Mr Scarletti's Ghost

by Linda Stratmann

  Mr Conroy was a bluff uncomplicated gentleman, with a talent for putting his customers at their ease, but Mr Jordan adopted a manner that was both imperious and condescending, as if to suggest that while the customer he was serving was neither noble nor royal there were others who were. He employed a hard-pressed assistant, but was always in evidence, looking on with a hard critical eye and making sure to give the wealthier customers his personal attention. The word in Brighton was that Mr Jordan was little more than a jumped-up tailor, although no one would have said it to his face.

  The shop was redolent with the acrid, nostril-stinging scent of new freshly steamed wool, with a citrus hint of gentlemen’s cologne. When Mina entered she found Mr Jordan overseeing his assistant, who was showing a gentleman a display of fabrics. His watch was in his palm as if he was timing the exercise, but when he saw Mina he snapped it shut, and put it in his pocket. ‘Miss Scarletti, how may I assist you?’

  ‘If you have a moment, Mr Jordan, I would be interested in discussing your encounter with Miss Phoebe – or should I say Miss Eustace, since I understand that you claim they amount to one and the same person.’

  He grunted, and beckoned Mina away to one side of the shop, out of the earshot of his customer. ‘You are not one of her acolytes?’ he said with an unattractive sneer.

  ‘Not at all,’ said Mina, choosing to ignore the rudeness of his manner in the interest of extracting information. ‘In fact I had a recent experience when I stumbled and fell against the spectre, and was thereby convinced that it was a living person, and female. It can only have been Miss Eustace. I understand that you went further than this and deliberately clasped her.’

  ‘I did,’ he said with some dignity. ‘May I assure you that it is far from my nature to treat a lady in such a rough and indelicate fashion, but then Miss Eustace, whatever her pretensions, is not a lady. I cannot be sure quite what she is, or indeed who she is, but honest and selfless as she likes to claim, she is most assuredly not.’

  ‘And you were quite certain that Phoebe is just Miss Eustace in draperies?’

  ‘Oh beyond a doubt,’ he assured her, with a short barking laugh. ‘The supposed spectre struggled and kicked me most unmercifully as I took hold of her. She has all the good manners of a fishwife. I will admit that I cannot explain the mechanism of the imposture, but that is not my business.’

  ‘Do you intend to take any further action against her?’ asked Mina.

  ‘No, none,’ he declared. ‘I have written to the newspapers of course, but my efforts are swamped by those of her credulous adherents, and she is now unassailable. Really, if these people wish to be parted from their money then I can only leave them to their fate. And now, I understand that there is to be a new sensation in town, a Miss Foxton and her – well, I hesitate to say what he might be – her theatrical manager shall we say, a Mr Ricardo. Are you acquainted with these people?’

  ‘I am not familiar with anyone of that name,’ said Mina, truthfully.

  ‘He has sent me a letter today with a free ticket, and of course I shall attend and they must look to it or I will show them up to be the cheats and charlatans they are, and if I can see them both in prison I will consider my work well done.’

  ‘I may well attend myself, as a matter of curiosity only, of course,’ said Mina. ‘And what of your partner Mr Conroy? Did your actions convince him that Miss Eustace is a fraud?’

  ‘Mr Conroy prefers not to speak of that night,’ said Mr Jordan, shutting his mouth with a snap no less firm than his watch.

  Mina was naturally abiding by Eliza’s instructions not pay her a visit, although she was anxious for news, and after leaving Mr Jordan’s she turned her feet towards Dr Hamid’s baths, which was not far distant, hoping that someone would be in attendance who would be able to let her know how her friend was progressing. Although Mina’s exercises, which she continued with a dedicated determination, concentrated on developing her shoulders, back and chest, there were some that strengthened her legs and Anna had encouraged her in her usual habit of taking short refreshing walks. Mina still limped, and accepted the fact that she would always do so, but at least she could now limp faster and for longer and without pain.

  As she approached the baths she noticed two gentlemen standing outside the building peering closely at something in the window but making no attempt to enter. Initially she supposed that it was an advertisement, but as she drew closer she saw that the interior of the establishment, seen through the glass, was in darkness although it was well within its usual hours of opening. A sensation of cold dread settled over her.

  The gentlemen stood aside as she approached and she saw that they were looking at a notice bordered in black. ‘It’s closed up today,’ one of them said, and they turned and walked away. Mina, her eyes clouded with emotion, could barely read the sign, which offered apologies for the fact that the establishment was closed due to a family bereavement, and promised that it would reopen on the following day. For several minutes she leaned against the door, making no attempt to control the tears that were coursing freely down her face, and ruminated on how cruel life could be. She thought of Eliza’s sweet face and quick mind, and their lively conversations. She thought of how much she had looked forward to writing stories for her friend and encouraging her to seek new amusements. As she stood there several people came up and read the sign and went away, and some asked her if she was well and needed any assistance, but she said that she would recover, it was due to the shock of the bad news. One kind lady, who was a friend of Anna’s and had known of Eliza’s illness, confirmed what Mina had feared, and they talked for a few minutes until Mina felt able to leave.

  She did not want to go home unless she could be certain of being able to escape to her room in order to be alone with her grief, and that was far from sure. She thought it likely that her mother would be entertaining her friends that afternoon and did not feel equal to feigning politeness in the company of Mrs Bettinson and her like; neither did she want to carry the tragedy home as if it was simply another piece of town gossip to be bandied about by chattering ladies. She walked instead towards the seashore, where she could best think about the muddled uncertain line between two worlds, and what might happen when crossing from one to the other.

  Brighton was beginning to welcome the first of the new season of visitors, but on the eastern side of the town it was not so busy. A great swathe of building work had cut through the approach to the old Chain Pier and carved it away to make room for the new aquarium, but the new truncated entrance to the pier was not unpleasing. Close by, one could stand and take in the sight of the great iron structure that seemed to power its massive way into the sea like a steam train, and see the waves beating against its supports. In mild weather, as it was that day, the waves appeared to be caressing the pier with a firm but approving affection, but Mina knew that they could suddenly turn to rage and resentment. She saw the figure of a man standing alone and looking out to sea, and recognised him as Dr Hamid. She hesitated, then approached him.

  ‘I have just come from the baths,’ she said. ‘I saw the notice. I don’t know what to say. I am so very sorry.’

  ‘I must apologise for closing the business today,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Please, there is no need for any apology,’ she reassured him.

  ‘There are patients who rely on us for regular treatment; some are elderly, some in great pain. I have a duty to them.’ He sighed. ‘Anna is at home making all the arrangements, and I would help her but I think I am not very useful at present; at any rate she suggested I go out and take the air for a while.’

  ‘Do you mind if we talk?’ she asked. ‘If you would rather be alone, let me know, and I will go at once.’

  ‘No, please stay. You were Eliza’s friend, and even in such a short while you came to know her better than most. Towards the end, she said what a comfort you were to her and how she hoped that when she was well you would meet again. She liked the stories you sent her.’

/>   Mina hardly dared look into his eyes, the irises like fractured marble, with splinters of pain. ‘I was so looking forward to seeing her. She helped me with a story I was writing, and I thought perhaps we might write one together.’

  ‘When she was a child,’ said Dr Hamid, ‘my father was told that she would most probably not live past her twentieth birthday, but we gave her the best care we could, and she had a not unpleasant life, filled with interest. She inspired me, she inspired Anna and by her example we became better than we might have been and more able to help others.’

  ‘That is her monument,’ said Mina. ‘She will live on through you and your sister. Please let me know when it would be appropriate for me to call.’

  ‘Of course. I know Anna would like to see you.’ There was a long silence as they both looked out across the rolling sea. Carriages rattled past, like ships full of merriment and the promise of delight.

  ‘Too many losses,’ he said with another heavy sigh. ‘Too many people taken away before their time. Eliza might have lived another twenty years, Jane another thirty. It is so cruel and unnecessary, when there are evil people in this world who live long and good people who do not. I wish I knew why that was! I can only pray, and …’ For a few moments he looked as though he was biting back tears. Not so long ago they had sat beside each other in a circle and clasped hands, and she felt she wanted to reach out and touch his hand as a friend, but it would not have been right. ‘When Jane died it was like a light that had illuminated my life going out,’ he said. ‘I would like to think that somewhere, somehow, that light is still burning, and that one day I will be able to see it again and go towards it. I need to believe. Surely we all do?’

  Mina waited for him to say more but he did not. ‘I hope,’ she said, ‘that you are not considering going to see Miss Eustace again?’

  ‘And why should I not?’ he demanded with sudden ferocity.

  ‘You know why not,’ said Mina, trying to speak as gently as possible.

  He shook his head. ‘One of my patients told me that he went to her for a private reading and received information that could have come from no one other than the deceased.’

  ‘So some people claim,’ said Mina, ‘but I am not convinced it is so.’

  ‘Well, you can hardly blame me for seeking the truth,’ he said obstinately.

  ‘No, I cannot, but this is not the time to do it, when you are in pain and wanting to believe anything that will give you comfort. Please tell me you will wait awhile.’

  He closed his eyes as if to shut out the world and be alone with his misery.

  ‘I would like to walk a little way,’ she said. ‘Will you assist me?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ He offered her his arm, and they turned and walked along the Marine Parade with the sun reflecting off the bright white hotels to their right and the sea crashing like shards of blue-veined jasper to their left.

  Sixteen

  Mrs Peasgood was a lady nearer in age to sixty than fifty and nearer in weight to fourteen stones than thirteen. Her late husband had been a well-regarded surgeon and had thus left her in extremely comfortable circumstances, with an annuity, a property, three grown sons, and as many grandchildren as any woman could decently want. She lived in a very pleasant villa in Marine Square, the upper part of which she had converted to make a roomy apartment for her sister Mrs Mowbray, whose husband had left her with neither family nor fortune but a great many attentive callers asking for the urgent settlement of their accounts.

  On the ground floor of the villa was a magnificent east-facing drawing room, where twenty-five people might easily assemble in comfort, or thirty if they were more determined and less particular. As if one drawing room was not enough, the house had provided a second smaller one, behind the first, the two rooms being separated by a pair of heavy damask curtains, and both accessible quite separately from the hallway, while the back room led through a set of double doors to a beautifully maintained garden. Mrs Peasgood was a lover of music and often gathered her friends for a recital, the main drawing room serving as a kind of auditorium and the smaller as a stage for the performers, so transforming her home into a theatre in miniature.

  It was this enviable space into which Richard had somehow cajoled himself and his protégée the extraordinary Miss Foxton.

  Mina, to her great relief, had discovered that her mother had no intention of attending the new sensation’s séance. Not only did Louisa feel that patronising Miss Foxton impugned her loyalty to Miss Eustace, which had become immeasurably stronger since the unfortunate incident with Mr Jordan, but she had heard rumours that Miss Foxton was not all that she seemed, and could not imagine what Mrs Peasgood could be thinking of to admit such a creature to her house.

  As the ladies assembled in Mrs Peasgood’s drawing room, Mina looked anxiously about in case her mother had changed her mind, but fortunately she had not, and neither Mrs Bettinson nor Miss Whinstone were present. Mr Jordan and his friend Mr Conroy were there, and while the ladies were engaged in conversation the gentlemen dedicated themselves to the more businesslike task of obtaining the best possible seats. Mina wondered if another wager had been made, and feared that Mr Jordan was planning an assault upon Miss Foxton and an exposure of the dastardly Mr Ricardo. She could not imagine how she might protect Richard from such an attempt, which could well prove violent. If Richard brought disgrace on the family she could quite see her mother packing him off somewhere to manage a ranch or plant tea, and realised that she would miss him dreadfully.

  Thus far, Mina felt confident that no one in the room knew Richard by sight, but then she saw a familiar figure enter discreetly and slip though the crowds to find a seat near the back. It was Mr Clee, and Mina surmised that he was there to see what the other medium in town was doing and report his findings to Miss Eustace. He avoided engaging anyone else in conversation, and seemed anxious not to draw attention to himself. Mina was unable to decide if it was more important to protect Richard from Mr Jordan or Mr Clee, but could not see how either feat could be accomplished. She sat where she could see them both, hoping that she would not find it necessary to create a scene.

  At length, Mrs Peasgood suggested that those of the company who had not yet taken their places might like to do so. There was an unexpected difficulty when two ladies discovered that Mr Jordan and Mr Conroy had taken what they considered to be their seats, presumably because they always occupied those places at the musical evenings. Mr Conroy was all for giving up the seats to the ladies but Mr Jordan, claiming priority, was not, and incurred his hostess’s grave displeasure by sitting with folded arms and stolidly refusing to move. It took all of Mr Conroy’s tact and a promise of silk ribbon to enable the gentlemen to keep their places without a quarrel.

  Mr Clee, Mina noticed, was watching Mr Jordan very carefully, although he was also pretending to read Professor Gaskin’s pamphlet. She feared that even from the back row of seats Mr Clee would recognise Richard both by features and voice, as any man might another who had threatened to knock him down. She was uncertain what he might choose to do about it, and hoped she would be able to delay him if he made a sudden rush.

  Mrs Peasgood glanced at her maid who turned down the lights. There were little exclamations of nervous anticipation as the room was plunged into semi-darkness, not the deep black demanded by many mediums, but a soft accommodating shadow. A moment or two passed during which the sea of onlookers rippled and settled into a pool, then gradually two hands pushed between the curtains and eased them apart. The draperies made a pointed arch in which stood an enigmatic figure, the faint light to which all eyes were becoming accustomed suggesting the form of a tall man.

  ‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!’ he announced in an accent that was very nearly Italian. It was Richard, of course, and since no member of his family had ever met the great-grandfather whose surname they bore, the attempt was more theatrical than convincing. ‘Allow me to introduce myself. I am Signor Ricardo, and I have come before you to
introduce a great wonder the like of which you will never have seen before.’ He stepped into the room, allowing the curtains to fall together behind him. They could now see that he was in evening dress, but around his shoulders there swirled a long cape with something on it that glittered like stars. His hair had been brushed back, its unruly waves smoothed with an oily dressing that made it shine and appear darker than it was, and he sported a false moustache of evil aspect and a half-mask of black velvet edged with gold lace. It was a guise in which he might have personated Mephistopheles on the stage and wanted, thought Mina, only a blood-red waistcoat to be complete. She breathed a sigh of relief as he continued to speak.

  ‘Newly arrived in this country from her triumphant tour of the Continent of Europe where she appeared before the crowned heads and nobility – soon to be the honoured guest of a Very Exalted Personage – I bring you the beautiful, the astonishing, the unique Miss Kate Foxton!’

  He threw his arms wide and gave a deep bow, then drew back the curtains on either side. The space behind them was nearly bare, and appeared to have been darkly draped. All that could be seen was, to the right, a deep armchair, and in the centre of the stage a tall oriental vase, which looked very similar to the one that had until recently stood in the Scarlettis’ hallway. Not only similar, reflected Mina, but identical – in fact it was the one that had stood in their hallway, and she was in no doubt that it was Richard who had, under some pretext or other, managed to abstract it.

  Signor Ricardo strode across the stage with an attitude appropriate to a tenor at the opera expressing his undying love for a mature soprano, extending his hand towards the space that lay behind the fall of draperies to his left. He then moved backwards, with the lithe tripping gait of a dancer, leading with him the figure of Miss Foxton, whom he conducted to the centre of the stage for the examination and admiration of the audience.