‘May I offer you some refreshment?’ asked Mina.
‘Thank you, but tonight I am attending a little soiree given in my honour, and I have been promised a veritable feast of delicacies. One must mind one’s figure, I am afraid.’ He patted his stomach, which still retained the lissom contours of his youth.
‘You look so very well,’ said Mina. ‘The stage is such an arduous profession.’
‘Why thank you, dear lady,’ exclaimed Mr Merridew. ‘She is indeed a demanding mistress but will not be denied.’ He still knew how to make the curls ripple with a toss of his head and patted them every so often presumably to reassure himself that they were still in place. ‘I have brought a little gift to cheer you.’ He brought a prettily coloured envelope from his pocket and handed it to her with a smile and a flourish.
‘Oh, what can it be?’ said Mina. She extracted a photograph — a portrait of Mr Merridew as Hamlet, inscribed to herself. He was arrayed in the military costume he had worn in the last scene of the play, standing in a fierce yet noble posture, and brandishing the sword with which he was about to defeat the entire Norwegian army. He was not, fortunately, displaying the decapitated head of Fortinbras, a grisly object which had, on the night when Mina had been in the theatre, elicited shrieks of alarm from the audience and caused one large and soldierly looking gentleman in the front row to faint.
‘How splendid,’ said Mina, ‘I must have it framed.’
‘There will be more!’ Mr Merridew promised. ‘My audiences clamour for them, there can never be enough. I am about to arrange for a sitting at the newest fashionable establishment in town to create a set of beautiful portraits in my finest costumes. There will be something to suit every taste.’
‘I will purchase them all, of course,’ said Mina. ‘And an album to put them in.’ Mina knew enough of Mr Merridew’s profession not to ask about his next dramatic offering in case he was to suffer the embarrassment of admitting that there was not one.
‘And I have news. My next engagement will be a season of poetry readings at a salon in the Royal Pavilion, accompanied by light refreshments. I do hope that you will be well enough to attend.’
‘I will be sure to do so if at all possible. The Pavilion is quite my favourite place in all of Brighton.’
‘As it is mine.’
Mina seized the opportunity offered by this observation to discover more about the spirit medium who was being consulted by Mrs Vardy. ‘Mr Merridew, you are so very knowledgeable on all matters concerning the Pavilion, its treasures, and most especially its history. I have a question to ask you. I have recently been told of a lady who resides in Brighton and who claims to have been a member of the court of the late King William. She is called Mrs Barnham. Can you advise me — is her claim true, or is she merely a pretender?’
Mr Merridew allowed a smile to slowly curve his lips and there was a teasing twinkle in his eyes. ‘Ah yes, the once famous Mrs Barnham. She is included in a little work I composed on ladies of the Royal Court at the Pavilion. But I have not heard that name for many a year. Is she still alive? She must be eighty or more.’
Mina could not conceal her surprise. ‘Then she spoke the truth? She was a member of the court? I ask because it is so easy for someone to make a claim of fame and position in order to advance themselves, when there are regrettably few means of assuring oneself of the truth of the story. It is such a shame when people allow themselves to believe whatever they are told.’
Mr Merridew was thoughtful. ‘If this is the actual Mrs Barnham and not an impostor, I can tell you that she was indeed at court, but not under that name. Her attendance there was prior to her marriage. And before she graced the court of King William, she was also well-known at the court of King George.’ He paused. ‘Extremely well-known.’
The implication hung in the air during a long silence. Mr Merridew glanced at the nurse and then back to Mina, who understood his meaning, and mouthed a little ‘oh.’
‘Miss Cherry,’ said Mina at last. ‘I am not sure that Rose has been diligent enough in the soaking of the linens. I would be grateful if you could go and watch over her and see that she does it correctly.’
Miss Cherry looked put out. She stared at Mina and Mr Merridew as if they were asking to be left alone in order to flirt. She rose to her feet, awkwardly. ‘I will do so, of course. But Mr Merridew, I feel it is my duty to advise you that Miss Scarletti must not be subjected to any excitement. She is still only recently out of danger.’
‘You have my word as a gentleman,’ said Mr Merridew, placing his hand on his heart, and giving the nurse a look that would have dissolved granite, ‘that Miss Scarletti will be cared for as she deserves, as a very great treasure.’
‘And now,’ said Mina, once Miss Cherry had left the room, ‘I wish to know all about Mrs Barnham.’
Mr Merridew smiled, and adopted a heroic pose, that of a man about to declaim a work of great literature from memory.
‘In 1805’ he began, ‘the Prince of Wales, who was then forty-two years of age, and still, so we are told, in the prime of his health and vigour, became greatly interested in a young actress, a Miss Margaret Green. She was then just eighteen and was appearing on the stage of the Theatre Royal Covent Garden where she was performing in a comedy, The School of Reform: or How to Rule a Husband in which she portrayed the virtuous Julia. The Prince at once demanded, and of course received, an introduction.
‘Miss Green’s powers of attraction were singular and undeniable, not only for the beauty of her face and form, which were considerable, and the refined elegance and good taste of her attire, but also the wit of her conversation which made her company highly agreeable to those of both sexes. It was said of her that she could persuade even the least susceptible of men to accommodate her every wish and achieve that without him so much as being aware of having fallen under her influence. Miss Green soon became a great favourite at court since gentlemen admired her and ladies found in her a good friend and trustworthy confidante. It is believed that when the Prince was in Brighton, she had her own secret apartment at the Royal Pavilion to which he repaired nightly to receive the consolation of her company.
‘Miss Green remained a constant presence throughout the Regency and was a particular comfort to the Prince during the long indisposition of his father. Unlike so many ladies of the court, she never clamoured for fame and position, and therefore never, as so many others did, fell out of favour. On the Prince’s accession as King George IV in 1820 her general popularity secured her position. Her skill in conversation never declined, and she was also adept with playing cards, being much in demand by the ladies of the nobility for the telling of fortunes.
‘On the death of King George in 1830 it was found that he had made arrangements for Miss Green to receive a small pension and his successor King William IV generously permitted her a minor role at court. This continued until King William’s death in 1837, after which she was no longer seen in royal circles.’
‘And Miss Green became Mrs Barnham?’ asked Mina.
‘She did. Our good and gracious Queen on her accession to the throne examined the royal finances and when she discovered that pensions were being paid to former mistresses, put an end to them. Miss Green received a small sum in lieu, and a letter to the effect that her attendance at court was no longer required. She was not in a position to protest. Soon afterwards she became the wife of Mr Barnham, a maker of ships’ instruments. Their modest income was enhanced by her skills in fortune telling. And then came the fashion for table tipping and she saw her chance to make money from mediumship.’