The Durham Deception (34 page)

And what about the other participants in this story – or some of them at any rate? None met so grisly a fate as Doctor Smight, who after being hanged was buried by the wall of the hospital prison, to join the rest of the executed men and women. If you go to search, you will find no name to mark his grave, only the date of his execution (27th July, 1874) inscribed over a downward-pointing arrow.

Eustace Flask fared rather better, one might say. After the arrest of Smight but before his trial, the medium was interred at a quiet ceremony in a quiet church on the fringe of the city. There were several mourners, including Julia Howlett and Septimus Sheridan, with Tom and Helen Ansell to keep them company. In addition there was a small turnout of constables and Inspector Traynor. Also present was Frank Harcourt's widow, Rhoda, who had prevailed on Traynor to escort her. She had fond memories of the deceased – all those little gifts! – and was willing to overlook the normal conventions of being in mourning for her husband to pay her respects to Flask. Then there were a few curious passers-by and droppers-in. Someone quietly but irreverently enquired, as the coffin was being borne in, whether Eustace was flinging around handfuls of flour and tambourines on the inside.

Aunt Julia had to use her influence to find a clergyman to officiate at the funeral and a cemetery willing to take Eustace's remains. His spiritualism was not approved of by the ecclesiastical authorities in Durham and the first three clergy Julia approached had, politely, declined. But Julia was persistent, even relentless, and she eventually found a broad-minded cleric who would send Eustace packing in plain, low-church style. The oddest feature of the ceremony was the presence of a batch of paid mourners, with their professional long faces and black crêpe accessories. Aunt Julia denied that she had paid for them but no one else owned up.

Kitty Partout and Ambrose Barker did not attend Eustace's funeral. They were afraid of provoking more interest from the police. They did not stay in Durham to read about the execution of Anthony Smight in the
Advertiser
. They did not even wait for the outcome of the trial. Some instinct warned them to put a distance between themselves and this city. Besides, the rent on their house in Old Elvet had run out and so they decided to try their luck elsewhere. Not in the desperate business of enticement and robbery but by using the skills which they had acquired from Eustace Flask. Kitty had enjoyed playing the part of the Indian maid, Running Brook, and believed it would be no great step to turn herself into a fully-fledged medium. She had, almost unawares, absorbed plenty of Uncle Eustace's patter and knew the workings of the props such as the writing slate. Ambrose, glad to be reconciled with Kitty, was willing to take the more menial role of protector, carpenter and general handyman.

So Kitty and Ambrose took the train across the Pennines with their spirit cabinet and other gear stowed in the guard's van. They arrived in Carlisle. There Kitty developed her French strain. She became
Mademoiselle
Kitty Partout (always pronounced Partoo) and, once she had done a little research and felt confident enough, she claimed to be in touch with the spirit of Mary Queen of Scots who was Carlisle's most famous prisoner as well as being a French speaker. There are not many mediums who can claim to be inspired by a dead queen and she has met with some success.

Julia Howlett did not spend long in regret for the violent death of Eustace Flask but swiftly turned her attention to another object of interest. She and Septimus Sheridan were sitting quietly in the drawing-room of Colt House. Septimus was reading
The Durham Advertiser
while Julia Howlett was turning the pages of a quarterly called
The Spiritualist Adviser
.

‘Septimus, I have been thinking.'

Septimus put down his paper and looked benignly at his landlady.

‘Yes, Miss Howlett?'

‘We have known each other these many years now.'

‘Indeed we have.'

‘There was a time when our friendship – I hope I may call it a friendship – threatened to turn into something different.'

Septimus noted her use of ‘threatened'. But this was the first time she had raised the subject of their engagement since his arrival in Colt House as her lodger. His heart beating fast, he wondered whether he had the nerve to say what he wanted to say.

‘Miss Howlett, all that is so long ago I can scarcely remember the reasons why it did not, in your apt expression, “turn into something different”. But I do know that, whatever happened, it was my own fault.'

And I have regretted it ever since
, he might have added.

‘Let us not talk of faults or blame, Septimus,' she said. ‘I think the time has come to turn over a new leaf.'

Septimus Sheridan's mouth was suddenly dry. His hands tightened on the newspaper. He could say no more than, ‘It has?'

‘Yes. I think it absurd that we should go on as we have been going on.'

Septimus made no reply. He was half afraid of what she might say next.

Was she about to ask him to leave Colt House? Was she about to make some roundabout suggestion of marriage? He could not decide which would be worse.

‘Absurd, as I say. I have been calling you Septimus for years now while you, most politely, have always referred to me as Miss Howlett. But the time has surely come when you must – when you should – call me Julia.'

Septimus realized that he had been holding his breath. He let out a slow sigh. He rubbed at his straggly white hair. He almost smiled.

‘Of course . . . Julia.'

‘You see how easy it is. Do not let me interrupt your reading.'

‘You are not interrupting anything. But I have just noticed an item about Major Marmont and his troupe. He is booked for a season in the Egyptian Hall.'

‘Good Heavens, he is more intrepid than I thought if he is performing in Cairo.'

‘The Egyptian Hall is in Piccadilly, Miss – Julia. It is a small theatre and it has a reputation for staging new magic tricks. At least that is what it says here in the paper. It also says:
Our Durham readers will no doubt be interested to hear of the progress of Major Sebastian Marmont and his Hindoo troupe after their recent and highly successful run at the Assembly Rooms. The magical Major has now repaired to the capital and
two nights ago he unveiled one of his most extraordinary feats at Piccadilly's Egyptian Hall, a fashionable though not capacious venue for the latest acts from the conjuring world. We have heard of but never yet seen the famous rope trick, supposedly deriving from those fabulous lands in the Far East, and this is a deficiency that Major Marmont is determined to remedy, at least for the fortunate denizens of the metropolis. A correspondent tells us that any of our readers visiting London should be warned that the show is not for the faint-hearted but they may be assured, if they venture among the papyrus-leaf columns of the Egyptian Hall, of suspense and thrills a-plenty. It is to be hoped that if the miracle-working Major chooses to grace the north-east with his presence again he will deign to demonstrate the rope trick.
'

‘Not for the faint-hearted. It sounds rather alarming to me, Septimus. I think we have had enough excitement here in Durham to last us for a year or two.'

‘I agree with you, Julia.'

Septimus had recovered from the business of Eustace Flask's death. He had told no one apart from Julia and Superintendent Harcourt that he had been near the scene of the murder and, in any case, nothing had come of that since, with the arrest of Smight, the investigation came to an end. Septimus returned to his work in the cathedral library, the slow-developing study of the patristic fathers, and did his best to forget about the last few weeks. He was pleased that she was encouraging him to call her Julia. Now he had no other ambition than to be allowed to remain in Colt House as Miss Howlett's – Julia's – lodger or, perhaps more accurately, her companion.

‘I'm sorry, Julia, were you saying something?'

‘I too have been reading,' said Julia, indicating her copy of
The Spiritualist Adviser.
‘Although poor Eustace Flask has crossed over to the other side, the cause continues. It grows, it strengthens.'

‘Of course it does, Miss – Julia.'

‘I know that I am talking to a sceptic, Septimus. But even sceptics may be won round. I read in
The Adviser
of a new movement which is beginning in America, in New York. A woman called Madame Blavatsky has established a ‘miracle club' there. It will provide clear proof that miracles can happen. The article says too that Madame Blavatsky is a Russian. She is investigating the secret lore of the Hindus, the Buddhists and the ancient Greeks, and will shortly announce the formation of a new religion.'

‘A new religion? But I cannot see what is wrong with the old one.'

‘Oh Septimus, you are such a stick-in-the-mud.'

Inspector William Traynor remained in Durham until a couple of days after the conclusion of Smight's trial. He did not wait for the execution. His presence wasn't necessary and he was no ghoul. He had moved out of Inspector Harcourt's house in Hallgarth Street since it would have been improper to continue to lodge with a fresh – and not unattractive – widow. Rhoda Harcourt was adequately distressed by her husband's death and, for months afterwards, she pored over the album of newspaper cuttings which she had compiled, cuttings describing the true-life drama in the Palace of Varieties. Rhoda became both tearful and proud at the references to her late husband as ‘selfless' and ‘heroic'. But she was not, potentially, inconsolable. For example, she was drawn, quite drawn, by the detective from Great Scotland Yard. She was aware of his bachelor status. She had even ventured to ask, in a slightly flirtatious way over the supper table, whether he was a bachelor by – how could she put this? – by conviction, or a bachelor by circumstance. Frank looked sharply at her but the Inspector did not seem put out by the question. In fact he hinted that, yes, although he might once have been disappointed in love he was now perfectly happy with his single existence.

Then the dreadful thing happened and Rhoda donned her widow's weeds, and Inspector Traynor moved into a hotel. But the Inspector uttered many kind and appropriate words after Harcourt's death. She prevailed on him to escort her to the funeral of Eustace Flask since, she said, the medium had been a good friend to both of them (Traynor was surprised to hear this).

At some point Rhoda mentioned having a sister in London, one to whom a visit was long overdue. As soon as a decent period of mourning had elapsed she might consider such a visit. William Traynor, quick to take a hint, said that if she did come to London, he could offer her a most satisfying afternoon. He explained that there was an area where prisoners' confiscated property was stored near the Yard in Whitehall Place. These were notorious prisoners, convicted of the worst or most curious crimes, and in this museum – he might go so far as to call it a museum – was a display of poisoners' phials, the spades and picks belonging to various resurrection men, the death masks of the more famous customers of the hangman, and so on. As a policeman's widow, she would surely be interested in a private tour of these criminal effects. This might not have been Rhoda Harcourt's idea of an enjoyable excursion but she put a good face on it. She promised to write to William Traynor as soon as she was free to visit London. Perhaps she was thinking of her promotion too, from a Durham Superintendent to a Great Scotland Yard Inspector.

Act Five