The Royal Ghost

by Linda Stratmann

  ‘Who was the lady?’ asked Mina.

  ‘Mrs Mowbray.’

  ‘Really!’ Mina exclaimed.

  ‘Of course there is no means of knowing if she was actually there to see the man. But what her purpose might otherwise have been I really couldn’t say. It is not a place a respectable single lady ought to go unaccompanied, even a lady of matronly aspect like Mrs Mowbray. Had it been a female of another sort – well —’ he let the implication hang.

  ‘We could have drawn the obvious conclusion,’ finished Mina. ‘But I think we may absolve Mrs Mowbray of having an illicit liaison of the romantic kind with the Mystic Stefan.’

  ‘And it is improbable that he is a relative if he is Hungarian and a stranger to England. Unless of course he is some distant connection she does not wish to acknowledge openly.’

  ‘Well I for one cannot believe he is Hungarian at all,’ Mina declared. ‘That is all part of the cloak of concealment these conjurors like to draw around themselves. I suspect that most of the Chinese magicians in this country have never been east of Margate. It is all costume and wigs and an air of mystery. That is why Mystic Stefan doesn’t speak, he wants to preserve the illusion. If I was to step on his toe we would find him very fluent in English.’

  Dr Hamid looked worried. ‘Are you planning to step on his toe?’

  ‘If the opportunity presents itself. But I can see his value to Mr Hope. He is the instrument Mr Hope is using to try and draw me into a belief in mediums so I can join his campaign to exonerate Miss Eustace. And of course a patron like Mr Hope is a valuable commodity to a performer, so Mystic Stefan provides Mr Hope with what he wants – messages from Dr Livingstone.’

  ‘I agree. Which leaves us with the worrying question of Mrs Mowbray. I have given this a great deal of thought but am afraid that there is nothing we can do for her. We cannot warn her, or tell her sister what I observed; if confronted she would only deny everything.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ wondered Mina, ‘Mystic Stefan holds private séances or tells fortunes. That could be the purpose of the visit. Unwise, of course, but less worrying than other possibilities. Mrs Mowbray is not a wealthy woman, so she has no fortune to tempt an adventurer, which may in this case be a good thing. She would not wish him to come to the house for such sittings, since her sister would undoubtedly disapprove.’

  Dr Hamid nodded thoughtfully at this new, less scandalous interpretation of events. ‘I think you may be right. But Mrs Mowbray is surely content with her lot since she lives with her sister most comfortably, and I never observed her wanting to contact her late husband, who left her so dependent on the family affection of Mrs Peasgood. What can she possibly wish for?’

  ‘What indeed? Oh, I meant to ask you, there was a lady at the performance last night, aged about thirty with sharp features. I have not seen her before. Do you know who she is?’

  ‘There were several people there not known to me. Why are you interested in that lady in particular?’

  ‘Because she was the only person not surprised by what she saw. If any member of the audience was a confederate of Mystic Stefan, it was she.’

  Dr Hamid was unable to offer any insight, and Mina determined that if she was to see the lady again she would do her best to study her further.

  As Mina was leaving she saw an unfamiliar figure walking towards the entrance to the bathhouse, and suspected at once who she might be, since she was so heavily veiled that no outline of her features was visible. If Mina’s guess was correct this was the elder Miss Bland, come for her treatment. Mina was tempted to follow her, but it would look suspicious to turn back into the premises as she had only that moment emerged, also to do so would reveal that she knew that the elder Miss Bland wore a veil to conceal some defect, something she was not at present supposed to know. Mina resolved to do nothing for the moment except observe, and carefully slowed her pace to give her more time to do so. However, an unexpected thing happened. As the lady approached the building she saw Mina and stopped in her tracks, clearly startled. Mina pretended not to notice this, and the lady, after her hesitation, collected herself and moved on, passing swiftly through the doors. Had Miss Bland – if indeed it was she – merely been taken aback at Mina’s appearance? It was not unknown for people to recoil from her. Or was there something more? It was almost as if she was being deliberately avoided.

  There was one person who would be able to explain some of the mysteries of the Mystic Stefan’s performance. Mina sent an urgent message to Nellie, who indicated by a scented note that she would call on her that afternoon, and convey them both to where they could enjoy light refreshments in the tea room of the Grand Hotel. There, surrounded by elegant glamour with service deferential to a fault and where comestibles appeared on tables in the blink of an eye, Mina told Nellie in as much detail as she could recall of the magic of the strange Hungarian.

  ‘How interesting,’ said Nellie, sipping from a pale china tea cup and nibbling bread and butter so thin it was almost transparent. ‘It confirms my original opinion that Mystic Stefan is no novice. I have been making some enquiries of my own and I can tell you that none of my friends have heard of a conjuror of that name, from which we must assume that he has previously performed under another.’

  ‘I assume the production of images required a simple apparatus combined with actual portraits?’

  ‘Indeed. In such conditions the portraits need not be very distinct as people tend to see what they expect to see, and the same male or female pictures will be identified many times over by different persons as deceased relatives. Either that or the portrait, as in the case of the one of Dr Livingstone, will be that of a public figure who is well known and held in esteem.’

  ‘I was hoping you would be able to enlighten me as to how the mysterious hand was effected. Of course I know that you are bound by secrecy and cannot describe exactly how it was done, but you might be able to guide me in some way to coming to my own conclusion.’

  Nellie gave one of her inscrutable smiles. ‘I am sure you have a theory of your own.’

  ‘Yes, I think it was one of those clockwork automatons, and the machinery had been specially made to actually write the first message we were given. Then for the second message, Mystic Stefan simply substituted a dry pen and a paper that had already been written on. But the arm was so graceful in its movements, I have never seen anything like it. I am familiar with mechanical toys and have seen sideshow exhibits that move so stiffly, one would never imagine that they were anything more than what they are. But this – there was no sound of any machinery and I could see no obvious joints. I could almost be persuaded that it was a real, living but somehow disembodied arm moving of its own volition. Of course that was the intention of the trick. I believe from the reactions of the audience that I was not alone in this.’

  Nellie poured more tea and added just a whisper of milk to her cup. ‘The arm, you say, was resting on a table?’

  ‘Yes, it was carried there from another table on a board covered by a cloth.’

  ‘But you did not know it was an arm until the cloth was taken away?’

  ‘No.’ Mina thought about this. ‘So what was under the cloth and taken to the table might have been something else, perhaps just a wire or rod that he could have removed. The secret is in the second table.’

  ‘I assume that there was room for someone to hide under the table and put an arm through an aperture?’

  ‘There was room, yes, but the lower part of the table was not hidden from view. We could see right through it to the curtain at the back. There was nothing there.’

  Nellie took one of her little calling cards from her reticule, and held it up before Mina’s eyes. With a deft gesture it vanished, and then, just as suddenly, it reappeared in her hand. She uttered a little laugh at Mina’s gasp of astonishment. ‘Oh I may only have been Monsieur Baptiste’s assistant but I took care to learn a trick or two. Consider this. Your senses tell your mind what you are observing, but sometimes those senses
can play you false. You know that a card cannot disappear but that is still what you see. You see darkness under a table and assume that you are looking through an empty space at a curtain. People thought that Miss Foxton’s heavenly sprite rose up out of a vase in a cloud of smoke and floated through the air, whereas of course she did no such thing.’

  ‘I think I understand,’ said Mina. ‘You are saying that the arm was actually that of a real person, and there was a confederate there – from the shape and whiteness of the arm, a lady – only somehow our eyes were tricked into seeing just the arm, and no more.’

  ‘Exactly. It is all a trick. Everything you see on stage or at a séance is a trick. This one is really quite simple. I have seen the same thing done with the head of a Sphinx which sits in a box and answers the questions put to it by the audience.’

  ‘I wonder who the confederate could have been?’

  ‘Magicians who do not work with assistants will often hire individuals for simple tasks and pay them a trifle for the performance.’

  Mina wondered if the confederate could have been Mrs Mowbray, and that had been the subject of the secret meeting. But was there room for a lady of her proportions to hide under the square table? Were her hand and arm so white and delicate? She could hardly be so desperate for a few pennies that she could be inveigled into doing something quite so vulgar as crouching under a table and putting her arm though an aperture, even if it was possible for her to adopt such a position and then manage to rise from it unaided. One mystery had been solved only to be replaced by another.

  Thirty-One

  Richard’s current state of despondency was a rare one for him, a mood that normally only lasted for the short while it took for him to dream up another alarming scheme to make money. Even knowing this, Mina was unprepared for the exuberance of his manner next morning. Breakfast was over, Louisa and Enid were out visiting, and Mina was planning a new tale about a witch undergoing horrible punishments when there was a brisk knock on her door and Richard’s cheerfully smiling face peered around it.

  ‘The play will take place after all!’ he announced, waving a sheet of paper. ‘I have received a letter from the Pavilion committee saying that they have reconsidered their decision and will let me have the music room gallery at no charge.’

  ‘At no charge?’ Mina glanced at the letter but there was no mistake. ‘I wonder how that come about?’

  He shrugged. ‘Does it matter? I must seize the chance. I trust the printer will not require a stiff advance for the tickets.’

  Mina recalled the room in question from her tour of the Pavilion, a pleasant apartment usually employed for recitals before small audiences. Had there been an unexpected cancellation by another hirer, or – and the more she thought about it the more she felt she was right – had Mr Hope paid for it and used his influence on the committee as another means of winning the support of her family?

  ‘What about the requirements of the Lord Chamberlain?’

  ‘Well I must get around that one somehow, and very soon, or the fashion will fade before the play can go on. For some reason the rule applies to all plays where one charges for tickets. I can do as I please if I charge nothing, but where is the point in that? Why is the law so inconvenient?’

  ‘It is even more inconvenient if you mean to flout it.’ Mina saw that she would get no work done that day and put down her pen. ‘I have a suggestion. Why not come with me to the Pavilion and I will introduce you to Mr Merridew who is one of the guides there. He is an actor with many years’ experience, and is sure to offer good advice.’

  ‘What a wonderful idea! Mina, you are the darlingest sister in the world! Let us go at once.’

  Due to the inclement weather Mina hired a cab and they rattled off together in good humour.

  ‘So you still mean to be Prinny?’ enquired Mina. ‘I think you are admirably suited to the role.’

  ‘I do indeed, and I have written to Rolly offering him Napoleon.’

  ‘Nellie tells me she will be happy to portray Mrs Fitzherbert.’

  ‘Ah yes,’ said Richard with an expression of great satisfaction, ‘the absence of her husband abroad has been very convenient.’

  It was a comment Mina decided not to explore, although she knew that Richard and Nellie had been playing at Prinny and his wife long before the play had ever been thought of. At least, she thought, one of the pair was adept at the art of concealment. ‘I hope that the play text is now complete?’

  ‘Well – not exactly.’

  She looked at him accusingly. ‘Have you started it?’

  He crumpled a little under her gaze. ‘Er —’

  ‘Obviously not.’

  ‘I have been very occupied with – with —’

  ‘Richard, I don’t wish to know. At any rate, as you have already told me that a play is no more than idle chatter, you ought to be able to write it in no time. I expect to see it finished by this evening. Ideally it should take at least an hour to perform; anything less and the public will feel cheated.’

  Richard looked startled. ‘An hour? I thought fifteen minutes would be more than enough. After all, how many people do you know who can speak for longer than that without repeating themselves and boring everyone.’

  ‘I think it will need to be of some appreciable length if you expect people to pay for tickets.’

  ‘But an hour would be – oh I don’t know – hundreds of words.’

  ‘Thousands, I expect. But you told me yourself it was easy.’

  ‘And what about the actors – how can they be expected to remember so much?’

  ‘You should ask that of Mr Merridew. He is famed for his Hamlet.’

  Richard was lost in thought as they arrived at the Pavilion. They had to wait a while in the entrance hall until Marcus Merridew was free from his duties. Seeing Mina from afar he hurried towards her and took her hand. ‘Dear lady, how delightful to see you again!’

  ‘I am likewise delighted. Allow me to introduce you to my brother, Richard, who is writing a play which will shortly be performed here.’

  ‘It is always a very great pleasure to meet a lover of the theatre. What is the subject of the piece?’

  ‘It will be about the great romance of the Prince of Wales and Mrs Fitzherbert, set against the magnificent backdrop of the war with Napoleon.’

  ‘Oh my word! How very exciting! Then there will be a large cast required.’

  ‘Er no, this is my first play so it will be quite a modest production. I will be the Prince of Wales, and the other two roles will be taken by friends of mine. I have very little in the way of funds, or we might have had more actors.’

  ‘That is always the way,’ said Merridew, nodding regretfully.

  ‘The main feature of the piece will be a splendid sword fight between the Prince and Napoleon. The Prince will win, of course.’

  ‘Well that sounds most promising! Are you an accomplished swordsman?’

  Richard hesitated. ‘I expect to be. I might need to learn. Is it hard?’

  Merridew considered the question. ‘If you like, I can give you some instruction in the art. In my youth I was considered very adept with the rapier. How many performances will there be?’

  ‘To be determined when we know how much interest there is,’ said Richard.

  ‘There is still much to be determined,’ added Mina.

  ‘I see. Well, with your permission I would be quite fascinated to see a copy of the play script.’

  ‘That is one of the things still to be determined,’ muttered Richard.

  To Mina’s relief, Merridew laughed heartily. ‘Ah, the theatre! I do miss it!’

  At that moment Mina chanced to notice a familiar figure in the vestibule. ‘Why, that is Mr Arthur Wallace Hope.’

  ‘I see him here quite often,’ said Merridew. ‘A friend of yours, so I have heard. He occasionally takes a tour, but seems mainly to be fascinated by the statue of Captain Pechell. He likes to stand and gaze at it.’

  ‘Und
erstandably, since they were comrades in arms. He comes here to convene with the Captain’s spirit.’

  ‘But you don’t believe in all that?’ asked Merridew. ‘If there was a ghost in the Pavilion I think I would have seen one by now.’

  ‘I am not a convert to spiritualism, although Mr Hope has been doing his best to convince me.’

  A new tour party was ready to depart and Merridew was obliged to join them. It was quickly decided that he, Mina, Richard and Nellie would all meet up to dine in two days’ time to discuss the forthcoming play, and he bid a cheerful farewell.

  ‘I have had a thought,’ said Richard. ‘Perhaps I don’t need to write anything at all.’

  ‘Your play would be a dumbshow, you mean?’

  ‘No, there would be words, but if the actors are simply told the story, then they could just make up the speeches as they go along.’

  ‘Is that a good idea?’

  ‘It’s a wonderful idea! Then we will finish with the sword fight, and that could go on for quite some time. And – here is the clever thing – if there is no play text then it is not a play at all. I will call it a diversion and I need not trouble the Lord Chamberlain with it as there will be nothing to send him. So all difficulties are solved.’

  ‘I suppose you will not need as many rehearsals,’ Mina admitted.

  ‘Rehearsals?’

  ‘I believe they are usual.’

  ‘Really? Well, we’ll see.’ Richard patted his stomach. ‘Time for some refreshment, I think. Shall we return home?’

  Mina hesitated. ‘I would rather like to speak to Mr Hope, as it is always instructive to know what he is thinking, but I have been warned not to do so without a reliable witness.’

  ‘I can be reliable,’ Richard declared, ‘and I should like to have a far closer acquaintance with Mr Hope. Perhaps when Mr Merridew has instructed me in the art of the rapier I will be able to persuade him to treat you with more respect.’