Ghostly Images

by Peter Townsend

  John’s blush betrayed him.

  “The truth of the matter is that we’re trapped. Tanner suspects us, and we can go nowhere until the killer is caught.”

  “You’re right. And I don’t want to leave Laura. Would you be upset to leave Lucy?”

  David waved his hand, annoyed. “Let’s concentrate on our work.”

  “But we’ve already completed the print of the children and faked an image of Loach’s sweetheart!”

  “We still need to take a photograph at the séance.”

  “I don’t want to go to Hood’s house and see that.”

  “I’d prefer it if you came along.”

  “We’ve been through this already. You’re always going for a swim and leaving all the work for me. Plus, I did everything while you were sick. Well, today, I want to see Laura, so you’ll have to do it.”

  David sighed. “Give Laura my regards.”

  “Cheer up, David.” John tapped him on his shoulder.

  David reciprocated the gesture. “I would if it wasn’t for the chief constable putting me near the top of his list of suspects.”

  “Is there anything else? Something about the paranormal that’s troubling you?”

  “In my heart, I can accept that the paranormal is real and genuine. Intellectually, it is more troublesome, making sense of how the camera can be a time machine—seeing the future before it happens. Having read Tate’s journals, he also found this extremely difficult.”

  “Tate says folk can have a sixth sense to help them see into the future. He gives an example—”

  “Of women sensing panic when their husbands were due to depart on their fishing vessels then losing them in a storm,” David supplied.

  “If people have this ability to see into the future, then a machine like a camera can take this a step further. I can understand what he’s saying here but not that stuff about electro-magnetic energies or the concept of time.”

  “That’s my difficulty as well. At a push, I can see that individuals might sometimes have a subconscious ability to divine the future but not his theorising that the distinction between the past, present, and future is an illusion, nor that a bridge can be built between them by the right electro-magnetic energies.”

  “Could trying to make sense of all of this have sent Tate mad?”

  “Quite possibly. It’s going to be very hard to make scientific headway.”

  “That could apply to other things apart from the Tate camera. Are things always so clear cut in science and chemistry?”

  “Not always.” David scratched his chin and realised that John had made a telling observation. The laws of science and chemistry had gaps in them. There were things men of science didn’t know and might never discover.

  “By the way, when you were mixing chemicals in the darkroom earlier today, Thomas Loach called into the studio to collect his photograph. I’m glad we decided to fake an image of a young woman instead of the old man with the nasty scar on his left cheek.”

  “I’m sure the scar was on his right cheek.”

  John gently tapped David on his left arm. “You’re wrong. I’ll wager you two pints if you are correct.”

  David responded by tapping John on his right arm. “You’re on.”

  The two lads shook hands on the wager.

  “I happen to have it with me.” John grinned and reached into his pocket, taking out the photograph. All colour drained from his cheeks.

  “What’s wrong?” David glanced over his friend’s shoulder at the photograph. “Damn! You gave him the wrong print! That’s the image of the woman we faked on his portrait.”

  “Well...” John scratched his ear. “Maybe Thomas might not be too disappointed if it’s the image is of a father or grandfather he loves.”

  “You’re probably right,” replied David. “You’d better go and see Laura now. I need to get the equipment and head off to Hood’s home.”

  FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, David entered Hood’s house clutching his camera and equipment. The door was ajar, and he went inside cautiously making his way through the piles of books as if it were an obstacle course.

  A pungent stench of sewage was in the room. David approached the glass tanks and jars containing the snakes. The smell grew stronger close to the tank labelled CHIEF CONSTABLE. David concluded that this tank was rarely, if ever, cleaned.

  “Is that you, David?” bellowed Hood from upstairs.

  David went upstairs to a large bedroom. Eight people, apart from Hood, sat at a round table in the dimly lit room. David had major doubts whether photography in these conditions was possible. He’d previously warned Hood about this problem. The man paid little heed but expected results. David placed his camera on the tripod and was soon ready.

  Hood looked intently into the eyes of his guests. He mentioned the names of the dead person one by one, Mr Green, Mrs London, Miss Hardy, and so on, and each time he made to grip the arm of their relative in the audience. David surmised that this was done to hypnotise people and tried hard to avoid Hood’s gaze. He was fortunate. Hood hardly bothered to look in his direction.

  A figure covered in a white shroud appeared. The audience gasped. David suspected by the gait that it was Percy underneath the material.

  The figure kept changing the tone of its voice, bringing messages from the dead to the party assembled. In one message, it said, “Your mother Joyce is here. She forgives you for getting rid of her old wardrobe.”

  “That’s right,” said a man. “I got rid of it three weeks ago and purchased a new one.”

  It dawned on David that it was utterly futile to take an exposure. Since Hood wouldn’t let him use a lighting tray, no image could be captured. David guessed the bright light might expose Hood’s trickery.

  “Look at the angel rising from the ground and floating around the ceiling!” Hood pointed. Further gasps of delight came from the audience as they looked where he pointed and tried to see.

  “I’m blessed to see an angel,” sobbed one woman.

  David turned his head left and then the right and up and down. He couldn’t see anything.

  The séance was over in less than an hour. When the audience had dispersed, Hood approached David, and he suddenly became startled to be alone with him. Nervously, he explained why he hadn’t taken a photograph and expected a firm rebuke from Hood, but it never came.

  Curiously, Hood bent down and cupped his hand over his ear for a few seconds and then straightened. “A young girl is beside you.”

  David looked around and could see no one there. “Keep these tricks for the amusement of your audience, Hood.”

  Hood rested his cane on David’s chest. “She says that she is Catherine, your sister.”

  David pushed the cane away and it fell to the floor. “Enough! I’m not interested in this silly charade!”

  Hood impassively picked up his cane from the floor. “She says that she has seen you in torment, night after night. She says that she wants you to be happy. She is now touching your arm.”

  “I don’t believe a word,” said David. Beads of perspiration collected on his forehead.

  Hood took a pace forward and placed his hand reassuringly on David’s shoulder. David instantly backed away. The last thing he wanted was Hood touching him. Hood showed no anger. In fact, David observed a soft, almost vulnerable expression on his pitted face.

  “Despite my critics, I do have a special gift to see into the other world. Sadly, it is only a rare occurrence. I am merely a messenger. Catherine says she is at peace in the next world.”

  “Has someone…? Who told you…about Catherine?” David had difficulty forming the words. Then it came to him. “Percy!”

  “Catherine, the only person you have ever truly loved. She has asked me to tell you that she loves you, but she may never be able to make this journey again,” Hood whispered. “Do not waste this golden opportunity! Her image is fading so you need to be quick.”

  David thought for a few seconds. He was going to
ask a question only his sister—not Percy—would be able to answer. “Where did I want to visit with Catherine?”

  Hood bent down again and cupped his hand over his ear. There was a pause. He straightened. “Glencoyne Bay, Ullswater, to see the daffodils that William and Dorothy Wordsworth saw one stormy day.”

  David froze for a moment, in shock, his eyes filled with tears. Finally, he was able to whisper, “Can I speak to her?”

  “She did a drawing for you of a daffodil…”

  “Can I speak to her?” repeated David.

  “She has gone now, sir.”

  The atmosphere was stifling in the bedroom. David grabbed the handrail and descended the stairs, almost stumbling. He reached for the latch on the door and opened it. Outside, David took several deep breaths. He couldn’t repress the tears any longer. He glanced up and saw that Hood had followed him outside. David hoped he’d go away and leave him in peace, but he didn’t. Hood stood close to him and gave him a penetrating stare.

  Hood grabbed David’s arm. “I have done a great service for you. Now, I hope you can do a small favour for me.” David flinched with the pain of Hood’s long fingernails digging into him. “I have an appointment with Tanner in the next hour about the contents of Eleanor’s letters sent to her mother.” Hood took his hand off David’s arm. “If Tanner asks you, say that she enjoyed working for me and had no fear of me at all.”

  David was about to reply, but Hood had turned and walked back into his house.

  WALKING BACK TO THE STUDIO, David was in a daze. He didn’t know what to feel. The vision of Catherine on the day she drew the daffodil for him and they made their secret plan to visit Ullswater played vividly in his mind.

  His sadness over the loss of Catherine was profound. But now his belief in the afterlife had been rekindled, and it comforted him. He would be reunited with her in the next life. Meanwhile, he knew that she was not far away, watching over him. She had been so full of life before her illness that it now occurred to David that she would have been amused by Hood’s performance.

  David smiled and looked up at the sky. He couldn’t believe it. Hood really had done him a great service.

  When he looked down, a young woman walked past him that resembled Nancy and it startled him. She had loved him dearly, but he couldn’t reciprocate her love. He’d delayed letting Nancy know his true feelings until it was too late, and the guilt tore at him. Had he been truthful and ended their relationship, he doubted whether she would have been so reckless as to run into a burning building to search for him. In his nightmares he could see her being consumed by the flames, hear her frantic screams of pain.

  Nancy died a horrible death, but he had no feelings of love for her or for his parents. The only person he loved was Catherine. David then realised that this was not entirely accurate. He was in love with Lucy.

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  Chapter 30

  Thursday 13th September 1894

  WHILE JOHN SAT READING The Whitby Herald, David mulled over events in the last few days, including apprehension and worry that the chief constable could suddenly appear at the studio and subject him to further questioning. But, he took some comfort that at five o’clock today, their association with Hood would end.

  David looked at the photograph of the crowd on the swing bridge. Although the day had been grey and dreary, there was an unmistakably bright ray of light—the light of heaven—over the head of the old woman who had collapsed and later died according to news reports. John’s photograph of the same scene at the same time revealed nothing unusual.

  Yet, in the past few days, David was reassured to discover from John that eminent men and scientists had given their blessing to spirit photography. Alfred Russell Wallace, co-developer of the theory of evolution, believed that spirit photography merited scientific investigation. The British Journal of Photography, in an article published on the 17th March 1893, gave further support to the authenticity of spirit photography.

  Now, John had provided intellectual support for spirit photography, David could agree that both science and the paranormal were not mutually exclusive.

  John lowered the newspaper. “That wasn’t an apology from Tanner in the newspaper. He goes on at length about the great job he’s done as chief constable.” John flicked over a page. “There’s more news about the shipwreck. Those men who burst into the studio are now all dead.”

  David came forward to read over John’s shoulder. “They didn’t all perish. One survived.”

  “If the police hadn’t locked him in the cells, he would have rejoined his ship and be dead like the others.” He closed the paper. “They complained about the photograph and the marks over their heads and bodies but not over Steven’s. Patrick Tate’s camera revealed they were going to die.”

  David nodded. He checked his pocket watch. “You’ll be happy to know that our brief careers working for Hood will be over in a matter of hours.” He took a deep breath. With hardly any assignments or appointments remaining, there was nothing to do but wait.

  “That’s a relief. Do you know what you will do?”

  David picked up the newspaper, rolled it up and swatted an imaginary fly. “I hope to practice photography, but not in a typical studio. I’m not suited to conventional photography. I’ve asked Lucy to contact her father on my behalf to see if there might be an opening as a newspaper photographer in Sheffield. I haven’t heard anything official yet, but Lucy thinks there definitely will be a job for me.”

  David had made his request to Lucy the same day Rachel Varley had collected her photographs. He was positive Chief Constable Tanner would interpret this as another black mark against him should it be discovered.

  “If you were offered the job in Sheffield, would you take it?”

  “Lucy asked me the same question.” David rested the rolled up newspaper against his chin. “I told her I didn’t want to take the job if it meant being apart from her...even though I’ve known her for only such a short time.”

  John grinned, pleasantly surprised. “What did she say?”

  “She said she would follow me to Sheffield...or wherever I go.” Now, it was David’s turn to look smug.

  “How do you think Mrs Jenkins will take the news that we’re both making a fresh start outside Whitby with women we’ve only known so briefly?”

  “I’ve no idea.” David tossed the newspaper down on the table. It troubled him because, despite her tough exterior, David, and he suspected John too, regarded her as they would a grandmother.

  The studio door opened, and Percy poked his head inside. “Hood wants you lads up by the abbey at quarter to midnight. No need to bring any cameras. And don’t be ruddy late!” He was gone before they could reply.

  “I’ve no intention of turning up at the abbey,” said David, “after five o’clock, I’m finished working for Hood.”

  “Me too,” added John. “But what are we going to do about Hood until we can leave Whitby?”

  “Frank Hawk will sort it out. I had a talk with him at The Queen’s Head on Monday evening after you left to see Laura home. Hood doesn’t bother Frank, and he’ll not bother us anymore after Frank has a quiet word with him.”

  “Are you sure Hood won’t hurt us—or worse?”

  “Frank’s confident he’ll leave us alone.”

  “What happens to us if Frank forgets to speak to Hood?”

  “He wouldn’t let us down. Don’t worry, John.”

  A tentative smile emerged on John’s face. “Alright, I’m sure we can rely on Frank. While I remember, are you still going ahead with the final assignment at Milner’s home this afternoon?”

  “Yes, and afterwards, I’ll come back to the studio for the last time.”

  John stood. “I’ll go now, if you don’t mind, and see Mr Pugin, but I’ll come back here later this afternoon and help you close up.”

  JUST AFTER 2.30 THAT AFTERNOON, David went to Milner’s house. The three-storey house was grand
and imposing from the outside. But, when he stepped inside, there was no sign of any opulent decoration or furnishings. Indeed, the interior was just as plain and ordinary as Mrs Jenkins’ home.

  The tall and gaunt-looking Milner approached David. He had the same morose expression on his face as last time.

  “My wife Anna will be present. I have invited sceptics to attend this afternoon. I do not intend to be fooled again.”

  Milner pointed to a man who looked like a tramp with his dishevelled hair and scruffy clothes. Food stains were present on his jacket. “Mr Roper is a retired scientist.” Milner then pointed towards a thin, court jester of a man, wearing a bright red satin waistcoat and a green velvet jacket. “Mr Markus is a conjuror. He will be keeping a close eye on you to detect any sleight of hand.”

  Markus and Milner checked inside the camera case, prodding in every corner. They even checked the camera strap before giving the case back to David.

  David may have changed his view of the infallibility of science, leaving room for speculation, but there was one thing he was certain about. Mr Jenkins would turn in his grave if he had any inkling of what he and John had been doing in the last few weeks.

  Milner led the group into his studio in the garden at the back of his house. Inside the wooden building, there was a line of Milner’s framed photographs on the wall. The walls had been white washed, and the stone-flagged floor was uneven. In one corner by the entrance was a large sink with a dripping cold-water tap. Next to it was an oval table and two stools.

  On the oval table was a large guillotine. Cupboards with glass fronts held jars of chemicals and scientific instruments. Farther down, there were two doors. One had a sign on it saying LAVATORY and the other DARKROOM. Next to the doors was a bookcase crammed full of science books and journals. Opposite those were some battered-looking magnesium lamps.

  David spotted an elderly woman sat on an armchair. She smiled, and he had no doubt this was Anna Milner.

  Milner and Markus closely examined David’s camera again. Removing a plate from a box, Milner placed it in David’s camera and took his position as David secured his camera to the tripod and placed the powders in the lighting tray.