and ma
gicians who are so dexterous with their feet that they can slip off a shoe and manipulate objects with their toes as if they were blessed with another hand, but Mrs Barnham’s age and stiffness of limbs might prevent her from doing so. Recently however, I spoke to a man who constructs stage machinery, describing the spiritoscope, and as a result I entertained the thought that there was underneath the table, well hidden by the medium’s skirts, a lever that could easily be operated by her knee. Since Mrs Barnham was seated across the table, any movement of her lower limbs was undetectable, and I was unable to form any conclusion beyond that it was a possibility. Like yourself, Miss Scarletti I have no objection to a medium providing a useful service and a pleasant evening for little or no remuneration. I have no desire to expose mechanical trickery any more than I would give away the secrets of a conjuror, which as you know is quite forbidden.

  The other sitters enjoyed the usual messages, with the shade of Mr Holt assuring Mrs Vardy that all her troubles would soon be at an end, and she would at last know peace and harmony. The consumption of tea and bread and butter followed, and Mr Cobbe, with darting fingertips, ate and drank rapidly and cleared the plate. Once again I volunteered to tend the fire which I did with very great care, and Miss Stone took away the tea things. When she returned, it was time for the concluding act of the drama. I thought as we sat with eyes closed and sang a hymn how horrible it was that the mask of piety should be used to conceal wickedness.

  At last, we were permitted to look. Maggie, and there could be no doubt in the world for anyone with eyes in their head that this was she, stood veiled and trembling in the darkened room. The company held its collective breath, some of which was let out in little gasps of wonder.

  Mr Cobbe called out to his daughter and extended his arms, urging the child to come forward, but this time, to his surprise, she did not move. Frightened as she was, and she sent a rapid glance in my direction to gather her courage, she stood firm on her spot. Instead, the thin arms of the gauze draped figure reached towards Mr Cobbe and beckoned. ‘Come,’ whispered the apparition, ‘come to me.’

  There was some murmuring and concerned shifting of bodies, as this was not at all what Mrs Barnham and Miss Stone had tutored Maggie to do, but all seemed to be going well and thus far they could see no reason to intervene.

  Mr Cobbe rose from his chair, and tottered forward, and there was a groan as he clasped the apparition to him. There were sounds of masculine sobbing which almost masked other noises, which would be better not described.

  Then came the cry that I had been waiting for, a single word from Maggie, ‘No!’ I hoped most fervently that the child would remember my instruction to close her eyes.

  Then I moved as fast as I had ever done in my life, throwing the strip of magnesium ribbon which I obtained from Mr Beckler onto the hottest part of the fire, and simultaneously turning the covering brass guard so that it stood like a shield between the sitters and the fire but exposed the blaze to the centre of the room. Since I was nearest to the conflagration, I quickly held my hands before my eyes.

  There was a sudden brilliant explosion of white light from the fireplace provoking screams of terror from the sitters. Mr Cobbe gasped and automatically raised his hands to protect his eyes, as the brightness which illuminated the room as if it had been day, made his horrible proclivities all too plain to behold. Maggie, released from his clasp, stepped away, pulled off the filmy draperies that had covered her linen shift and threw them to the floor. In the lighted room they no longer glowed like heavenly garments but looked dull, grey and commonplace.

  I turned to the other sitters who were cowering both from the glare and the dreadful spectacle. I pointed at Maggie. ‘This is no ghost!’ I announced. ‘This is the ill-used maidservant, an innocent who has been forced by these women to take part in their diabolical scheme, and she has been treated most abominably by that evil man!’

  Mrs Vardy leaped up screaming ‘Oh, the poor child!’, then the cloud of ash that poured thickly like white smoke from the fireplace as the magnesium ribbon burned drew a merciful veil over the scene of Mr Cobbe’s shame.

  Knowing that all would be plunged into semi darkness again once the ribbon had burned away, I ran forward and turned up the gas lamps. As I did so there was a sudden cry and a loud thud like the falling of a sack of potatoes. The lamplight revealed the prostrate form of Mr Cobbe lying on the floor, having tripped and fallen over in an effort to reach the door. Quite what he had stumbled upon was unclear, but Mrs Wandle had risen from her chair and there was a gleam in her eye which suggested that one of her boots had been involved. Mrs Anscombe, showing herself to be very capable of moving quickly if the situation demanded it, strode over to the fireplace, picked up the poker, and with a cry of ‘you monster!’ started belabouring Mr Cobbe with more enthusiasm than accuracy, aiming chiefly at those portions of his anatomy which are not usually discussed in society circles. Mr Cobbe bawled loudly as each blow fell, while Mrs Vardy hugged Maggie protectively, making sure the child’s eyes were turned away from the scene of violence.

  There was nothing Mrs Barnham could do or say, and she remained speechless and immobile, her eyes staring and blank. She appeared to be in a trance, a situation which I disdained to believe. Miss Stone had simply thrown a kerchief over her face and was refusing to look at anything. Mr Eve meanwhile had got to his feet with an expression of outrage. Mr Cobbe was trying to crawl across the floor towards the door to evade Mrs Anscombe’s vigorous ministrations, screaming for someone to get ‘that woman’ away from him, which no-one was inclined to do. Mr Eve crossed the room quickly and stood in his way. ‘We must not let this foul beast escape!’ he cried. ‘I have had my suspicions of him for some time, but I could not believe it of a man in his position. Now I have the evidence of my own eyes and the eyes of a host of respectable witnesses, and I shall send for the police.’

  Mr Cobbe managed to get to his knees and did his best to plead a simple misunderstanding, wailing to Mrs Anscombe to stop, but her aim improved enough to catch him a glancing blow across the head with the poker and he slumped forward with a moan, and lay half stunned on the floor, a stream of blood pouring down his face.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Anscombe, you have done enough,’ said Mr Eve, raising his hand towards her. She desisted, but with noticeable reluctance. ‘I do not want this man killed, that would be too merciful a fate. He must be brought to justice and I promise that I shall see it done. I believe the man who occupies the ground floor apartment has a reliable manservant who I will send to fetch a constable. Mr Merridew, would you kindly ensure that our prisoner does not leave this room?’

  ‘With pleasure,’ I said. ‘And if he has had enough of the poker, he will be sure to suffer the tongs.’

  Mrs Vardy was shaking with rage. ‘So,’ she said to a wilfully silent Mrs Barnham, ‘it was all a sham. Dressing up your maidservant as a ghost and subjecting her to things I would be ashamed to name. I hope you won’t try and pretend that this poor child was to blame. Look how she trembles! And what else was a sham, I wonder? The messages from beyond? Were they false, too? Perhaps they came from no further than that machine. We shall not remain in his infamous house a moment longer. How I regret the time I have wasted here!’

  ‘You can be sure of one thing, Mrs Barnham,’ said Mrs Wandle calmly to the medium, ‘this will be your last séance.’ She turned to Mrs Vardy. ‘Come, Charlotte, let us take the child to safety.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  ‘And so I once again found myself at the Town Hall,’ said Dr Hamid, as he and Mina enjoyed a light luncheon brought to them on a tray on the day following Mr Merridew’s report. ‘Have you ever encountered Mrs Barnham?’

  ‘I have heard of her and her curious machine and select circle. But of course she would never have admitted me to her séances.’

  ‘And yet, whenever there is some drama in Brighton concerning a medium exposed as a swindler, I cannot help thinking that you have had a hand in it in some way.’

/>   ‘I don’t believe I have anything to confess,’ said Mina, helping herself to cheese tart and cold roast chicken. ‘But do tell me how the fraud was found out.’

  I was summoned to attend to Mr William Cobbe, the banker. He had been attending a séance at the home of Mrs Barnham and was being held in the cells. Mrs Barnham and her servant a Miss Stone, were also there. They had been brought in by a Mr Eve, one of their circle, who had called for the assistance of a constable. It was hard for me to make out precisely what had occurred, although I imagine the newspapers will report it in due course. The two ladies were being held in separate cells in the females’ corridor. My task was solely to examine Mr Cobbe, to see if he was fit to be interviewed. His face was bruised and bloodstained, and for reasons best known to himself he was refusing to sit down. He was shaking with the indignity of his position and claimed at first that he had suffered a fall.

  ‘This is a remarkable injury from a simple fall,’ I observed, since my immediate impression was that he had been struck with a weapon of some kind, but was unwilling to admit it.

  ‘Oh it was more than just one fall,’ said Mr Eve. ‘There’ll be marks on his body too.’

  ‘Well if you must know, it was that horrible woman Mrs Anscombe!’ exclaimed Mr Cobbe. ‘She made all sorts of allegations against me and then attacked me with a poker! Has she been arrested? She should be charged with assault and battery! I shouldn’t be here, I am the victim of her crime!’

  ‘He is confused, of course,’ said Mr Eve, with a shake of his head. ‘There were reliable witnesses to the event, of whom I am one, and we all agree on the facts. Mr Cobbe tripped and fell against the fire irons. In trying to pick himself up he stumbled and fell again. Several times.’

  ‘That is an outrageous lie!’ Cobbe retorted. ‘I demand to be released at once! Where is my solicitor? I have friends in high places, and they will be notified of this! It is a conspiracy against my good name!’