Karl von Steinberg was naturally a great lover of Art and Beauty, but hard work and want of means, had prevented him hitherto from indulging his taste for either. Now, however, that he had money at his command, he took the keenest pleasure in surrounding himself with everything that struck his fancy, or pleased his eye.
His house in Portland Place was furnished with æsthetic taste and delicacy. The wide hall and staircase were laid with the softest carpets, and decorated with towering palms and hothouse flowers. The salons were hung with rich tapestries, and ornamented with objets d’art, whilst the pictures, transported from the Berlin gallery, formed an uncommon attraction in a private house.
The Baron did not indulge in these expensive luxuries for his own gratification only. He had a liberal and expansive heart, and loved to gather round him as many of his countrymen as he knew in London, as well as all those who had been kind to him in his poorer days.
His sudden accession to Fortune soon drew a crowd of acquaintances to share in his good things, whilst his rank attracted men of good birth and position amongst them.
Over his dinner-table, he had discoursed to scientists and others, of the marvellous powers of Ricardo’s wife, and many had eagerly desired to witness them. This was the reason that he had obtained his old friend’s permission to ask Hannah to his house, to meet some people who were interested in the matter with himself.
On the evening in question, he entertained at dinner the Persian Ambassador, one of the Gentlemen at Arms from the Royal Household, a celebrated brain doctor, who had long made abnormal cases his study, and three or four medical men with their wives, who had all promised to submit to such conditions as he should impose upon them.
In an ante-chamber to the drawing-room, he had had a cabinet prepared for Hannah’s use. A dark velvet curtain drawn across one corner of the apartment, and covered in at the top, proved all that could be desired for the occasion, whilst a moderator lamp, shaded by red silk, cast a subdued light upon the proceedings.
He had not invited Hannah to be present at the dinner; firstly, because he did not like to ask her to leave her husband for too long a time, and secondly, because he thought the presence of his company might intimidate her and make her feel uncomfortable, and perhaps have a bad effect upon the subsequent sitting. He had prepared his guests for her advent, speaking of her as a very quiet body, unaccustomed to society—the wife of an old friend of his, who did not care about her sitting for anybody but himself, but had kindly given permission for her to come there that evening.
He did not exactly ask their indulgence for the roughness of the medium, but he led them to expect a person much their inferior in position—one to whom they might be kind and condescending, but with whom they need not think to associate. She was “the medium”—nothing more.
The men were prepared to stare at her with curiosity, and the women to patronise her, as they might a housemaid who had been endowed with a miraculous voice, or anything else which they did not possess themselves.
No one seemed disposed to sit long at dinner that evening, and they had all assembled in the drawing-room, before Hannah was announced. At last there sounded a cabman’s knock and ring at the hall door.
“There is my medium!” exclaimed Von Steinberg, with alacrity, as he rose and advanced to meet her. The guests all looked up curiously, expecting to see a dowdy, scared-looking person enter the room, with an air of fright at finding herself in the presence of so august a company.
What was their surprise, as their host reached the door, to see it thrown open by the footman, and admit a woman, stout, fleshy, and dressed in rather an incongruous manner for the occasion, but to all intents and purposes as self-possessed as any one amongst them.
Karl von Steinberg was so astonished, that it was with difficulty he could restrain himself from giving open vent to his surprise.
On the threshold stood Hannah—arrayed as he had never seen her before—as he had not believed it possible she would ever think of arraying herself! Her abundant hair, which she had gone to a coiffeur to have dressed, was piled upon the top of her head, thus adding height to her stature—her coarse complexion had received a touch of powder, which softened its natural bloom. On her back she wore a white dress, hanging in straight folds from her shoulders to her feet, and thus leaving her waist and general contour undefined, whilst above it rose her well-covered, pinky neck and arms—looking very youthful and healthy, if somewhat countrified.
Had Hannah added jewellry to this new attire, she would have spoilt it and herself. But luckily for her appearance, she had none to wear—the white, straight, unadorned dress and her abundant hair were positively her only ornaments, and strange to say, notwithstanding her birth and antecedents, she looked exceedingly well in them.
Her manners, also, seemed improved to match her dress. Instead of grinning from ear to ear, as was her wont when pleased, she stood like a young Juno on the threshold, as if she knew she was there to confer a favour, not to receive one. She almost took Von Steinberg’s breath away, but he managed to collect himself and murmur,
“My dear Hannah!——”
“The Marchesa di Sorrento, if you please!” she replied, and taking her cue, he turned, and presenting her to his guests, repeated,
“Allow me to introduce to you, the Marchesa di Sorrento, who has been charming enough to come here for our amusement this evening. Marchesa!” he added, turning to Hannah, “can I offer you nothing in the shape of refreshment, before you undertake your arduous duties on our behalf?”
“Nothing—nothing!” replied Hannah, as she sank into the seat he offered her.
“And how is the Marchese?” demanded Von Steinberg, willing to humour her, whilst his eyes were roving all the while over her pink neck and rounded arms. “Is he feeling pretty well? I was so sorry he would not join us to-night!”
“It is better so! He is not very well,” replied the Marchesa, in a low, modulated voice.
The doctors’ wives, who had come to the gathering in high dresses, and lace caps, were beginning to wonder by this time, if they had done wrong and whether the Marchesa would consider they had committed a breach of etiquette.
They sidled up to the Baron and whispered him to present them more particularly to his friend, and then they tried to “pump” Hannah as to her spiritualistic powers and how she developed them, but the Marchesa was unusually silent. Von Steinberg, who had rather dreaded her becoming communicative, could not sufficiently admire her reticence; she was a deucedly sight cleverer than he had ever given her credit for, he said to himself—and in order that the favourable impression she had evidently made, might be kept up, he was not long in leading the way to the séance room.
Here, the guests having been arranged on seats at one end of the apartment, and cautioned not to stir on penalty of being sent away, Hannah was escorted to the cabinet by Karl, who could not help whispering as he affected to be arranging her comfortably in her chair,
“You are marvellous—you have astonished me—I never knew what a handsome woman you were, before!”
To which compliments she answered by half closing her eyes, as she ejaculated,
“You may be very clever, my friend, but you do not know everything that there is in this world yet,” and immediately shutting her lids, she fell into a profound sleep.
“How unlike Hannah!” thought the Baron, as he mingled once more with his company—“not even like her voice. The accent too—I could have sworn that it was foreign—it is too marvellous—it is past finding out!”
His friends were full of curiosity.
“What a fine woman!”
“We never expected anything of this sort!”
“Has she gone to sleep already?”
“How soon will they appear?”
“What a remarkable power to possess!”
These were among the remarks that poured in upon Von Steinberg, almost in a breath, from his various friends.
“Ladies! Ladies! I can tell you nothing more than I hope you will see for yourselves before long! Have patience, and I think you will be rewarded! Yes! the Marchesa is a very fine young woman, Derrick, as you say. Her age?—between eighteen and nineteen! Where was she educated? I really cannot say. Somewhere in the country, I believe! She is quite new to London, and has been kept in such close attendance on her husband, since her marriage, that she has had no time, nor opportunity, to go into Society.
“But stay—hush!—I think I saw the curtain move. Yes! I am right! There is her principal control, who calls herself, ‘Leonora!’ Mrs. Atkinson, cannot you see the form from where you sit? Draw your chair nearer mine! That is better! You can see the whole figure now!”
“But,” argued the lady, with her glass raised to her eye, “isn’t that the Marchesa? Surely, she is very like! Should you have known them apart, Mrs. Derrick?”
“Why! where are your eyes?” demanded her husband; “the Marchesa struck me as a stoutly built young lady, with light brown hair! This figure is extremely slim—I should say, thin—and her hair is jet black! I cannot discern any resemblance between the two!”
“O! she is certainly thinner,” acquiesced the lady, “and the hair is darker—I admit that—yet the expression, and something about the features, strikes me as resembling the medium. I wonder what sort of feet she has!”
At this hint, Leonora thrust her little bare foot beyond the curtain, for the satisfaction of the sitters. It was a lovely foot—white as marble, slim and smooth, and excited the universal admiration of all the gentlemen present.
“There can be no mistake about that, I think!” exclaimed the Baron eagerly.
“But we did not see the Marchesa’s feet!” grumbled the incredulous lady.
“But surely you could judge by her build, that her feet would not be as small as those!” argued Von Steinberg, who began to wish, as so many have done before him, that he had never invited his friends to a séance.
“My dear! you are making a fool of yourself!” whispered Mr. Atkinson to his wife, “and if you can’t say anything more sensible, I’ll be obliged by your holding your tongue altogether!”
After this, the lady’s remarks were made in the strictest confidence in her neighbour’s ear, and Leonora showed her feet and her hands, and smiled her saucy smiles for the edification of the male portion of the assembly, who were all ready to swear to her beauty and distinct personality from that of the medium. Several other forms made their appearance—one being that of an old man, between whom and the Marchesa, even Mrs. Atkinson could not trace any resemblance, and the séance closed with the apparition of a little child—a boy of four years old, who ran across the room towards Dr. Derrick, and was fully recognised by his wife and himself, as their little Lawrence, a child whom they had lost some twenty years before.
After this apparition, which fully proved the claims of the Marchesa di Sorrento to be one of the most marvellous mediums in the world, the meeting broke up and the sitters dispersed into the adjoining room, Karl von Steinberg alone remaining behind for a few minutes, to see the medium recover from her trance.
As soon as he found himself alone with her, he gently raised one end of the curtain. There lay Hannah in her easy chair—one pinky arm thrown across the velvet elbow, the other beneath her head. She was breathing heavily still and her mouth was slightly open, showing the large, firm, white teeth within.
It had never struck Von Steinberg that she was even good-looking before, but now she looked positively handsome—an embodiment of youth, health, and vigour—more admirable in a doctor’s eyes, than all the anæmic, bloodless, white flesh in the world.
He regarded her quietly for a moment—then yielding to an unaccountable impulse, he stooped and kissed her rounded arm. Hannah woke and caught him—she did not speak, but lay there, with her eyes open, gazing at him—with a languid smile upon her lips.
“Come! come! you are yourself again now!” cried Von Steinberg, quickly, “let us go into the next room! We have had a wonderful séance, and my friends are waiting to congratulate and thank you!”
He dragged her to her feet as he spoke, and led her into the drawing-room.
Here, the scientific men present crowded round her, eager to ascertain if her condition were normal, or if they could trace any lingering remains of the super-human faculty she possessed.
The women looked at her furtively and from a little distance. They could not understand what they had seen—they could not believe it possible, and were more ready to ascribe uncommon cleverness and cunning to the Marchesa, than uncommon powers.
They gazed at her, and whispered to each other, and were generally disposed to consider that the gentlemen were making too much fuss over the matter, and that there was an excellent solution of it, if it could only be found.
Meanwhile their husbands were pressing Hannah to fix an evening to give a sitting at their own homes, and promising her all kinds of preparations in honour of her compliance with their entreaties.
The Baron stood by listening, and a strange feeling of jealousy came over him, that his guests should attempt to monopolise the powers which he had had so much difficulty in securing for himself.
He was determined that Hannah should go to none of their houses.
“Excuse me, gentlemen!” he said, laying his hand on her arm; “but you must allow me to have a voice in this matter! I hold the Marchesa in trust for her husband. It was after much persuasion that he permitted her to attend here this evening for the purpose of pleasing my guests, but I am sure he would never hear of her visiting strangers on the same terms. You must forgive me for saying that she can accept no invitations without the Marchese’s leave!”
Hannah did not resent his interference, nor withdraw her arm from his grasp—but only murmured, “That is so!”
“I had hoped,” said Dr. Derrick, with some degree of offence, “that the Marchesa would have regarded us as friends, after the delightful evening we have spent in her company.”
“But not to the extent of giving you sittings for the investigation of your family,” replied Von Steinberg; “the Marchesa is not strong, although she appears so, and as her medical adviser, I am obliged to limit the amount of her séances. Good-night, Doctor! some other time perhaps I may be able to ask you to repeat the experiments of to-night.”
The visitors departed, and the butler had announced that the Marchesa’s cab was at the door, when Von Steinberg told him to let it wait.
“You must come in here, Hannah, and have a glass of wine or some refreshment after your labours,” he said, leading the way into his dining-room. “I hope you were not vexed at my interference just now, but these people would drain you dry, if you allowed them—not caring one whit, if you sank from fatigue and exhaustion, so long as they gratified their own curiosity concerning you. We must take better care of you than that.”
He poured out a glass of wine, and whilst she was drinking it, he put his finger gently on the folds of her white dress and asked,
“What made you put on this pretty frock to-night, Hannah? I did not know that you possessed such a one! I hardly recognised you at first—you looked so nice! What a difference dress makes. Forgive me for saying, that I really did not know before this evening, that you were a handsome woman!”
“Am I?” said Hannah, with the old, broad grin. “No one ever told me so afore! I thought as I was coming amongst grand folks, I ought to ’ave a nice frock, so I went to Madame Cusada and she made me this. I did feel so queer coming out to see you, as if I’d got next to nothing on.”
“Never mind! It’s quite the fashion, you know, and you will soon get accustomed to it! You have a lovely neck and shoulders, Hannah! Who would think to see your hands, that they were so pink and soft! You must try and get your hands to look like them. They will soon, now that you do no rough work. I should like you to look nice always.”
“Should you?” said Hannah. “I don’t think the Markiss cares ’ow I look! I ’ad to take the money out of ’is trouser pocket to buy this. I arsked ’im for some, but ’e’s so close, ’e wouldn’t give me any, so I just helped myself!”
“O! Hannah! you mustn’t do that again. It’s stealing! And how vexed Ricardo would be, if he discovered the theft! Promise me, that you will never take his money again, without his leave.”
“O! that’s all very well, but ’ow am I to get things else?” grumbled Hannah. “What’s the good of being a Markiness, if I’m to go about in the same old clothes day after day?”
“Well! come to me when you want money! Treat me like a brother, and tell me all your troubles! I have more than I want—a great deal more—and will gladly supply anything that your husband is unable to afford you. For, you must remember, Hannah, he is very poor.”
“Beastly poor!” echoed Hannah. “What a different life your wife will lead! She’ll ’ave everything as ’er ’eart can wish for! Well! some people is borned lucky!”
“But are not much the happier, all the same,” replied Von Steinberg, “if ever I should have a wife, as you suggest, she may envy you your robust health, and your youth, and your mystical powers, Hannah.”
“Lor! they ain’t much good to me,” said the girl, “but if you likes ’em, you’re welcome to ’em, that’s all!”
The Baron took out his purse.
“That is very good of you to say, and if you will not feel offended, I should like to make you a little present in return for your kindness to me. You needn’t tell Ricardo, you know! Let it be a secret between you and me, and when you buy a pretty new frock or a hat with it, think it is a present from your old friend Karl von Steinberg.”
He laid a note for twenty pounds upon her lap as he spoke, and as Hannah’s eyes fell upon it, the expression of her face changed. She took the note in her hands—smoothed it out lovingly—and turned eyes up to his, that were full of something more than gratitude—something, that made the young man stoop down and kiss her; then draw back, as if he had been shot.
“That was wrong of me, Hannah,” he said, “I should not have done it! Will you forgive me? Ricardo would be awfully angry if he heard of it! He would say I was a traitor!”
“He won’t hear of it,” replied Hannah quietly, as she gazed at the bank note.
“Well! put that away safely, and my man shall summon the cab for you, and to-morrow I am to come and give you a lesson in reading and conversation, is that not so? I very much want to cure you of some of your funny little ways, Hannah, and it is so strange to me, that sometimes you appear to have quite cured them for yourself, and then you break out again, as bad as ever. Here is the cab! and here is your wrap. Well! Good-bye till to-morrow, and mind you remember me to Ricardo.”
He watched her drive away in the direction of her home, and walked back into his own, dissatisfied with himself, and all the world.
What on earth, he thought, had made him give way to that impulse to kiss his friend’s wife twice in one evening? He did not admire her! How could he admire a coarse, under-bred woman, with huge hands and feet, and an accent that set his teeth on edge?
And yet there had been something about her that evening, that had attracted him more powerfully than he had considered her capable of attracting anybody—than he had considered himself capable of being attracted. It was not entirely her appearance, though she had looked better than he had ever seen her look before—it was a kind of animalism and magnetism, combined, which had made his senses reel, and caused him to forget her position and his faith to his old friend, Ricardo.
Karl von Steinberg hated himself for what had occurred, and yet he felt that, should the time come over again, he should behave in exactly the same manner. She was a wonderful combination, he thought, of sorcery and coquetry, and gross, inanimate earth! He knew that the Professor did not love Hannah as a man should love his wife—he had told him so direct, yet should he find out that she was tampered with by his friend, he might be provoked into jealousy and view the matter in a very disagreeable light. So that—Von Steinberg decided—for the future, Hannah should be sacred to him!
At the same time, he could not endure the idea that she should do for his acquaintances what she had done for him—go to their houses and make herself as common as a professional medium! He was resolved that, at all costs, he would put a stop to that, even if he were compelled to side with Ricardo, and resolve she should never sit, except at home.
He tried to disgust himself with her, but he could not! He recalled all the deficiencies of her womanhood—told himself that she was coarse, ignorant, and cunning—that she was a woman to be ashamed, not proud, of—and yet he felt drawn back and back to thoughts of her, as though she had been the Goddess of Love herself!
He had said at first, that he would not visit the cottage on the following day, but with the morning’s light, his resolution had faded, and as soon as he had bathed and breakfasted, he called a cab and drove out to Hampstead.
As he alighted, he perceived Ricardo at a little distance, coming towards him. The man’s aspect was most lugubrious. His head was sunk upon his breast. His eyes were cast upon the ground—his hands hung listlessly by his side. He came close to Von Steinberg without seeing him, and when he did see him, he started, as if he were the last person he had dreamt of encountering.
“Good Heavens! Von Steinberg!” he exclaimed; “where have you sprung from? Hannah told me but just now that you were leaving Town for the day.”
Karl von Steinberg stopped one moment to consider why Hannah should have taken the trouble to tell a falsehood, but recovering himself replied,
“Ah! I was thinking of doing so, but changed my mind! She has forgotten that I also said, that if circumstances permitted of my remaining in London, I should run over to give her a little lesson in polite conversation. Your wife is eminently teachable, Ricardo! It is a real pleasure to me to help her a little on her way.”
“For my part, I think you had better let her alone,” returned the Professor, gruffly, “I don’t see that polite education improves her.”
“My dear Ricardo, what is the matter? Have I offended you in any way? Pray tell me at once, if it is so!”
“Since you demand it, I will. I must beg that you will not ask Hannah to your house again, for whatever purpose. It does her no good, but only inflates her foolish head with an idea of importance, which she does not possess, and introduces her to society in which she can never hope to mix.
“Besides, Von Steinberg, my means will not admit of buying her dresses, and paying for her cabs—and when I mention the subject, however gently, she insults me to my face. No! no! it was with much reluctance that I gave my permission for her to attend your party last night, but it must be for the last time—the very last time!”
“I am sorry to hear you say that,” replied Von Steinberg, gravely, “and still more that Hannah should appear ungrateful for your indulgence.”
“But it is ridiculous—absurd—” exclaimed Ricardo, passionately, “that she should pass the evening with such people as you gather round you. Remember what she was—a common scullery maid! She can only bring disgrace on you and me and herself!”
“But you are really mistaken,” said the Baron. “I acknowledge that Hannah is uneducated, but she has much shrewdness, and knows when to hold her tongue. She behaved admirably last evening, and my friends were delighted with her—so much so, that had I not interfered, she would have been overwhelmed with invitations to their houses.”
“Only to save themselves money,” sneered Ricardo, “to procure her services for nothing! She is a curiosity—a new toy—nothing more!”
“I don’t think you quite do justice to Hannah,” observed Von Steinberg, “she is more than a mere machine! She is naturally clever, and can be very amusing and original. And she really looked superb! I was quite astonished at her appearance!”
“She doesn’t go out again. She has done it for the last time!” persisted the Professor, doggedly.
“My dear friend, there is something more the matter than you have told me,” said the Baron, looking anxiously into Ricardo’s face; “you are not yourself this morning! Is there anything else, beside your wife’s very natural desire to see a little of the great world, that troubles you?”
“A great deal more,” exclaimed the Professor, “my life with her is becoming a hell upon earth! I can stand it no longer! You know why I married her, Karl! A coarse, uneducated, ignorant clod (as you yourself called her)—I gave her my name and the sanctity of my home, because she brought my Leonora to me. The great object of my life seemed about to be realised—my yearnings set at rest! I made this clod my wife—no! no! not my wife; I will never give her that sacred title—but I made her mine by law, so that I might keep Leonora ever by my side. And now—can you believe it?—she refuses any more to sit for Leonora!”
“O! you must be mistaken,” cried Von Steinberg, “Hannah may be tired of sitting for a while—you forget the strain it is upon her constitution—but she can never have intended you to understand that she would never sit for you again.”
“She said it, and she meant it. I could read it in her evil eyes,” replied Ricardo, steadfastly. “She told me only this morning, when I asked if we could have a séance together this evening, that she had made up her mind to sit with me no more. She said worse than that,” continued the Professor, in a breaking voice, “she declared that Leonora—my Leonora—was sick and tired of me—that she said she had come often enough—and expressed her determination not to appear again, unless it were for the amusement of a crowd, such as you gathered round you last night—a crowd who cares nothing for her personally,—only to see the wonder of her materialisation. And I—I—loved her so!” he gasped out, as he hid his face from observation, and gave vent to a weak flood of tears.
Karl von Steinberg was much shocked. He was really attached to the Professor, and his conscience pricked him sorely, lest he should, by indirect means, have had some share in bringing this trouble on his head. He turned with him down a narrow lane, where they would be more sheltered from observation, and waited silently until Ricardo’s emotion had subsided.
“How weak—how unmanly—you must think me!” he said at last, as he lifted his worn face and smiled faintly at the Baron, “but I have been much shaken lately! Hannah’s insolence to me—her over-bearing manner—the way in which she uses Leonora’s sacred name in my presence—has sapped my courage!
“O! what an egregious fool I was, not to listen to your kindly advice, when you warned me that to marry her would ruin me, soul and body! It has been just that! Were it not for cowardice, I would put an end to my life to-morrow! There is nothing left me worth living for!”
“My dear friend! I cannot hear you talk like that! I must prescribe a tonic to strengthen your nerves! You are run down, that is all. I am afraid that you work too much and worry too much. Do you know, Ricardo, that these constant séances are very debilitating for you, and though she might have conveyed the intelligence in milder language, Hannah is quite right in saying, that you must not indulge your fancy so frequently.
“I was speaking to her of the danger of it, the other day, and I daresay she was only repeating my sentiments on the subject to you. If she failed to express them rightly, you must remember that she has not been reared in a polite school, and make allowances for her!”
“It is not that!” replied the Professor, shaking his head; “Hannah is not the same woman she used to be—she is altered in every way! Do you remember the first time we saw her at Mrs. Battleby’s?—how shy and awkward she was—how terrified at the effect of her own power—what an unmeaning, but amiable smile, irradiated her dull vacuous countenance?
“Where has all that gone? She is still somewhat clumsy and coarse, but her temper is hasty and uncertain—she has developed the cunning of the Devil—and she will have her own way in everything! It is of no use my trying to guide, or advise her. She considers she is quite capable of doing all that for herself.”
“Well! you could hardly expect her to remain for ever, the dull clod you rightly say she was, when you first fell in with her! She had had no advantages then, nor opportunities of improving herself! Now—she has lived for more than twelve months in your daily presence, and must have been dull indeed, if she had not picked up something of your ways and manners!”
“But she need not insult me!” cried Ricardo, vehemently, “I tell you, Karl, there is hardly a day goes by, but she stings my pride with some covert allusion to the Past! What does she know of it? Have you ever spoken to her of Leonora?”
“Never! beyond her name!” replied the Baron, decidedly, “what you related to me of her life and death, I have kept sacredly to myself!”
“Yes! yes! I am sure of it! I should not have put the question to you,” said Ricardo, feebly, as he wiped the sweat off his forehead; “but, O! Von Steinberg, I am utterly miserable! I cannot bear my life much longer! The sooner it is ended, the better!”
Whatever thoughts had run riot through the Baron’s brain as he set out for the Cottage, were all merged now in the desire to redress the wrongs of his old friend, and bring Hannah to her senses. He parted with Ricardo affectionately—told him that he should speak to his wife on the subject—and extracted a promise from him, that he would come the following day and dine quietly with him in Portland Place. And then he hurried on to the Cottage, determined to give Hannah such a roasting as she had never received from him in her life before.
He found her dressed in a sort of loose tea-gown, seated in the Professor’s arm-chair, and apparently engaged in reading one of her husband’s scientific works.
“Isn’t it strange,” she said, as soon as the usual morning salutations had passed between them, “that I can’t make out half these words? I seem to have forgotten how to read!”
“I don’t suppose that you ever knew!” returned Von Steinberg, who was disposed to be rather curt with her on the occasion.
“Then you are mistaken,” she said, without offence, “for I could read very well—but English is so hard,” she added, pathetically.
The Baron stared at her. Hannah was in one of those queer moods which were so unaccountable to him.
“Never mind that now!” he said, “I want to talk to you upon another matter. I met your husband as I was coming up just now, and had some conversation with him. I think he is looking very ill, and he seems very unhappy! Why are you treating him so badly, Hannah? What has he done, that you should make his life a misery to him?”
“Who says that I have?” she answered.
“He did! He told me that you have refused to sit any more with him. Is that true?”
“Yes! He is wearing me and himself into the grave! He is never contented, but must sit every night. I shall be ill, if it goes on. You must prevent it, Karl!”
It was the first time she had ever presumed to call him by his Christian name and it pleased, whilst it startled him. He drew his chair nearer to hers.
“I will if I can! I have just been telling Ricardo how bad it is for you both! But you are not kind to him, Hannah! He says you insult him, how is that?”
“Bah!” said the girl; “I am sick of his reproaches! They are all on account of Leonora! If I tell him what is the truth, that Leonora is a very violent spirit, and that I am more tired after one of her visits than after twenty others, I have insulted him!
“He is angry now, because you asked me to your house last night, and I was happy to go. He wants to keep me shut up here all day, whilst he gives his lessons. It is intolerable! Does he think I am not made of flesh and blood? But what I told you once before, is true—he married me, not to get a wife, but a medium! Well! he has got a medium, and perhaps he will find after all, that a wife might have been a better thing!”
“Hannah! I am so sorry for all this,” said Von Steinberg, thoughtfully, “Ricardo is a dear, good fellow in reality, but his nature has been soured by adversity. He has lost everything,—wife, fortune, and title—and it has weighed upon his mind. You must bear with him—he is an old man now——”
“I hate old men!” interposed Hannah.
“No! don’t say that, for I was going to add, that he is much older than his years, and that I don’t think that he will live for many more! He is in such a despondent condition too, that I feel very anxious about him, and I want you to watch him carefully. Have you any poison about the premises—beetle poison, or oxalic acid, or any of those mixtures, that servants use for cleaning?”
“What do you mean?” inquired Hannah, with open eyes.
“I mean, that if his distresses weigh too heavily upon his mind, he may get up some night and take anything that comes to hand, to end his life. If you have any such dangerous mixtures in the Cottage, Hannah, you must throw them away, or lock them up. And you will be very kind to Ricardo—for my sake, won’t you?
“Get him a nice little hot supper, and meet him with a kind smile, when he comes in, for he is very low-spirited to-day, and if he asks for a séance, give him one. He has promised to dine with me alone to-morrow, and then I will have a serious talk with him, about all this, and show him the folly of endangering your health and his own for the sake of his occult studies. Will you do this—for my sake?” he concluded, looking in her face.
“Yes, for your sake, Karl,” she answered, in a low voice.
“Ah! why didn’t I see the beauties in your undeveloped character, when we first met, and marry you, instead of Ricardo?” exclaimed the Baron, “there should have been none of this forcing of your inclinations then! I would have carried you abroad, and let your natural talents have full sway, until they had blossomed into fruition. You have a big heart and soul and brain, Hannah! They only require opportunity, to keep pace with those of anybody.”
“And would you have taken me there?” demanded Hannah, with sudden interest.
“There—or anywhere!” cried Von Steinberg, rashly.
Hannah made no answer, except what was conveyed by putting her huge hand into his. He glanced at it, as it lay in his slenderer palm. It was less rough, and of a better colour, than it had been, but it was still very, very far from what a lady’s hand should be! As he regarded it, the same feeling of wonder that had assailed him before, rose in his breast, as to what it was, that fascinated him in this woman.
At times he felt an intolerable repugnance to her—at others, he was drawn towards her, with an irresistible attraction!
Was she a witch? Had she exercised any unholy spell over him? He looked up in her face with its large, heifer-like eyes—so simple, so bovine, it appeared—but as he gazed, an archness stole into the eyes—a wicked smile hovered over the lips—and the Baron felt he was victimised once more.
“And when are we to begin this wonderful lesson?” asked Hannah, presently.
“You don’t seem to require any lesson to-day,” replied Von Steinberg, “you are the most unaccountable creature I ever met in my life! If you would only always remain the same!”
“Then—you would tire of me. It is the way with men.”
“Never!” replied the Baron, after the fashion of lovers; “you are the one only woman who could never tire me! You are unlike all the rest.”
“So you say!” returned Hannah. “But with regard to my husband—he is very despondent, you tell me?”
“Terribly so! He frightens me! Do all you can to cheer him, Hannah.”
“And he is likely to attempt his own life?”
“O! no! no! I hope not, most sincerely! But it will be as well to keep all dangerous articles, such as razors, etc., out of his reach, until his fit has passed away.”
“Che sarà, sarà!” murmured Hannah, languidly.
Von Steinberg started again. Had her lips really uttered Italian words, and with a foreign accent.
“You frighten me sometimes,” he said, with a gasp. “Where on earth did you pick up that Italian proverb? We shall have you talking Greek next.”
“Is not the Professor Italian?” replied the girl. “Am I always to listen and never to learn? What a fool you must take me for?”
“I take you for the sharpest woman I ever met in my life,” exclaimed the Baron, as he kissed the large hand which he still retained in his. “And now I must go, as I have an appointment at one. Good-bye! Think a great deal of what I have said to you, Hannah—and think a little of me!”
His eyes said more than his words, as he walked hastily out of the Cottage, as if afraid to trust himself any longer in her presence.
Hannah looked after him lazily.
“He will be mine, when I choose it,” she said to herself, “and it may not be long first! Ah! to have that house and all its contents placed at my feet, as a free-will offering! I should feel as if I were in Heaven!”
She rose slowly from her chair, for Hannah had become very lazy in those days, and putting on her walking things, left the Cottage also. When she returned, she found the Professor had reached home before her.
It was one of the days on which he had his afternoon to himself.
Hannah was well pleased with the turn her fortunes seemed to be taking. She was disposed to be amiable, but Ricardo had already been too deeply wounded, and received her advances with repugnance.
“Leave me alone!” he said, testily, “I require none of your attentions! I suppose my friend Von Steinberg has been talking to you, and you feel ashamed that he should have heard of your bad conduct. But I told him all! There is no need for me to conceal anything.
“He saw you with me first—an ungainly, ignorant, uncouth clod of the earth—they were the very words he used with regard to you—and he knows what I did, in raising you to the position of my wife! He prayed and implored me to pause and consider what I was doing before I brought disgrace on my name and my birth and my family connections, by linking myself to a maid-of-all-work. But I was mad—I wouldn’t listen to him. Had I done so, I should have been spared the awful shame you have put me to, since! I married you, because I believed you to be a simple, amiable, kind-hearted girl——”
“You didn’t!” interposed his wife, “you married me, because you saw that I was a wonderful medium, and because you were always crying after your beloved Leonora, and hoped, through me, to have daily intercourse with her! Why don’t you tell the truth, whilst you’re about it?”
“Well! then, that was the truth, since you will have it,” replied the Professor, “but I wish now that I had died before I ever met you. You refuse to give me séances—you even say that Leonora is tired of coming to see me—you are not commonly grateful for the benefits I have bestowed upon you.”
“Where are they?” cried Hannah, insolently. “I should like to see them. Do you call it a benefit, for a young, hearty girl to be married to an old dotard, who makes about enough money to keep himself in victuals and drink, and no more?
“Do you think it is any pleasure to me to be shut up in this little hole, whilst you’re at work, without money, or amusements, or friends, and when some one is good enough to take pity on me and ask me to a pleasant party, you declare that it shall be the last time, and you will never let me go out again.”
“And I repeat it,” said Ricardo, “you are not fit for such gatherings. They only make you insolent and over-bearing at home. I told you when we were married, that you would have to perform the household duties, as I could not afford to keep a servant. You persuaded me to go against my own word, but it is over. I shall dismiss the girl this evening, and for the future you shall do your own work.
“No more parties, nor dresses for you, Madame Ricardo! You are not fitted for them. One might as well bring a cow into a drawing-room! I have burned the dress you wore last night, and no money will you ever get out of me to buy another!”
“That will be no obstacle!” exclaimed Hannah, triumphantly. “I have money of my own—more than you are ever likely to have to give me.”
“Where did you get it?” said Ricardo, curiously. “Who gave it to you?”
“That’s my business, and not yours,” cried the woman, “if you are such a beggar, that you cannot afford to give your wife a new dress, she must get it how she can!”
“My God!” he cried, “what do you insinuate? What do you mean me to understand?”
“What you like! You can prevent my leaving the house, p’r’aps, but you can’t make me open my mouth, if I choose to keep it closed.”
“You are a devil! You are not fit to live!” exclaimed the Professor, as he rose from his chair, as if to advance towards her. But Hannah was already round the other side of the table.
“You’d like to kill me, wouldn’t you?” she cried; “as you killed Leonora, but you would find that I wouldn’t take it quite as quietly as she did!”
At that name, and the announcement that Hannah knew how his first wife had left the world, Ricardo sank down into the chair, from which he had risen, trembling like an aspen leaf.
“Leonora! Killed Leonora!” he gasped, with a face of ashes; “who told you such a—a—lie? What do you mean by speaking to me like that—of accusing me—of—of——”
Hannah stood where she was, and laughed at him.
“Ah! who?—who?” she said. “Find out! It isn’t all jam to have a medium in the house, Professor! If sperrits come for one, they will for another, and you don’t s’pose they’d keep any secrets from me! Poor Leonora! I wouldn’t ’ave been ’er, by long chalks! And you—who pretended to be so fond of ’er! Ugh! go along with yer! If you’d had your rights, you’d been hung on a gallows tree long afore this!”
The wretched Professor could not answer her! He could only hide his face in his hands, and groan. His dread secret dragged from him, as it were, and spread out for the coarse criticism of Mrs. Battleby’s maid-of-all-work!
He did indeed feel at that moment, as though his punishment was greater than he could bear.
“It’s of no good crying over it now,” taunted Hannah, as the unhappy man stirred in his seat; “you didn’t mind how much she cried—did you? You found her on a sofa with young Centi, singing a song for him, maybe, or playing at cat’s-cradle, like a couple of babies together—and you took out your knife, and ran her through the ’eart, without a thought, or a pang——”
“No! no! not without a pang, God knows!” moaned the unfortunate Professor.
“You drove your murdering weapon through ’er ’eart,” continued the girl, without noticing his interpolation, “with no more mercy, than if she had been a dangerous animal.
“She ’ad youth and beauty, and all ’er life before ’er, but you cut it short, without waiting for an explanation of what you saw! Do you know what she was thinking of, just as she was dying, and you watched the film steal over her eyes and the blood spirting in little jets from her blue lips. If she could ’ave spoke to you in that moment, ’er last words would ’ave been, ‘I ’ate you!’ ”
“Let me go! Let me go! I can stand no more!” cried Ricardo, as he rushed past her, and mounted the stairs to his own room.
Even there, Hannah would have followed him, and continued her mental torture, but he was too quick for her, and had locked the door before she reached it. So she was compelled to go downstairs again, and think of some way of passing the afternoon.
The Baron had begged her to provide a tasty supper for Ricardo, and she would not have liked him to hear that she had neglected his advice, so she arrayed herself in her walking attire and sallied forth to purchase it.
The Markiness had made quite a little circle of acquaintances in Hampstead, where her manners and her title, so incongruous with each other, had excited a great amount of curiosity and interest. Mrs. Barnett, the grocer’s wife, declared that she had quite turned her ideas regarding the aristocracy, she was so affable and friendly-like, and Mrs. Thomson, the butcher’s lady, said that if she had not known that she was a marchioness, she should have taken her for one of themselves.
So Hannah, after having enjoyed an hour or two of converse with these amiable creatures, returned to the Cottage with her little basket on her arm, well primed for supper.
First, there was a fowl, ready roasted, which she had bought at the ham and beef shop, with a pound of cut ham to eat with it—a crisp lettuce and some ruddy tomatoes, which were Ricardo’s greatest luxuries—and half a dozen cheese-cakes—which were hers.
When, with the aid of her little maid, Charlotte, who numbered fifteen years, she had set these dainties forth upon the table, Hannah sent a message up to her husband to say that his supper was ready, but in a few minutes Charlotte returned, gaping, with the intelligence that the Markiss wouldn’t answer her, and she thought he must be asleep. Then Hannah piled a plate with something of everything on the table, and carrying it upstairs herself, thundered such a tattoo upon the Professor’s door, that he was obliged to answer it.
“Who is there?” he inquired.
“It’s me—Hannah!—I’ve brought you up your supper!”
“I don’t want it! I don’t want anything! Go away!” was the reply.
“Come on! Don’t be foolish! You’d better eat it!” said his wife.
“No! no! All I want is to be left alone!”
“All right!” exclaimed Hannah, as she placed the plate with a loud clatter on the floor, “there it is, anyway, so don’t go and say you haven’t had it!”
She bounced downstairs again, with the tread of an elephant, which Ricardo, hearing, turned on his bed and sighed.
Hannah, however, did not sigh, but applying herself to the remains of the supper, soon left nothing but the chicken bones for Charlotte to dispose of. Then she took out some of her needle-work, and toiled industriously for the best part of an hour.
But her mind was not entirely easy the while. She was fidgety and anxious. More than once she rose from her chair and, casting the embroidery aside, paced up and down the little room.
“What a fool I am!” she thought, “why should I have any scruples on the matter? Had he? Ha! ha! ha! had he?”
When nine o’clock struck, she took a spirit flask from the cellaret and called to her little maid to bring hot water.
“I am going to mix the Markiss a glass of whiskey and water, he is sure to drink it during the night, if not now, and he will want something to make him sleep. Go and fetch a tray—now, make haste, and bring it to me!”
“Yes! Mum—my lady!——” replied Charlotte, who had never been able to acquire the proper method of addressing a Marchioness.
When she had left the room, Hannah put sugar and lemon and whiskey and hot water into the tumbler—but then she seemed to hesitate for a moment.
“Folly!” she said to herself, “che sarà, sarà! I must be free!”
She dashed a small quantity of white powder into the glass, as she thought thus, and a moment later Charlotte appeared with the tray.
“Take that up to the Markiss,” she said; “and if he don’t answer you, say you’ve a message for him from the Baron, and when he opens the door tell him the Baron ordered me to send him up that the last thing. Do you understand?”
“Yes! Mum—my lady!”
“Now, don’t forget. Say first—‘Please, Markiss, the Baron has sent you a message’—and when he opens the door, hand him the tray and say, ‘The Baron begged as you would drink this,’ and leave it there.”
“Yes! Mum—my lady!” repeated the child.
The ruse succeeded. Ricardo at first refused to unlock his door, declaring he wanted nothing more that night, but when he heard that Von Steinberg had a message for him, he left his bed to hear what it was.
When Charlotte, faithful to her orders, thrust the tray and tumbler into his hands, and repeated the message, Hannah heard him grumble,
“What did you disturb me for such nonsense for? Here! put the tray down, and don’t you dare to come near me again to-night, or I’ll send you home to your mother. Do you understand?”
“Yes! Markiss—yes! my lord!” stammered the child, as she scuttled down the stairs again, and ran into the kitchen.
All was silent in the Professor’s room, and Hannah went back to her needlework. It was the time that she usually went to bed, but she did not feel as if she could sleep that night. At ten o’clock her little maid crept into the parlour, white and trembling.
“Please, Mum—my lady——” she commenced, half crying, “there’s sich a rum noise going on upstairs—like a dog moaning. Please, do you think it can be the Markiss!”
“The Markiss, child!” said Hannah, who had also suddenly gone unaccountably white, “why! what do you mean? Why should the Markiss make a noise? It’s most likely the wind you hear through the trees!”
“O! no! Mum—my lady—please! there’s no wind to-night, and I’m afraid to go up to bed,” continued Charlotte, weeping.
“What nonsense!” exclaimed her mistress, “I’ll go with you, then, but what you have to look so scared for, I can’t imagine!”
In consequence, she mounted to the upper storey, with the shrinking little maid in front of her. Since Von Steinberg’s departure, Hannah had occupied the room which had been his, whilst her servant slept in that which had been hers. As they gained the head of the stairs, a deep, low groan issued distinctly from Ricardo’s apartment, and made Charlotte burst out afresh.
“O! please, Mum, please, Mum—there it is again! O! I’m sure the pore Markiss must be very bad in his insides! Won’t you knock at the door and see?”
“Yes! yes! as soon as you have gone to bed,” replied Hannah, who was looking almost as frightened as her handmaid. She pushed the girl into her chamber and turned the key on the outside. Whatever was happening in her husband’s room, she would see by herself. She tapped lightly on the door, but no answer proceeded from the bed, only another low half-stifled moan, as though an animal lay dying there.
Hannah flew downstairs again and passed out of the front door into the fresh evening air. She was not afraid of Charlotte turning witness against her; she would accept any explanation she chose to give—she was only afraid of encountering those hollow groans again.
After half an hour’s suspense, she re-entered the cottage. A violent tapping was proceeding from Charlotte’s door. Hannah went first to inquire why she made such a noise.
“O! please, Mum—my lady—’is groans is dreadful! Won’t you give ’im a drop of ile, or a pennorth of peppermint?”
“He has locked his door, Charlotte, you know, and I can’t get in. But if he is not quiet soon, I must send for the Doctor!”
She conjured her little maid to be easy, and went downstairs in search of a box of carpentering tools. Here she found a crowbar, with which she knew she could force the Professor’s door. She crept up again with it in her hand, and listened attentively. There was not a sound in the room of any kind.
“Either it is over,” she thought, “or he is asleep! Ought I to send for assistance, or force the door myself? Should I not be justified in any circumstances in entering the room, considering the groans that have proceeded from it? Charlotte will be my witness to them! And if a stranger went in, and he—should—should be still alive—alive enough to give evidence against me—O no! at all risks, I must be the one to see him first, and then I can judge what is best to be done.”
She applied the crowbar to the door with her vigorous hand as she thought thus, and the lock gave way before it. For an instant, she hesitated on the threshold—then summoning her courage, dashed in and approached the bed.
The Professor was just dying—his eyes were glazed—his hands fallen lifeless by his side. The sight, instead of inspiring pity in Hannah’s breast, roused a demoniacal fury there. Her husband looked at her as though to say “You have done this”, and she bent over him and hissed one word into his ear—“Leonora!”
At the mention of that name, which had been his pride and his shame throughout his life, the Professor gave a final moan and slightly turning over—died! His wife gazed at him for a moment, as if she could not believe the truth—then, with a shudder, she flung the blanket over his staring eyes, and rushed from the room.
Her next move was to unlock Charlotte, and order her to dress herself as soon as possible and go to Portland Place to summon the Baron.
“To Portland Place, Mum—my lady!” exclaimed the little maid, who had hardly ever walked out by daylight, alone.
“Yes! the Markiss is very ill! You must take a cab and go there as quickly as you can, and beg the Baron to come to me at once! Say that your master is in terrible pain—tell him of the moans you heard—and that I am very unhappy about it, and must have a doctor at once. Mind you say how dreadfully anxious I am, Charlotte, and that I have done everything I can, but it is of no good!”
“ ’Ave you been into ’is room, Mum?” demanded Charlotte, with surprise.
“Yes! yes! but don’t stand chattering there! Go as quick as ever you can, and don’t forget one word of what I have told you.”
When the child was gone, Hannah sat down in the parlour to await the issue of events. She could not return to the bedroom nor draw the blanket off those staring eyes. There Von Steinberg found her, an hour later, when he returned with the little maid.
“Why! what is this?” he exclaimed, as he took her hand; “is my poor friend ill? Where is he? Let me see him at once!”
“There!” replied Hannah, pointing upwards with her finger; “He looks dreadful! I can’t stand it! Whatever has happened, that he should be like this?”
“And you have left him alone, when he is so ill?” said the Baron, reproachfully, “O! Hannah! I did not think you would do that!”
“He has locked himself into his room all day—Charlotte will tell you so—and wouldn’t come down to supper, or take anything—and just now I forced open the door, and he swore at me—so I was frightened, and sent for you!”
“You did right!” said Von Steinberg, as he ran up the stairs to Ricardo’s room.
But the first glance told him that his services would be of no avail. The Professor was dead as a doornail. His head was thrown back—his eyes were wide open and starting from their sockets—his body had half fallen from the bed.
Karl von Steinberg felt his heart—pressed his eyeballs—laid his hand on his pulse—and uttered a deep sigh.
“Gone! my poor Ricardo!” he exclaimed, “and I fear, by your own hand!” He caught sight of the tumbler, which had contained the whiskey and water, and raising it to his nose, shook his head mournfully.
“As I thought!” he mused. “O! I should not have left him alone, after what he said to me this morning! It is half my fault that this has happened. I shall never forgive myself!”
He lifted the poor wasted carcase on to the bed, closed the eyelids, laid the arms by his side, and softly closing the door, went downstairs again.
“My poor girl!” he exclaimed, as he rejoined Hannah, “you must prepare yourself for a great shock. Our good friend has left us, Hannah! He is dead!”
“Quite dead,” repeated, Hannah; “are you sure?”
“Quite sure! and, what is worse, I am certain he took his own life! O! I blame myself so much for leaving him, after the conversation we held this morning. I should have watched over him better. But I did not think he was really in earnest. My poor Ricardo! I think his work and these séances have been too much for him, and over-taxed his brain. He was the last man that I thought would have contemplated suicide! But it is too evident! The glass on his table contains the remains of arsenic—I could tell it at a glance!”
“Arsenic!” echoed Hannah, “but where can he have got arsenic?”
“Anywhere! It is used for so many things. Doubtless he bought it to-day whilst he was out. How did he appear on his return home?”
“Very queer!” replied Hannah, “he wouldn’t speak to Charlotte or me, but went straight up to his room and locked the door. I went out and got him a nice little supper, as you told me——”
“Good girl!” interpolated the Baron——
“But he wouldn’t touch it, though I took it up to him myself, but I thought he would like some whiskey and water. So Charlotte and me, we mixed it for him—didn’t we, Charlotte?—and she carried it up, but even then he wouldn’t open his door, until she told him that you had ordered him to take it! And then I suppose he—he——”
“Yes! there is no question about it. He mixed the poison he had purchased, with the whiskey, and drank it off. My poor friend! Little did I think he would come to so sad an end! Well! I suppose the hankering to rejoin his Leonora was too strong for him. I only hope he is happy with her now!”
“I fancy she has had enough of him,” remarked Hannah.
“Anyway we shall hear the truth from him when he comes back to us! I should think he was sure to come back through you, Hannah!”
Hannah gave a visible shudder.
“O! don’t speak of such a thing, pray! I shouldn’t like him to come back. I don’t think he behaved well to me at the last! I don’t never want to see him again.”
“Don’t say that! You will think differently after a time. You mustn’t blame him, Hannah! The very fact that he has taken his own life should convince you that he was not completely in his right mind. Poor Ricardo! He suffered much in his lifetime, and endured many losses. We must think as kindly of him now, as we can.”
She seemed so visibly affected, and displayed such a horror of going upstairs, that the Baron took all the arrangements that were necessary in his own hands. Before nightfall, everything was settled regarding the inquest, which was to take place on the following day—the remains of the poor Professor were placed in a coffin—and the ground was purchased wherein he was to be laid.
Von Steinberg had sufficient influence to prevent a verdict of felo de se, being brought in, and his friend was allowed to be buried with the rites of the Church.
As soon as it was possible, he erected a handsome monument above his grave, which detailed his real name and rank, and then the Baron turned his attention to Hannah. She still remained in the Cottage and appeared to have no intention of leaving it.
Von Steinberg knew that in order to accomplish this, she must have some assistance. All the Professor’s modest savings did not amount to a couple of hundred pounds, and these the widow was very anxious should be deposited in a bank for her against a time of need.
“But how are you to live meanwhile, Hannah?” questioned Von Steinberg who was most anxious for her welfare; “you have never kept house for yourself yet, you know, and money goes a very little way in London. You must let me help you! I will take no denial! Look on me as a brother, and let me have the pleasure of doing for you, what dear old Ricardo would have done for a friend of mine, left in similar circumstances.”
“But I do not need it. I shall have enough!” persisted Hannah.
“How do you intend to get it? What do you mean to do?” he asked.
“Heaps of things,” she replied; “I am a good needlewoman and a good cook!”
“Needlewoman! Cook!” exclaimed the Baron, indignantly, “do you suppose for an instant, that I will allow the widow of my dear friend Ricardo to engage in such menial pursuits? You are much mistaken if you do. Besides, you have adopted his title. How do you suppose that will accord with the occupations you speak of?”
“Never mind!” said Hannah, decidedly, “I know what I’m about, and I don’t want any money from you.”
She was obstinate, and he ceased to worry her on the subject. All the same, he often wondered how it was, that she continued, without aid, to occupy the cottage and retain the services of her little maid.
Once or twice he questioned Charlotte, but could get no satisfactory information from her. “The Markiness goes out to see her friends in the evenings mostly,” she said, “and all day she works at her dresses, and shows me how to cook the dinner.”
This reticence on the part of the Marchesa di Sorrento, made Von Steinberg all the more eager to pursue her and win her to be his. Perhaps she knew this, as well as he did himself, at any rate it had the effect of binding him more closely to her.
Shortly after the Professor’s death, his friend felt anxious to communicate with him. It would be the best test he had ever had in his life, he thought, if dear old Ricardo would come back in a recognisable form and assure him of his identity.
He never doubted but that Hannah, when the first shock of her husband’s death was over, would gladly fall in with his wishes and hold a séance, so that the Professor might have an opportunity of communicating with them both again.
But, to his surprise, she steadfastly opposed the idea.
She didn’t want to sit at all, she said. She had had more than enough of that sort of thing during her married life, and never even wished to hear the subject mentioned. She no longer believed in it—the spirits were not the people they professed to be—she had come to the conclusion that her father and mother were right, and that they were devils sent by the Evil One himself to lure her soul to hell.
Von Steinberg reasoned and argued with her to no effect. She remained unmoved by all his persuasions, and since he had only pursued the subject, as a science and not a sentimentality, he gave in to her wishes and said no more about it.
He was convinced that Spiritualism was a fact, and resolved to remain satisfied with that knowledge. So—although he longed to see his old friend again, and learn the true reason of his rash act—he decided that it was not worth while annoying Hannah to obtain it.
The circumstance, however, made him turn his attention in the direction of other mediums, and in talking with his acquaintances he said, more than once, how anxious he was to fall in with a reliable one.
In consequence of this, a man named Colonel Roster said to him one day,
“By the way, Von Steinberg, my wife has got hold of a most wonderful medium, and she is to sit at our house this evening. Would you care to join the party?”
“Thanks! I should like it exceedingly! There is nothing interests me more. Does this medium produce materialisations?”
“O dear yes! Nothing else, I believe! The last time she sat with us, my sister appeared, exactly as she was in life. I could have sworn to her anywhere, and several of our friends have seen their relations. Do come! Mrs. Roster will be delighted to see you!”
“I will, with pleasure!” replied the Baron.
At the appointed time, he presented himself at the Rosters’ house, and found a large party assembled there, all of whom were talking of nothing but the marvellous powers of Mrs. Brown, the medium who was expected that evening.
“Where did you pick her up?” asked the Baron, of the lady of the house.
“Through an advertisement in one of the spiritualistic papers,” she replied, “she is rather uncouth at times, but essentially reliable. Indeed, I never met anyone like her before. But here she comes!”
Von Steinberg looked up with curiosity, and encountered the form and face of Hannah.