The Royal Ghost

by Linda Stratmann

  Mina anticipated the event with some apprehension, but felt that she ought to be there if only to deal with any upset that might result. She made sure to carry a good supply of handkerchiefs and a smelling bottle. All the seats were filled, with the Scarletti family accorded places on the front row. Louisa was proud and excited but Enid still wore the sour expression that had been her most prominent feature since Mr Hope’s fall from popularity. As they waited for the production to begin, still more ladies crammed into the room, chattering with excitement at having bought last-minute tickets for standing room only, almost doubling the size of the audience. Most of them, Mina noticed, were of her mother’s age or older, and many were holding little posies.

  The tinkling of a bell announced the start of the performance and the audience, after the last trills of laughter and excitement had died down, fell silent. After a certain amount of whispering from behind one of the screens, there burst upon the stage an alarming figure. It was Richard, wearing a blue frockcoat too large for him, with ragged epaulettes very much tarnished, and an enormous bicorne hat that threatened to fall over his eyes. He was waving what Mina knew to be a blunt sword but which looked dangerously real.

  ‘Aha!’ he exclaimed, striding to the front of the space and striking a fierce pose, one hand on his hip, the other pointing the sword skywards, chest thrust out. ‘Aha, aha!’ he added, either for greater effect or to give himself time to think. ‘I am ze great Emperor Napoleon! Mais oui, ma foi, zut alors, sacre bleu!’ He made some wild passes with the sword, which caused the ladies in the front row to sway back in alarm. ‘And my greatest enemy is George, Prince of Wales, regent of England! ’e is tall, ’e is ’andsome, and ’e has everysing I most desire! Comme il faut! Consommé du jour!’ Richard strode about the stage waving the sword. Mina glanced quickly at her mother, who had clapped a palm over her mouth, her eyes wide open.

  Richard took up his heroic pose again. ‘Yes, ’e has ze srone of England, but ’e also ’as ze ’and of ze lady I love! Ze incomparable, ze beautiful Mrs Fitz’erbert. Mon coeur! La choucroute farci! I am determined! It is farewell to Josephine! None but Maria will be my Empress!’

  There were a few titters from the audience. Undismayed, Richard paraded about in a circle once more before facing the increasingly amused assembly.

  ‘Ah, you English, you sink that I, Napoleon, am not a tall man. But it is ze madness of love that ’as brought me low!’ Here Richard fell to his knees, and his hat slipped over his eyes, requiring him to make some adjustment. ‘I ’ear you ask, quelle horreur! What will I do to achieve my desires. I will tell you! I dare all! I will invade England wiz all of my navy. En avance, mes amis! A l’eau, ces’t l’heure!’ Richard made another circle about the stage only this time on his knees, an art which he had not sufficiently practised. If his intention was to make the former French Emperor appear ridiculous, he was succeeding.

  ‘And now ’ere I am en Angleterre, ze land I mean to rule! But where oh where is my great love, ah mon ange! Mon petit poisson! Chacun a son gout! My ’eart beats only for Maria Fitz’erbert. Where is she?’ He placed a hand behind one ear. ‘Wait, I ’ear ’er dainty feet approach, I will ’ide and learn if she returns my love.’

  As Richard shuffled behind a screen, Mina braved another look at her mother. Louisa now had her face buried in her handkerchief but whether she was laughing, crying or simply hiding, it was hard to tell.

  There was a brief pause, carefully studied so as to produce the maximum anticipation in the audience, then Nellie made her entrance. Magnificently gowned in the fashion of the day, her hair shining, her skin aglow, her eyes bright and beguiling, there was no mystery as to why an Emperor should invade another country to make her his own.

  She approached the front of the little stage, smiling with the knowledge that every eye was upon her. ‘Ladies, gentlemen, all, I beg you not to blame me for my unusual mode of life,’ she said, allowing a lacy fan to flutter modestly. ‘I was an honourable widow when I first became acquainted with the Prince of Wales, and he fell most passionately in love with me. For years he pursued me to attain his heart’s desire, but I am a respectable lady and would never consent to an improper connection, even at the entreaties of a Prince. At last we were married, and though the law of the land will not recognise me as his true wife, I am content that our love has been sanctified by God. My dear Prince, beloved husband, my own darling George, how can I not love you and be true forever to you and you alone!’

  Nellie took an elegant tour about the stage so that everyone could feast their eyes on her ensemble. As she passed by one of the side screens, Richard, still on his knees, made a lunge, probably to try and kiss the hem of her garment, and fell flat on his face, his hat tumbling off and rolling across the stage. He stood up, dusted off his knees, retrieved the hat and jammed it firmly back on his head.

  ‘Aha!’ he exclaimed. ‘It is ze beautiful Maria, ze angel ’oo rules my ’eart! Veuve Clicqot! Coup de foudre! Oh mon amour, say you will be mine; be my bride and I will make you Empress of la belle France!’

  ‘But sir,’ said Nellie, turning away bashfully, ‘that cannot be, I am the wife of George, Prince of Wales, and he alone has my heart.’

  ‘Tonnere! Zen I will slay ’im!’ Richard waved the sword about his head in a manner that probably endangered himself more than anyone else. ‘Where is my ’ated rival? I will seek ’im out and take ’is life, zen England and Mrs Fitz’erbert will both be mine!’

  He rushed back behind a screen and Nellie took the audience into her confidence. ‘Little does the Frenchman know that my husband is as brave as he is handsome. He will not fear to fight, either for his country, or for me!’ She moved aside in a swirl of silk and waited by the screen, her fan beating like a dove’s wing, her eyes gazing from above the snowy lace.

  Marcus Merridew now made his appearance. He glided rather than walked, advancing in true dignified fashion, elegant of gesture and precise of step. By the art of the actor he had turned back time, and though Mina knew he was near her mother’s years, everything about him suggested a man hardly more than thirty. He was clad after the style of Beau Brummell in breeches and boots, with a buttoned long-tailed coat, and the wig he wore framed his face in a cluster of golden brown curls. Those ladies in the audience who had seen him shine as Hamlet many years ago were not disappointed, and there were many sighs of appreciation and some enthusiastic clapping of mittened hands.

  Mr Merridew greeted his admirers with a gracious smile and, advancing to the fore, bowed to them several times before taking up a position, one hand pressed passionately to his heart. The audience quickly hushed with anticipation and when he spoke, his voice was rich and mellow, effortlessly filling the room. ‘Ah what a rogue and peasant slave is that Napoleon who seeks to rob me of my love! But I will defy him, take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing, end them. I have had word from my dear wife that the tyrant is even now on our shores and seeks to murder me. What will it be, will he, like the coward he is, pour poison into the porches of mine ears as I sleep, or stab me with a bare bodkin? But I mean to face him like a man, I will be as Hyperion to a satyr.’ He looked to the side and saw Nellie. ‘Soft you now, the fair Maria. How I wish to make her my lawful bride and my Queen, but the King my father would never condone it. My will is not my own, I am subject to my birth.’

  He crossed the space to Nellie, who advanced to meet him. ‘My dearest Maria, my eternal love, the wife of my heart.’ He reached out his hand and gently clasped her fingers, then made an extravagantly stylish obeisance.

  There was a strangled cry from the audience. Mrs Peasgood, in a state of great agitation, had risen to her feet. ‘I can be silent no longer! It is he, or his spirit, the very he who appeared before me, he whose ghost walked through the wall dressed just so and bowed to me, he who danced with the lady in the room with the red wallpaper. Is he a ghost or a demon?’

  Mrs Mowbray rose up and tried to comfort her sister, who was trembling violently. �
��Oh my dear, please sit down and calm yourself!’

  ‘How can I when a spirit walks in the shape of a man? What does it mean?’

  Several ladies waved at Mrs Peasgood and urged her to keep quiet.

  Merridew turned to the gathering with an arched eyebrow. ‘The lady doth protest too much methinks.’

  It was left to Mrs Mowbray to remove her almost hysterical sister from the room, which, with profuse apologies, she did. The most likely place to console her was the ladies’ retiring room, and Mina feared that the sight of the red dragon wallpaper would bring on another more serious fit, but there was little she could do.

  After this interruption order was restored and the play proceeded. Marcus and Nellie conducted a courtly dance of matchless elegance and refinement after which the Prince, on bended knee, declared his undying love for his Maria. Richard rushed back on stage and exhausted his entire fund of repeatable French phrases, and a few others that ought never to have been uttered. Finally there was the sword fight, which was conducted with more dash than skill by Richard and with consummate skill by Mr Merridew. Napoleon duly met his Waterloo on the point of the Prince’s sword and spent ten minutes expiring noisily, clawing the carpet. There was rapturous applause after which Mr Merridew was prevailed upon, an exercise that took barely moments to achieve, to entertain his admiring public with some of the great classical speeches in his repertoire, after which he was lavishly pelted with flowers by weeping matrons.

  By the time it was all over Mrs Peasgood and Mrs Mowbray had long departed, and Louisa took her daughters and the entire cast for dinner. Since Mrs Peasgood’s outburst had been highly embarrassing, no one chose to mention it.

  The wine was poured and hors d’oeuvres brought to the table. ‘It was a perfectly splendid evening,’ said Louisa, raising her glass, ‘but Richard —’

  ‘Yes, mother?’

  ‘You must never do that again.’

  ‘No, mother.’

  ‘Mr Merridew, I must compliment you on your costume,’ said Mina.

  ‘Thank you dear lady; it is the very one I wore when appearing in the Regency gloss on King Lear. As you saw,’ he added modestly, ‘it still fits me to perfection.’

  ‘Have you ever worn it in the Pavilion before?’

  ‘As a matter of fact I have, but not for a performance. When the Pavilion was first opened for inspection some of our little troupe made the tour in costume – it was amusing and we hoped to attract some interest in our play.’

  ‘Do you recall if you entered the music room on your tour?’

  ‘I expect so, but it is hard to remember exactly where we went. We did march along what I now know to be the servants’ corridors and then we executed a pretty little dance.’ He looked suddenly thoughtful. ‘You don’t think that could have anything to do with —’ he shook his head, ‘but no, that cannot be, it was over twenty years ago and it was all in the best possible taste.’

  When Mina was home once more she again studied her guidebook to the Pavilion, and was now quite sure of the train of events. She sent a note to Mrs Peasgood, saying she hoped very much that she was well, and wished to speak to her on a matter that she felt sure would set her mind at rest.

  Forty

  Mina was not at all sure if Mrs Peasgood would consent to see her and half expected to receive either no reply or a letter from Mrs Mowbray with a polite refusal. To her surprise, however, a note was delivered inviting her to call. Neither Louisa nor Enid were disposed to visit Mrs Peasgood until they felt reassured that her sudden malady was not catching, and it was only to Richard, who was still exuberant from his theatrical triumph, that Mina revealed the true reason for her proposed visit.

  ‘Mrs Peasgood knows you too well, Mina,’ said Richard, ‘you would have secured an interview with her sooner or later and she has decided to accept the inevitable.’

  ‘I hope I can bring her some peace. Poor lady, it has been a long time coming.’

  In Mrs Peasgood’s quiet parlour Mina was greeted by the lady herself, who seemed to have recovered much of her accustomed composure and now appeared merely sad. She was attended with care and sympathy by Mrs Mowbray.

  ‘I think,’ said Mrs Peasgood, once refreshments were brought and the maid had departed, ‘that you and possibly you alone, apart from my sister, understand some of the reasons for my agitation yesterday.’

  ‘I do,’ said Mina, ‘and that is mainly because I was probably the only person present at my brother’s play who had made a recent study of Some Confidential Observations by a Lady of Quality, the pamphlet you wrote in 1850.’

  Mrs Peasgood’s hand trembled and her sister rescued a teacup from potential disaster. ‘How, pray, did you obtain a copy?’

  ‘It was in the library. It is a part of their collection of works on the history of Brighton.’

  Mrs Peasgood frowned. ‘I sincerely hope it is not on open display.’

  ‘No, it is stored in a box with a host of other pamphlets.’

  ‘Then I don’t understand. Was it just by chance that you found it?’

  Mina explained how she had searched for the pamphlet when all she had was a clue that it might exist at all.

  ‘Well that is quite astonishing,’ said Mrs Peasgood. ‘I compliment you on your insight and diligence.’

  ‘I have also read an account in the Gazette of the occasion when the Pavilion was first opened for viewing by the public, the time you must have gone there with your father. There were no official guides as there are now, people simply walked from room to room, and given the nature of the building, and how many times it has been altered and enlarged, some visitors did get lost and confused. I expect that that is what happened to you.’

  ‘Yes, I do recall that. But I wrote a true and honest account of my visit, not the despicable and indecent invention of that horrid book.’

  ‘Then it was not, as I had initially supposed, intended to be a work of fiction?’

  ‘No, not at all.’

  ‘I take it that you have not visited the Pavilion since then?’

  ‘I dared not! I wanted no repetition of that experience. Before last night I had not stepped through its doors in over twenty years. It was only with the passage of time, and your mother being so insistent, that I consented to go again.’

  ‘Mr Merridew, the actor who played the Prince of Wales, has been an attendant at the Pavilion for many years, and knows the building well. He told me that he and a theatrical troupe, which included some musicians, had in 1850 been performing a play costumed in the style of the court of King George III. They decided, for their amusement and also to stimulate interest in the play, to visit the Pavilion in costume. I believe that it was they you saw.’

  ‘Are you sure? I heard the music very distinctly before I even saw them; it seemed to come through the walls.’

  ‘It did come through the walls. There are long corridors for the use of servants which run alongside the main rooms. The musicians walked along them with violin and flute.’

  ‘But how did the gentleman come into the room when the doors could not be opened?’

  Mina opened the guidebook and showed Mrs Peasgood the page describing the music room. ‘I think this is where you were standing when you saw him. The music room has four doors but two of them are false to give the appearance of symmetry. There is, however, another door for the use of servants covered in the same paper as the walls. The room was ill-lit when you were there and you would not have noticed it. I think that is how Mr Merridew entered when your back was turned.’

  Mrs Peasgood took the guidebook and spent several minutes studying it. ‘So there was not, after all, a ghost,’ she said at last.

  ‘There was not.’

  ‘I confess that that is something of a relief to me.’

  ‘Knowing this, and being able to connect your pamphlet with the recent sensational volume, will greatly strengthen the plagiarism case.’

  ‘I am sure it will,’ said Mrs Peasgood, but she did not seem comf
ortable with the prospect.

  ‘There is nothing to give offence in your pamphlet, and it is very nicely written. You could have it printed again, as a story, rather than a history. I think it would do very well.’

  ‘Really? Well I am not sure about that.’ Nevertheless she looked flattered.

  ‘I have my suspicions as to who wrote An Encounter, but there are some pieces of the puzzle I am missing, although I think you might be able to enlighten me.’

  The two sisters exchanged glances and Mrs Peasgood patted Mrs Mowbray’s hand. ‘Caroline has confessed all to me and I have forgiven her. Miss Scarletti, I am grateful to you for all you have done, and I am therefore prepared to tell you all I know.’

  ‘I too,’ said Mrs Mowbray, ‘although I have much to be ashamed of. It was at one of those séances with Miss Eustace, last summer. Mr Clee was there, only none of us knew at the time that he was in league with her. There was some conversation afterwards and he was asking if there were any legends in Brighton about hauntings, so —’ she uttered a despondent sigh, ‘I regret to say that I mentioned the business in the Pavilion. I know I shouldn’t have but it just seemed to come out. I’d never told anyone else before or since.’

  Mrs Peasgood gave a faint smile. ‘The young gentleman was very persuasive. After my marriage, which took place in 1851, I decided to put all that business behind me and Caroline promised to say nothing. Truth to tell I wished it had never happened at all, as I thought it made me appear rather foolish. I was not eager for it to be broadcast, and most especially I did not wish Mr Peasgood to know.’

  ‘As soon as I told Mr Clee about it I regretted my betrayal,’ Mrs Mowbray continued, ‘but he kept on and on, asking me more about it. He was very charming, as you know, and so I told him it was in a book, and then of course he wanted to know where he could get a copy. I didn’t know there was one in the library.’