Fatal Inheritance (9 page)

‘Really,’ I said. ‘That will improve her circumstances. Still, though, what if her first husband was a rake in his youth, and then settled down?’

‘If that was the case, Sebastian knew nothing about it. I can promise you that, because Mrs Cavendish is awfully keen on keeping up appearances. She would never have told him such a thing, even if she knew about it herself. No, I can’t believe that Sebastian suddenly discovered that he had inherited libertine tendencies by meeting some lovely maiden on the way home in the sleeping car. You know, if he had had a tendency to fall in love easily, we would have known about it already. It’s not as though he wasn’t surrounded by female admirers. He wasn’t like that, and even if it happened once, that would prove nothing.’

‘I suppose so. Oh dear. Anyway, I hardly believe that such a trait can even be inherited. I suspect it’s more of a caprice of nature, or else an act of rebellion against a strict upbringing.’

‘So, we have to exclude this possibility as being as unlikely as the previous one.’

‘Well, then. Who else might Sebastian have inherited anything from? Who else was in his family?’

‘No one that he knew,’ she said. ‘Mr Cavendish’s parents died long before Sebastian was born. Mr Cavendish’s father was a merchant, and I recall Sebastian saying that he felt he had nothing in common with his father’s side of the family. And he had no aunts or uncles, no sisters or brothers. It was just his mother and him.’

I set down my teacup and leant back. ‘We seem to have run out of ideas as to what he might actually have learnt about himself and considered as inherited,’ I said. ‘Let’s think about the other idea: he realised something quite different – not a feeling, but a fact. A dreadful fact of some kind; something he simply couldn’t live with.’

Rose giggled nervously.

‘I’m sorry, Vanessa. Sebastian is dead, and he was so much a part of my life, in a way much deeper than just friendship. He brought me a passionate intensity of music making that was a miracle each time. I miss him more than you can imagine, musically. Whenever I play with John instead of Sebastian, it simply hurts inside. Yet this whole conversation is making me realise that I’m just not able to take his suicide seriously. I simply can’t face that it really happened, or make myself understand that there must have been a reason. Everything you’re suggesting seems outrageous, ridiculous, out of the question! What could he possibly have discovered that could have such an effect? The more you make me think about it, the more it seems absurd!’

‘Could it have been something to do with his violin? I heard that he inherited that from his grandfather.’

‘Oh yes. He loved his violin. It was an extraordinary instrument, just right for his playing, although sometimes he would have wished for more power. But he could produce strains of madness on this one. It went so well with him. It had a lion’s head instead of the scroll. Have you heard about that? That was just the kind of thing that appealed to him; something peculiar, mad, different, full of energy. A roaring lion instead of a dainty scroll. That was Sebastian all over.’

‘Perhaps he discovered that the violin was stolen?’ I suggested. ‘That it didn’t really belong to him?’

This time she laughed outright.

‘He died because he couldn’t face life without his violin? Or because he was going to be flung into prison for the rest of his life on account of his grandfather’s theft? No, I’m afraid not. The violin was offered to Sebastian’s grandfather by a patron, because he was an incredible violinist. It was quite common in those days; it still is, for that matter. It went to Sebastian’s mother, and she gave it to him. It really was his.’

‘Well,’ I said, ‘you say he inherited nothing from his father, but at least here we have an inheritance from the grandfather. What else did he inherit?’

‘Don’t say that he inherited his gift – he used to hate it when people said that and he would deny it outright. That’s rather odd, now that I think of it. I wonder why he cared?’

‘I have heard about that. Yes, it is striking; the refusal to accept what everyone noticed. Perhaps that might be the key. It’s a pity I know so little about the nature of musical talent.’

‘I have an idea,’ exclaimed Rose eagerly. ‘You should come with me to the Royal Academy once, and talk to my professor. He often talks about musical inheritance! I think he has heaps of ideas. Oh, Vanessa, he is a marvellous, luminous man; a darling, but also a genius. You would love him. He is certainly the best person to talk to about this. And now that I think of it, we can try to arrange for you to meet Sebastian’s professor as well. Who knows what you might learn from him?’

‘I should love to meet them,’ I said. ‘But the problem seems very difficult. I hardly know what to ask them. I must admit, I am sorely puzzled.’

‘Please don’t give up!’ she exclaimed. ‘Please, Vanessa, do go on trying to understand! He deserves it. He loved Claire; he loved children – he wanted lots. He was so vibrant. It must have been something enormous to take his life away so suddenly. We do have something to go on – after all, he
did
kill himself, so there
was
a reason – it really does exist! Please, do go on trying to understand. I think I’ll never really rest until I know. And for Claire it’s a matter of life or death. She’s like a ghost with not knowing. Please don’t give up!’

‘I’m not going to,’ I said firmly. ‘Absolutely not. I shall be in London next week for a meeting of the Society for Psychical Research. Yes, I know it’s strange, but I’ll explain it later. Anyway, when I come I shall visit you as well, and you shall take me to meet your teacher. I promise, I’m far from giving up. As you say, the reason most definitely exists, and we have only to find it!’

I hastened into the large lecture hall, removed my wrap, which was unpleasantly damp from the disagreeable sleet falling steadily outside, and slipped into one of the last remaining empty seats, situated modestly near the back of the hall. The president of the Society for Psychical Research stepped onto the stage, introduced himself as Mr Frederic Myers, and began to say a few words on the subject of the presentation about to take place.

‘What is the purpose of our Society?’ he began, very pertinently, as I thought. ‘Why, faced with the scepticism and derision of the public, do we pursue against all odds a direction of knowledge guided by observations which suffer from their irregularity, their doubtfulness and their frequent infestation with the forces of vanity and dishonesty? What, ultimately, is our goal?’

He paused and glanced around challengingly, then continued.

‘Starting from various standpoints, we are endeavouring to carry the newer, the intellectual virtues into regions where dispassionate tranquillity has seldom yet been known. First, we adopt the ancient belief, implied in all monotheistic religion, and conspicuously confirmed by the progress of modern science, that the world as a whole – spiritual and material together – has in some way a systematic unity: and on this we base the novel presumption that there should be a unity of method in the investigation of all fact. We hold therefore that the attitudes, the habits of mind, the methods by which physical science has grown deep and wide should be applied also to the spiritual world. We endeavour to approach the problems of that world by careful collection, scrutiny, testing of particular facts; and we account no unexplained fact too trivial for our attention.
1

‘We are exceptionally lucky today, ladies and gentlemen,’ he went on, ‘to have the opportunity of welcoming to our premises one of the world’s most fascinating and impressive mediums: Mademoiselle Hélène Smith of France! Mademoiselle Smith discovered her amazing talents eight years ago, and since that time she has provided us, the students of the spiritist world, with an incredible wealth of information from abroad, from the past, from the dead, and most recently and extraordinarily – a phenomenon truly unheard-of hitherto – from the planet Mars! As Mademoiselle Smith is presently in contact with spirits from Mars, you will very likely hear, when she appears on this stage and allows herself to be led into a trance, actual words of the Martian language, together with their translation into French by a Martian spirit. I myself will stand here to the side, out of the way, and write upon this large board, as silently as possible, the English translation of the French for your benefit.

‘Following the session, we will hear two analyses of Mademoiselle Smith’s visions, one by famed spiritualist Mrs Ellen Jackson from the United States of America, and the second by Professor Theodore Flournoy, expert in psychology and psychophysiology, from the University of Geneva. I beg you, ladies and gentleman, to welcome Mademoiselle Hélène Smith!’

I felt an expression of total mystification painting itself upon my face as Mr Myers described the medium’s accomplishments, and I noticed the same expression reflected in many of the faces around me. Yet equally many were upturned towards the stage with every sign of delight and rapt attention. I firmly put aside the voice of reason that screeched with dismay within me. I do believe that Arthur and his scientific friends have had too much influence over me of late. I
know
there is much in life than can startle even the most rational of scientists.

But – Mars?

The audience applauded politely as the curtain at the back of the stage parted, letting through a tall and striking woman with black hair piled high in a manner befitting an earlier century. This woman greeted us with reserve, then took her place in an easy chair that Mr Myers pushed forward for her, and closed her eyes. The electric lights on the stage and in the hall were dimmed until her outline was blurred in the shadows. Only a tiny light remained, brightening the board upon which Mr Myers was to write his translations. This gentleman then approached the medium and laid his hand upon her forehead, reciting the following words in French with a strong British accent:

He spoke the name of Esenale with the strong emphasis of one who calls for a person, then removed his hand from the lady’s forehead and walked quickly and silently to the edge of the stage.

A great sigh proceeded from Mademoiselle Smith’s lips, and in a ringing voice, she proclaimed:

‘Cé évé pléva ti di benez essat riz tes midée durée!’

There was a short silence, then Mr Myers called out:

‘Esenale! Please translate into French!’

‘Je-suis-chagrin-de-te-retrouver-vivant-sur-cette-laide-terre!’
emerged, in a foreign-sounding staccato, from the mouth of the medium. Mr Myers hastily wrote:
I am sad to find you still living upon this ugly Earth.

‘Mitchma mitchmon mimini tchouainem mimatchineg masichi-nof mézavi patelki abrésinad navette naven navette mitchichénid naken chinoutoufich,’
she burst forth suddenly, and then, spinning out of control, she continued so rapidly that one could only catch syllabic snatches such as ‘
ték
…
katéchivist
..
méguetch
…
kété
…
chimék
’. At length her voice slowed to nearly a stop, and in a sepulchral tone she clearly enunciated:

‘Dodé né ci haudan té méss métiche Astané!’

‘Translate, Esenale!’ shouted Mr Myers quickly, into the moment of silence that followed these words.

‘Ceci-est-la-maison-du-grand-homme-Astané!’
stuttered the medium.
This is the house of the great man Astané!
wrote Mr Myers. And then she fell completely silent. Her eyes stared up at the ceiling with a weirdly empty expression, and occasionally her body was shaken by strange shudders, or she made peculiar motions with her hands. The audience waited in transfixed silence as the minutes passed. After perhaps a quarter of an hour, during which the attempts of the more impatient spectators to while away the time by whispering together were sharply quelled by Mr Myers holding up his hand like a severe schoolteacher, she stirred, and slowly awoke. Mr Myers hurried forward with a glass of water, from which she weakly sipped, then she sat up and looked out at us as though astonished to find herself in such a place.

‘Will you recount to us what you saw?’ he asked her respectfully. She answered in a lovely, musical voice totally unlike that which had pronounced the words we heard before.

‘I stood before an astonishing house of a shape and colour I had never seen before. A man of dark complexion emerged and took me by the hand and led me away. I knew that this was Astané. I saw before me a landscape and some peculiar people. I was on the border of a beautiful blue-pink lake. A bridge with transparent sides formed of yellow tubes like the pipes of an organ seemed to have one end plunged into the water. The earth was peach-colour; some of the trees had trunks widening as they ascended, while those of others were twisted. Later a crowd approached the bridge, in which one woman was especially prominent. The women wore hats that were flat, like plates. I do not know exactly who these people were, but I had the feeling of having conversed with them before. Astané went onto the bridge. He carried in his hands an instrument somewhat resembling a carriage-lantern in appearance, but which, when pressed, emitted flames, and which seemed to be a flying-machine. By means of this instrument the man left the bridge, touched the surface of the water, and returned again to the bridge. He took me by the hand and led me back through the emptiness of space.’

Upon this, the lady arose from her seat, crossed the stage, and arriving in front of the board where Mr Myers had noted down the two brief Martian sentences that had been translated into French, she proceeded to make a drawing of a square house of unusual shape, with decorations like battlements at the top and strange trees on either side.

‘This is the house I saw; the house of Astané,’ she told us in quite a normal tone. She smiled with pleasure and modestly inclined her head as the audience burst into spontaneous applause and Mr Myers led her off the stage to some quiet place, no doubt, where she could recover her strength over a cup of strong tea.

A moment later, another woman appeared upon the stage, and was introduced to us as Mrs Ellen Jackson from Connecticut. She took her place confidently behind a lectern that was quickly pulled forward in place of the easy chair. Dressed to the height of fashion in a tailor-made suit with a sailor collar which firmly structured her rather generous forms, she began to speak with an American accent, a loud voice, and a degree of enthusiasm typical of our visitors from the other side of the Atlantic but which is rarely or never visible here in England, where its original freshness has been blunted, perhaps, by the passage of too many centuries. Mrs Jackson assured us that Hélène Smith was the most astonishing medium she had ever encountered, and this in a long tradition of association with the most reputed mediums of America, including herself.

‘When I found,’ she told us emphatically, ‘that poor Hélène was having to work in a department store for her living, standing behind the counter for up to eleven hours each day till her health was worn to a thread, I said to myself, “Something must be done about this!” I was travelling across Europe to hear all the most famous mediums from over here, and what I heard from Hélène left me just utterly spellbound, as you probably are right this minute. I simply couldn’t let such a treasure go to waste selling gloves and scarves, I thought, with all her knowledge of secrets withheld from the rest of us! We need to hear everything that Hélène has to tell us! And I want to tell you today that I have decided to free dear Hélène from the need to earn her living, thanks to my own good fortune which has enabled me to support people in need wherever and whenever I find them. I want to say that I’ve helped many a fascinating medium reach the apex of her talent, and none of them has ever seemed to me as worthy as Hélène Smith! People such as she are contributing to the advancement of knowledge beyond anything that science can achieve! Worthy as our astronomers are, they have not been able to reach as far as the planet Mars, and I never thought I would know what goes on in that mysterious place during my lifetime. I’m not going to talk about any kind of analysis of what Hélène says, because it doesn’t need any. I am certain that it is all quite literally true. I have had enough experience of spirit communication to know about the invisible reality it reveals, and that it can tell us about places beyond the reach of science. Hélène’s visions represent the only chance we have to learn about the planet Mars! And that’s why I have offered Hélène the means to pursue her mediumistic activities without constraint, for the rest of her life!
Vive Mademoiselle Hélène Smith!
’ And upon this, she burst into a spontaneous applause into which the audience joined with a general feeling of laughter and astonishment.

As we clapped, Mr Myers returned to the stage from the side, accompanied by a short professorial gentleman with a pointy beard. This was Professor Flournoy, specialist in psychology and psychophysiology from the University of Geneva: the very man who had discovered the amazing talents of Hélène Smith, or at least, revealed them to the world. Having been close to her for six years now, and having thus had the opportunity to observe every detail of the development and evolution of her visions, he had recently completed a book upon the subject, containing a full analysis of her visions and of the Martian language that spoke through her mouth. This book was to appear very shortly in print, and as Mr Myers informed us with some pride, we were now to be the first to hear some of the most significant parts of its contents.

Professor Flournoy greeted Mrs Jackson with a slight bow and, turning to the audience, pronounced a few words of grateful recognition for her grand and generous gesture. She thanked him, and proceeded to sail off the stage in a stately manner with Mr Myers, upon which the professor began his speech.

‘The first task which investigators of obscure mental phenomena set themselves is, naturally, that of separating and sifting the real, actually existent facts from the mass of fraud and deception created by mercenary charlatans. These, aided by the easy credulity of the simple-minded, have contrived so completely to bury from sight the true phenomena, that for a long time now the intelligent public has utterly refused to believe in the existence of any real phenomena of the kind, but insisted that everything when fully probed would be found to be mere delusion, the result of trickery and fraud.

‘Probably no scientific fact since the dawn of modern science has required so great a weight of cumulative evidence in its favour to establish the reality of its existence in the popular mind than have the phenomena in question. I am glad to be able to say, however, that this task has finally been accomplished!

‘Mademoiselle Smith is a high-minded, honourable woman, regarded by all her neighbours and friends as wholly incapable of conscious fraud. Moreover, she has been subjected to the closest surveillance on the part of a number of eminent physicians and scientists of Geneva for more than five years past, while Mrs Jackson, the famous medium from Connecticut whom we have just had the honour to hear, has been subjected to an even closer scrutiny by the Society for Psychical Research for the past fifteen years.

‘Yet in spite of the fact that this society has announced its willingness to become responsible for the entire absence of fraud in both cases, there still remain a considerable number of ultra-sceptical persons who persist in asserting that fraud and deceit are at the bottom of, and account for, all this species of phenomena.