“I only hope that we’re not too late.”
After the lights had gone out in the auditorium, it had taken them nearly half an hour to reach this spot. Slipping from the stalls, they had climbed the flights of the grand staircase, hurrying down passageways and corridors as they searched for the place where Gold had set the projector. Through the walls of the theatre, they could hear the crackle of amplified sound: rattling carts and the hiss of steam, faint snatches of dialogue, but there was no way of telling how far the film had run.
As Penny reached for the door handle, she felt a muzzy sensation steal over her mind. She clung to the door for support, her fingers pale as they gripped the handle. The dizziness was getting worse with every episode, her mind filling with shadows until the strange sensation passed.
“Penny, are you all right?” Alfie asked.
With shaking fingers, Penelope turned the door handle.
“I’m fine,” she replied, fighting to keep the tremor from her voice. “Let’s bring the curtain down on this ghost show.”
She pushed the door open to reveal the plush interior of the chamber within. At the front of the box, a row of four seats were set behind the parapet on which a strange brass and mahogany case was fixed – the Véritéscope. The solitary figure of the cinematograph operator was seated beside it, his silhouette illuminated by the silvery light spilling out from the camera. This bright beam shone from the brass eye of its lens, the light fanning out across the auditorium and filling the stage with life.
Penelope’s eyes were drawn at once to the huge screen; the scene she could see eerily familiar. Through a swirling mist, she watched the figure of a girl gliding across the moor, her face half hidden in the darkness. Penny’s heart skipped a beat; the strange light-headedness that plagued her was growing stronger with every step the girl took. From the opposite direction, she saw James step into the frame as the lantern in his hand spilled its light across the screen. As this brightness shone, the camera’s lens slowly closed in until the girl’s shadowy face filled the screen. Penny stared into her eyes and saw Amelia staring back at her.
“Miss Tredwell!”
Penny felt a hand grab hold of her shoulder, roughly shaking her gaze from the screen. Jacques stepped in front of her, blocking her view of the stage. Peering over his spectacles, he flashed her a warning stare.
“Do not let the spirits catch your eye,” he hissed, “else they will steal what is left of your soul. We must destroy the film reel now.”
Trying to ignore the shadows creeping inside her mind, Penny slowly nodded her head. Shielding her eyes from the stage, she followed Jacques as he advanced towards the Véritéscope. Behind them, Alfie stood framed in the doorway, his gaze inexorably drawn towards the cinematograph screen. He watched as Amelia peered out into the darkness, the jet-black stone that hung from her neck glittering with an unearthly light. The same light that shone in the eyes of the watching audience – a light that now burned in Alfie’s gaze too.
Unaware of this, Penny and Jacques crept in front of the seats. The camera was fixed to the parapet, its mahogany case strapped into place with a complex arrangement of cords and ties. It would take far too long to untangle them all. On the side of the Véritéscope, the winding handle turned of its own accord – unspooling the story of The Daughter of Darkness one frame at a time.
Penny glanced past the camera to where the cinematograph operator was sat motionless, his gaze fixed to the screen. In the reflected light, Penny could see his strange glazed expression. He hadn’t even noticed that they were there.
Jacques unhooked the clasp holding the small door on the side of the Véritéscope shut. Pulling it open, he peered inside the camera’s interior, his face suddenly bathed in a silvery glow. An incandescent bulb shone brightly within, illuminating each frame of the film reel as it whirred past the lens.
On the screen the scene had shifted again. Monty’s face now filled the frame. As his voice rang out, a shiver ran down Penelope’s spine.
“Let me look at you, girl,” he growled, his amplified voice echoing around the theatre.
Without thinking, Penny began to turn towards the stage; the sound of his words a siren call drawing her gaze to the screen. At Monty’s shoulder she glimpsed the shadowy outline of another man’s face. Then the image froze on the screen, the frame flickering and then fading from view as the beam of light was broken.
Turning back, Penny saw Jacques hunched behind the camera, its winding handle now still.
“I just have to pull this free,” he grunted, struggling to release the film reel from where it was nestled amidst the spokes and tubes of the camera’s interior.
Penelope peered over the parapet as a low murmuring spread through the theatre, the audience’s voices raised in confusion. Then, from the corridor outside, came the sudden thunder of footsteps.
Gold burst into the box, pushing past Alfie as he stood there in a daze. The filmmaker’s gaze filled with rage as it fixed upon the figure still bent over the Véritéscope. Snatching up a bust of Shakespeare from the pedestal by the door, Gold vaulted over the seats with a snarl. As Jacques glanced up in surprise, Gold brought the Bard down on his head with a vicious crack.
Penny watched in horror as Jacques slumped to the floor, his eyes rolling senselessly back into his head. With a frightened cry, the projectionist fled from the room and, with a swift hand, Gold reached out to the camera and pushed the switch beneath its winder. As the handle began to turn once more, a stream of light sprang forth from the lens to play across the silver screen.
Gold turned towards Penelope, his mouth twisted into an ominous smile.
“So we have reached the final reel at last, Miss Tredwell.”
XXVII
Gold stepped towards Penelope, his heavy-set frame silhouetted against the parapet as behind him on the vast screen, the scene shifted again. A swirling mist filled the frame, the shadows of crosses glimpsed in silhouette as a band of mourners gathered around an open grave. Four coffin bearers stood at each corner, their shoulders braced against the strain as they lowered a coffin into the grave.
Penelope shrank back in terror, stumbling as she reached the edge of the parapet. For a split-second, she felt herself sway into the empty air. As her mind reeled, the pit of the auditorium yawned beneath her, a thousand faces bathed in a spectral glow. But then, with a painful jerk, Penny was dragged back by the scruff of her neck, Gold’s vicelike grip twisting her head until it was pinned to the lip of the parapet.
As her eyes stung with tears, Penelope felt the sharp hiss of Gold’s voice in her ear.
“This is Amelia’s story,” he whispered, his words making Penny’s blood run cold. “Now watch as it begins again.”
Frozen in fear, Penny tried to close her eyes, but she couldn’t stop her gaze from returning to the screen. She watched as the dark figure of a man strode into the frame. Dressed in a black frock coat, Monty swished his whip before him as he walked towards the grave.
“Get back to work,” he snarled, “else I’ll take my whip to the rest of you.”
Larger than life, the sullen faces of the mourners turned to gaze out at the audience, an unearthly light shining behind every pair of eyes. The projection screen shimmered, the strange alchemy of light and sound holding the audience entranced.
With a snarl, Monty raised his arm high, the whip flashing across the screen. As Gold’s gaze stayed fixed on the screen, Penelope felt herself slip forward towards the edge of the parapet. In a panic, she grabbed hold of the gilded beam, but she felt her fingers sink into the stuccowork. As she stared down at her hands, Penny could see they were starting to fade; the ghostly outline of her fingers only just clinging to life. She tried to cry out for help, but no sound came as, on the screen, the figure of a girl stepped through the mist.
“Amelia,” Gold murmured.
Unable to tear her eyes away, Penelope watched as the ghost of the girl cast a stone into the grave. Her face was wreathed in shadows
, but as she lifted her eyes, Penny could see the darkness that lurked there. An expectant silence hung over the theatre, the audience waiting to bear witness to this final reckoning. As the whirring Véritéscope crackled with unseen electricity, Amelia stepped forward again, slipping through the shadows and out of the frame.
The audience gasped in amazement. The ghostly figure of the girl floated in front of the screen, her long grey gown shimmering in the silvery light. At the front of the stalls, the audience could see that Amelia was hovering above the stage; no sign of wires or rigging to create this illusion. The girl peered into the darkness of the auditorium, her gaze sweeping from the orchestra pit to the heights of the balcony as she searched for the spark of life she desired. Her eyes alighted on Penelope as she lay slumped across the parapet like a sacrificial lamb.
With a shiver of delight, Amelia began to rise. A murmur of astonishment rippled through the audience. From every corner of the theatre, a sea of faces turned to stare mesmerised, watching as her ghostly form climbed through the air. From the royal box, the Prince of Wales looked on in amazement.
“I cannot believe my eyes,” he murmured. “What kind of trickery is this?”
Her mind spinning, Penny watched as Amelia’s spirit drew closer. She could feel herself slowly ebbing away and knew that if the girl reached her, then the ghost would take what was left of her soul. Penelope struggled to break free, but Gold was too strong.
“The marvel of this machine,” he whispered, “to resurrect the dead and give life to this poor girl once more.”
Amelia hung suspended in the air. Her dark eyes glittered with a startling light, colour starting to creep across her deathly pale features once more. Meeting her gaze, Gold raised his arms high in exultation as the whisper of her words filled the auditorium.
“Thank you, Edward,” she sighed. Then, with a spectral hand, she reached out for Penelope’s soul.
Penny felt an icy chill rising up through her body as Amelia’s fingers crept towards her. A swirling blank vortex filled her mind, obliterating every sensation until the only thing that remained was the cold. And as soon as Amelia’s fingers reached her, Penelope knew that even this would be gone. Feeling Gold’s grip lift from her neck, she quickly rolled to her left, desperate to escape from this ghastly fate. Her mind whirled dizzily as she dived clear of Amelia’s despairing grasp.
On the screen, the film of The Daughter of Darkness still played as a pale hand thrust its way out of the grave. Then the audience shrieked again in astonishment as the ghostly form of Lord Eversholt clambered free from the screen. Shadows clung to the dark shape of his frock coat, the silvery light from the Véritéscope falling across the villain’s face to reveal his vengeful features. Beneath pitch-dark eyebrows the spirit’s gaze raked the theatre, searching for the face of his daughter in the darkness. Then with a hiss he took flight, his spectral figure swooping over the heads of the audience as their shrieks quickly turned to terror.
“Amelia!”
The ghostly figure of the girl twisted in the air. At the sight of her father, she cried out in alarm. The theatre rang to the sound of screams as Lord Eversholt rose to the parapet, his shadow falling across Gold’s face as the filmmaker stepped back in fear.
“No!”
In the midst of this confusion, Penelope flung herself forward. She reached for the Véritéscope, the giddy whine of its motor twisting the shadows in her mind. The small door on the side of the camera hung open still, the film reel inside whirring wildly as its images played across the screen. Lying prone at her feet, Jacques Le Prince’s eyes flickered open, his pleading gaze telling her what she had to do.
Penelope plunged her hands into the camera’s innards, feeling her fingers melting between rubber tubes and strange frills as she seized hold of the spinning reel. With a grinding squeal, the image projected on the screen juddered to a halt, flickering into a half-life as she tried to wrestle the film free. The ghosts shimmered in the air. As the heat from the burning bulb scorched her hand, Penny gritted her teeth, straining with every ounce of strength that she had to bring the show to an end.
“How dare you!” With a hiss, icy fingers closed around her throat. “This machine is my salvation. I will not return to the shadows.”
Gasping for breath, Penny felt herself lifted from the floor. Her feet kicked against empty air as Amelia twisted her backwards, the ghostly girl dragging her with an unnatural strength towards the edge of the balcony. Her mind reeling, Penelope tightened her grip on the Véritéscope; her hold on the film reel inside the only thing keeping her from being flung over the edge. Then she heard the straps holding the camera in place start to snap and, as the Véritéscope swung round, she finally wrenched the reel of film free.
As Penny was pitched backwards, she saw the camera fall and, behind this, caught a glimpse of Amelia’s despairing face. With a howl of fury, the ghostly figure of the girl melted into the air, her shadow disappearing as she was sent back to the grave. Her wail echoed around the theatre. The spectre of Lord Eversholt disappeared too, joining his daughter in the darkness. As the camera hit the ground, the lens cracked and its light went out for good.
Slumping against the box seats, Penny looked up into the filmmaker’s face. Gold’s gaunt features were stretched in a grimace of pain as he stared into the space where Amelia had been. Then, with an agonised cry, he turned to flee. As Gold raced towards the door, a boot sneaked out from the shadows to trip him, sending the filmmaker sprawling.
“I’m terribly sorry,” Alfie said as he smartly sat down on Gold’s back, pinning him to the floor, “but I think that Mr Wigram has a new contract for you to sign, Mr Gold – one giving up all your rights to The Daughter of Darkness.”
Defeated, Gold sobbed as he buried his head in his hands. Next to Penny, Jacques had pulled himself to his feet, wincing slightly as he reached out a hand to help her up too. But from the darkness of the auditorium there came a rising tide of sound – a frightened clamour of voices slowly reaching a fever-pitch.
Peering over the edge of the parapet, Penny looked down at the audience massed beneath her. A panic-stricken throng of men, women and children were beginning to push their way to the exits. The vast screen that stretched across the stage was dark, but the terror it had spawned refused to be silenced.
Penny’s thoughts raced in fear. There were too many of them, all turning to escape at once. The house lights were still down. If the crowd in the stalls stampeded towards the aisles as those in the galleries fled for the stairs, the crush could be worse than the Victoria Hall disaster. Where was the theatre manager to calm this panicking mob? Then, from out of the darkness, a single spotlight illuminated the stage.
For a moment, the noise of the crowd quietened as every face turned towards the light. Dressed in a dark tail coat and trousers, a lone figure stepped across the stage, his face hidden in shadows until he finally reached the bright glow of the spotlight.
Beneath his bristling eyebrows, Monty blinked nervously, staring out at the sea of frightened faces. As their murmuring began to grow louder again, he raised his hand to gesture for calm.
“Your Royal Highness,” Monty began, his voice trembling slightly as he spoke. “My lords, ladies and gentlemen, I must apologise for any alarm that my tale has caused you.
“Tonight, the shadows you have seen flicker across this silver screen were but ghosts of what might have been. A dark dream of the macabre: a sinister tale to chill the bones on a warm summer’s night. Do not shiver in fear, my friends, or let the phantoms you have seen trouble your thoughts as you sleep.”
Monty stepped forward to the edge of the stage. He peered out into the darkness to make sure that his words had been heard. Then with a gleam in the corner of his eye, Monty raised his hand high in the air. “Just remember that to banish the ghosts all you have to do is turn on the light.”
With a click of his fingers, the chandeliers hanging over the stage flooded the theatre with light. Hidden in the wi
ngs, Wigram feverishly flicked the electric light switches in response to Monty’s signal. Bathed in this brilliant glow, a deep sigh of relief swept through the theatre as the shadows were finally banished. Then the entire audience rose to its feet as one to acclaim Montgomery Flinch.
Penelope’s hands stung as she led the applause, the thunderous ovation threatening to lift the roof of the theatre. She looked down on Monty, the actor bowing deeply as he acknowledged the audience’s applause. As he straightened, he glanced up at the box and met Penny’s gaze with a triumphant grin.
Penny laughed. After everything that had happened, it appeared as though they had both got what they wanted in the end: Monty standing in the spotlight as the audience’s stamps and cheers rang out into the night.
XXVIII
Monty sat perched on the edge of Alfie’s desk, his face set in an expression of eager anticipation as the printer’s assistant leafed through the pages of the Illustrated London News.
“Home news, obituaries, letters to the editor,” Alfie muttered, his eyes flicking across every column of print. “Ah, here we are, ‘Arts and Entertainment’.”
Alfie fell silent as his gaze ran down the page.
“Well?” Monty demanded, unable to endure the wait. “There must be some mention of the cinematograph show. It was a royal command performance after all!”
Glancing up from the pile of papers on her desk, Penelope raised an amused eyebrow. Since the one and only showing of The Daughter of Darkness, Monty had been desperate to read the notices, anxious to find out what the critics had made of his performance. Meeting Penny’s gaze with a grin, Alfie began to read the review aloud.
“At the Theatre Royal on Friday evening, the world caught its first glimpse of an exciting new development in cinematographic entertainment: the presentation of moving pictures perfectly synchronised with the speaking voice. Before an audience including His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales, the hitherto little-known Alchemical Moving Picture Company demonstrated their production of The Daughter of Darkness, a macabre tale of murder and revenge by the celebrated author, Mr Montgomery Flinch. As well as penning the tale, Mr Flinch also took on a starring role in the production, but to this reviewer’s eyes his theatrical talents appeared to be somewhat limited, as his performance often lapsed into caricature. Some of the scenes were played with passion, and the picturesque locations presented with panache, but the most striking element of the evening’s entertainment came at the climax of the performance. Before the eyes of an astonished audience, the characters’ flickering figures appeared to step from the cinematograph screen, to float unencumbered in the air. Though this illusion was received with gasps of awe, such theatrical tricks seem more reminiscent of the magic lantern shows of old and I cannot believe they will create more than a passing fancy for today’s theatregoer. It is the opinion of this reviewer that Montgomery Flinch’s fictions are still best enjoyed on the page.”
Shadows of the Silver Screen Page 16
