The newspapers had become very exercised by the mystery concealing the true identity of the authors, and correspondents, finding Mr Worple unwilling to divulge what they thought he knew, had offered him bribes, or even sent him false messages purporting to come from the Misses Bland hoping to fool him into a revelation. From time to time articles had published with headlines such as ‘Who are the Misses Bland?’ or ‘The Riddle of An Encounter’. One of the more sensational periodicals had asked the authors to visit its office promising that they could do so in the strictest confidence, and hinting that a fee might be payable. Another had offered the public a reward of £20 for information as to their identity. No one had come forward.
Frustrated newsmen eager for a story had even taken to lurking outside Mr Worple’s office, hoping to see the Misses Bland arrive. Some lady customers had actually been followed back to their homes. The nuisance had been reported to Mr Worple, as a result of which he had been obliged to call the police who had dispersed the loiterers, most of whom they knew by sight, and made sure that these disgraceful incidents were not repeated.
Mr Greville closed his letter with the comment that Mr Worple, who was enjoying valuable repeat orders, was well aware that since he owned no rights over the manuscript, the authors were fully entitled to take their requirements elsewhere, and was therefore unlikely to renege on his agreement not to pry into the affairs of the Misses Bland.
Mina studied the letter wondering what, if anything, she had learned. The book had attributed authorship to two ladies, and both Mr Hope and Mr Worple had met two ladies. They were said to reside in London and their choice of a London printer and the to-ing a fro-ing of a servant suggested that this was true. All that was known about them otherwise was what they had chosen to impart.
A second message arrived, this one from Miss Whinstone, who said that she was at home that morning and Mina would be very welcome to call.
‘Who is writing to you, Mina?’ asked her mother.
‘An admirer!’ said Enid, and laughed.
‘Miss Whinstone, she would like me to call on her.’
‘Oh?’ said Louisa, puzzled. ‘What can she want?’
‘She doesn’t say. Perhaps she was upset by Mr Hope’s lecture and would like to discuss it with me.’
‘Is she going to marry that dreadful old man?’ asked Enid.
‘I will let you know. If she does, she might ask you to be matron of honour.’
Enid scowled.
Miss Whinstone occupied a small but comfortably appointed apartment in the western portion of town. She and her late and much missed brother Archibald had once shared the accommodation, and it was now marked by memories of him. His portraits were a prominent feature, presented in carefully polished frames, and such little honours and badges as he had been awarded in his largely uneventful life, which had been marked by service on local charitable committees, were proudly displayed.
Miss Whinstone greeted Mina with genuine warmth of feeling. ‘Miss Scarletti, I am very happy to see you. I feel quite ashamed of myself that I have not asked you to call on me sooner. I am so grateful to you for rescuing me, there can really be no other word, from the clutches of those horrid cheats. I know I shall never see my money again, but if my unhappy story can save others who are less able to endure the loss, I shall be content.’
Miss Whinstone, once her period of mourning for her brother had drawn to its conclusion, had been wont to wear a gown of an unflattering shade of dark bronze, the reflection of the silk on her naturally pale face making her look yellow and ill. The messages she had received supposedly from her beloved Archibald through the mediumship of Miss Eustace had initially been cheering and had caused her to trim up and wear an old light green gown, a colour that matched her eyes. She was the same age as Louisa, but without her claims to beauty, nevertheless, when her face was not creased with anxiety, she was not an unhandsome woman. That morning she wore a new gown, in a warm shade of deep plum, a colour that had by some means or other transmitted itself to her hair.
Miss Whinstone showed Mina to the large room which served as both parlour and drawing room, and where she also dined. As Mina entered, Mr Jellico, who had been seated on a sofa, made some effort to rise to his feet to greet her. Mr Jellico was a gentleman of some seventy years, very sparely made, like a withered tree that looked as though it might snap in a high wind. His eyes, from behind the thick glass of his spectacles, were moist and bright, his hands misshapen, the fingers contracted like claws. His glance as he looked at Miss Whinstone was admiring, even affectionate.
‘I am delighted to make your better acquaintance,’ said Mr Jellico. Apart from seeing him in passing at Mr Hope’s lecture, Mina had met him only when he had accompanied Miss Whinstone to take tea with her mother, and on those occasions he had merely sat silently by and listened.
‘And I yours,’ said Mina.
‘I have been longing for the two of you to meet and converse, as Mr Jellico has been such a good friend and a great comfort to me in these difficult times,’ said Miss Whinstone as her maid brought in a laden tray. ‘I know I am not a very brave person, and I really did think I might faint dead away before those frightening magistrates, but Mr Jellico sat there and smiled at me, and do you know, he did make me feel a little stronger. I know the trial will be a far worse ordeal, but I am determined to bear it.’
Once the maid had distributed the refreshments and departed, Mina asked her first cautious question. ‘What did you think of Mr Arthur Wallace Hope?’
‘Oh I did not care for him at all,’ said Miss Whinstone. ‘I know some ladies find him very interesting but when he speaks about all his so-called adventures, all I can think of is how he goes about shooting things, which surely cannot be right.’
‘I believe,’ said Mr Jellico carefully, ‘that in Africa that may be the only way to obtain food. Of course he may shoot when he is in England too. Gentlemen of his class often do.’
Miss Whinstone’s mouth was set in a firm line. ‘Archibald never shot anything. He didn’t believe in it.’
‘My family attended the lecture because of an interest in geography, as I imagine most people did,’ said Mina, ‘but I was not prepared for Mr Hope’s comments about spiritualism.’
‘Nor I,’ said Miss Whinstone, feelingly, helping Mr Jellico raise a teacup to his lips. ‘What a nasty surprise. And to think he is in favour of that dreadful book, something I promise you I will never read.’
Mina took as deep a breath as she could manage. ‘The reason I have asked to see you is that Mr Hope called on me yesterday, and your name came up in our conversation.’
Miss Whinstone could only stare at her, and Mr Jellico almost dropped the cup.
‘I am afraid that what he had to say you may find alarming, but I cannot in all conscience keep you ignorant of his thoughts and intentions.’ Mina glanced at Mr Jellico, and Miss Whinstone understood her hesitation.
‘Oh you may speak freely before Mr Jellico. He knows all; both the best and the worst.
Mr Jellico smiled. ‘The worst of it is only that Miss Whinstone has a warm heart.’ He put his cup down and prepared himself for Mina’s story.
Mina described in as much detail as she could remember the conversation with Mr Hope, holding nothing back, and as anticipated her revelations were met with shock and dismay.
‘Might I ask,’ said Mr Jellico thoughtfully, ‘was this interview entirely private? Was there no one there to witness what was said?’
‘I am afraid not. He requested a private discussion on a sensitive issue but he did not reveal in advance any clue as to what he might say. Even knowing his belief in the Bland sisters, I was amazed to find him a champion of Miss Eustace, and appalled to hear what he required of me.’
Jellico nodded and Mina sensed that though he was frail of body, his mind was keen and vigorous. ‘You are of course right that you are being unfairly coerced into complying with his request, but if you were to accuse him of this, there is only your wo
rd against his, and I expect that he would deny any such intention. Given his position in society and the regard in which he is held, his word will of course weigh more heavily than yours, and if it came to a dispute you would be in some difficulty. If he should ask to speak to you again, I advise you to ensure that you have a respectable witness to the conversation.’
‘That is sound advice. But now I am not sure what to do. On the one hand, I am reluctant to make a statement I know to be untrue, something Mr Hope wishes me to send to the public press, but at the same time I have no wish to place Miss Whinstone in danger. I have given this a great deal of thought, and the only way out I can suggest is for me to prepare and sign a statement for Mr Hope, but somehow find a form of words that would satisfy everyone, although I cannot at present think what they might be.’
‘Oh please,’ Miss Whinstone exclaimed with unusual energy, ‘I beg of you Miss Scarletti – I beg you most earnestly – do not, whatever you do, comply with this horrid man’s request. Let them put me in prison if they must!’ She started to tremble and Mr Jellico patted her hand.
‘They would not put you in prison, I am sure of that,’ he reassured her gently.
This was an unexpected turn of events. ‘Miss Whinstone,’ asked Mina, ‘am I to understand that you do not want me to sign any kind of a statement for Mr Hope?’
‘Yes. On no account must you do so. You, who have shown others the truth cannot put your name to a lie, even to save me!’
‘Miss Whinstone is right,’ agreed Mr Jellico, ‘and the danger to you, Miss Scarletti, could be far greater than you might imagine. To begin with, I suspect that if you were to agree to make a statement, you might well find that you could not make a free choice of the words. Supposing he provided you with something to sign which stated that it was made of your own free will and for no consideration? That would not be an unusual requirement. Supposing he had it witnessed and then presented it in court in Miss Eustace’s defence?’
‘But she is not being tried for fraudulent mediumship. That was all the statement was intended to cover.’
‘No, but she is accused of extorting money from Miss Whinstone on the basis of false messages communicated during private séances. The nature of those messages cannot be proven, and we only have Miss Whinstone’s word that they did not accord with the evidence that was later produced. If we have a statement from you and quite possibly other residents of Brighton that Miss Eustace is genuine, what then becomes of the contention that she told falsehoods? Even if you try to take this middle way you have suggested, agreeing to sign something of your own composition and then later refusing to sign a paper he has drawn up in his own words, just that initial agreement could be held against you and presented in Miss Eustace’s favour. As a truthful lady you would not deny it. If there is any doubt at the trial, and her appearance and demeanour excite the sympathy of the jurors, then she might be acquitted.’
Mina could only agree. ‘She might, indeed, and if Mr Hope has his way she will be brought to the Pavilion in triumph and produce any number of illustrious ghosts. Of course if she puts on a great show in the manner of a conjuror and entertains the crowds for a few shillings then I have no objection to that. But if she cannot mend her ways she will fleece some of her adherents of their fortunes and they might not be as brave as Miss Whinstone and speak out.’
‘Miss Eustace is not the only danger, I am afraid,’ said Mr Jellico with a wheezy sigh. ‘There have been other séances held in Brighton just lately. We have both been invited to them and refused, of course, despite the promise that Henry VIII and all his wives will appear and take tea with us. All of it is informal for now, no more than an evening’s amusement, but the professional mediums will be sure to hear of it and before long they will descend upon the vulnerable like wolves.’
‘But you will save us, Miss Scarletti,’ said Miss Whinstone, her voice shaking, her eyes bright. ‘I know you will.’
Mina returned home with the weight of the world on her aching shoulders.
Thirteen
Later that day, Richard and Mina passed through the southern gate into the grounds of the Royal Pavilion. He had suggested taking a carriage, which would have driven them directly up to the entrance porch, but since the day was fine, Mina, despite the effort it cost her, chose to walk her slow way so as to better see everything around her. Thus they were able to enjoy the luxuriant gardens, which were so well sheltered and tended that trees grew there better than in any part of the town. The lawns were bright with visitors, some of whom were playing croquet. Mina had never played croquet, and no one had ever suggested she try it, since it was a pastime that required the player to swing a large mallet. She was not sure if she would be adept at it, but thought that if she ever took it up, she might at least be able to surprise everyone with her ability to lift the mallet at all, let alone strike a croquet ball.
Mina was not especially well acquainted with the history of the Pavilion; she knew only that it was acquired in the last century by the then Prince of Wales, who later acceded to the throne as George IV, had been remodelled so many times that it no longer resembled the house it had once been, and was now the property of the town. As they approached the domed entrance porch, which itself resembled a palace in miniature, she thought that an entire book could be written about each portion of this astounding building, so detailed and fantastical was the design of every part.
Even though inevitably its apartments were reduced from their once royal grandeur, there was nothing about the Pavilion that could disappoint. Just walking under the first arch was like stepping into another world. Was this, thought Mina, what it would be like to enter paradise – or was it just what the spiritualists hoped it would be like?
The octagonal entrance hall lit by a Chinese lantern had once offered the fashionable visitor to the royal apartments their first real view of the wonders that lay in store in its gilded interior but it now had the humbler duty of an office, where attendants greeted new arrivals and offered to conduct them around the public rooms for the price of sixpence. Mina bought two tickets, and she and Richard joined a party of visitors waiting to embark on a tour. They were soon assigned an attendant, who commenced to point out features of interest. His manner was rather stiff and serious, like an automaton operated by the insertion of a coin, and he did very little to engage his listeners. Mina found herself wondering how many rooms there were in the Pavilion, and how many features each contained, and therefore how long the visit was to take. No wonder the Misses Bland had slipped away to amuse themselves.
The next room, their guide told them, was the vestibule and on entering it Mina found it hard to contain her excitement, since this was without a doubt the Hall of the Worthies, the very room that the Misses Bland had described as the first one they had entered on their great adventure and from where they had escaped their stuffy guide. Mina suspected that theirs had been the same guide. In the centre, and dominating the space, was the statue of the military hero. Greater than life-size it stood high on a plinth, towering several feet above even the tallest visitor. William Henry Cecil George Pechell, said the inscription, of Her Majesty’s 77th had died heroically aged just twenty-five at the siege of Sebastopol on 3 September 1855. The son of a Member of Parliament for Brighton, his death had led to a period of public mourning in the town. His statue, depicting him in full uniform, urging on his men with valiantly drawn sword, had been erected by subscription in 1859. Displayed along the sides of the room, and considerably less impressive, were the busts of the notabilities of Brighton, which had been placed there after the building was acquired by the corporation. The whole was lit by an array of hexagonal lanterns embellished by a fantasy of dragons and serpents, while the sage green walls were similarly decorated. Mina at once conceived an idea for a new story in which a visitor to the Pavilion was pursued by mythical beasts which had emerged from the wallpaper. She made a note in her little pocket book, which she now carried everywhere with her. Unfortunately, the atten
dant, imagining that her note-taking was evidence of her keen interest in what he had to say, was kind enough to describe each of the busts in very great detail.
At this point the attendant mentioned very discreetly that a nearby door lead to an apartment which had once been the King’s breakfast room, and was now a cloakroom and retiring room for ladies, while another doorway led to the gentlemen’s cloakrooms.
‘May I ask a question, please?’ Mina interrupted.
‘But of course, I will do my best to answer any question you may have about the Pavilion.’
‘Would you be able to conduct us to the location where the ghost of the late King George was seen?’
The attendant was too polite to laugh out loud but it was clearly an effort for him not to. ‘Oh dear me, I am afraid that all the ladies ask me the same question and it is the very one I cannot answer. There is no room in the Pavilion which matches the description in that – unfortunate book.’
The Royal Ghost Page 9