The Durham Deception

by Philip Gooden

  ‘Oh, I am well aware it is a ridiculous idea but, still, it has made me uneasy.’

  Tom did his best to reassure Helen in the few minutes it took them to reach the theatre although what she said made him a little uncomfortable. When they arrived, they were directed to a poky room somewhere in the innards of the building. Sebastian Marmont was scrutinizing himself in a mirror, then applying dabs of extra ‘slap’ to darken his already ruddy complexion. He was wearing the trousers and waistcoat of his white tropical three-piece. A solar topi sat on the table beside him. He smiled to see Tom and Helen reflected in the glass. He stood up and raised Helen’s gloved hand to his lips.

  ‘Enchanté, madame.’

  ‘I am pleased to meet you, Major Marmont,’ said Helen, sounding genuinely pleased, then looking round, she added, ‘This is a veritable Aladdin’s cave.’

  It was the right thing to say. The room was jumbled with costumes and incongruous bits of equipment from a wicker basket to what looked like the trunk of a palm tree. Tom reached out an experimental finger. It felt like papier-maché.

  The door to the dressing room suddenly burst open and three lads tumbled into the room. They had not realized that Marmont had visitors. One of them started to say, ‘Dad—’ and got no further. They were wearing turbans and their faces were neither pale nor dark but in between.

  ‘Boys!’ said the Major. ‘Manners! Let me introduce you to Mr and Mrs Ansell. Alfred, Arthur and Albert.’

  The boys lined up as Sebastian Marmont pointed them out in rapid succession.

  ‘These are my sons, my Hindoos. They assist me in the performance in a variety of guises. The smallest one there, Albert, even dresses up as an ape – as if he wasn’t enough of a monkey already! You only have twenty minutes, you three. Go and get ready now.’

  And the three tumbled out of the room again, without a word.

  ‘Well, Mr and Mrs Ansell,’ said Marmont, ‘you have found out one of my secrets. I employ my sons and pass them off as natives. Their mother is, alas, no more and I value their company. Having them with me, I can keep an eye on them.’

  As he mentioned the loss of his wife, he looked keenly at Tom. Then he looked back at his reflection in the mirror and tugged his waistcoat down. He settled the topi on his head and gave his moustaches an extra twirl.

  ‘There,’ he said. ‘I am point-device the very man, even if I do say so myself.’

  ‘Bravo, Major Marmont,’ said Helen, giving a little clap.

  Act Three

  It is the climax of the evening. Major Marmont comes down to the footlights and speaks directly to the audience while behind him two of his Hindoos are wheeling on to the stage a cabinet painted in red and gold.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, you are about to see a feat which is unique. I have styled this object the Cabinet of Perseus. Let us see what it contains – or rather what it does not contain.’

  He nods at the two boys who are standing on either side of the cabinet, which is about four-feet wide and deep and seven-feet high. The boys revolve the cabinet on its castors, pausing when each side is opposite to the audience. Every time, Sebastian Marmont raps the side sharply and several times over with a long stick to show that there is nothing concealed within, no hidden exits. When the cabinet is facing front again the boys open the narrow double doors. The interior walls are covered with the same red and gilt pattern as the outside but the cabinet is empty apart from a wooden post in the centre. This supports a gas lamp which casts such a bright light on the inside that it is impossible to imagine that there is the space for even a mouse to hide itself. The Major walks right up to the cabinet and waggles his stick around the front of the open space.

  When the audience have had a good stare, the Major orders the doors to be closed again. He returns to the footlights and says in a confidential style, ‘I am sure that, in the presence of such learned inhabitants of so distinguished a city, I do not have to explain why I have selected the name of Perseus. But, for the benefit of any who might have forgotten, I shall inform you that Perseus was presented with the famous helmet of invisibility by the gods when he went to face the terrifying snake-headed Medusa. I hope there are no Medusas here tonight – are there, gentlemen? – but we do require a Perseus. We need a hero who will become invisible, one who will disappear before our very eyes. Will any brave gentleman step forward now?’

  The Major waits. He raises his hand to his brow and scans the theatre which is full to capacity. He looks quite threatening, like a general asking for a volunteer for a dangerous mission. Not a person stirs in the house. Perhaps nobody is sure exactly what the Major wants, perhaps the men in the audience are a little nervous. Then Marmont fixes on an individual in the second row of the stalls. He points to him and in a stentorian voice says, ‘You, sir, I can detect in you a desire to show yourself capable of heroic feats. Would you be so kind as to rise from your seat next to that pretty young lady and make your way up here.’

  It is as much of a command as an invitation. In any case it is the kind of invitation difficult to turn down if you don’t want to be shown up for a wet blanket or, worse, a coward. There is a bustle in the stalls as a lanky man gets up. Those sitting close by look to see if the woman next to him is indeed pretty. She is, although she must have recently suffered some accident for one of her hands is bandaged.

  The man climbs a short flight of steps at the side of the stage and comes into the illuminated area. The Major reaches out his hand in a no-nonsense, manly fashion. The newcomer hesitates before taking it. It is evident that he is not pleased to be up on stage in the public eye, and the way he leans towards the Major and whispers something in his ear suggests that he is a reluctant participant. Several in the audience recognize him and a few may be aware that these two men have met before, that there is hostility between them. They are a contrast, the Major is short and deeply tanned while his guest is tall and has the pallor of a candle.

  ‘Now, ladies and gentlemen,’ says the Major, ‘In a moment I am going to request my friend here to step into the Perseus Cabinet behind us. I shall follow him for an instant into the cabinet and then I shall reappear and then . . . well, we’ll see.’

  The doors are opened for a second time. Major Marmont ushers the tall gentleman into the cabinet, putting his hand in the small of the other’s back to urge him forward. He looks round at the audience briefly before stepping into the cabinet himself. The boys shut the doors without ceremony and then one produces a flute and the other a tabor, and they proceed to make a weird rhythmic sound, the steady beat of the little drum contrasting with the wandering tones of the flute.

  It must be an unpleasant fit inside the Perseus Cabinet, two men packed into a little space with the gas lamp hissing above their heads. But not for more than a few seconds because, even while the drum is beating and the flute piping, the doors are opened from within by the Major and he steps out and stands well away from the cabinet. It is empty. The flaring light reflects off the red and gold wallpaper but there is no sign of the Major’s guest – or perhaps that should be his victim. The Major steps up to the cabinet and waggles his stick round the interior. It is definitely empty. The lanky man with the reddish hair and the pallor of a candle has disappeared.

  After the Trick

  Tom and Helen could only admire the way in which Sebastian Marmont inveigled Flask into stepping on to the stage and then entering the Perseus Cabinet. Tom had not taken seriously Marmont’s promise – or threat – that he would attempt to involve Flask in one of his acts but evidently the Major had been planning all the time to pick on the medium or at least to show him the superiority of his form of magic. That was why Eustace and Kitty were given complimentary seats near the stage and why Marmont had not allowed much time to pass before he selected Eustace, even though to most of the audience it would have seemed a random choice.

  The Ansells were sitting at the back of the stalls with Julia Howlett and Septimus Sheridan. When they saw Flask whispering in Major Marmon
t’s ear, Helen also whispered in Tom’s ear, saying, ‘That is no love message.’

  On Tom’s other side, Julia Howlett said rather more loudly, ‘I do hope nothing terrible is going to happen.’

  Tom thought the magical act was reminiscent of Flask’s, except that everyone was aware it was done with the intention of deceiving and so, in a sense, no one could feel cheated. But there was the same role for the performer’s assistants: the Hindoos in Marmont’s act; Ambrose and Kitty in Flask’s. There was a similar introductory speech in which the performer drew attention, whether subtly or boastfully, to what he was going to do. There were invitations to check for fraud by examining clothes or furniture. There was even a comparison between the spirit cabinet used by Flask and the Perseus one belonging to Marmont.

  The Ansells watched as the medium was almost pushed into the cabinet by Marmont, and the flute and drum noises started up. The Major duly reappeared and the doors were left open behind him to show that the cupboard was bare.

  ‘What next?’ said Helen.

  ‘I expect our friend will turn up through a trapdoor in the floor or something.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind if he vanished for ever,’ said Helen but softly so that her aunt should not hear.

  But Eustace Flask did not reappear. The performance was, seemingly, concluded even if in a rather unsatisfactory way. Wasn’t it part of the unspoken agreement between a magician and his audience that whatever had been done on stage, whether it was a breakage or a dismemberment or a disappearance, should be put right by the end of the show? But not this time. The Major and his Hindoos stepped forward to take the applause of the house and the curtain came down.

  As the crowd was filing out, Tom observed Kitty pushing her way through it in an agitated way. It made him wonder exactly what had happened to Eustace Flask.

  There were other interested parties in the Assembly Rooms that night. One of them was Frank Harcourt who had brought his wife Rhoda to see the sensational new magician. The couple were sitting in the less expensive seats, which Rhoda complained about from the moment they arrived. But her attention was soon caught by Marmont’s act and she forgot to gripe as the evening went on. When Eustace Flask was summoned to the stage she sat up straighter and nudged her husband in the ribs. For his part, Superintendent Harcourt was rather glad to see the medium shown up in the public eye. Perhaps it would hasten his departure from Durham. And he was even more glad when Flask did not emerge from the Perseus Cabinet. In fact, his hope that Flask might never reappear was at that instant being echoed by Helen Ansell.

  In the cheapest seating at the top of the house was Ambrose Barker. He had been keeping a covert eye on Flask and Kitty for most of the day and turning over schemes of retribution in his mind without resolving on any firm plan. Ambrose might have wondered how Flask would manage without him but he was no fool and knew that the answer was, he would manage pretty well. Flask’s schemes in Durham had almost come to a head. He did not need help any longer putting up his spirit cabinet or taking off his frock-coat. So Ambrose was still undecided on his retaliation. He had not even decided whether Flask alone should feel the full force of his anger or whether Kitty ought to be included.

  Seeing the pair heading for the theatre, and following at a distance, Ambrose had bought himself a sixpenny seat. Once the performance was underway he soon realized that the magician and the individual who’d tried to expose the guv’nor a couple of days before were one and the same person. Apart from the voice, there was something about the way the man held himself. When Flask was brought into the act, Ambrose relished his discomfort. And when Flask failed to come out of the Perseus Cabinet, Ambrose wondered how the trick was managed.

  There was one other individual who attended the performance at the Assembly Rooms and who took a more than usually close interest in the proceedings. It was the man who had arrived in Durham on the same train as the Ansells, the man in the shabby clothes who had pretended to find Helen’s lilac handkerchief on the river path. He too had sat up straight at one point in the performance but it was nothing to do with Eustace Flask. Rather it was connected to the appearance of Major Sebastian Marmont. This individual had noticed the name on the advertisements plastered around town and bought a ticket. When he observed the soldier-turned-magician striding towards the footlights, when he heard the first words out of the performer’s mouth, he experienced a shock of recognition. And then he started to think, very hard.

  Eustace Flask did not reappear again that evening or in the early part of the night. He failed to return to the house in Old Elvet. Kitty Partout waited up for him. She had already shoved her way backstage at the theatre to confront Major Marmont if necessary, only to find that the magician had departed and that no one seemed able to help her in her quest for the medium. Yes, he had ‘disappeared’ but it was all part of the show, wasn’t it? In real life, people don’t simply vanish in front of one’s eyes. It’s a trick, an illusion.

  Kitty eventually dropped off in the small hours of the morning. She had not been sleeping very long when she was wakened by the sound of someone on the stairs. Kitty felt chill. But after a moment she recognized the tread as Eustace’s. From her bed she called out drowsily, ‘Where you been?’

  Flask had not of course disappeared for good after his entry into the Perseus Cabinet. He might be physically untouched but he was the humiliated victim of a trick and he was very angry with Sebastian Marmont. Indeed, they had almost come to blows afterwards although, as during the session at Miss Howlett’s, the medium had restrained himself. He suspected that the Major would be capable of licking him with one hand tied behind his back. However, he had taken a kind of revenge on the magician and also had the pleasure of insulting his Indian assistant.

  He spent at least an hour striding about the old town, feeding his fury against Marmont and contemplating further acts of retribution. It was not so far from midsummer and there was still a tinge of light in the west. Flask was now standing on Framwellgate Bridge looking down at the waters of the Wear. His heart was as dark as the river. Towering above him to his left were the silhouettes of the castle and the cathedral. It was close on midnight and perhaps not very safe for a nervous individual like Eustace Flask to be out and about alone. He started from his reverie when he heard footsteps on the cobbles behind him. He wheeled round. There were gaslights at each end of the bridge but he was standing in the middle in a pool of darkness.

  A man was coming in his direction. Flask remembered the item which was tucked in one of his pockets. Too late to get it out now. He might have run but instead he was rooted to the spot, his back against the parapet of the bridge.

  ‘Don’t do it,’ said the man. ‘I have been watching you.’

  Flask’s first reaction was one of relief. The man had an educated manner. He did not sound like a ruffian or a bludger.

  ‘Do what?’ he said, trying to control his voice.

  ‘Throw yourself into the river.’

  ‘It never crossed my mind,’ said Flask, truthfully. ‘I – I am out for a stroll.’

  ‘I wonder what it would be like to throw oneself from a bridge and plunge into the water,’ said the man. He was standing next to Flask by now. Then he turned about to stare down into the river. The medium could not make out much of the other’s appearance, except that he was clean-shaven and about Flask’s own height.

  ‘What passes through your mind as you plunge through the dark air? Regret or elation or despair? The fall would not last much more than a second. Is it a long second, I wonder?’

  Eustace Flask had relaxed for an instant but now began to think that he might be in the presence of a lunatic.

  ‘No doubt you consider this as idle speculation, sir,’ said the man, as if he guessed Flask’s thoughts. ‘But I have had good cause recently to imagine the last plunge from a bridge – then the immersion in dirty, fast-flowing water – the instinctive struggle to survive – the inexorable way in which one’s garments become waterlogged and drag t
he wearer down. Even if you had willed yourself every step of the way thus far, do you think you would sink without a fight?’

  ‘Probably not,’ said Flask.

  The man shivered, though whether from the chill of the evening or the thought of a watery death, Flask did not know. He made to move off but the man put out a hand to detain him.

  ‘Not so fast, my friend. I saw you at the theatre this evening.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about that.’

  ‘You are not well disposed towards Major Marmont, I think?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You would like revenge on him?’

  Flask, normally so fluent, said nothing but that was answer enough for the man, ‘I could tell you things that might surprise you.’

  The man might have been about to say more but they were interrupted by the sight of the beat constable at the eastern end of the bridge. He was standing under the gaslight, clearly visible and presumably a deterrent to any nefarious activity in the area.

  ‘But not now,’ said the man. ‘Meet me tomorrow morning and I shall tell you more.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Here. At ten.’

  He spun on his heel and loped across to the western side of the bridge. He passed under the pool of light from the gas lantern on that side and, for an instant, Flask thought of a predatory beast; there was something so silent and purposeful in his movement. Still, there could be no harm in meeting him again, could there?

  Something had fluttered to the ground as the other man walked away. Flask picked it up. It felt like a handkerchief. He held it to his nose and detected the faintest trace of a woman’s scent.

  The Medium Departs

  As far as the rest of the world was concerned, Eustace Flask came to light the next day. A band of workers were using saws and axes to cut up a fallen tree on the eastern bank of the river where it doubled back on the far side of the cathedral. Their overseer was alerted by the cries of a woman. With a couple of his companions, he followed the direction of the sounds. The three ran a couple of hundred yards or so along the bank and then up the wooded slope to a small clearing.