‘I am struggling with a terrible dilemma!’ exclaimed Mrs Wandle. ‘Charlotte told me that Franklin had been very unhappy when Jasper was declared legally dead, and even more so when she remarried. The poor boy was so disturbed that they had to hire a nursemaid to watch over him, though that at least is no longer the case. I thought that if he could be told that his father had cared very much about him, so much so that he stayed away at great pain to himself rather than bring shame to the family, that he would get some comfort from that, and be able to visit his father’s grave. And Charlotte — she too would find peace at last by knowing the whole of the story right to the end. But —’ Mrs Wandle was too agitated to continue. The tea was gone, and Mina offered her a glass of water, but unable to speak, she waved it away.
‘But by telling her,’ said Mina, you would be confessing to having deceived her all these years.’ It had not escaped Mina’s notice that Mrs Wandle had several times referred to Mr Holt by his Christian name. She wondered if there had been more to their years of residing at the Inn together than she liked to admit. More than she would want her good friend to know about.
Mrs Wandle dabbed her eyes with a large and serviceable looking kerchief. ‘Yes. And I would thereby lose a dear friend. I had thought perhaps I could write her a letter of explanation to be passed to her after I am gone, together with proof that Henry Brown was her husband. Is that cowardly of me?’
‘You have proof?’
‘Yes. Undeniable proof. He wrote a loving letter to Charlotte and the children shortly before he died. Then there are the clothes he arrived in. I still have them. I would have buried him in them, but they wouldn’t have fitted him of late, he had grown much larger about the waist, although I always thought it looked well on him, and there was a photograph, a family picture. He had it wrapped in oilcloth and wore it next to his heart.’
‘I think Mrs Vardy would be deeply moved to see those. I have another question. Did she tell you of her intended second marriage during Mr Holt’s lifetime?’
‘She told me that Mr Vardy had made an offer, and that she had decided to accept, but they had not yet set a date. I received an invitation, but I could not leave the bedside of a dying man. He expired soon afterwards.’
There was a long silence during which Mrs Wandle gazed at Mina expectantly, and Mina realised that she was supposed to provide the answer to her visitor’s dilemma. It was as she considered the facts placed before her that she recalled that there was something she herself ought to impart.
‘Mrs Wandle, there are many persons who would be greatly affected by your story, including one you may not have thought of. There is an individual who has been suffering terrible consequences of what happened on the day Mr Holt disappeared.’
‘Oh?’
‘Mr William Sutherland, the owner of the yacht. I don’t know exactly what happened on the day Mr Holt was thought to have perished, and we may never know, but it is my belief that ever since that time Mr Sutherland has been tormenting himself with guilt over Mr Holt’s death. Unnecessarily, as it now turns out.’
Mrs Wandle looked shocked. ‘I — I had no idea. The poor man. It seems that so many of us have suffered needlessly from that day. But I have now told you all that I know. Please, Miss Scarletti — advise me! What should I do?’
‘I cannot tell you what to do,’ said Mina. ‘I can only listen to your story and comment on your difficulty. But I hope that now you have spoken all the facts aloud, and have the additional information I have provided, your conscience will tell you which course is the correct one.’
Mrs Wandle’s expression told her all she needed to know.
The next morning, Mina received a letter from Mrs Wandle.
Dear Miss Scarletti
I am extremely grateful to you for listening to me with such sympathy and earnest attention. I am still considering what I must do, but I am beginning to feel that I must gather my courage and speak the truth, even though I may suffer by it.
The situation is even more complicated than I had thought. I have carefully preserved in my papers the invitation to Charlotte’s wedding to Mr Vardy and find that it took place on 24 January, that is the day before her first husband expired. Of course, no blame can attach to either party, and I am sure that that difficulty may be quietly smoothed over.
Yours with great gratitude,
Emily Wandle
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
‘As I took my seat for Mrs Barnham’s next séance,’ confessed Mr Merridew after greeting Mina, ‘I did so with more nervousness than I had ever experienced before the curtain rose on a new play. In this case, there were few lines to learn, and performance was all, my appearance was for one night only, and there could be no rehearsal. So much depended on timing and chemistry, and chance, and most especially on little Maggie, who knew what she had to do, because I had schooled her, and whose courage and resolve and intelligence I could see gradually emerging from the fear and gloom of her unhappy existence, and beginning to shine in the light of hope.’
Mr Merridew proceeded to recount his experience of the previous evening:
I greeted Mrs Barnham and Miss Stone with the politeness that I knew neither of them deserved. I could not help thinking that it only wanted one more female of equivalent wickedness to complete the coven and stir the cauldron of their horrid deeds. I did feel, however, that apart from the unspeakable Mr Cobbe, none of the sitters, those who had come in good faith, with their own private griefs and anxieties, hoping for answers, knew of the evil to which their hosts would stoop.
That night, I made sure to be the first of the guests to arrive so that I might sit closest to the fire. When Miss Stone went to tend to the coals, I quickly rose up, made a little bow and pleaded to be allowed to assist her. She was surprised, but quietly agreed to such a gentlemanly offer, and withdrew. By this means I was able to arrange the coals in the way that suited my intentions.
Mr Eve arrived with his usual muttered grumbles, Mrs Anscombe billowed in on her cloud of camphor, and Mrs Vardy and Mrs Wandle sat together conversing in sisterly familiarity. Mrs Vardy was wondering if it was wise for her to leave the house as she had been so ill of late, and was beginning to regret being persuaded, but Mrs Wandle replied that she thought the air and the company would do her good. And there was, she added, something she wished to arrange. She wanted Mrs Vardy to pay her a visit at the little inn at Seabourne. How earnestly she reassured her friend that her home, though humble was respectable, and that her friends while appearing at first glance to be a little rough and ready were honest hardworking fisher folk. Images of the good hearted Peggotty family from David Copperfield in their quaint seashore home, were being conjured up as she spoke.
Mr Cobbe strode in, and it was only now, knowing what I knew that I saw the avaricious gleam in Mrs Barnham’s eyes as she greeted the banker, and his mouth twitch in suppressed anticipation as he eased into his chair.’ Mr Merridew sighed. ‘What a world we live in when there are those who find pleasure and satisfaction only in harming those weaker than themselves, and creatures like Mrs Barnham who assist them for money.
The séance proceeded, with the sliding of the mysteriously propelled table, the spiritoscope disk turning in its smooth oily fashion, and the cold pointing metal finger spelling out fates for all. That evening I received another message from the late King William confirming that his dear consort Adelaide was with him in heaven, and that she also gave her blessing to my literary endeavours. There was no message from the late King George IV which was as well, since in view of his notorious life this might have led the sitters to be concerned that the spiritoscope could communicate with less elevated regions.