An Unquiet Ghost (Mina Scarletti Mystery Book 3), page 29
On examining Miss Fernwood, however, I was soon reassured that she had not been poisoned, and it was at first very hard for me to account for her sudden distressing indisposition until unmistakable signs supervened, and I realised that she was miscarrying a foetus, which I judged to be no more than four months from gestation. The misery of this young lady, who was at the time just fifteen years of age, can only be imagined. Soon afterwards she was seized by a fever that rendered her delirious and for some days her condition hovered between life and death, with little indication as to what the final result might be.
One evening, which she honestly thought to be her last on earth, Miss Fernwood begged to be allowed to tell me all her story, assuring me that she was lucid and knew the difference between truth and imagination. I could not deny her, but I might almost wish that I had, as she told such a tale of horror as one could never think might take place in an apparently respectable home.
Miss Ada revealed that the father of the child she had been carrying was none other than her grandfather Thomas Fernwood, and this was not the first time she had miscarried as a result of his assaults on her person, although on the previous occasion, which I deemed from her account to have been at a far earlier stage, she had managed to conceal her plight from her family. She denounced Thomas Fernwood as a thoroughly evil man, who had ruled his family like a tyrant, controlling them through his unyielding hold on the purse strings. His son and daughter in law loathed him for his drunkenness and foul language. His wife, due to her condition as an invalid, had suffered the least, as he had mainly ignored her, but the boys, his grandson George and nephew Peter, had been beaten savagely, often for no reason, and had learned to avoid him as much as possible. Ada had been subject to his disgusting advances since the age of ten, as had her sister Ellen, and even little Mary had found her great uncle frightening, although she could hardly express why, and had begged not to be left alone with him.
Finally, Miss Ada, with what she believed to be her dying breath, confessed to killing her grandfather in order to save her family from torment. Soon afterwards, her fever broke, and within a day it could be seen that she was on the mend.
When she was well again, I took care to reassure her that in view of her terrible sufferings her secret was safe with me. To my surprise, she only smiled enigmatically and said that she had nothing with which to reproach herself. It then occurred to me most forcibly that she had not committed the murder after all, she had confessed to it when she believed herself to be dying only to save the real culprit from suspicion, and relieve the family from the stress of not knowing the full story. I am ashamed to say that I was overcome by curiosity, and demanded to know the truth from her. I pointed out that if the wrong person was ever to be charged then her silence could lead to an innocent being condemned. She only said that she would never allow that to happen. I asked if the reason for this was that the culprit was a relative, something that had always been apparent. She was silent but she did not deny it. And then I saw how dreadfully naïve I had been. I had imagined that it was only I to whom Thomas Fernwood had voiced his plea, his insistence that he had been murdered, and attempted to name his murderer. How foolish to have flattered myself in that way! During the early stages of his illness, before the acid had corroded his throat and he was better able to speak, he had been tended to by his granddaughters Ada and Ellen, and sister-in-law Mrs Clifton. Mr William Fernwood had made a visit to the bedside, as had his wife, Margery. Had I really imagined that the dying man had not also attempted to tell at least one of these persons what he knew? And succeeded? Yet all of them had been adamant that they could not cast any light on the mystery. Horrible thought — that at least one member of the family probably knows the identity of the culprit and is prepared to take the secret to the grave.
The letter was dated just two months after the conclusion of the inquest on Thomas Fernwood.
Mina sat for some time drowned in the horror of this terrible letter. Although she had never met Ada and Ellen, how piercingly she felt for those terrified girls. George Fernwood had almost certainly never been told what his sisters had endured. It had been easy for him to assume that their aversion to marriage was due to the fear of an inherited taint, but now she saw it ran far deeper than that. The lives of the sisters had been rendered sterile and joyless, and they could only achieve some small measure of peace in each other’s company. The only good thing she had learned from the letter was that Mary had been spared the ultimate insult.
Mina spent an hour or more wondering what she should do with this devastating information. Would it be right for her to tell Miss Clifton and Mr Fernwood that Dr Sperley had believed that at least one family member held the secret they had been so desperately seeking? Important as it was, Mina hesitated to reveal what she knew. She reminded herself that all she had been asked to do was help them assess whether or not the mediums they visited were genuine. She had not been given any authority to delve into their family affairs, beyond the details they themselves had provided, and they might not thank her for doing so. Through Mr Castlehouse’s slate-writing demonstrations they had found an answer to their dilemma. It might not be the right one, but it was one that satisfied them, and brought both consolation and the chance of happiness. Did it really matter whether the solution written on the slate was the right one or not? Why cause them unnecessary distress? Once again, Mina decided that her best course of action was to leave well alone.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Two days later, Mina received a note from Miss Landwick.
Dear Miss Scarletti,
Have you see the recent edition of the Sussex Times?
My brother is triumphant as he has effected Mr Castlehouse’s downfall!
Yours,
E. Landwick.
Mina had not seen the journal in question and sent Rose out to obtain a copy. In between the announcement of a fat stock show and the market preparations for Christmas was a letter.
To the Editor;
I am sorry to say that Brighton has once again taken leave of its senses and been subject to yet another outrageous display of duplicity. For some years past I have been entertaining my family and friends with conjuring and legerdemain, in which I flatter myself I have some small skill. I have learned a great deal from studying the performances of some of the most accomplished stage magicians in the country, and while it is not possible to know all their secrets I am confident that I can tell when an apparently impossible effect is being produced by clever manipulation.
I am therefore in a position to announce to the world that Mr Castlehouse, who claims to invoke the spirits to write on his slates with chalk, is nothing more than a conjuror, who finds he can make a better living from fraud than he can from honest performances. It astonishes me that his method of producing writing on a slate which he holds underneath a table has succeeded in mystifying any observer other than the youngest child. The trick whereby he substitutes a blank slate with one on which he has already written is too well known to be worth describing here. Worse than that, after making some enquiries, I have it on good authority that Mr Castlehouse is none other than the same man who once performed as Angelo, and was the very conjuror who exposed the scandalous frauds of Ellison, who so narrowly escaped prison only last year.
I advise Mr Castlehouse to pack up his chalks and slates and leave Brighton before he suffers a worse fate. If he does he should go in the company of Mr and Mrs Myles who are his puppets.
I take full responsibility for the assertions in this letter and if Mr Castlehouse presumes to sue me he is free to do so, but he will not profit by it, and may only increase his woes. I therefore have no hesitation is signing myself,
Charles Landwick
Mina knew too well that Mr Castlehouse would not pack up his slates and chalks on the basis of that challenge. It took much harder work than a single letter to the press to dislodge devoted adherents from a fraud. Those who needed to believe would still cling to their beliefs, and the next week’s papers would be awash with their letters all loading insults onto the head of Mr Landwick, who would be declared either grossly ignorant of the subject or himself a medium without knowing it. Mr Castlehouse would bask in still greater fame, and perhaps come up with novel tricks with which to astonish and enthral his audiences. If he was indeed the magician Angelo than he would have many at the tips of his long agile fingers.
Mina wondered if George Fernwood and Miss Clifton had paid a joint visit to the slate-writer and if so, what messages had they received? More worryingly, did Mr Fernwood read the Sussex Times, and if he did, what now remained of any belief that his dilemma had finally been resolved?
Mina had heard nothing from either George Fernwood or Miss Clifton for a while, and expected not to see either of them again, however a brief note arrived from George Fernwood. It was on the same notepaper as his very first letter to her, but the handwriting, although recognisably his, was different in quality. What had previously been a measured copperplate had become unsteady and undisciplined, with little flicks of ink that revealed a slight tremor. The message itself was unexceptional. He wanted to pay Mina a visit to retrieve the package of papers he had left with her. He preferred not to have them consigned to the post but wished to collect them in person. Mina replied to make the appointment.
With Mrs Jones, the housekeeper formerly known as Brendel, now absent from Brighton, there was no reason for her daughter not to dare go out on the town. Athene became so insistent about this, that Richard, who was beginning to find her demands tiresome, nevertheless agreed to take her and Jessie out for a ride in a carriage, something to which Miss Brendel agreed, making the condition that their excursion should include a visit to a cake shop and the purchase of cheese. Mina was naturally expected to pay for this, but she thought it worth the expenditure it if only to have some peace in which to write. She wanted to complete her latest story before Mr Fernwood’s visit that afternoon.
She was busy at her desk anticipating a nice brew of hot coffee, when an unexpected visitor was announced, Mr Ernest Dawson. She went downstairs and found him shivering by the parlour fire. ‘Please don’t be anxious, I am well,’ he said, ‘but even the walk here did not warm me.’
Mina sent Rose to fetch the coffee. ‘I understand that Mrs Brendel caused you some embarrassment recently. But you need not fear her any more as she is no longer in Brighton.’
He looked relieved. ‘That is the best news I have had in an age. Did you know she dared to come storming into Potts, making a terrible commotion, disturbing all the customers, and accusing me of abducting her daughter? The manager ordered her to leave and when she would not, he was obliged to call the police. In the event we were both taken to the station. Of course, I had no idea where Miss Brendel was, and when it was proved that I had actually been at work at the time she left the house, the police soon saw that there was no truth in the accusation, and let me go. But I came very near to losing my position.’
‘Mrs Brendel came here afterwards. She actually accosted me in the street and accused me of being your confederate.’
‘Did she? How extraordinary! The woman is quite deranged.’
‘She told me that you had been searched and my card was found in your pocket, together with a love note you intended to deliver to Miss Brendel. Is that true?’
Dawson looked guilty. The coffee arrived and was poured and he warmed his hands on the cup. ‘That is true, yes. But why shouldn’t I? It was all perfectly proper.’
‘Mrs Brendel claimed that you had been planning an elopement. Was that the subject of your love note?’
‘I — well —’ He gulped the coffee, gratefully, ‘I admit it was a plan that had crossed my mind, but there was nothing of that sort in the note, well, not precisely, only a sincere declaration of affection, and the hope that we might be married one day.’
‘Who passed the notes for you?’
There was a moment of reluctance, and then a shrug. ‘Oh, I suppose there is no harm in telling you, now, but you must promise not to say anything. It was a young fellow by the name of Tasker. I knew him because he bought sheet music, and I had seen him being almost pulled into the house in Oriental Place by his mother. He told me he didn’t want to go there, as his mother was going to make him marry Miss Brendel and he didn’t want to. So I said I could help him, if he helped me. If he could deliver notes to Miss Brendel when he visited, then I would be able to marry her and he wouldn’t have to. He seemed very happy to do it.’
‘I see. Well, he will not be visiting Miss Brendel again. But how might I assist you? I assume that is the reason you have called?’
‘Yes, if you would be so kind. The thing is — my manager told me that if I wanted to keep my employment I must not go near Oriental Place again, and I have tried really hard to comply, but this morning I just couldn’t help it, so I went there again, and the house was empty. It has a letting sign outside. A neighbour told me that the Brendels had gone away but no-one knew where. You have just told me that Mrs Brendel has left Brighton. But what of Athene? Is she still here or is she with her mother? Do you know where she is?’
Mina hesitated, since Miss Brendel was still a few days shy of her twenty-first birthday. ‘At this moment I am afraid that I cannot say with any precision where either of them might be. The one thing I do know is that Mr Quinley has returned to Wakefield.’
Dawson looked downcast at this evaporation of his hopes. ‘I suppose it is pointless for me to write to him. If I only knew that the dear girl was safe and well!’
Mina took pity on him. ‘All I can say on that point is that the last time I set eyes on Miss Brendel she did look very much better than previously. Her appetite has returned, and she also informed me that she no longer has the visions.’
‘Where did you —’ Dawson stopped, with a shocked expression. ‘No visions?’
‘Yes. It seems that they were produced by something she ate which disagreed with her. Fish, I think it was.’
‘Fish,’ said Dawson, blankly as if the concept was new to him.
‘Yes. I think that as long as she is careful not to eat fish or at least to make sure of its absolute freshness, she may be assured of not being troubled with the visions in future.’
Dawson continued to look dumbfounded. ‘That is — quite — extraordinary.’
Mina sensed that this was a piece of news he was less than happy to hear, and she should test him further.
‘The other thing I should mention, and that may be partly to blame for Mrs Brendel’s distracted state when you last encountered her, is that she is not actually Mrs Brendel.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ said Dawson, incredulously.
‘Yes. She is actually a Mrs Martha Jones, Mr Brendel’s former housekeeper, and has no real call upon him at all.’
‘But that can’t be so!’ Dawson protested. ‘He paid her bills! I have seen them myself!’
‘I suspect that he did so out of old affection and duty to Miss Athene, who I believe may well be his daughter, but that, I am sorry to say, no longer concerns him, as he was very annoyed when he discovered that his housekeeper was pretending to be his wife, especially as he was courting another lady. As a result, he has ceased to support them.’
Dawson took a little while to come to terms with this information. He was still clutching the coffee cup, but put it down, the drink unfinished. ‘I am — somewhat confused by all this. You say that Miss Brendel is Mr Brendel’s natural daughter, not lawful?’
‘Yes. But she has been well brought up and given every advantage.’
‘I thought —’ he paused. ‘I was told that she was his only daughter and I assumed his only child, since no brothers were mentioned.’
‘Oh no. He has two sons by his late wife.’
Mr Dawson looked undeniably dismayed. ‘That explains a great deal. The quarterly hire for the piano has not been paid, and the instrument has been returned to the shop. I had imagined it was due to some delay on Mr Brendel’s part, but now you say he is no longer paying her bills.’
‘So it appears. And he has chosen no longer to acknowledge Miss Brendel as his daughter, which must be very painful for her. But I do have some good news for you.’
‘You do?’ said Dawson, hopefully.
Mina favoured him with a smile of pure delight. ‘I do. You will be pleased to know that Miss Brendel — as she still continues to call herself — will be twenty-one very soon, and will be able to follow the dictates of her heart.’
Mr Dawson was now looking distinctly alarmed. ‘Oh. That is — I am sure that will be a wonderful thing for her.’
‘If I should chance to encounter her again, is there any message you would like me to give her?’
‘I — thank you, I will give that some thought and let you know.’ He rose to his feet.
‘I can always pass a note to you at the music shop.’
‘Indeed. I must take my leave of you now. Thank you for all your assistance and advice.’ Mr Dawson departed with rather more haste than Mina thought strictly necessary. It was as if he had arrived in the hope of finding Miss Brendel, and left in fear that he might do so.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
When George Fernwood arrived, the parcel of papers was wrapped ready for him to collect and a nice pot of hot fresh tea was ordered. He was not, Mina saw at once, the same man he had been on his first visit. Then he had seemed worried, anxious, and uncomfortable. He was now in pain.
Mina poured the tea. ‘Mr Fernwood, forgive me for mentioning it but you do not look at all well. Is there something I can obtain for you? Or I could summon a doctor. You only have to say the word.’
