Miss Nellie Gilden, for it was certainly she, was attired quite differently from the revealing costume in which she had posed for the carte de scandale which Mina had seen. She wore a plain drab-coloured costume so voluminous as to conceal her pronounced womanly form almost entirely, and neat little gloves and boots. Her hair, which the photograph had suggested might be gold with more than a hint of amber, had been transformed into a knot of glossy brown curls heaped high and surmounted by a wide hat trimmed with feathers. Mina, knowing that Nellie was an actress and therefore a woman who had abandoned all claims to respectability, looked in vain for anything in her features that might reveal a disreputable mode of life. The portrait, she was obliged to admit, had not done the lady justice. Miss Gilden might have graced any drawing room, any court even, and carried off the guise of a lady with complete success. The freshness of her complexion, which if painted was done with such subtlety that it appeared to be entirely natural, the brightness of her eyes, the curve of her lips, gave her a discreet yet alluring charm. All around, the audience gave a soft murmur of approval.
‘Do not be concerned at this lady’s youth,’ said Mr Ricardo. ‘True, she has not seen eighteen summers, but her abilities have been strong since she was but a small child. When only seven years of age she dreamed of the tragic death of a beloved royal personage. Just over six years ago she was in America and begged to be allowed to send a message to a very great man to say that he should not think of going to the theatre that evening. But the words of a young girl carried no weight – would that they had!’ He shook his head sorrowfully.
‘But now!’ he exclaimed, with a suddenness that make everyone jump, ‘to happier thoughts! Miss Foxton will shortly enter a state of trance and I beg you all to strict silence and contemplation.’ He escorted Miss Foxton to the armchair and there she was seated, taking more care, thought Mina, than one might expect over the exact arrangement of such a simple costume. He then held his hands over her head, and moved them about in circles, to suggest that he was subjecting her to mesmeric influence. After a minute or so, Miss Foxton’s eyelids drooped, then closed, and her head sank forward, so that her face was hidden underneath the brim of her hat and the plume of gently quivering feathers. She appeared to be asleep, yet it was more than that, as he demonstrated, since he carefully raised her hand, and allowed it to fall back limply into her lap.
Mr Ricardo then removed his cloak and after swirling it about his head a number of times, for no apparent reason other than to add a touch of drama and perhaps also distract the audience’s attention from anything Miss Foxton might be doing, he draped it carefully over the somnolent medium. When he stepped back, all that could be seen of Miss Foxton was a small gloved hand, a tiny foot, and the feathers on her hat.
‘The lady is in a trance,’ he confided to the audience in a hushed whisper, ‘and while she is in this state of unconsciousness the vital energy will begin to flow from her body!’
Mr Ricardo began to make extravagant passes over the recumbent figure, then he stepped away, with gestures suggesting that he was pulling at an invisible cord.
Abruptly, Mr Jordan rose to his feet. ‘If I may be permitted,’ he said in a voice more suited to a public announcement than controlled reverence, ‘I wish to take the lady’s pulse.’
‘Mr Jordan!’ whispered Mrs Peasgood. ‘Kindly moderate your voice! And will you please sit down!’
Mr Ricardo paused, and smiled at Mr Jordan, who was standing in a very rigid and determined posture, his hands clenched into fists. ‘I understand your concern for the lady’s state of health,’ he said. ‘Do be assured that she is in no danger.’
‘That I would like to see for myself,’ said Mr Jordan, making no attempt to speak more quietly. ‘Or are you one of those charlatans who prevent others from going near to the medium so as to cover imposture?’
‘Sir!’ insisted Mrs Peasgood, ‘do please be seated. I fear you are making a disturbance!’
‘I do not intend to cause a painful scene while a guest in your house,’ said Mr Jordan with great dignity, clearly recalling his peremptory ejection from the Gaskins’ parlour, ‘neither do I accuse you of being a part of their confederacy,’ – there were appalled gasps at the effrontery of even mentioning the idea – ‘but I do ask, before we proceed any further, to satisfy myself that the lady is well. You cannot object to that.’
‘I have no objection at all,’ said Mr Ricardo, generously. ’Please do come forward, sir.’
Mr Jordan had clearly not expected to be so accommodated, but after an involuntary start of surprise he approached the covered figure in the armchair. Mr Ricardo drew back the cloak and then carefully lifted the brim of the hat to reveal the peaceful face of the medium. ‘A veritable sleeping beauty in the flesh,’ he said.
The sceptic paused, and after a moment, took Miss Foxton’s hand in his, drew back the fabric of her glove, and pressed his fingertips to her wrist. There was half a minute of expectant silence.
‘Are you satisfied now, sir?’ asked Mr Ricardo.
Mr Jordan granted him a strange look. ‘Hmm – yes – for the moment.’
The glove, hat and cloak were replaced as they had been before. ‘Then if you would be so good as to return to your seat.’
There was nothing more that Mr Jordan could do, and unwillingly he turned back and resumed his place.
‘And now,’ said Mr Ricardo, addressing the audience, ‘you will see before your very eyes, something that has never before appeared on any stage, or in any house in all this land. You will actually witness the stream of vital etheric energy as it flows from the lady’s body. Prepare yourselves to be amazed.’ He waved his hands over Miss Foxton again, but this time he gradually stepped closer, and at last a small gesture enabled him to catch in his fingertips the end of a bright wisp of something that was so light it was almost nothing at all emerging from underneath the cloak. Slowly, then with increasing speed, he pulled and lifted it away. It was a long strip of delicate transparent material that glowed in the semi-darkness and floated in the air as if it had no substance. He stepped backwards away from the recumbent medium, drawing out the banner of light until it extended for several feet, getting wider and brighter as it flowed, and then he carried it across the room to the vase and guided it inside. More and more it came, ten feet, twenty, it was impossible to measure, until far more had come than would have seemed possible, and still it piled softly into the vase. The audience was utterly silent, and as Mina gazed about her she saw that eyes were wide and lips parted in amazement.
The ethereal production at last glided to a conclusion and all was laid in the vase. Mr Ricardo hurried over to the still figure of the medium and touched her wrist. ‘She lives,’ he said, in a reassuring tone, and there were some sighs of relief.
Mr Jordan rose to his feet again, ‘If you will permit me—’ he began.
‘Really, sir, I will not permit you!’ exclaimed Mrs Peasgood testily. ‘You have been given liberty once and pronounced yourself satisfied. Now either be seated or depart.’
Mr Jordan sat down again, but with very ill grace.
Mr Ricardo returned to the vase and walked all around it, allowing his hands to hover over its rim, moving them in circles with great deliberation, then he suddenly stepped back with a gesture as if throwing something inside. There were little sparkles in the air, like a cloud of dust motes reflecting all the light in the room. For a few moments he stood still, both arms extended, and then there appeared underneath his fingers little bright darting blue flashes like tiny flames.
There were gasps from the assembled company: partly wonder but mainly alarm. Several people glanced toward the exit as if calculating how easy it would be to escape if the house caught alight. A few looked pityingly at Mina, convinced that she would be unlikely to survive such a catastrophe. Smoke began to rise from the vase, a column of luminous silver blue mist that ascended to the ceiling like a fountain of fire. Fortunately there were no roaring flames, and Mr Ricardo’s
confidence so near to the display suggested to the onlookers that there was not, after all, any danger of their being roasted alive.
All eyes were on the shining feathery apparition, when gradually a shape began to form behind it, a shape that seemed to have risen from inside the vase and was coalescing into a figure of human stature. The eyes of the onlookers, which had become accustomed to the semi-darkness, were now partly blinded by the fierce blue glow, and for a time it was hard to determine what was being displayed, but eventually it was possible to make out a figure rising up, until it was above the rim of the vase and hovering in the air. As the smoke gradually dispersed, they saw that the form was female, and it was as well that it was a spirit and not a human creature, or its state of undress might have caused outrage instead of wonder. She was youthful, with a face white as a pearl and a great cascade of yellow gold hair. Her graceful form seemed to be quite naked, although she might have been clothed in a substance that resembled a second skin, glowing brightly and glistening with silver spangles, but revealing the outline of her tiny waist, rounded bust and hips, and long graceful limbs. Some delicate gossamer material that hung from her shoulders and wrists appeared to be wings and the undulation of her arms was all that held her in place. Unlike so many ghostly apparitions it was impossible in the presence of this heavenly creature to feel any fear, and the sighs of pleasure and approbation at the vision spoke of the onlookers’ sense of privilege to have been there to witness the sight.
So intent was the gaze of everyone in the room, including Mina that it was some moments before she realised that Richard had vanished. Not that she imagined anything supernatural had occurred, rather that he had slipped quietly to one side while all eyes were on the lovely Nellie. After some graceful movements of her arms, the beautiful sprite, who might have been thought to have done quite enough to ensure her lasting fame, began to float away from her position above the vase from which she had apparently risen, and fly slowly about the little stage. She might have been merely swaying from one side to another, but the illusion that she was actually circling in the air around the vase, but several feet from the floor, was very compelling. Nothing like it had been seen in Brighton before, or possibly anywhere, and some of the ladies were actually sobbing quietly.
Slowly, the delicate sprite flew down to alight on the floor, and then she turned towards the side of the stage and with all the grace of a ballerina extended one arm. There was a small movement of her fingers, which produced the soft rattle of a tambourine. She beckoned, and from behind the curtains the instrument appeared, bathed in an opalescent light, and hovering in the air. Slowly it rose in an arc, like the sun ascending the heavens, and all the time it quivered and sounded. Higher and higher it rose, as if being guided by her gestures, until it reached a peak, and then declined again, finally disappearing behind the curtain on the other side.
The lovely apparition advanced a little, and stood before Mr Jordan, slowly beating her wings, and fixed him with a very enigmatic expression. Mr Jordan, who, if his eyes had started out from his head any more than they were, would have found himself blind, recoiled in terror. He had had no compunction about roughly clasping the figure of Phoebe in his arms, but as he gazed on the fairy creature before him, he was both struck dumb and too afraid to even think of reaching out to touch her. She laughed, and it was a sound like bells. Then, she began to dance.
It was a sight more appropriate to a gentlemen’s private booth at a fairground than the drawing room of a respectable widow; still, since the dancer was not after all a living creature, the display of sinuous movements could be excused as unconscious innocence. Her arms were so like serpents that one expected them to turn into silver snakes and snap and hiss, while the undulating motion of her upper body supported by a supple spine pronounced her at once to be other than human.
Her dance done, she swirled lightly around, and tripped back to stand beside the vase, then turned and faced the throng in all her pale star-like glory. Her fingers moved as though she was casting a spell, and slowly she rose up into the air. The silvery smoke began to flow from the vase again, and she slowly dissolved into it and was gone. Just as everyone thought they had seen enough wonders, so the form of Mr Ricardo appeared in an instant before their eyes.
The audience burst into spontaneous applause, which he received with great humility. When the room was silent once more, their host said, ‘And now it only remains for the etheric power to return to the body of Miss Foxton.’ He circled about the vase once more, and a little wisp of light appeared in his hand. He guided the glowing trail carefully back across the stage to the sleeping body of the medium, and after urging it back below the covering cloak, he needed to do no more than stand by, making encouraging gestures as the material flowed in of its own volition. When the last of it had gone, he went to the vase and, tilting it, demonstrated to the audience that it was empty. He then made what Mina assumed to be counter-mesmeric passes over the form of Miss Foxton, who awoke with a sigh, threw back the cloak, took the hand of her gallant magnetiser and rose to her feet. Both made courteous bows to the company before Mr Ricardo came forward and closed the curtains once more.
As the lights went up the room was awash with conversation and everyone stared accusingly at Mr Jordan, who seemed uncertain as to whether he had received a blessing or a curse, since his face alternated between the pallor of fear and a flush of embarrassment. He utterly declined to describe his feelings – even Mr Conroy could get no words from him – and they hurried away, although Mina saw them pause in the hallway and Mr Jordan take a one-pound note from his pocket book and hand it to his friend. Mr Clee also left the house taking care not to speak to anyone on the way.
Seventeen
Mina had already told her mother that she would not be dining at home that night. Louisa had probably assumed that there would be sufficient refreshment at Mrs Peasgood’s but Mina had other plans, a table she had reserved in a nearby restaurant at which she would entertain Richard and Miss Gilden, an invitation which they had accepted eagerly and for which Mina expected to pay.
She was joined at the table at the appointed time, Richard having doffed the mask and moustache, and scrubbed the oil from his hair, while Miss Gilden, her cascade of amber curls neatly dressed, was wearing a charming costume in a shade of blue that was only a little too bright. Whatever her origins, she was clearly experienced in restaurant etiquette and handled the silver and glassware with delicacy and assurance. Even viewed across the table, and with powder and paint so subtle that it was hard to be sure if she had applied any or not, she was a very lovely young woman, although unlikely to be as young as the claimed seventeen. Richard naturally took command of the table and ordered food and wine like a lord.
‘I must congratulate you both on an extraordinary demonstration,’ said Mina, as they waited for their soups and beefsteaks to arrive.
‘Yes, it went mightily well,’ said Richard. ‘Mind you, I thought we were in for some trouble at the start when Mr Jordan decided to put his oar in. Nellie had already done what was needed for the next part and had to undo it, if you see what I mean. Fortunately Mrs Peasgood’s observations gave her a few moments and all was well. It helped us, too, that he started up so early when we had not yet drawn out the etheric force, or he might have demanded to look into the vase. I think that was what he had in mind the second time he spoke but by then our hostess had had enough of him, as we all had, and put him in his place.’
‘About the vase …’ said Mina.
‘Oh I popped in to see Mother and told her it needed repair,’ said Richard, helping himself to buttered rolls. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll put it back.’
‘I suppose,’ said Mina, ‘that neither of you will tell me how you achieved such startling effects?’
Miss Gilden sipped wine and smiled sweetly. ‘Oh, we like to keep our professional secrets,’ she said.
‘All I can say,’ said Richard with a wink, ‘is that I have been at great expense for a large roll
of black velvet.’
Mina decided not to remind him of whose expense it had actually been.
‘All the other materials and costume we required I already had in my possession,’ said Miss Gilden, carefully omitting to mention how they had come into her possession or the opinion of M. Baptiste on the matter.
‘We have been engaged for three more evenings,’ said Richard, ‘and this time, we may command five shillings a ticket. It will be a rather longer display but I am sure we are equal to it. Once we have our funds in place Nellie has some marvellous ideas about new sensations, which will need very little additional expense. In time we may even be able to hire a theatre and see what wonders we can perform in the mode of Professor Pepper.’
‘He creates the most beautiful apparitions,’ said Miss Gilden, with a dreamy look, as if seeing herself as a veritable ghost.
‘But surely people know it is all a trick?’ said Mina.
‘Professor Pepper makes no secret of it, but there are some who like to hope that it is not a trick at all but real,’ said Richard. ‘Did you know that there are those who try to expose mediums by performing the same tricks and then explaining how they are done?’
‘Do they have any success?’ asked Mina eagerly, wondering if she could engage the services of such a person.
‘None at all,’ said Richard with a cheerful shrug, ‘the mediums simply say that their accusers are themselves mediums and hiding their powers either knowingly or unconsciously under the guise of conjuring. And, of course, the dispute only adds to the fame of all concerned.’
‘I wish someone would expose Mr Home,’ said Mina, with some feeling. ‘He is little more than a thief.’
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