The Cyanide Ghost (Mina Scarletti Mystery Book 6) Read online

  THE CYANIDE GHOST

  A Mina Scarletti Mystery

  Book Six

  Linda Stratmann

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  EPILOGUE

  HEAR MORE FROM LINDA

  A NOTE TO THE READER

  HISTORICAL NOTES

  ALSO BY LINDA STRATMANN

  PROLOGUE

  In the autumn of 1871 Mr Beckler took a photograph which changed his life forever. His one-man business in Twickenham concentrated mainly on family portraits and cartes de visite, which he created in his sunlit studio. When he took his camera outdoors, it was to capture artistic images of important buildings or record public events. On that memorable day, however, he had been summoned with great urgency to the home of a recently deceased gentleman. His task was to create a deathbed portrait, a memento mori, destined to be both the first and last picture of the loved one, something to be treasured by the bereaved.

  The subject, dressed in his best suit, was nicely arranged on quilts and pillows, his body framed in floral tributes, a bible having been carefully pressed into his chilly grasp. The living customer, the deceased’s sister, was in a state of abject grief, since the gentleman had been young and his demise sudden and unexpected. Mr Beckler had been obliged to try and calm her as best he could although, as he was painfully aware, comforting ladies was not one of his most notable skills. His thin, oddly elongated body tended to loom over others, so that he resembled a giant predatory and carnivorous insect, and his attempts at smiling only made recipients flinch. He had eventually concluded that the best thing to do was to perform his professional duty as quickly as possible. He was finally able to persuade the lady to sit beside the supine shell of her brother with her hand tentatively resting on a sleeve while gazing upon the dead face in the manner of Her Majesty the Queen contemplating a marble bust of the late Prince Consort.

  The bedroom curtains had been thrown fully back to admit the vibrant light of an unclouded sun, and he had brought his largest reflector to make the most of it. The camera was set ready upon its stand, and a glass plate prepared with a light-sensitive coating. Advising the lady to remain as still as possible, Mr Beckler removed the lens cap and, since he lacked the superior illumination of a studio setting, allowed an exposure of several minutes to ensure the best possible image. The gentleman at least could be relied upon not to move.

  No other living person was in the room, neither was there a portrait of the dead man hanging on the wall, yet when the picture was later printed onto chemically sensitised paper, a man’s face, ethereal and translucent, was seen hovering above the lady’s shoulder. Mr Beckler was understandably apprehensive as to how his client might react to this unusual result, but he need not have worried. Although the features of the ghostly image were cloudy and indistinct, she was quite certain from the arrangement of the hair and shape of the beard, that this was the spiritual form of her late brother watching over her, a circumstance which she found at once to be thrilling, only slightly unnerving and deeply comforting.

  Mr Beckler, with more professional concerns, was left perplexed as to how he had succeeded in photographing a ghost; however, he supposed that if he had done it once then he should be able to do it again. In this expectation he was doomed to disappointment. Mr Beckler was an energetic young man, eager to explore the latest possibilities in photographic art. During the following weeks he conducted numerous experiments in which he employed the best quality glass, the most modern equipment and the purest chemicals, risking all his small savings in the exercise. He visited graveyards, the bedsides of the deceased and houses widely reputed to be haunted, but he was never able to repeat the feat.

  He decided not to mention the occurrence to other photographers. Neither did he write to any of the profession’s journals for advice. There was a good reason for this. Only a few years previously an American photographer, William Mumler, had conducted a highly successful business in the creation and sale of spirit pictures only to be arrested and charged with swindling. While Mumler had never been proven to be a cheat, the accusation alone had all but destroyed his career. Mr Beckler knew that he had not cheated, but who would believe him unless he had proof? If, however, he was able to discover and refine the method of photographing spirits, and demonstrate it without any fear of being dubbed a trickster, then and only then would he have sought a means of making his name and fortune, and felt able to advertise this new service to the public with confidence. Fortunately for these private ambitions, the grieving client had retreated into a solitary state and been silent on the subject. For the time being, the spirit photograph was a close kept secret.

  That winter, Mr Beckler was interested to discover that Mr Arthur Wallace Hope, the influential spiritualist, renowned explorer, associate of the much admired Dr Livingstone, and author of several popular books, was touring the county of Middlesex with a series of lectures on the spirit world. Mr Beckler attended a lecture hoping to receive some enlightenment and purchased a book, but neither the speaker nor the book referred in any way to photography. Mr Beckler ventured to send a letter to the eminent gentleman hinting that he had something of importance to impart. He was able to secure an interview at which with some trepidation, he revealed the ghostly portrait. To his gratification, Mr Hope became very excited to see what he declared to be clear scientific proof that validated his belief in the ability of persons in spirit to communicate with the living. He urged Mr Beckler to continue his experiments.

  Mr Hope was a large fine-looking man with glossy waves of rich, dark hair, a deep voice, and a commanding manner. A scion of the aristocracy, his fame and wealth cast an irresistible glamour over his public. Men felt honoured by his notice, ladies either blushed or paled to gaze on him. Mr Beckler, a humble and unprepossessing person, making his way in the world by his own diligent efforts, acceded at once to all Mr Hope’s wishes.

  He was told that his work would have a greater chance of success if carried out in Brighton, which Mr Hope informed him was a strong focus of psychic power, and he should therefore move his interests there. Financial considerations were as nothing in Mr Hope’s avid pursuit of spiritual truth, and he promised that should Mr Beckler find suitable premises for a Brighton business, he would provide a loan for its purchase. He did, however, have a word of warning for his new acolyte. The one complicating factor about a presence in Brighton was Miss Mina Scarletti. According to Mr Hope, she was both a highly powerful spirit medium who utterly and repeatedly refused to acknowledge her gifts, and a deeply wounding thorn in his side. He had tried every method at his disposal to bring her to a belief in the world of the spirit, and not only had she scorned his advice, but she had actively disrupted his work. She had a small following in Brighton, the ignorant and wilfully unenlightened, who heeded her every word. As a result, her malicious insinuations had brought about the disgrace and even imprisonment of med
iums he had championed, wise and pure souls who he knew were destined to change all human understanding.

  Miss Scarletti, ordered Mr Hope, was to be shunned at all costs.

  Mr Beckler had first encountered the dangerous Miss Mina Scarletti in January 1872. He had accompanied Mr Hope to Hollow House, a haunted Sussex mansion, the home of Mr Honeyacre and his new young wife, Kitty. The household was being terrorised by spirit manifestations of a malevolent nature, so powerful and persistent that Mr Hope felt sure that Mr Beckler would be able to employ his new-found talent to photograph them. On arrival they had unexpectedly found that Mr Hope’s enemy, the intransigent Miss Scarletti, was a visitor. She was accompanied by two friends, the enchantingly beautiful Mrs Nellie Jordan and respected man of medicine Dr Hamid. Soon afterwards, they were unexpectedly joined by Mina’s younger brother Richard, a handsome idler who spent most of the visit complaining of a toothache, and another gentleman who went everywhere with binocular glasses and claimed that he was visiting the area to write a book on natural history but appeared to know nothing of the subject.

  It became rapidly apparent to Mr Beckler that Miss Scarletti’s attitude to Mr Hope’s blandishments were unaltered. At the first opportunity Mr Hope had taken Mr Beckler aside and advised him that if Miss Scarletti could not admit the truth, then for the good of all mankind she must be made as naught. Mr Beckler had been highly alarmed by the intensity of his patron’s manner, and had had to be reassured that he would not stoop to murder, but was obliged to ask, what could be done? The lady, Mr Hope had said, with a sorrowful expression, had already resisted friendly persuasion, reasoned argument, bribery and blackmail. Her medical advisor, Dr Hamid, was a highly regarded Brighton practitioner, and would undoubtedly do everything in his power to prevent any attempt to have her declared insane and put in a place of confinement. Mr Beckler had decided not to ask how Mr Hope knew this last piece of information but received the uncomfortable impression that it was because his patron had already tried this tactic and failed.

  There was, apparently, only one more course of action remaining. Mr Hope commanded Mr Beckler to romance his enemy, using every wile in his armoury. Mr Beckler was very much taken aback, and protested that he was no Lothario, but Mr Hope clearly believed that Miss Scarletti, who was extremely small with a twisted spine, and walked with a pronounced limp, would be grateful for the attentions of any man. Mr Beckler reluctantly did his best, but Miss Scarletti was not to be won. A shrewd lady, she easily saw through the young photographer’s scheme, and received it with contempt and disgust. The eventual failure of Mr Hope’s mission at the haunted mansion was laid firmly at the door of the infuriating Miss Scarletti.

  By the spring of 1872, Mr Hope had gone to Africa again in search of his former expedition leader, Dr Livingstone, from whom nothing had been heard for some considerable time, and Mr Beckler had opened his business on the busy thoroughfare of Brighton’s Ship Street. Freed from the overbearing influence of his eminent patron, Mr Beckler found himself dreading his return. He had become horribly aware that just as Mr Hope had the power to advance him, he could just as easily abandon or even ruin him if he so chose. It was therefore essential that he carry out the tasks assigned to him, however distasteful they might be.

  He dreaded offering Mr Hope still more failures: failure to capture a portrait of the ghost of Mr H G Simpson, the previous owner of the business, which was rumoured to haunt the premises but which he had neither seen nor heard; failure to discover the secret that continued to elude him, how he had created the spirit picture; failure to seduce Miss Scarletti, a lady who had in their brief acquaintance earned his profound respect and who now loathed him. If he could only bring her to the path of the spirit, that would be a fine achievement, but the chances of her ever speaking to him again were remote. In an attempt to mollify her he had even given employment to her brother Richard, who seemed to be blithely unaware that Mr Beckler had insulted his sister. Richard’s only skills were a modest talent for drawing, a charming manner with lady customers, and a well-practised ability to waste time in a daydream.

  Then quite unexpectedly another spirit picture appeared.

  Mr Beckler’s second unexpected spirit picture had materialised on one of a set he had taken of the only daughter of Mr Henry Hartop, a gentleman of some means, and a proudly self-made success, who owned and rented superior-quality apartments in Brighton. Miss Hartop, of indeterminate age, but probably nearer thirty-five than thirty, was quite conceivably the only person in Brighton who actually enjoyed hearing the sound of her voice. Her usual conversational volume was a penetrating shout, her preferred register a high-pitched trill with which she greeted even the most mundane event as worthy of loud and excited exclamation.

  Despite this, she was not lacking in friends, since she enjoyed a generous allowance from her father, which she spent lavishly on clothes, treats and entertainment. She had gathered about her a small group of less moneyed but respectable single ladies, whom she marshalled and conducted like a personal choir. There was, however, one important accoutrement she lacked. Even the prospect of a substantial dowry had not so far attracted a husband. She often declared herself to be the object of admiring glances from eligible gentlemen, but until recently she had not directed her own gaze in any particular direction. Then she had paid a visit to the new photographer’s shop on Ship Street, where her eyes had lighted upon the blond curls and fine features of Richard Scarletti. Miss Hartop liked what she saw.

  Mr Beckler had long been in two minds about the wisdom of employing Richard Scarletti. His record-keeping was far from meticulous, his attention to the essentials of cleaning was slapdash at best, his knowledge of basic chemistry was laughable, and he seemed dumbfounded when asked to learn new skills. None of this dented a wholly unrealistic self-confidence in his own abilities. On the other hand, he was useful for carrying equipment, although he often needed to be prodded into action, and he was also able to charm and amuse the customers, skills in which Mr Beckler was aware he was deficient. Ladies admired Mr Scarletti’s good looks, whereas Mr Beckler’s mirror could only inform him that nature had played a joke on him when allocating his facial features.

  Miss Hartop had taken such a strong fancy to Mr Scarletti that she returned to the shop almost daily, on any excuse she could muster, making purchases, studying catalogues, viewing exhibitions and arranging sittings for herself and her friends. Chiefly, however, the purpose of her visits was to flirt with the counter clerk. If he was not at the desk, she would walk about waiting for him to appear, checking her appearance in a mirror. Sometimes she sang to herself, presumably so that if Mr Scarletti could not see her, he could certainly hear her. If this was meant to be in the nature of a siren’s song, Mr Beckler thought it was having quite the opposite effect. Even Richard, who often talked of making his fortune by marrying one, balked at the prospect of Miss Hartop.

  Since she was a valuable customer, Mr Beckler was obliged to pander to Miss Hartop’s vision of herself, allowing her free choice of whatever gown or pose she felt would display her charms to the greatest advantage. Sometimes her attitudes before the camera lens bordered on the cusp of indecency, and to preserve his reputation he made sure that Miss Hartop’s maid was always present and took care that any questionable images, once revealed to his eyes by their development on glass, were never subjected to the fixative solution of potassium cyanide. Instead, they were allowed to fade, the plates returned to the general stock. In his opinion, the performers of the Brighton Music Hall, whom he had recently photographed, showed far more taste and decorum than Miss Hartop.

  Business was doing well, but there was one significant worry. Mr Beckler had recently learned that Dr Livingstone had been found alive, which meant that his patron Mr Arthur Wallace Hope might return to England far sooner than anticipated. Before his departure, Mr Hope had tasked his protégé with discovering a reliable and repeatable method of photographing spirits, but all his numerous experiments had ended in failure. The p
urported ghost of the previous owner Mr Simpson had also refused to appear, either to Mr Beckler’s eye or his camera. Areas of unexpected cold on the premises, which had suggested the presence of disembodied entities, had disappeared once gaps in the brickwork had been closed up, and nightly muttering noises had provided no useful intelligence, which was understandable, since they had been produced by mice.

  Just as Mr Beckler was beginning to lose all hope of satisfying his patron’s demands, Miss Hartop made an appointment for a new portrait. She had been eager to immortalise her image wearing her newest summer gown purchased from Brighton’s most fashionable emporium for ladies’ apparel, Jordan and Conroy. She also carried a bouquet of a size befitting a bride, no doubt an unsubtle hint to potential suitors. Miss Hartop always demanded the best of everything, and the best quality glass plates in the shop were those Mr Beckler had acquired from the estate of Mr Simpson, which only needed a thorough cleaning to be re-used. He took three pictures of the would-be temptress in an elaborate peach silk gown to enable her to select the best one.

  Two of the images as they appeared in negative form on glass were as good as any picture of Miss Hartop was ever likely to be, but the third displayed a curiously shaped smudge that seemed to be floating in mid-air. Mr Beckler, who had seen such a smudge only once before, viewed it with excitement and a little frisson of hope. He had fixed it with care, his hands shaking as he bathed the glass in a cyanide solution to preserve the image and make it clearer, sharper, more vigorous. He had hardly dared to print the picture, and trembled when he saw it, trembled even more when he thought of showing it to Miss Hartop.

  Miss Hartop had meanwhile arrived with her maid to see the new pictures and he found them in the studio, the maid standing quietly by while her mistress experimented with a variety of seductive poses on a chair. She looked up expectantly as he entered but was instantly and very obviously disappointed not to see Mr Scarletti. It was a reaction that Mr Beckler was finding very familiar from many of his lady clients.