His Father's Ghost (Mina Scarletti Mystery Book 5) Page 7

  ‘Were Mr Sutherland and Mr Holt business associates?’

  ‘No. I think they met through a mutual interest in yachting. Mr Sutherland was a member of a club. I am not sure if it is still there, it was called the Brighton Yacht Club and it had rooms on Old Steine. Mr Sutherland had been a sailing enthusiast for some years, whereas Mr Holt, I think had only recently become interested in yachting. Though, of course, as it turned out —’ Mr Phipps permitted himself a brief smile — ‘he might not have been genuinely interested but only told Sutherland he was. Mr Sutherland lives in London, but he came to Brighton when he could and stayed at the club when he wanted a few days sailing. The club rooms offered meals and overnight accommodation for its members.’

  ‘What is his profession?’

  ‘He is a stockbroker.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ said Mina, ‘I can see that being questioned by the police over a death and being suspected of complicity in a fraud would have been especially embarrassing to him. Does his business still thrive? I ask because Mr Holt’s scheme arose because he was in financial difficulties. I was wondering if Mr Sutherland might have been in a similar situation?’

  ‘I have no information on Mr Sutherland’s financial situation, either then or now. I suppose I could make some discreet enquiries. I do know, however, that at the time of Mr Holt’s disappearance Mr Sutherland was engaged to be married. A wedding date had been set. The married state can be financially demanding even for a professional gentleman.’

  So, thought Mina, even if Mr Sutherland’s business was successful, he might well have been in need of money, but would that have been sufficient for him to be tempted to connive with Mr Holt in a fraud in return for a payment from the anticipated life insurance? So much depended on the character of the man.

  ‘I assume,’ said Mina, ‘that a policy on someone’s life will not pay out if the insured person commits suicide?’

  ‘That is correct, or there would be many more suicides than there are. Insurance companies take an extremely poor view of being cheated, even by those extreme measures.’

  ‘But now that he has been declared dead, will there be a payment?’

  ‘I am quite sure that there will not be. His legal date of death is seven years from when he was last seen, and only one instalment was ever paid. The policy lapsed when the second instalment was not paid.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I should have thought of that. So, in order to receive any payment on the insurance policy there would have to be incontrovertible proof that he died, but not by his own hand, and before the second payment was due?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Around the date of his disappearance.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What sum was Mr Holt insured for?’

  ‘Twenty thousand pounds.’

  ‘That is a very large amount.’

  ‘Indeed. More than sufficient to clear all his debts and leave his family well provided for.’

  ‘But was there no difficulty in obtaining the policy, as he was not in good health?’

  Mr Phipps looked surprised. ‘Why do you think that?’

  ‘I understand that he told Mr Sutherland that he had been advised by his doctor to take the sea air for his health.’

  ‘Ah, yes, I recall that now. He may have said so, but it might not have been true, of course. The gentleman was very duplicitous. Maybe it was an excuse, a reason he gave for wanting to take up sailing. But I can tell you that before taking out insurance in such a large sum Mr Holt was examined by a doctor who certified him to be in excellent health for his age. The policy would not have been granted without it.’

  ‘What was the name of the doctor?’

  ‘Dr Thomas Crosier.’

  ‘And Mr Holt paid the first instalment?’

  ‘He did. Only the first.’

  ‘Was it a large sum of money?’

  ‘Two hundred pounds. There were to be monthly payments thereafter.’

  ‘And he had the resources to pay that sum?’

  ‘No. At that juncture his situation was extremely serious, and the bank would not have honoured a cheque on his account. He made no large cash sales of stock which might have alerted his creditors to his difficulties. He paid in gold, and we never discovered the source. We assumed that he must have borrowed it, but no-one came forward to say that they loaned it to him.’

  Mina wondered about Mr Sutherland as a possible source of the funds if he was complicit in the fraud. A private loan, either from his own resources or from the business, to be repaid with interest when Mr Holt’s insurance was received. Without knowing Sutherland or his circumstances she could not judge if he would be willing to take such a risk.

  ‘If Mr Holt did try to defraud the insurance company and he was in such a precarious financial situation, that might not have been the only crime he committed, either alone or with an associate. There might have been irregularities in his business or personal dealings as well.’

  ‘That is possible, although of course he was not there to be questioned and I don’t think that was ever gone into. As you are no doubt aware the police did decide at the time that there were no grounds to charge either Mrs Holt or Mr Sutherland.’

  Time passed as Mina collected her thoughts.

  ‘Do you wish me to look into it further?’ asked Mr Phipps.

  ‘Yes, please do. And thank you for your help.’

  Mr Phipps put his papers away and rose to his feet. He hesitated for a moment. ‘Miss Scarletti, on another matter, I am still hoping to find a suitable nurse companion for my aunt. Would you be prepared to recommend Miss Cherry for that position?’

  ‘I would, certainly.’

  ‘Thank you. My aunt is very particular, you see, but as her age advances the more assistance she requires. Whenever I suggest employing a companion, she protests that the usual nurses are too coarse or too strident. From my brief observation, Miss Cherry appears to be neither.’

  ‘She is not. Her manner towards me has always been as you have seen. Her care has been excellent.’

  ‘Perhaps when you no longer require her services —’

  Mina suddenly sensed an opportunity. ‘Oh, you need not wait that long. If Mrs Phipps approves, I can arrange for Miss Cherry to have a free morning or afternoon and then she can pay a call on your aunt and they can become acquainted.’

  ‘That is very kind. Are you sure you can spare her?’

  ‘I believe so. Our maidservant Rose can look after me for a short while, and I do not need as much attention as I did.’

  ‘That is extremely generous of you, Miss Scarletti, I do appreciate it.’ Mr Phipps, looking like a less unhappy horse, took his leave.

  When Miss Cherry returned, Mina informed her of the enquiry made by Mr Phipps and the suggestion that she pay a visit to his aunt, both of which were received without protest.

  Mina omitted to mention what she planned to achieve during her nurse’s absence.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  M. Merridew

  Brighton

  March 1872

  Dear Miss Scarletti,

  I hope I may be permitted to call upon you this afternoon as I have stories to tell which I know will amuse and invigorate you and are rather too long and far too interesting to commit to a mere letter.

  Respectfully

  Marcus Merridew

  Mina eagerly anticipated Mr Merridew’s visit. She was anxious for him to speak freely of the fascinating information he had acquired, but without alerting Miss Cherry to the fact that she was launching herself recklessly into a new investigation. If Miss Cherry suspected her for a moment, firm words would be said to Dr Hamid. Then Dr Hamid would fold his arms and look at Mina reproachfully, shaking his head in that way he always adopted whenever she did anything interesting.

  Mina was obliged to lay careful plans. She first requested that cook prepare a modest tea party for herself, Mr Merridew and Richard, thus avoiding any concerns Miss Cherry might have had about her conducting a second p
rivate interview with a single gentleman in the theatrical profession.

  With these arrangements in place, Mina next asked Miss Cherry to assist in a difficult and arduous task, attending her mother who had recently received a letter from Enid. According to Richard, the letter was no more than the usual miserable litany of Enid’s numerous complaints but Louisa Scarletti had chosen to take the contents powerfully to heart and needed comforting, or at least the company of someone who had no option but to listen to her and make the appropriate noises at the correct intervals. Miss Cherry braced herself for the ordeal, hunted through her little book for an appropriate reading, and thus armed, departed to do her duty.

  Mr Merridew arrived with his usual flourish, in a brand new suit of clothes and an auburn wig, while Richard, looking unsure as to why he had been summoned, slumped in a chair and fidgeted.

  Rose brought in a small tea-table and a laden tray, which Mina inspected anxiously. Cook was a good plain cook. If asked for a pound cake or a treacle tart, or a boiled pudding, she would provide generously. Further than that she ought not to have gone, but often did. Whenever Nellie called to take tea, Mina sent to the pastry shop for her favourite treats; delicate wafers and sugar cakes; and the result was that cook sometimes tried to imitate them with indifferent success. Mina’s appetite was still in question, however the gentlemen, who were less dainty and rather hungrier, unashamedly loaded their plates, and Rose saw to it that Mina was provided with a plain bun dipped in tea before she left them to their refreshments.

  ‘Is your kind nurse not in attendance?’ asked Mr Merridew.

  ‘She is helping Rose look after Mother,’ Mina explained.

  ‘Miss Cherry will feel quite bereft at being sent away,’ observed Mr Merridew, a little smile showing that he well understood why Mina had ensured her nurse’s absence. ‘She is dedicated to making your existence as dull as possible. Of course, one must know when to rest but it also important to know when to play.’

  ‘Doctors and nurses can be so boring,’ agreed Richard washing down a lumpy cake with a gulp of tea. ‘All they want to do is stop you having fun. Miss Cherry seems like a good sort, but she has her stays tied too tight. So what is this all about?’

  ‘You might know,’ Mr Merridew explained to Richard, ‘that my ambitions have recently taken a literary turn, and I am about to embark on a history of the court of the late King William, with particular attention being paid to his sojourns at the Royal Pavilion. A former member of that court, a Mrs Barnham resides in Brighton, and I have sought her out and was permitted to pay a call on her. The results were more than usually informative.’

  Mr Merridew cleared his throat and began his tale.

  ‘Mrs Barnham occupies a set of rooms on the first floor of a respectable lodging house, tidily kept but devoid of any hint of luxurious living. I was met at the front door by the between stairs maid, a small very pale girl hardly more than thirteen, all wispy hair and dry elbows, and looking in urgent need of a nourishing meal. In my life as an actor, I have often been obliged to take humble lodgings where such poorly remunerated and underfed maidservants endure a dismal existence devoid of hope of anything better, and her situation naturally provoked a deep sympathy.

  I spoke to her kindly. Her name was Maggie, and she told me that Mrs Barnham is very elderly, and lives with her maid, Miss Stone. Maggie led me up the stairs, which were fragrant with the odours of cheap soap and cabbage, to Mrs Barnham’s door. I pressed a penny into the poor child’s hand and she scurried away like a little mouse.

  I knocked on the door and after what seemed like two minutes it opened a little. ‘Yes?’ came creakily from within.

  I took a good breath and used my chest voice to make a good address. ‘It is I, Marcus Merridew,’ I announced, ‘to call on Mrs Barnham, as agreed.’

  After a short pause the door opened fully. ‘Please enter.’ The woman who stood within was a sturdily made person of middle years. She wore a black gown, a white cap, and a patterned shawl. There was a lace veil draped over her head and falling on either side of her face, partly shadowing a heavily mottled skin. She turned her head aside a little, and I guessed that she did so to soften the blow of the curious stare her appearance usually invited at first glance. I did not flinch. In my years in the theatre I have seen every variety of colour and pattern of flesh that nature has created, and others that have been fashioned by accident and disease, such that I have long abandoned judgement by outward beauty and viewed all my fellow beings as God’s creatures, however made.

  Miss Stone, for that was she, stepped aside and I entered a very warm gas-lit sitting room. My hat coat and walking cane were taken and placed on a coat stand, giving me a moment to survey my surroundings.

  There was a small round table in the centre draped in a paisley patterned cloth of faded red, two plain dining chairs, and a fireplace where logs and coals blazed in a narrow iron grate. On the mantel above was a row of glass display boxes in which brass instruments caught the flickering light, and a framed photograph of a heavily be-whiskered gentleman.

  In one corner of the room was a square table which could not help but draw my attention. An object the size and shape of a circular tea tray standing on its edge appeared to be attached to the front of it. I could not see what the object was, since both it and the table were draped in a heavy black cloth. The room smelled scorched like the fire, with notes of old furnishings, dust, rum, lemon and spice.

  Two armchairs were drawn up before the fire, and in one of them sat Mrs Barnham, a lady of advanced years and large proportions. She was holding a pewter tankard and inhaling the fragrance of what lay within, one hand grasping a handle, the other pressed around the body of the vessel. Neither hand could be described as steady but between them they were equal to the task. A jug on the small table at her elbow promised further supplies of the delicious brew. Her hands were encased in black knitted lace mittens, and the angle of her reddened fingers revealed the ravages of arthritis. Nearby there leaned a stout walking stick, the wear on the handle indicating long use.

  I have seen portraits of Mrs Barnham when she had been the comely young actress Miss Margaret Green. There was no doubt in my mind that this was the same person, some fifty years later. Much had changed about her, but sunken into the swollen flesh of her face there were the same knowing eyes.

  I bowed. ‘Mrs Barnham, it is my honour to make your acquaintance.’

  ‘I could say likewise,’ she replied. ‘Please excuse me if I do not rise to greet you. I regret that my limbs are not as strong as they once were.’

  ‘I understand, of course, imagine it done,’ said I.

  ‘Please take a seat. May I offer you some rum punch?’

  ‘The smallest possible sip,’ I said, holding an index finger and thumb tip just a whisper apart, and as I was seated, I was handed half a teacupful of the hot beverage by the maid, who retired to one of the dining chairs.

  ‘So,’ said Mrs Barnham, smiling contentedly though the pungent steam that rose from her tankard, ‘tell me how I may assist you in your desire to immortalise the Pavilion in its last royal years?’

  ‘If I am correct,’ I said, sipping my rum punch with caution, since it was a powerful brew, ‘you were once a prominent member of the court of the late King William. I am sure that you must have abundant memories of the scenes and events of his reign.’

  ‘I was indeed an habitué of the royal court,’ said Mrs Barnham, with a lilt of understated pride in her voice. ‘The King — and I am sorry to disappoint you — the King was a plain, simple fellow. He was already an old man when he acceded to the throne. Really, he might have been a country squire who enjoyed nothing more than taking a walk about his estate. There was an army of children by his mistresses, but that is a fact well known. He married late in life, and took no mistresses after that, but no legitimate child survived him. Queen Adelaide — she was a kind soul. Court life was unremarkable.’ Mrs Barnham gave a little chuckle. ‘I am afraid your book will make
very dull reading.’

  ‘It might at that, but of course the public has always had a fascination for kings, and his is a neglected reign amongst historians. And after King William’s demise? Did you continue at court? Surely you must have some tales to tell of that time.’

  ‘Not at all. Our revered Queen, and may the Almighty bless her in her sorrow and tribulation; she was young then and took a stout broom and swept away all that had gone before. I was one of her sweepings. It was shortly afterwards that I married Mr Barnham. He was a good man.’

  I glanced at the portrait of the be-whiskered gentleman, but Mrs Barnham did not trouble herself to do so. ‘I have been told that you were for a time a spirit medium,’ I ventured. ‘Did you use your powers at court? Did the King or Queen consult you?’

  Mrs Barnham favoured me with a sly look which told me that she had recognised the meat of the discussion. ‘I may have done, but there are some matters it would be unwise to disclose to the public, even now.’

  ‘Of course. I understand. You might prefer me not to make any mention of it in my book. In any case, I hope you will give me permission to dedicate the volume to your good self.’

  ‘That is so very kind. You may refer to my little spiritualistic gatherings at court, I think. A light touch, perhaps, without names. That will suffice.’

  ‘But I assume that you no longer have contact with the spirits?’

  Mrs Barnham was savouring her rum punch but lowered the tankard and raised an eyebrow. ‘Why do you assume so?’

  ‘There are a number of mediums at work in Brighton who advertise their services. You do not. I thought you had given up the practice. Am I incorrect?’

  She gave me a shrewd glance, and one hand thoughtfully stroked the warm belly of the tankard. ‘Have you ever attended a séance?’

  I thought back to dull evenings spent in theatre dressing rooms which had sometimes been enlivened by the antics of animated tables. ‘I have, although it was without the benefit of a medium, and there were never good results. I believe many of those present regarded it as no more than a diversion. And it was always a mistake to invite a conjuror to the circle. But’ and here, I charged my voice with deep sincerity, ‘I remain an earnest seeker after the truth.’