I watched the proceedings with care, deciding to ignore the action of Mrs Barnham’s hands, to which she always drew attention in order to demonstrate that it was impossible for her to influence the movement of the table, but looked instead to see if there was any opportunity for her nether limbs to be employed. I have heard of mediums and magicians who are so dexterous with their feet that they can slip off a shoe and manipulate objects with their toes as if they were blessed with another hand, but Mrs Barnham’s age and stiffness of limbs might prevent her from doing so. Recently however, I spoke to a man who constructs stage machinery, describing the spiritoscope, and as a result I entertained the thought that there was underneath the table, well hidden by the medium’s skirts, a lever that could easily be operated by her knee. Since Mrs Barnham was seated across the table, any movement of her lower limbs was undetectable, and I was unable to form any conclusion beyond that it was a possibility. Like yourself, Miss Scarletti I have no objection to a medium providing a useful service and a pleasant evening for little or no remuneration. I have no desire to expose mechanical trickery any more than I would give away the secrets of a conjuror, which as you know is quite forbidden.
The other sitters enjoyed the usual messages, with the shade of Mr Holt assuring Mrs Vardy that all her troubles would soon be at an end, and she would at last know peace and harmony. The consumption of tea and bread and butter followed, and Mr Cobbe, with darting fingertips, ate and drank rapidly and cleared the plate. Once again I volunteered to tend the fire which I did with very great care, and Miss Stone took away the tea things. When she returned, it was time for the concluding act of the drama. I thought as we sat with eyes closed and sang a hymn how horrible it was that the mask of piety should be used to conceal wickedness.
At last, we were permitted to look. Maggie, and there could be no doubt in the world for anyone with eyes in their head that this was she, stood veiled and trembling in the darkened room. The company held its collective breath, some of which was let out in little gasps of wonder.
Mr Cobbe called out to his daughter and extended his arms, urging the child to come forward, but this time, to his surprise, she did not move. Frightened as she was, and she sent a rapid glance in my direction to gather her courage, she stood firm on her spot. Instead, the thin arms of the gauze draped figure reached towards Mr Cobbe and beckoned. ‘Come,’ whispered the apparition, ‘come to me.’
There was some murmuring and concerned shifting of bodies, as this was not at all what Mrs Barnham and Miss Stone had tutored Maggie to do, but all seemed to be going well and thus far they could see no reason to intervene.
Mr Cobbe rose from his chair, and tottered forward, and there was a groan as he clasped the apparition to him. There were sounds of masculine sobbing which almost masked other noises, which would be better not described.
Then came the cry that I had been waiting for, a single word from Maggie, ‘No!’ I hoped most fervently that the child would remember my instruction to close her eyes.
Then I moved as fast as I had ever done in my life, throwing the strip of magnesium ribbon which I obtained from Mr Beckler onto the hottest part of the fire, and simultaneously turning the covering brass guard so that it stood like a shield between the sitters and the fire but exposed the blaze to the centre of the room. Since I was nearest to the conflagration, I quickly held my hands before my eyes.
There was a sudden brilliant explosion of white light from the fireplace provoking screams of terror from the sitters. Mr Cobbe gasped and automatically raised his hands to protect his eyes, as the brightness which illuminated the room as if it had been day, made his horrible proclivities all too plain to behold. Maggie, released from his clasp, stepped away, pulled off the filmy draperies that had covered her linen shift and threw them to the floor. In the lighted room they no longer glowed like heavenly garments but looked dull, grey and commonplace.
I turned to the other sitters who were cowering both from the glare and the dreadful spectacle. I pointed at Maggie. ‘This is no ghost!’ I announced. ‘This is the ill-used maidservant, an innocent who has been forced by these women to take part in their diabolical scheme, and she has been treated most abominably by that evil man!’
Mrs Vardy leaped up screaming ‘Oh, the poor child!’, then the cloud of ash that poured thickly like white smoke from the fireplace as the magnesium ribbon burned drew a merciful veil over the scene of Mr Cobbe’s shame.
Knowing that all would be plunged into semi darkness again once the ribbon had burned away, I ran forward and turned up the gas lamps. As I did so there was a sudden cry and a loud thud like the falling of a sack of potatoes. The lamplight revealed the prostrate form of Mr Cobbe lying on the floor, having tripped and fallen over in an effort to reach the door. Quite what he had stumbled upon was unclear, but Mrs Wandle had risen from her chair and there was a gleam in her eye which suggested that one of her boots had been involved. Mrs Anscombe, showing herself to be very capable of moving quickly if the situation demanded it, strode over to the fireplace, picked up the poker, and with a cry of ‘you monster!’ started belabouring Mr Cobbe with more enthusiasm than accuracy, aiming chiefly at those portions of his anatomy which are not usually discussed in society circles. Mr Cobbe bawled loudly as each blow fell, while Mrs Vardy hugged Maggie protectively, making sure the child’s eyes were turned away from the scene of violence.
There was nothing Mrs Barnham could do or say, and she remained speechless and immobile, her eyes staring and blank. She appeared to be in a trance, a situation which I disdained to believe. Miss Stone had simply thrown a kerchief over her face and was refusing to look at anything. Mr Eve meanwhile had got to his feet with an expression of outrage. Mr Cobbe was trying to crawl across the floor towards the door to evade Mrs Anscombe’s vigorous ministrations, screaming for someone to get ‘that woman’ away from him, which no-one was inclined to do. Mr Eve crossed the room quickly and stood in his way. ‘We must not let this foul beast escape!’ he cried. ‘I have had my suspicions of him for some time, but I could not believe it of a man in his position. Now I have the evidence of my own eyes and the eyes of a host of respectable witnesses, and I shall send for the police.’
Mr Cobbe managed to get to his knees and did his best to plead a simple misunderstanding, wailing to Mrs Anscombe to stop, but her aim improved enough to catch him a glancing blow across the head with the poker and he slumped forward with a moan, and lay half stunned on the floor, a stream of blood pouring down his face.
‘Thank you, Mrs Anscombe, you have done enough,’ said Mr Eve, raising his hand towards her. She desisted, but with noticeable reluctance. ‘I do not want this man killed, that would be too merciful a fate. He must be brought to justice and I promise that I shall see it done. I believe the man who occupies the ground floor apartment has a reliable manservant who I will send to fetch a constable. Mr Merridew, would you kindly ensure that our prisoner does not leave this room?’
‘With pleasure,’ I said. ‘And if he has had enough of the poker, he will be sure to suffer the tongs.’
Mrs Vardy was shaking with rage. ‘So,’ she said to a wilfully silent Mrs Barnham, ‘it was all a sham. Dressing up your maidservant as a ghost and subjecting her to things I would be ashamed to name. I hope you won’t try and pretend that this poor child was to blame. Look how she trembles! And what else was a sham, I wonder? The messages from beyond? Were they false, too? Perhaps they came from no further than that machine. We shall not remain in his infamous house a moment longer. How I regret the time I have wasted here!’