‘Sadness, perhaps, from the lost romance.’
‘But why would Mr Sutherland say that he is Mr Holt?’
Mina opened her desk drawer and gazed once more at the portrait of the man in Brighton police station. ‘Guilt,’ she said.
‘Guilt? Guilty of what?’
‘The death of Mr Holt,’ said Mina.
Dr Hamid stared at her. ‘Are you suggesting that Holt’s death was not an accident? That it was due in some way to Mr Sutherland’s neglect?’
‘That is possible.’ Mina chose not to speak the word ‘murder’ but it lay in the air between them.
‘And it has played on his conscience and made him a broken man? That this fault, this guilt, is the source of his delusions?’
‘Can it have such an effect?’
Dr Hamid, who had been standing by her chair was obliged to sit in the armchair she had just vacated. ‘It depends on the man, but I wouldn’t dismiss the idea. But why would he claim that he is Holt? Is it a ruse? Or does he really believe it? If he is dissembling, then he is doing it better than any man I have ever encountered.’
Mina examined the photograph once more, the crumpled face, the vacant eyes like wells of misery. ‘It is hard to enter into the mind of a deluded man. Perhaps it seems to him that the only way he can mend the situation is to deny that it happened, and to do that he had to make Mr Holt live again.’
‘At the expense of being punished for Holt’s crime?’
‘He seemed to think he deserved it. But I need your opinion on what to do next.’
‘Do? Is there anything you should do? There is such a thing as leaving well alone. Or had you not considered that? The man is being looked after as best as can be achieved. If he is deluded then he is not fit to be questioned and cannot be held to account for his faults.’
‘But I am thinking of him. He was well once, and surely, he could be well again. Is it right to allow him to live in his dream? How do you think he would respond if he was challenged with being Mr Sutherland?’
Dr Hamid looked thoroughly alarmed at this prospect. ‘That is impossible to know. There is a danger we cannot ignore, of driving the delusions still deeper. Alternatively, it might result in a cure, but I cannot imagine that it would be easy or quick to achieve. It could take months or even years. I am far from being an expert in this area. But nothing can be done without proof. I could try writing to the solicitor and see what he is prepared to tell me and suggest that the family seek the help of someone like Dr Fielding. But then, he might well be under instruction not to reveal anything.’
‘Of course, knowing the fate of the real Mr Holt might also help,’ said Mina with a smile.
‘True, but I doubt that we will ever know that for certain.’
Mina realised in a sudden bright glow of insight, that there was almost nothing she liked better than a seemingly impossible task.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Dear Miss Scarletti,
I hope this finds you well.
Thank you for your kind letter and also your concern for Charlotte. She has spoken very highly of you and all the assistance and good advice you have given her. If she had not felt that Mr Vardy did not approve of her consulting you I am sure she would have been anxious to see you again. I have often felt that the visits she has paid to Mrs Barnham have not always been to her benefit, but she says she does rely on them in order to be able to converse with her late husband.
If you are able to receive visitors I would very much like to call on you for a private interview.
Assuring you of my good wishes,
Emily Wandle
The renewal of Mina’s ability to sit at her desk like an adult person and manage her papers for herself had been a pleasurable adventure and it filled her with a fresh determination. An hour before the visitor was expected, she insisted that Rose should help her to dress. It was with much silent grumbling that the maid complied. At least Mina felt that the process was more like arranging her for a living portrait than a last memento. She was therefore able to receive Mrs Wandle dressed in her day clothes, with her hair arranged under a nice lace cap, while seated before her desk. There she perched on her own chair, with her little wedge-shaped cushion, facing the armchair placed in readiness for her visitor’s comfort, and with a table by her side for the accommodation of tea.
It was apparent on Mrs Wandle’s arrival that she was in the grip of a dilemma. The lady was as Mr Merridew had described her, in her late sixties, stout and strong, plain but not uncomely, and clad in practical clothing. She had the broad shoulders and capable hands of a woman who had spent all her life in hard work. Something, however, some terrible deep trouble, had etched into what Mina judged to be her visitor’s natural confidence. She looked wearied and in need of easing her anxieties.
Mina asked Rose to bring a large pot of tea and any cake remaining from the earlier incursions of her mother and friends. Her mother, she had noticed with some relief, was considerably improved in spirits ever since the regular tea gatherings had been reinstated. According to Miss Cherry, these occasions afforded Louisa Scarletti the opportunity to describe at great length the wonderful achievements of her younger son, pointing out the photographic portrait she was convinced he had executed, which was on prominent display.
Mina gestured Mrs Wandle to the armchair and she sank into it with some relief. ‘Thank you for agreeing to see me.’
‘I am grateful for your visit,’ said Mina. ‘I have only met Mrs Vardy on two occasions, but she struck me as a concerned mother who has had many trials to endure, for none of which she can be blamed.’
Mrs Wandle nodded emphatic agreement, but she had a distracted look which Mina’s comment did nothing to diminish.
‘If there is anything I can do,’ Mina continued, ‘given that she has been — shall we say — advised neither to call on me nor write to me nor receive my letters, then please do let me know how I might help her.’
Mrs Wandle took a deep breath and puffed it out. ‘It is on my own account that I am here. I am in a terrible position, and I really cannot decide what to do.’
‘I will help you in any way I can,’ said Mina, gently.
Mrs Wandle gazed at her inquisitively as if wondering how so small and slender a person could be the forthright individual who her friend had described to her. ‘But it does concern Charlotte,’ she said. ‘In fact — oh I don’t know where to start or even how much I can say.’
At that moment, Rose arrived with the tea tray, and conversation ceased while cups and plates were distributed. ‘Thank you, Rose,’ said Mina. ‘I can manage the rest.’
‘That’s a large pot,’ said Mrs Wandle. ‘I’ll pour if you like.’ This at least was something with which the visitor appeared to be comfortable. Rose left them to their refreshments, and Mrs Wandle’s brawny arm made light and expert work of the tea-pouring. The tea was very fresh and hot, and Mina was only able to sip it carefully, while Mrs Wandle took it without blinking. ‘But — you must promise me,’ she went on, ‘I have to beg your absolute confidence before I can say a word. A friendship is at stake. My friendship with Charlotte. It has been a source of great comfort to us both. We may be different in many ways, different in family and in age, but we understand each other, almost like sisters. I don’t want to injure my friend, and I don’t want to lose her regard. But I’m afraid of doing both.’
There was a long pause. Mina felt she was required to say something. ‘I promise faithfully,’ she said at last, ‘that I will say nothing to anyone of our conversation without your express permission.’
Even then, Mrs Wandle hesitated.
‘Please take as much time as you need,’ said Mina.
Mrs Wandle poured herself a second steaming cup of tea, and when it was half consumed was sufficiently invigorated to proceed.
‘My husband Tom died ten years ago. We used to run the Ship Inn together. After I lost him, people said I couldn’t manage the business on my own, but I did. It was hard,
but I showed them. There’s many a woman in my position, and we are better at business than we are usually given credit for.
It was July 1864 when the man came. It was a quiet day; we don’t get many people on holiday excursions round Seabourne. It’s mainly trade customers. Fishermen. There’s a small harbour. No piers or amusements. Nothing fancy. It was getting dark, and I was thinking of closing the doors as the last customer had gone. He was a stranger to me. His clothes — they weren’t like business clothes, more like a gentleman might wear in the country. They were good ones, but they were crumpled like they’d been wetted through and then dried while he was wearing them. He smelled of the sea. Somehow — I don’t know why — I felt I could trust him and so I let him in.
He told me that he had been out sailing earlier in the day when his boat had overturned and he had struggled ashore. There was an old dinghy drawn up on the beach, set aside for repair and so he climbed into it and rested to get his strength back. I gave him hot food and drink and some of Tom’s clothes to wear. I asked about sending a letter to his family so they would know that he was safe, but he said there was no need. He told me he had no family. And then he broke down and confessed that he had sailed out to sea in order to end his existence but once he was in the water some instinct had taken over and he had decided to save himself. He half swam half floated into the shore. He had no injury apart from a bruise on his face which he said he had got when bumping up against the hull of the boat.
As we talked, I could tell that he was an educated man. I thought he must have been a man of business who had once lived a comfortable life but had lost his fortune. He knew failure. He didn’t want to speak of his past and I didn’t press him. He told me his name was Henry Brown and asked if he could stay awhile, only he had almost no money and nowhere to go. So I told him he could lodge in a room upstairs and if he was willing to work for his keep he could stay. And he did.’
Mrs Wandle looked more at ease, and Mina thought that this was because she must have realised that thus far into her story there could be no going back.
‘He was quiet and respectful and did his work without complaint. He kept himself to himself most of the time. Hardly anyone noticed him. If asked, I said that he was a cousin of mine from Newhaven, because I do have family there, and no-one questioned what I said. But I felt that he was waiting for something, that he had a secret he had not shared with me. He was especially anxious to see the most recent newspapers. When I commented on it, he explained that a friend of his had been very ill and he expected to read of his demise at any moment. All was well until a week or two later when the newspapers carried a story that caused him terrible distress. The story of how Mr Jasper Holt was thought to be a fraud and a cheat.’
Mina thought she might risk an interruption. ‘You must have read the papers yourself?’ she asked. ‘What of your customers, did they not talk about the disappearance of Mr Jasper Holt?’
‘Of course, and I admit that since I had seen him when he first came in his good clothes, which my customers had not, I did suspect that he was indeed Jasper Holt, but I didn’t like to ask him about it directly. I felt — I suppose I hoped that in time that he would feel the need to confide in someone, and that person would be me. I did make comments in general conversation, as so many did, but while there were people who made cruel remarks about Mrs Holt, I declared that I had only sympathy for the wife and children who were suffering so much uncertainty. And then one day he did tell me. He confessed that he was Jasper Holt.
I told him that I wouldn’t blame him for his actions, as I couldn’t look into his mind, and didn’t know all his circumstances, but I implored him to tell his wife and family that he was alive and well. He said that he had left a message for his wife, so she knew that he was alive and safe.’
‘A message?’ Mina exclaimed, perhaps a little louder than she had intended.
‘Yes.’
‘Did he say what was in the message?’
‘No, I thought that was a private matter between husband and wife, so I didn’t enquire. I admit, I did once ask Charlotte if she had ever had a note from him, but she said not. Of course, she might not have wanted to say, so I didn’t press her.’
‘No, of course not,’ said Mina, disappointed to see this vital piece of information elude her. ‘I wonder, did he mention Shoreham at all? He told Mr Sutherland, the owner of the yacht, that he wanted to go there.’
‘He did pay visits there from time to time. I asked him why; did he know anyone there, and he said he didn’t, he just — he just liked the sea view.’ Mrs Wandle’s lips trembled. She pressed a hand to her mouth, and Mina could see that she was close to tears.
A third cup of tea was consumed, and two large pieces of cake were made to vanish before equanimity was restored.
‘Did you ever receive a visit from a detective who was looking for him on behalf of the family?’
‘Yes, a few weeks later there was a man came asking questions about any strangers coming in July. I think he’d been going round all the villages. I didn’t know he was from the family, I thought he might be a policeman in plain clothes. Or from a creditor after Jasper’s money. People remembered Henry arriving about then although I was the only one who knew the date for sure, and in any case, he was understood to be my cousin. The man went away, and I didn’t hear any more.
But poor Jasper — Henry I should call him — he was now in a terrible position; one that he had never expected. His deception had been uncovered and he couldn’t go back home to his wife and children because he would be arrested for fraud. Since Charlotte was suspected, too, he thought she was being constantly watched in case he was to ever to try and see her. He was quite adamant that Charlotte had known nothing of his intentions, but while one can prove that a thing is known it is much harder to prove it is not known. For himself, he believed that he could endure being put in prison but if he was it would bring shame and disgrace to the family. And what if Charlotte was charged with being his accomplice? She might find herself in prison, too, and the children would be without a mother. At the same time, he needed to know that his sons were well and being looked after. So he asked me — in fact he pleaded with me to help him.’
Mina understood. ‘And that was why you joined the Barnham circle?’
‘Yes. It was the place where he knew that I would meet Charlotte and make her acquaintance. I went once a week, and there was always some conversation between the sitters, some more than others, and then Charlotte would receive messages from the spirit of her deceased husband saying that he was happy in the heavenly realms. And all the time he was alive and calling himself Henry Brown and working as my pot man.’
‘I imagine,’ said Mina, ‘that the source of the messages Mrs Barnham passes to her sitters is the mind of Mrs Barnham herself, providing what she thinks they will find believable and comforting. Did Mrs Vardy ever reveal to you or anyone else, in any way, that she knew that her husband had not died in the accident? Not even the smallest hint?’
‘No, in fact she was most convincingly certain that he was deceased. Whatever he had written to her — and of course I could never reveal that I knew of it — I think she chose instead to believe the supposed spirit.’
‘You were never tempted to enlighten her?’
‘I was, often, but I had promised Henry not to do so. The spectres of prison and disgrace were more to him than anything. But I was able to let him know that his boys were being well cared for by their godfather, who had been as a second father to them, and that was a great comfort to him. The one thing I had not expected to result was the close friendship that arose between myself and Charlotte. We are united in sympathy. ‘
‘There is one small question you might be able to answer. Mrs Vardy, when she visited the police cells to view the man held there was able to confirm that he was not Mr Holt with barely a moment’s glance. Did she enlighten you as to the reason?’
Mrs Wandle smiled. ‘Jasper Holt, at the time he disappeared
was, like so many men do at that age, starting to lose his hair. It was then just a small round patch the size of a penny on the crown of his head. He was able to hide this from acquaintances by artfully combing the remaining hair, which was very thick, but he could not conceal it from Charlotte. She would have known that after more than seven years missing the loss of hair would be more pronounced, but the man in the cells had a very full head of hair. And whatever the sellers of potions might like to claim, there is no cure for baldness.’
‘How simple! I should have thought of that,’ said Mina, especially, she reflected, after Dr Hamid had mentioned the scalp massage offered to gentlemen who feared losing their hair. Mina had another question to ask, although she already knew the answer. Mr Merridew had, she recalled, spoken of Mrs Barnham’s message concerning Mrs Wandle’s late pot man Henry.
‘Mr Holt — he — I am assuming that you can tell me his story now because he is no longer in danger from the law.’
Mrs Wandle nodded. ‘Yes, sadly, Jasper Holt is no more. He had been in poor health for some time, and last December the doctor told me that he had not long to live. It was his heart. His father had suffered in the same way. When he knew that he was dying he asked me that once he had gone, I should give his watch, the only family heirloom he possessed, to his older son, Franklin. It was something he had once promised the boy. He urged that it should go directly to him, and so I made sure that it was delivered to the boy’s school.’
‘When did Mr Holt die?’
Mrs Wandle took a paper from her reticule. ‘I have the certificate of his death. 25 January under the name Henry Brown. He is buried in the parish church.’
‘Mrs Wandle, I must ask you, since Mr Holt can no longer be charged with any crime, do you intend to tell Mrs Vardy all this story? Judging by what you have said, it does clear her of complicity in the attempted fraud. I appreciate that in view of this message he left her, she could be questioned about protecting him from the law, but I think that would be dealt with sympathetically.’
His Father's Ghost (Mina Scarletti Mystery Book 5) Page 24