‘Mr Merridew, how delightful to see you again,’ said Mrs Barnham, as I greeted her before taking a seat. Miss Stone went to tend the fire. She did not, I noticed, stir it into a blaze, but banked it well so that it would need no further attention for a while, then she placed a guard, a strong sheet of embossed brass styled with a sailing ship, in front of the hearth so that the dim firelight cast about the room was soft and sheltered.
Two ladies arrived in company with each other, and I rose as they entered, making a deferential but not too extravagant bow and studied them as carefully as propriety would allow. I could see that they were friends, but from their appearance concluded that they were not related by blood. A tall lady, rather handsome, aged about forty-five was introduced as Mrs Vardy. She was well-dressed without being an ardent or frivolous devotee of fashion. Her companion, Mrs Wandle, was closer to seventy, shorter and stouter with features that were pleasant and regular although she could never have been a beauty even when young. Her gown was practical, and neither old nor new. Never having been kissed with fashion it was therefore impossible for it to be out of style. Despite their differences, I detected a close sympathy between the ladies, a sisterly affection, which suggested that each had suffered a loss that the other could understand.
I was introduced.
‘Oh, Mr Merridew, it is such an honour to meet you,’ exclaimed Mrs Vardy. ‘The Gazette had high praise for your performance. Is your Hamlet still delighting and educating the town?’
‘I regret that the final curtain has already fallen on that production,’ I said, ‘but there will be others, and I can promise you that they will be select and tasteful to a fault.’
We were seated.
‘Mr Merridew is a man of many talents,’ said Mrs Barnham, ‘he is writing a book about the court of King William.’
Mrs Vardy produced a sharp inhalation. ‘And might we expect to receive a message from the King? How wonderful that would be! Just imagine!’
‘That is my hope,’ I said, ‘but I have never attended a séance of this nature before and I really cannot imagine what to expect.’
Mrs Barnham gave a soft chuckle. ‘Then you must prepare to be amazed.’ She beckoned to Miss Stone who shuffled over to the square table and carefully lifted the cloth away. ‘Behold the spiritoscope!’
I pressed my fingertips to my chest and gave a little ‘Oh!’ of astonishment. Not all of it was counterfeit. ‘How extraordinary! What a remarkable machine! I have never seen the like!’
‘It is the only one in England,’ said Mrs Barnham, proudly. Her voice admitted of no contradiction.
The first thing that came to my eye was the object immediately facing me, a vertical disk cut from a thin perfectly smooth sheet of metal. It was attached by a stout hub to a wooden frame which was fastened to the underneath surface of the table top, so that about a third of the disk was above the table’s surface and the rest below. Around the outer circumference of the disk was a narrow strip painted white, on which the letters of the alphabet had been painted in black capitals.
While the letters were clearly visible to the sitters, a person seated at the table facing the row of chairs as Mrs Barnham did, would only be able to see the reverse surface of the disk. I could not help but wonder how the other side of the disk would appear to the medium. Was it like a piece of stage scenery, painted on one side for the enjoyment of the audience, but drab and unfinished on the other? Or did it have its own symbols, clues to what was on the side in view?
Attached to the hub of the disk was a metal device shaped like a hand, of which one finger, the index, pointed upwards, the others being depicted as curled into the palm. There was an elegance about the hand which invited admiration, a neat white cuff at the wrist, the suggestion of a sleeve, and the long finger like one of Mr Dickens’s Christmas ghosts, indicating future fate. The pointing index was currently resting on an unlettered space at the perimeter.
A stout band was looped about the hub of the wheel. I followed it downwards with my eyes and saw that two of the legs of the table, those to the right of Mrs Barnham, ended in wheels connected by an axle, the band passing about one of the wheels. The other two legs were on castors. I am no engineer, but I am familiar with the action of stage machinery, and it was obvious to me that the whole table was able to move freely on its wheels and castors. When it did so, its motion would cause the painted disk to turn, and the pointing finger would rest on the letters.
I would have liked to see the other side of the disk, but thought it would be unwise to ask, since such a question, however much I disguised it as academic curiosity would suggest that I suspected Mrs Barnham of cheating and this might see me peremptorily ejected from the premises.
Miss Stone took up a notebook and pencil and placed herself on a chair near to the square table but facing it so that she could see the painted side of the disk. On the other side, conveniently to the elbow of Mrs Barnham, was a side table with a jug of water and a glass. This arrangement, I thought, served two purposes, it provided both assistance and refreshment to the medium and also prevented anyone from skirting around the table to look at the reverse surface of the disk.
Mrs Barnham extended her arms and placed her crooked hands on top of a small board that rested on the table before her, the distortion of her fingers meaning that not all were able to touch it at the same time. The board was supported on tiny castors, so that it could move easily across the table top.
‘You will observe,’ said Mrs Barnham, addressing me, ‘that the table is free to move and as it does so, the spiritoscope will spell out messages. ‘Miss Stone will make a note of what transpires. This board in front of me is merely the conduit through which the spirits send their influence, but see —’ she propelled the board back and forth then side to side a number of times, the tiny castors sounding like glass marbles rolling on the varnished table top. The table itself did not move. She smiled. ‘There can be no question of my being able to affect the table by muscular means. I know that it has been suggested in those cases where the medium and her sitters lay their hands directly upon the table, that one or more of them in some way, either deliberately or unconsciously create the movement. But that cannot be so here. In any case —’ she held up her hands — ‘you will see that I can be absolved of any suspicion in that area. I lack the necessary power.’
She gazed intently at me. ‘Sir, I see in your expression a thousand questions you would like to ask me. Be assured that the spiritoscope was devised and thoroughly tested by an eminent gentleman, a professor of science, no less, a man who once argued most strongly against spiritualism. His object in constructing it was to test whether messages received during séances were sent by the spirits, and to remove absolutely any possibility that such messages could derive from an earthly plane. On attending many séances using apparatus similar to this one and subjecting the mediums to the most careful scrutiny he professed himself utterly converted.’
‘How can one tell if the spirit is benign?’ I asked.
She favoured me with a gracious smile. ‘That is a good question. I have been told that there are such things as mischievous entities that spread false messages to the unwary, but have no fear, we can prevent their entering here by the power of our prayers.’