‘And yet, materialists say that they will believe in nothing but what they see with their own eyes,’ said Mr Hope, scornfully. ‘That is their great fallacy, one which I intend to cure them of.’
Mina wasn’t sure that this was exactly what materialists said and wished she had a convincing answer that would not be trampled upon by Mr Hope. ‘But perhaps Mr Beckler would like to tell us about his pictures?’ she said.
Mr Beckler smiled. He had teeth like a wolf. ‘One of my very special services to clients is the memorial photograph. The memento mori, as it is sometimes known. I create a portrait of a loved one who has recently passed away, something for a bereaved family to treasure.’ His eyes roved about the company and settled on Mr Honeyacre, as if assessing him as the most likely potential subject for the near future.
‘You take portraits of people lying on their deathbeds?’ asked Nellie.
‘I do. If the deceased has never been photographed in life it will be the only picture of that individual the family will ever have. It must, of course, be done with sensitivity and good taste. Sometimes the client wishes the loved one to be seated in a more natural pose, such as in a favourite armchair, surrounded by family members and they will then seem to be sleeping. Or, a grieving mother will hold her dead child in her arms. I can, if the family so requests, paint open eyes on the photographic print so that the subject appears to be alive. But, recently, I took a picture that showed more than just the body of the deceased. There was something in that portrait which I could not see through my camera lens, which no one present saw and yet it was recorded on the plate.’ He paused and his gaze slithered about the room, passing over the rapt faces of his listeners. ‘I had taken a portrait of a spirit.’
There was a moment of astonished silence before Mina could not help but venture a query. At least, she thought, Mr Beckler did serve a useful purpose, since she could address questions to him without having to engage with Mr Hope. ‘Excuse me, but could you describe the form this took and how you knew it was a spirit?’
‘But, of course. Its appearance on the plate was like a dark smudge and I was fully prepared to find that the picture had been ruined by the intrusion of dust. Once I had developed it, however, I could clearly see a transparent white cloud in the shape of a head. It hovered above the body of the deceased, whose features it closely resembled. I should add that when the family saw the portrait they were astonished and all said that the face of the spirit was, without a doubt, that of their loved one. It was a very great comfort to them.’
‘Did you know before the photograph was taken that such a form might appear?’ asked Mina.
‘Not at all. It was a very great surprise. But, following that incident, I have resolved to make a study of the matter and conduct experiments to better understand the conditions required to produce portraits of spirits.’
‘Have you had much success?’ asked Mr Honeyacre, his interest in photography newly kindled.
Mr Beckler gave a smile of regret. ‘Not as yet. The spirits are fickle; they do not come at my command.’
‘Mr Beckler knew of my interest in spiritualism since I had given a lecture on the subject in Twickenham, where he resides,’ said Mr Hope. ‘And he was astute enough to realise the importance of what he had achieved. Another man might have dismissed the spirit portrait as a mere artefact of the photographic process and even striven to make changes to his methods to eliminate what might have seemed to him to be an imperfection. Indeed, it is very possible that other, less perceptive men have done precisely that and so destroyed valuable evidence of the persistence of life after bodily death. Fortunately, Mr Beckler brought the picture to me. It was a significant moment. Pictorial proof of the existence of the spirit.’
Mr Beckler looked quietly triumphant.
‘Are you a medium?’ asked Mr Honeyacre, breathlessly.
‘It is hard to be sure,’ said Mr Beckler, doing his best to appear modest.
‘Myself, I am certain of it,’ said Mr Hope. ‘But, as I have learned, mediums vary in their skills. Some produce visible manifestations, others demonstrate spirit messages written on slates, still others do no more than hear voices. Mr Beckler’s psychic talent lies in the production of photographic impressions. At present, therefore, I am loath to attempt to develop him in other areas as I fear that might diminish his already proven powers. For the future — who can tell?’
Dr Hamid addressed the humble psychic. ‘So your visit Hollow House is for the purpose of photographing the spirit or spirits reputed to be haunting here?’
‘That was the case,’ admitted Mr Beckler, ‘but unfortunately my camera, its stand and plates, all had to be left behind in Clayton in the charge of Mr Hope’s servant. They are too heavy to transport across muddy fields on foot and too fragile to risk. As far as capturing spirit images goes I shall therefore be obliged to rely on my powers of observation and memory, and with Mr Honeyacre’s permission I hope to return another day.’
Mina glanced at Mr Honeyacre, but it was obvious to her that some portion of the reverence he held for the famous Lord Hope had now, by the process of proximity, attached itself to his protégé. This did not promise well.
The conversation was interrupted by the sound of the dinner bell. As Mina entered the dining room she reflected on what she knew about photography and discovered that it was almost nothing. She had never sat for an individual portrait and her only experience was the photographs taken at her sister Enid’s wedding, when, as part of the family group, she had been placed carefully so as to conceal her unusual shape. In the finished portrait only her face had appeared, a small round disc like the moon with dark eyes like craters, hovering without a body between the shoulders of her brothers. She recalled that there had been a great deal of fussing with glass plates and chemicals, but the result had been forthcoming before too long and fortunately did not include any family ghosts.
There were, of course, photographers aplenty in Brighton and she was familiar with the appearance of cameras. But how they actually acted to produce the final picture she had no idea. Was the camera a kind of eye? And if it was, was it more or less accurate, more or less easily confused than the organ it mimicked? She felt she would like to know more.
As they took their places at the dining table it became clear that Mr Hope was fully recovered both from the ordeal of his journey and the shock of seeing Mina and Dr Hamid. Despite the fact that he was dressed in a suit belonging to Mr Gillespie that did not fit him as it was too tight he carried off that inconvenience with aplomb and good humour. Mr Beckler was in what must have been Mr Malling’s Sunday best, loose around the shoulders and several inches too short in the leg, the deficiency being overcome by a long pair of shooting socks.
Once, in the days before they had acknowledged themselves as enemies, Mr Hope had dined with Mina’s family and his object on that occasion had been to charm the ladies and ingratiate himself with Richard, the better to influence Mina. Now that she saw him in different company she made a careful observation of his manner towards the other diners, to try and judge his intentions, while making an effort not to appear to be doing so.
Kitty sat quietly at the table with downcast eyes and said almost nothing throughout the meal. She ate sparingly and occasionally slipped a small item into her pocket, a wafer or a morsel of pastry, undoubtedly a treat for Little Scrap. Mr Hope regarded her with politeness and courtesy, as befitted her status as lady of the house, but did not address her. Perhaps, thought Mina, Kitty’s wan features did not appeal to him, or did he draw the line at attempting to seduce his host’s wife under their roof?
Nellie was quite another matter, an undoubted beauty with a fine figure and a married lady not in the company of her husband. The glances Mr Hope threw at her were more than just appreciative, they were predatory. To such a man, fully aware of his attractions for the opposite sex, she was a prospect ripe for adventure without the danger of incurring the wrath of the host. Nellie very sensibly paid him no attention,
even when he smiled at her and raised a glass of wine in tribute.
Mr Hope took care to address neither Mina nor Dr Hamid and since Mr Beckler was already his acolyte it was scarcely necessary to pay any attention to him. His conversation was almost entirely directed at Mr Honeyacre. Just as Mr Hope had once been the ‘mark’ of fraudsters who had rightly assessed him to be the type most easily taken in by their schemes, so he had weighed Mr Honeyacre and found him ideal for his purposes, a man who owned and lived in a haunted house, a dedicated believer in spiritualism and overwhelmed with delight at entertaining a member of the aristocracy. Mr Hope was fully at his ease.
Dinner began with savouries and soup and Mr Hope especially fell to with gusto. ‘I cannot fully express to you, Mr Honeyacre, the excitement I experienced when I received your letter. I must apologise profoundly for the delay in my response — my letter to you that sadly did not arrive — but I was away from home making arrangements for my proposed return to Africa to find Dr Livingstone. I saw your letter only a few days ago and it filled me with tremendous eagerness to visit Hollow House. I have attended many séances, of course, with the most excellent mediums and received results that were highly evidential. But your invitation to experience an actual haunted house was something I could not ignore.’
‘Your expertise in this area will be most appreciated,’ said Mr Honeyacre. ‘I should also tell you that Miss Scarletti is knowledgeable on these matters and I am sure she will be delighted to assist you.’
‘What I need to do first of all,’ said Mr Hope, as if Mina’s name had never been mentioned, ‘is to locate the focus of the psychic energy.’
Mr Beckler nodded in agreement. For some reason he chose to turn his eyes towards Mina with a grin then stuffed savouries into his mouth and chewed energetically. It was not a pleasant sight and she turned away.
‘The location you seek is almost certainly the first floor corridor and the room where the antiquities are stored,’ said Mr Honeyacre. ‘It is where the activity has occurred and the ghost of the white lady has been seen, as well as some curious movements of a rocking horse.’
‘Ah yes, the unhappy Mrs Lassiter, as you have told me, searching for her lost child. The account of that matter, supplied by your housekeeper, has been of very great importance. That is a highly significant location without a doubt, but we must always consider that it might not be the primary one.’
Mr Honeyacre opened his eyes very wide and leaned forward to catch his guest’s words of wisdom.
‘Sometimes,’ said Mr Hope, ‘where there are hauntings they are merely the symptoms of a larger incursion, one that has spread from somewhere quite different, a place we might not suspect and it is that place that we need to find. The secret might lie far back in time, beyond living memory, existing only in folklore, the spoken word never recorded but passed down through the generations.’
‘I am afraid I learned nothing from the gentleman from whom I purchased the property. In fact, he had never lived here,’ said Mr Honeyacre, regretfully.
‘And you tell me that Mr and Mrs Malling reside in the new wing, where nothing psychic has occurred,’ said Mr Hope. ‘Of course, we cannot rule out the possibility that that wing is a hotbed of psychic activity which is only apparent to a sensitive.’
‘There were some curious noises in the church while we were there,’ said Dr Hamid, eliciting raised eyebrows from Mr Hope and a smile from Mina, ‘but I rather thought they were due to mice.’
‘So many incidents of psychic activity have been explained away by accusing innocent vermin,’ said Mr Hope with a laugh, as if psychic phenomena were a far more probable explanation, which to his mind they probably were. ‘But yes, the little church which we saw on our way here, that could well be another focus.’
‘You should speak to Ned Copper,’ said Mina mischievously. ‘He is an elderly resident of the village and has many tales to tell of its history.’
Mr Hope said nothing to Mina, but glanced at Mr Honeyacre for confirmation.
‘That is true,’ said Mr Honeyacre. ‘I can’t say how reliable he is, but I think it would be a good thing to interview him and write down what he says.’
The maids arrived to remove the soup plates and bring in the fish course.
‘I ought to mention,’ said Mr Honeyacre, ‘that Mary Ann is Ned Copper’s granddaughter.’ He nodded towards the maid. ‘The maids both live in the village as neither of them feel comfortable about sleeping here after dark. Both have witnessed disturbances in several locations and seen the ghost of the white lady.’
Mr Hope’s eyes brightened. ‘I shall certainly interview them both, as well as Mr Copper. Despite the lack of Mr Beckler’s photographic apparatus our time here will not be wasted. In fact, I can already see that we will be extremely busy.’ He glanced up as his plate was laid before him and the fish was served. ‘I should like to know from Mary Ann if she has any stories of the village which she might like to describe, something that might explain what has been happening here.’
Mary Ann hesitated. ‘Don’t be afraid, Mary Ann,’ said Mr Honeyacre, encouragingly. ‘You may speak.’
‘Well, sir, I only know what my grandfather has said, but he has always told me that there is a curse on the village.’
‘A curse?’ exclaimed Mr Hope, with some anticipation. ‘Well, that is extremely interesting. Does he know its origins?’
‘He says it goes a long way back, before the last people who lived here.’
‘As far back as the family who built the house?’ asked Mr Honeyacre. ‘The Wigmores?’
‘More than that. Long before Queen Bess even, when there was a cruel King who cut off the heads of his wives.’
Mr Hope was now all attention and turned around in his chair, his eyes on Mary Ann. ‘Do go on.’
Mary Ann, having been given permission to speak, allowed a sly smile to play around her lips. ‘Grandfather says that, in those old days, on the top of Clayton Hill there was a gallows. And there were cruel laws so many folks were hanged there who didn’t deserve to die and then they were left hanging till their flesh was all rotted away. Soon there were just the bones left behind. Afterwards the bones were gone, too, and so they never got a Christian burial. And now all those folks have been forgotten and there is no one to pray for them and they are lost souls forever a-wandering and a-crying out.’
There was a profound silence in the room.
‘Mary Ann, continue to serve the fish,’ said Mr Honeyacre.
‘Yes, sir,’ she said and moved on.
Mr Hope turned to his host. ‘Did you know about this?’
Mr Honeyacre shook his head. ‘Executions in the sixteenth century? No.’
‘Hmmm.’ Mr Hope’s broad brow furrowed in thought. ‘I will need to consult a map. I want to see where that place is with reference to Hollow House and the village and the church. If I could draw a line between them it might reveal a flow of psychic energy. The gallows is long gone, I suppose.’
‘Oh yes, there are just the two windmills there now.’
‘The windmills!’ exclaimed Mr Hope, excitedly. ‘I saw them as we came across the fields. So they are on the site of the old gallows? How extraordinary! How long have they been there?’
Mr Honeyacre searched his memory. ‘The post mill used to be elsewhere and it was dismantled and brought here maybe ten or twenty years ago. The tower mill is more recent. At the time I purchased Hollow House it had only just been built.’
‘And prior to the windmills? What was on the hill?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t know.’
‘It shouldn’t be hard to discover. Oh, this is wonderful news! It would not surprise me if a windmill could act as a psychic focus. It is so much in touch with the elements, with the forces of nature. If it was on the site of a former gallows that would be a powerful influence. And two windmills together! How unusual! I have never known of such a thing.’ He turned to his companion and pointed an authoritative finger. ‘Beckler, if the weathe
r permits we must go up there tomorrow. And we must make sure to speak to Ned Copper and see what tales he has to tell.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Mr Beckler, automatically.
‘Mr Honeyacre,’ said Mr Hope cheerfully, ‘I now have every expectation that I will discover the reason behind the haunting and then the unhappy souls that have been troubling you may finally be laid to rest!’
‘Oh, I do hope so!’ said Mr Honeyacre. ‘And I know Miss Scarletti will be eager to play whatever part she can. I have found her good sense and sound advice most valuable.’
Mina glanced up from her plate at the mention of her name and saw Mr Beckler’s eyes slide an amused gaze in her direction. She suspected that, following the awkward encounter in the drawing room, Mr Hope had taken the opportunity to tell Mr Beckler about her, suggesting either that she was an unacknowledged medium, or a determined opponent whom he intended to tame, or a woman who lived on the brink of insanity. There was no reason he could not have represented her as all three.
‘And now I must ask you all an important question,’ said Mr Hope, looking about him. He waited until he was certain that he had the full attention of everyone at the table. ‘Does anyone present have mediumistic powers? Please speak up if you think you do. This could be the key to the resolution of the mystery. I myself have only the smallest of gifts, if my poor efforts are anything to judge by,’ he added, with a little exhalation of regret.
‘I quite am sure that I do not,’ said Mr Honeyacre, ‘and neither does my dear wife. If we did then I might have been able to resolve this unhappy situation without appealing for assistance.’
‘Most emphatically no,’ said Nellie, in a tone that discouraged any contradiction.
‘I also answer no,’ said Dr Hamid, mildly.
The Ghost of Hollow House (Mina Scarletti Mystery Book 4) Page 12
