They arrived at the hall shortly before the main crush was expected. Richard and Dr Hamid, while reserving for themselves seats on the front row, had taken on the role of doorkeepers, supposedly to ensure that pressmen and other undesirables were refused admission, but actually only to make Miss Eustace believe that this was taking place. The medium had also been reassured that when a volunteer was asked for from the company to check that all was genuine, the person who would step forward would be a friend of Lady Finsbury who was a firm believer in spiritualism.
Professor and Mrs Gaskin were early arrivals. Although they had relinquished their supervision of Miss Eustace to Lady Finsbury and her agents, they remained close by the medium’s side, perhaps hoping that some of the glamour of her noble patron would touch their garments, and brush them with a little glossy stain. Nellie was impeccable in her role; her dress, deportment, manners, and mode of speech were exactly as someone who had never met a titled lady would imagine one to be.
Mina took care to make herself inconspicuous, which for the most part meant sitting behind a person of a larger stature, there being more than sufficient to choose from. As the audience arrived, in a steady but powerful stream, all chattering with excitement, Mina was able to see each individual as they entered; her mother, Mrs Bettinson, Mrs Phipps and her nephew, Mrs Langley, Miss Simmons, Mrs Peasgood and her sister and friends, Mr Jordan and Mr Conroy. The crowd was, she knew, salted with representatives of every leading newspaper in Sussex, and there was a local artist specially hired by the Illustrated Police News to record the event, and several plain-clothes detectives. The unfortunate Miss Whinstone had, Mina had recently learned, gone away on a sea trip to recuperate from her upset. Mr Clee and his wife were presumably still incarcerated, and did not make an appearance.
As the room filled she remembered that she had not yet looked at the item she had received in the post from Mr Greville, and so pulled it from her reticule and opened the packet. It was another copy of the Illustrated Police News from October 1869, and this one included a small picture of Miss Eustace and her husband on trial. It was cruder than the paper’s usual portraits, and the likeness of Miss Eustace was only fair while the man in the dock beside her looked nothing like Mr Clee. Mina wondered if the artist had been in court at all.
A theatrical-looking gentleman with a colourful cravat and a flower in his buttonhole strode into the hall and looked about him with an air of aristocratic confidence. He clearly expected to be and indeed was directed to one of the reserved places. Mina was a little mystified at first as to who he might be, although there was something a little familiar about his appearance. He clearly knew Lady Finsbury for he greeted her in a warm but respectful manner. Mina suddenly realised that this must be Rolly Rollason, the man who had posed for the portrait used for Sir Mortimer Portland. In his own person he was a remarkable-looking individual, a giraffe of a man, well above six feet in height, with a long neck and prominent Adam’s apple but without the bushy hair and long nose of the character he had portrayed. He seemed to be formed almost entirely of arms and legs with prominent knees and elbows attached to a small body. Mina felt some curiosity to see him as the Caledonian Marvel.
It was time. The hall was filled and the doors closed. Richard and Dr Hamid came forward to take their reserved places, and Richard took Lady Finsbury by her tiny fingertips and drew her to face the assembly. All grew silent in anticipation of her words.
‘My dear friends,’ she began, in a queenly voice, ‘for I do most sincerely believe that we who have come together today to celebrate a great truth are friends; how happy I am to see you all! You may be wondering how it was that I came to meet Miss Eustace, and the truth is quite as astonishing and wonderful as any story you may have heard of her powers. Some days ago I received a visitor in the form of a spirit, the spirit of my dear departed great-uncle, Sir Mortimer Portland. I was not afraid, for in life Sir Mortimer was the dearest, kindest and most generous of men, and one who always had my welfare at heart. He had a message for me, one of very great importance, but since I am no medium it was hard for him to express what he wanted so urgently to say. At last he said that I must go at once to see Miss Eustace, who alone was able to receive his words, and this, at the very first opportunity, I did. I have been privileged to witness her powers myself, privileged too, to become acquainted with Professor and Mrs Gaskin whose intelligence and perceptiveness I must applaud. I ask them now to stand and receive your appreciation.’
The Gaskins both rose and faced the audience and bowed without any attempt at humility. There was polite ripple of approbation.
‘They,’ Lady Finsbury continued, ‘better than any of us here know the foundation of Miss Eustace’s powers, and it is to them that we should be grateful for first bringing her to the notice of the public. I would urge you all to study carefully anything they may say or write on the subject.
‘I have now determined to do everything in my power to ensure that the fame of Miss Eustace will spread. Her wonders must not be confined to drawing rooms, and seen only by a fortunate few. All the world must know of Miss Eustace. She has astonished Brighton, and next she will astonish London, and all of Europe. Soon, she will conquer America. But today, I know, she will win all your hearts.’
There was enthusiastic applause for Lady Finsbury as Richard escorted her back to her place.
There was no curtain to conceal a stage, and no cabinet. The hall was generally employed for meetings at which a long committee table and chairs were used, but the table, which was draped with a thick dark red cloth, had been moved back against the far wall, and all the chairs but one assimilated into the rows laid out for the audience.
The assembled company therefore sat facing nothing apart from an open space with the table at the back and a single chair on which lay a coiled rope. ‘May I please have a volunteer to inspect the arrangements?’ asked Richard, and before anyone could move Rolly Rollason had leaped energetically to his feet and darted forward. Rolly was a whirling windmill of activity. He picked up the rope and examined it carefully along its length, then, with the ends wrapped around his fists, tugged it hard and loudly declared it to be unbreakable. He picked up the solitary chair, lifted it above his head and looked underneath it, then he drew back the red cloth and showed everyone that nothing was hidden under the table. He next walked about stamping on the floor and pronounced it solid. He was quite an entertainment on his own, and did everything except dance.
Finally, he spotted that there was a door to one side of the room, and hurried over to it, but after making a great display of trying and failing to open it, he told everyone that it was securely locked.
Richard thanked Rolly warmly for his efforts, and asking him to remain, offered his hand to Miss Eustace, who was sitting at the end of the front row. She rose with her customary gracious manner, and came to sit in the chair, then Richard and Dr Hamid tied her in place, and Rolly inspected the knots and said that it was utterly impossible for the lady to escape. Rolly then returned to his seat while Richard and Dr Hamid went to turn down the lamps, allowing Professor and Mrs Gaskin to lead the company in a hymn.
Mina, having already determined her route, left her seat and crept forward into a better place, covered by the darkness and the sound of singing.
The hymn droned to a close, and everyone waited for wonders. The audience, thought Mina, was not only larger than Miss Eustace was used to, it was also, unknown to her, differently composed, being made up partially of those who had seen Miss Eustace’s tricks before and were hoping for something novel, those who had seen Miss Foxton and were unlikely to be impressed by anything Miss Eustace could do, and unbelievers. The atmosphere was therefore less one of expectancy than impatience. Believers, thought Mina, were better able than others to endure a long wait for a manifestation. Time ticking away brought them to a state of heightened emotion, the better to appreciate what loomed out of the darkness. Time ticked, but nothing happened. Someone had a coughing fit, someone else giggled, and there was a silken rustling of people shifting in their seats, a creaking of leather shoes, and even some subdued muttering.
At length, after what seemed like an unusually long wait, there was a rap on the far wall. A few moments later another rap sounded from the right. There followed a soporific silence, and then a rap on the wall to the left. It was an unimpressive performance. The dancing lights were next to appear, but while they were attractive enough, they had been seen before, and were not what people had paid their ticket money to see.
A noticeably disgruntled whispering arose, and Mina caught the words ‘Miss Foxton’, since it appeared that Miss Eustace was being compared unfavourably to her rival. It was apparent to Mina that Miss Eustace, robbed of Mr Clee who was her usual accomplice, had been obliged in some haste to engage another rather less adept. Mina was tempted to turn up the lights and reveal the imposture, but she knew that Miss Eustace would only claim ignorance of what was being done, and it would be impossible to prove that the medium was directing the fraud. The only result of such an action would be an angry audience demanding a refund of their ticket money, a heavy loss to Mina and the closing of the ranks of the faithful about poor ill-used and maligned Miss Eustace.
Even the appearance of the praying hands and the glowing mask from under the tablecloth did little to pacify the crowd, especially when the mask fell off the end of the stick, and had to be retrieved by an invisible, presumably black-gloved hand. This time there was no Miss Whinstone to claim it as a relative, and the result was a mixture of dismay and amusement.
Mina turned to Richard beside her. ‘I think we should call an end to this soon,’ she whispered. ‘Could you make the announcement, and then stand by the lights with Dr Hamid?’
‘Right you are!’ said Richard. ‘It’s all a bit lame, I’d say. Sorry, old girl.’
He was about to creep away, but before he could move there was another development, and this one more promising. Mina put her hand on his arm and he stayed.
From underneath the heavy draped tablecloth there came a little extrusion of light, quite formless, but slowly growing. The audience fell silent, as the cloudy shape pushed forward, and became the size of a large pudding, and then a pillow, and then a hound, and then a chair. Having decided on its preferred width, it started to grow in height, and gradually rose to the size of a man. At last it was unfolded, and raised its head and lowered its arms, and stood before them. It was undoubtedly a male figure, dressed as for a fashionable assembly, but covered all over with pale glowing draperies. Through the phosphorescent gauze few of its features were distinct, but there was a luxuriant shrub of wild hair and the thrust of a long nose. A glassy sheen suggested that a monocle adorned one eye and in an outstretched hand it held a single rose.
Bathed in the phantom’s pale radiance, Miss Eustace flung her body back in her chair and uttered a great sigh. ‘Spirit!’ she cried. ‘Identify yourself!’
The form slowly turned to face the assembled crowds, some of whom cowered back, while others leaned forward and peered with interest. There was, from the body of the hall, the scratch of busy pencils. ‘I have no name, for I am part of another world,’ it intoned, in a guttural voice. ‘I live in heaven above with the angels, but when I was alive and walked the earth in fleshly form, I had a name, and a history, and loved ones.’
‘What was that name?’ demanded Miss Eustace. ‘And do you have a message for anyone here present?’
‘I was once known as Sir Mortimer Portland,’ said the form, sonorously, ‘and I was the master of Great Portland Hall. I hid a great treasure there, in gold and jewels, which should by rights belong to my heir, Lady Finsbury. The place where it is to be found I will communicate to the lady privately very soon.’
‘Let the lady step forward and say that she knows you for her dear relative,’ said Miss Eustace.
‘Well, here’s a pretty thing and no mistake,’ came a man’s voice from the front row, speaking very loudly. ‘Fancy that, to be so personated! It’s a disgrace!’
‘Be quiet, sir!’ urged Professor Gaskin. ‘You must let Lady Finsbury speak!’
‘I won’t be quiet!’ said the new voice. ‘I will have my say!’ There was the sound of a chair moving back.
‘Sit down at once, or you will be removed!’ snapped Mrs Gaskin, who had forgotten who was in charge of the proceedings.
There was a great deal of annoyed muttering about the interruption, and Mina seized the opportunity and quickly told Richard and Dr Hamid to turn up the lights.
As the yellow glow of the gas lamps flowed through the hall, it could be seen that Rolly Rollason, for it was he who had called out, had got to his feet, but he was no longer Rolly. Under cover of darkness he had donned the elaborate wig, false nose and monocle of his portrait, and was holding the rose he had removed from his buttonhole. ‘You, sir,’ he said, pointing the rose at the startled spirit, ‘are an impostor! I am Sir Mortimer Portland, and I am very much alive, so you can’t be my ghost.’
The spirit, which in the glimmer of gaslight resembled nothing more than a man draped in a grubby grey shawl, hesitated. Miss Eustace did not move. During the commotion she had slumped forward so that her head rested almost on her knees, and in that uncomfortable position, her face hidden from view, she remained, to all appearances unconscious.
Professor Gaskin rose up with a cry. ‘Oh, please dim the lights! Do so at once or Miss Eustace will surely die!’
‘Turn up the lights?’ exclaimed Richard, deliberately mishearing, ‘All hands to the lights! Let’s have more light, here!’
‘More light! The professor wants more light!’ called Dr Hamid. Several men in grey suits bustled forward, and all around the hall more lamps jumped into flame.
‘No! No!’ cried the professor, burying his hands in his hair, and clawing at it in desperation; but he was being ignored, for what was visible was very hard to deny. Mrs Gaskin looked unsure whether she should scream or faint. Neither was a strong item in her repertoire, and instead she looked about for someone to insult.
‘This is a trick!’ she growled at Lady Finsbury, but the lady faced her with some swift and pointed words that should never have left a lady’s lips, and Mrs Gaskin retreated, too shocked to speak.
It was the great final scene in the melodrama, and Nellie played it as only she could. She stepped forward, then looked first at one Sir Mortimer and then at the other, as if making up her mind which was the true one. Since Rolly was a full nine inches taller than his impersonator the choice ought not to have taken as long as it did, but Nellie knew how to create and build rapt anticipation in her audience. Finally with an emotional gesture she flew, sobbing wildly, to Rolly and laid her head on his chest. ‘Uncle! Dearest uncle!’ she cried, ‘I thought you were dead!’
Rolly gave a great smirk to the audience and wrapped his arms about his head. ‘I ain’t dead, though! Ain’t I?’
There was a burst of laughter.
‘No, it was just a nasty cold in the head, that’s all,’ he went on, giving his ‘niece’ a fond hug. ‘You must have had a dream and imagined it. And there’s no treasure, I’m sorry to say. Never was any.’
‘Then who is this?’ exclaimed Nellie, turning to the other Sir Mortimer, who had dropped the rose and was backing away, lifting the shawl to try and cover his face.
It was Mr Jordan who strode forward, and before the figure could protest, he whipped away shawl, wig, false nose and monocle, to reveal the shiny pate of Mr Bradley.
There were gasps of recognition from the audience.
Mina, suddenly realising why the picture in the newspaper of Miss Eustace’s husband did not resemble Mr Clee, came forward, while Mr Jordan stood by Mr Bradley preventing his escape, and Richard called on everyone for silence, which was not an easy thing to achieve.
‘My friends,’ said Mina, as soon as the hubbub had subsided sufficiently that she could be heard. ‘Not only are these two persons frauds and deceivers, they are also husband and wife and have been practising their wiles for some years. Both have served a prison term, and the proof of that is in my hand.’ She raised the newspaper; although there was no chance that anyone could see the illustration, the distinctive page made it very clear as to which paper it was.
‘That is a lie!’ exploded Mr Bradley. ‘And that newspaper is a rag from the gutter! This person is an unbeliever! An imp! A demon! A monster! Why, just look at her, she has the stamp of the fiend himself in her form!’
Louisa Scarletti marched forward and slapped him hard across the face. ‘How dare you! She is my daughter!’ She burst into tears and hugged Mina, then inevitably appeared to feel faint, and was rescued by Mrs Bettinson and taken back to her seat where Dr Hamid tended to her.
The next person to emerge from the throng was Mr Phipps, who addressed the audience with a packet of papers in his hand. ‘Lady Finsbury, Sir Mortimer, ladies and gentlemen,’ he began. ‘I can confirm that Miss Scarletti has spoken the truth. Here are some legal documents, received by me only an hour ago. They are proof that Mr Bradley and Miss Eustace are indeed husband and wife, and also the parents of two children, who they foisted on to an unsuspecting lady under false pretences and from whom they have been stealing ever since. They have been plying their fraudulent trade for some years and have both served terms in prison.’
Two men in grey suits appeared on either side of the discomfited spirit healer, and took him firmly by the arms.
‘You may or may not know this,’ said Mina, to Mr Bradley, ‘but you are under arrest.’
Mr Bradley, all defiance vanished like the ghost he had pretended to be, was taken away, to the loud hisses and imprecations of his former acolytes, and with missiles of compressed paper bouncing off his head.
The Gaskins stared after him in grotesque dismay, exchanged horrified glances, and then, very quickly and quietly, left the hall.
There was a sudden movement near Mina. Miss Eustace had decided to give up the pretence that she was asleep and use the distraction caused by her husband’s arrest to make her escape. She was free of her bonds in an instant, and that feat alone brought a gasp from the audience as they realised how adept she was at such tricks. Only Mina’s slight form lay between her and a free route to the door, and she tried to push the trifling obstacle aside, but Mina dropped the newspaper and seized Miss Eustace by both wrists. For a moment or two they struggled, as the medium tried to break free and amazement spread over Miss Eustace’s face as she found herself being immobilised by a tiny, seemingly frail woman who was very much stronger than she looked. Mina knew she could only hold on for a short while before her wrenched shoulder and lesser weight allowed her quarry to prevail, but help was at hand.
‘I’ll take her, thank you,’ said Mrs Bettinson, striding up to grab Miss Eustace from behind, pinning her arms to her sides. ‘Now then, Miss Cheat, Miss Hoodwink, let’s see if you can melt yourself out of this!’
As Miss Eustace was hauled firmly away to join her husband at the police station, Richard came to stand by Mina. ‘What a wonder you are!’ he said. ‘And the best of it, no one will be asking for their money back!’