The Royal Ghost

by Linda Stratmann

  North Street was not so very far from Mina’s home in Montpelier Road. When her back was easy she liked to take gentle strolls in the sunshine and fresh clean air. She was obliged to go carefully, so as not to strain the muscles that protested against her awkward gait, the twist in her obstinate spine and tilt of her hipbone causing her to rock from side to side in a manner that made rude children point and laugh and polite adults glance at her in surprise and then quickly look away. She had been taught the importance of exercise by Anna Hamid, who said it was essential in order to counteract the hours she spent at her writing desk. Lack of activity would stiffen her, lock her fast into her awkward shape and make it harder for her to move. Idleness was her enemy. Mina was well aware that if she lived long enough, there might well come a time when she would be confined to a bath chair, and wholly reliant on another person if she wished to go out in the town, but should that fate ever come about she wanted to delay it as long as possible. She thought again of her friend Eliza Hamid, dead at fifty, her constricted lungs unable to combat an inflammation that a healthy woman would have survived.

  For a devoted reader W.J. Smith’s bookshop was a palace of delight. Its handsome windows were lined from their base to their height with rows of shelves displaying more books than one might have thought could possibly be assembled in the space, and the doorways were flanked with racks that towered over Mina and were filled with a wide variety of periodicals. On that day, half of one window was entirely taken up with copies of African Quest, nicely bound in maroon leather, the cover stamped in gold with a map of Africa. The book was priced at six shillings and like the lecture, for which there was a prominent advertisement, all proceeds were to go to the fund for the rescue of Dr Livingstone. While Mina was obliged to agree in part with her mother that the brave doctor was in a plight of his own making she nevertheless felt that this was no reason to abandon him unrescued. She was also far from convinced, as her mother was, that the exploration of Africa was an activity that would never bring rewards. Who could know what riches in terms of crops or minerals might lie at the source of the Nile, or what valuable trade routes might be opened? Dr Livingstone’s work might one day add greatly to the sum of human happiness, and then he would no longer be denigrated as misguided, or branded an expensive failure, but praised and lauded as a hero. In the window, on prominent display, was a photographic portrait of the lost gentleman, staring into the camera with deep-set mournful eyes, his brow furrowed with inexpressible pain. Aged about fifty at the time the portrait was taken, he looked older. Now, after five more years in Africa, it was unlikely, thought Mina, that he would look half as well, if he was still alive, which was doubtful. Friends of Dr Livingstone frequently wrote to the newspapers expressing their confidence in his abilities and conviction that he was alive. Other reports had twice declared him dead. The only certain thing was that there had been no news of him at all for the last two years.

  There was another portrait in the window, and on seeing it Mina at once understood the reason for Enid’s sudden interest in Africa. Arthur Wallace Hope was an impressive figure, in the very prime of his vigorous life, tall, muscular and broad of chest, with flaring dark whiskers, the epitome of bold healthy masculinity. His expression was that of a man who had looked far over the great plains and lakes and rivers of a foreign land, faced dangers and overcome them, fought and suffered, and come through it all with credit. He was not precisely handsome, but his face inspired confidence, and his physique was as far removed from the slight form of Mr Inskip as could be imagined.

  In the shop Mina asked to see the seating plan for the lecture and selected three places at the front of the hall. She was not sure if this was a wise thing to do, especially in the light of Enid’s fondness for tight lacing, but felt that had she purchased tickets near the back, she would have been endlessly castigated for her poor choice. With any luck the Lord Mayor and other town dignitaries would be present, and that would add something to her mother’s evening when she became tired of listening to the speaker, which would be early in the proceedings. Mina also purchased a copy of African Quest. While she was there a number of ladies whose veils were drawn fully about their faces, made a creeping, diffident approach to the counter, and, leaning towards the manager in a confidential fashion, whispered their requests. Some explained that they were servants who had been sent by their mistresses on a mission, others declared that the desired purchase was not for themselves but for a friend. The manager understood their needs exactly and with no alteration in his deferential expression provided each of these shy customers with a slim volume ready-wrapped in brown paper. Mina did not have to guess which book they were purchasing, and only wished that her stories sold as well, for she would be a rich woman. The shop did stock her work, which she published under the name Robert Neil, the pseudonym her father had used for his occasional stories, and they brought in a regular income, which, in addition to the annuity left to her by her father made her financially secure if not actually wealthy.

  The bookshop lay very near to the public reading room which boasted a fine collection of informative periodicals, including past copies of the Gazette, and Mina thought that by studying the attractions advertised in the newspaper as taking place in the Royal Pavilion, she would be able to identify if not the exact day, then the year and month at least in which the Misses Bland had paid their first visit. Fortunately the Gazette was a weekly rather than a daily publication, or her task would have been arduous. Slowly she worked her way back through the issues, and at last in the paper dated 6 October 1870 she saw an announcement that the automaton chess player who had created such a sensation at London’s Crystal Palace had come to Brighton, and would be seen at work in the chess club room of the Royal Pavilion daily from 2 to 5pm and 8 to 10pm. Mina had never seen a chess automaton, but knew that they were machines that played chess games with anyone who wished to challenge them. How they actually worked was a mystery, but Mina thought that if the device was only a cleverly made machine and not something enclosing a hidden human operator, it would not have needed to take a three-hour rest. In the very next issue there was an announcement that Dr H.S. Lynn the famous conjuror, who had never previously visited Brighton, would be performing his ‘Grande Séance de Physique et Mystères Oriental’ in the Banqueting Room of the Royal Pavilion on the following Monday, the proceeds to be given to the widows and children of the drowned crewmen of HMS Captain, the vessel which had sunk with the loss of almost five hundred souls in the previous month. Dr Lynn promised ‘a number of wondrous mysteries’ never before seen in Europe, including the Japanese butterfly illusion for which he was especially noted, as well as ‘top spinning extraordinary on a single thread’ and the ‘instantaneous growth of flowers’. The band of the Inniskilling Dragoons had also been playing very frequently in Brighton during that season. After careful study of the newspapers Mina was able to satisfy herself that Dr Lynn had only given his performance on the one occasion, and the chess automaton, after a short season in Brighton, had returned to Crystal Palace.

  Mina, to her surprise, had determined an exact date. Unless there was a similar coincidence of events, the visit of the two authors of An Encounter had taken place a little under a year ago, on Monday, 17 October 1870.

  Six

  As soon as Mina returned home she was pounced upon by Enid, who, enraged at the insupportable delay caused by the reading room visit, demanded to see the tickets immediately since it would be necessary to go back to the shop at once and exchange them if they were not good enough. Fortunately they were. ‘You will be so close to Mr Hope you will be able to smell the pomade on his whiskers,’ Mina reassured her. Enid looked as if she was about to faint.

  During the next few days Enid found it impossible to conceal her anticipation of Mr Hope’s lecture. Her cheeks flushed whenever she mentioned it, which was often, and from the way they flushed when she did not mention it, Mina deduced that her sister was thinking about it. Enid’s agitation and Louisa’s simme
ring disapproval made for a very tense household, and Mina longed for a visit from Richard and his happier nonsense.

  On the Monday Enid was too excited to eat, which was just as well as she was laced so tightly that anything she swallowed could never have found its way through her digestive system. Rose had helped her dress, and as this involved several changes of costume, as well as anger and tears, it was a relief to everyone when the cab finally arrived and there was no time for Enid to change her mind again.

  The spacious upper room of the Town Hall was crowded with patrons. Lectures were a regular attraction there and covered subjects as diverse as religion, history, literature and geography, with the occasional dissertation on moral issues, the sanitary conditions of Brighton and the electoral disabilities of women. Serious talks on morality or religion were well attended by those eager to wear the badge of respectability. It was not therefore necessary to actually listen to the speaker, although many who sought illumination, certainty or simply improvement, did so, and declared that they had been mightily edified by the experience. Others thought that just being seen there was sufficient, and after taking the opportunity to mingle with their friends before the lecture commenced, dozed gently through the earnest address, waking only at the sound of applause. Mina had never attended these lectures but they were fully reported in the newspapers, and she had read with some amusement of the respected Brighton novelist and literary authority Mr Edward Campbell Tainsh and his denouncement of sensational literature as feverish, contemptible and unhealthy. Books, he said, should be restful, dignified and innocent. Mina, having completed her story of the little lady, had commenced a new one, in which a man was being driven mad by the torment of demons that had arisen from a life devoted to cruelty and vice. She decided not to send a presentation copy to Mr Tainsh for his review.

  Enid, clutching her copy of African Quest as if it was a religious tract, looked keenly about as they entered the lecture room, but the imposing figure of Mr Hope had not yet appeared. The audience, Mina noticed, was composed of the usual assortment of ladies and gentlemen, with some representatives of the Brighton press, but there were appreciable numbers of young men with eager expressions, who looked ready to volunteer for perilous adventures at the smallest inducement.

  Dr Hamid arrived, accompanied by Anna, a rare social engagement for them as they usually liked to stay quietly at home together after a long and busy day. Mina wondered if, following Eliza’s death, they had decided to seek more entertainment outside their home, inhabited as it was by the unseen ghosts of those they had recently lost. Louisa, studying the company for friends she could greet and outshine, lighted on Mrs Peasgood and Mrs Mowbray, widowed sisters in their fifties, both of whom were plain of face and comfortably stout, and hurried to speak to them. Mrs Peasgood’s late husband, a surgeon, had left her well provided for, and her elegant residence in Marine Square, which she shared with her sister, boasted a large drawing room where she often hosted musical entertainments. An invitation to one of Mrs Peasgood’s soirees was a notable stamp of status and she was considered a person of influence in Brighton society. By contrast, the late Mr Mowbray’s business as a wine merchant had collapsed in debt due to bad management and excessive consumption of his own stock. While Mrs Peasgood appeared thoroughly contented with her position in life, Mrs Mowbray was constantly casting her eyes at single gentlemen, like a hungry spider waiting for an unsuspecting fly to creep within her grasp. She often looked with great approval at Dr Hamid, who was not merely impervious to her attractions but unaware of her interest. The sisters, like Louisa and Mrs Bettinson, had once been members of the little circle who had attended the séances of Miss Eustace, something that none of them now cared to mention.

  There was a brief pause in even Louisa’s conversation and several pairs of eyes turned to the door as another friend arrived, Miss Whinstone, who did not come alone. Miss Whinstone was a highly susceptible and nervous spinster who ordinarily would never have dreamed of attending a lecture on the subject of bloodcurdling adventures in Africa. The mere idea of leaving Brighton made her feel faint, although she had once dared to visit Hove. It was she who had suffered most from the depredations of Miss Eustace, who had deluded her into believing that her deceased brother was sending her messages requiring her to meet expenses for which he felt responsible. The demands had been increasing in both size and frequency when Mina discovered what was happening and put a stop to it.

  Miss Whinstone had recently astonished everyone, especially those who knew her best, by acquiring a gentleman friend, Mr Jellico, a retired schoolmaster with weak legs and a passion for acrostics. Their most recent adventures had included a walk on the West Pier, and a visit to the theatre to see a comedy by Shakespeare, and it was now widely rumoured that they were planning a day excursion to Worthing. On learning this Louisa declared that ‘dear Harriet’ as she called Miss Whinstone whenever she needed to prise gossip from her, had taken leave of her senses, by which she meant that she had had the effrontery to entertain an admirer when she had none. Not that Louisa envied Miss Whinstone her unsteady and grey-whiskered companion, but she would have liked the opportunity to tell him that his attentions were unwanted.

  Miss Whinstone, who was usually so scant of courage, had been able, with the support of Mr Jellico and a great many glasses of water, to tell the story of her cruel deception to the Lewes magistrates, as a result of which Miss Eustace and her co-conspirators had not only been committed for trial but refused bail on the grounds that such slippery creatures would surely escape given the slenderest of chances. That evening, Miss Whinstone and her antiquated swain walked unashamedly arm-in-arm, although it was not apparent to the casual observer which of the two was supporting the other.

  Still more arrivals flooded into the room, which soon became full to bursting, and through the buzzing chatter Mina could hear that a great many of those present had read or heard of Arthur Wallace Hope’s adventures, and not a few carried recently purchased copies of his book, in the expectation that the author could be prevailed upon to enhance it with his signature. In front of the platform there was a table piled high with more volumes in case anyone had neglected to buy a copy, and pen, ink and blotter lay in readiness. To one side of the hall was a long table, whose contents were covered by a plain cloth. It was being guarded in a strict but courteous fashion by a gentleman aged about sixty who wore the sombre garb of a senior servant. The platform was already supplied with a number of chairs and at the back, high on the wall, were two large furled maps and a pointing rod.

  The first man to appear on the platform was an official of the Town Hall, who begged all the ticket holders to be seated, and once this was achieved, the distinguished visitors, Mr Webb the Lord Mayor, and a number of other dignitaries were announced and received polite but brief applause before taking their places. At last, the man himself, Mr Arthur Wallace Hope, appeared. Mina had wondered if Hope in the flesh might be less impressive than the Hope of his portrait but if anything the opposite was the case, as Enid’s little gasp testified. A portrait could not convey stature and he was a tall man, standing some six feet in height, broad shouldered and with a confident step. He surveyed the gathering with a friendly expression before he sat down, and then the Town Hall official, his faint glory eclipsed by the glittering company, very prudently withdrew and left the remainder of the formalities to Mr Webb. The Mayor made a short address, saying what a pleasure it was to welcome such a distinguished man to Brighton, and indicated, as if Mr Hope was too modest to mention it, that after the talk copies of the book African Quest would be available for purchase, and the speaker would be delighted to inscribe them, as well as copies previously bought, with his signature and a suitable dedication.

  Enid glowed with anticipation.

  The Mayor resumed his seat and there was a breathless silence as Hope stepped forward to speak. His voice, booming from his deep chest, was everything one might have anticipated. ‘Mr Lord Mayor, Aldermen, distinguished guests
, ladies and gentlemen of Brighton, it is my very great honour to address you today. My journey here has been something of a pilgrimage, since one of the first visits I made on my arrival was to the Royal Pavilion, where I stood in the vestibule admiring the magnificent statue of Captain Pechell, one of the honoured sons of this town. A more valiant man and a better comrade in arms has never been known, and I confess that his likeness, showing him in an attitude of the greatest heroism as he urged his men forward, brought a tear to my eye as I recalled our service together in the Crimea and the terrible tragedy of Sebastopol that took him from us in the prime of his active youth. And yet, as I stood there, I felt that he was still with me, his spirit seemed to stand beside me as he himself had once done, and his bravery remains an inspiration to me now.

  ‘One might think that on my return from the Crimea I would have been happy to consider my duty to my country done, but my days in the army had aroused in me a great hunger for travel, adventure, and yes I admit it, danger!’ A thrill of excitement ran through the audience. ‘And where can one find all three in greater abundance than in any corner of the great globe? Why, Africa! The untamed, uncharted land, whose immense size can only inspire us with wonder at what we might discover there. Surely there must be opportunities for valuable trade; furs and ivory, mines yielding gold and precious stones, if, that is, we can learn to navigate the great rivers, the courses of which have been a mystery since the time of the ancients. But I want to assure you of this,’ he went on very seriously, ‘we British go to Africa not as enemies or plunderers. We have no desire to conquer the land and take it for ourselves. We go in friendship, to bring honest trade to the inhabitants as well as the benefits of Christianity to their souls. However —’ he paused and favoured the audience with a significant stare ‘— there is one evil in Africa which must be abolished – I am referring to the cruel and abominable trade in slaves. Ladies and gentlemen, do you not wonder how it is that the ivory of your piano keys and your knife handles reaches you? I will tell you. It is carried overland on the backs of slaves who are treated in the most inhumane fashion and then murdered when they are no longer able to bear their loads. It was the inspiration of Dr David Livingstone to combat this terrible practice not merely by conversion through Christian preaching but by discovering other trade routes that would pass along the rivers of Africa. With this admirable intention he proposed an expedition to open up the Zambezi. It was a monumental and ambitious task and I was at once fired with a great desire to go with him.