The Durham deception

After the Trick

Tom and Helen could only admire the way in which Sebastian Marmont inveigled Flask into stepping on to the stage and then entering the Perseus Cabinet. Tom had not taken seriously Marmont’s promise – or threat – that he would attempt to involve Flask in one of his acts but evidently the Major had been planning all the time to pick on the medium or at least to show him the superiority of his form of magic. That was why Eustace and Kitty were given complimentary seats near the stage and why Marmont had not allowed much time to pass before he selected Eustace, even though to most of the audience it would have seemed a random choice.

The Ansells were sitting at the back of the stalls with Julia Howlett and Septimus Sheridan. When they saw Flask whispering in Major Marmont’s ear, Helen also whispered in Tom’s ear, saying, ‘That is no love message.’

On Tom’s other side, Julia Howlett said rather more loudly, ‘I do hope nothing terrible is going to happen.’

Tom thought the magical act was reminiscent of Flask’s, except that everyone was aware it was done with the intention of deceiving and so, in a sense, no one could feel cheated. But there was the same role for the performer’s assistants: the Hindoos in Marmont’s act; Ambrose and Kitty in Flask’s. There was a similar introductory speech in which the performer drew attention, whether subtly or boastfully, to what he was going to do. There were invitations to check for fraud by examining clothes or furniture. There was even a comparison between the spirit cabinet used by Flask and the Perseus one belonging to Marmont.

The Ansells watched as the medium was almost pushed into the cabinet by Marmont, and the flute and drum noises started up. The Major duly reappeared and the doors were left open behind him to show that the cupboard was bare.

‘What next?’ said Helen.

‘I expect our friend will turn up through a trapdoor in the floor or something.’

‘I wouldn’t mind if he vanished for ever,’ said Helen but softly so that her aunt should not hear.

But Eustace Flask did not reappear. The performance was, seemingly, concluded even if in a rather unsatisfactory way. Wasn’t it part of the unspoken agreement between a magician and his audience that whatever had been done on stage, whether it was a breakage or a dismemberment or a disappearance, should be put right by the end of the show? But not this time. The Major and his Hindoos stepped forward to take the applause of the house and the curtain came down.

As the crowd was filing out, Tom observed Kitty pushing her way through it in an agitated way. It made him wonder exactly what had happened to Eustace Flask.

There were other interested parties in the Assembly Rooms that night. One of them was Frank Harcourt who had brought his wife Rhoda to see the sensational new magician. The couple were sitting in the less expensive seats, which Rhoda complained about from the moment they arrived. But her attention was soon caught by Marmont’s act and she forgot to gripe as the evening went on. When Eustace Flask was summoned to the stage she sat up straighter and nudged her husband in the ribs. For his part, Superintendent Harcourt was rather glad to see the medium shown up in the public eye. Perhaps it would hasten his departure from Durham. And he was even more glad when Flask did not emerge from the Perseus Cabinet. In fact, his hope that Flask might never reappear was at that instant being echoed by Helen Ansell.

In the cheapest seating at the top of the house was Ambrose Barker. He had been keeping a covert eye on Flask and Kitty for most of the day and turning over schemes of retribution in his mind without resolving on any firm plan. Ambrose might have wondered how Flask would manage without him but he was no fool and knew that the answer was, he would manage pretty well. Flask’s schemes in Durham had almost come to a head. He did not need help any longer putting up his spirit cabinet or taking off his frock-coat. So Ambrose was still undecided on his retaliation. He had not even decided whether Flask alone should feel the full force of his anger or whether Kitty ought to be included.

Seeing the pair heading for the theatre, and following at a distance, Ambrose had bought himself a sixpenny seat. Once the performance was underway he soon realized that the magician and the individual who’d tried to expose the guv’nor a couple of days before were one and the same person. Apart from the voice, there was something about the way the man held himself. When Flask was brought into the act, Ambrose relished his discomfort. And when Flask failed to come out of the Perseus Cabinet, Ambrose wondered how the trick was managed.

There was one other individual who attended the performance at the Assembly Rooms and who took a more than usually close interest in the proceedings. It was the man who had arrived in Durham on the same train as the Ansells, the man in the shabby clothes who had pretended to find Helen’s lilac handkerchief on the river path. He too had sat up straight at one point in the performance but it was nothing to do with Eustace Flask. Rather it was connected to the appearance of Major Sebastian Marmont. This individual had noticed the name on the advertisements plastered around town and bought a ticket. When he observed the soldier-turned-magician striding towards the footlights, when he heard the first words out of the performer’s mouth, he experienced a shock of recognition. And then he started to think, very hard.

Eustace Flask did not reappear again that evening or in the early part of the night. He failed to return to the house in Old Elvet. Kitty Partout waited up for him. She had already shoved her way backstage at the theatre to confront Major Marmont if necessary, only to find that the magician had departed and that no one seemed able to help her in her quest for the medium. Yes, he had ‘disappeared’ but it was all part of the show, wasn’t it? In real life, people don’t simply vanish in front of one’s eyes. It’s a trick, an illusion.

Kitty eventually dropped off in the small hours of the morning. She had not been sleeping very long when she was wakened by the sound of someone on the stairs. Kitty felt chill. But after a moment she recognized the tread as Eustace’s. From her bed she called out drowsily, ‘Where you been?’

Flask had not of course disappeared for good after his entry into the Perseus Cabinet. He might be physically untouched but he was the humiliated victim of a trick and he was very angry with Sebastian Marmont. Indeed, they had almost come to blows afterwards although, as during the session at Miss Howlett’s, the medium had restrained himself. He suspected that the Major would be capable of licking him with one hand tied behind his back. However, he had taken a kind of revenge on the magician and also had the pleasure of insulting his Indian assistant.

He spent at least an hour striding about the old town, feeding his fury against Marmont and contemplating further acts of retribution. It was not so far from midsummer and there was still a tinge of light in the west. Flask was now standing on Framwellgate Bridge looking down at the waters of the Wear. His heart was as dark as the river. Towering above him to his left were the silhouettes of the castle and the cathedral. It was close on midnight and perhaps not very safe for a nervous individual like Eustace Flask to be out and about alone. He started from his reverie when he heard footsteps on the cobbles behind him. He wheeled round. There were gaslights at each end of the bridge but he was standing in the middle in a pool of darkness.

A man was coming in his direction. Flask remembered the item which was tucked in one of his pockets. Too late to get it out now. He might have run but instead he was rooted to the spot, his back against the parapet of the bridge.

‘Don’t do it,’ said the man. ‘I have been watching you.’

Flask’s first reaction was one of relief. The man had an educated manner. He did not sound like a ruffian or a bludger.

‘Do what?’ he said, trying to control his voice.

‘Throw yourself into the river.’

‘It never crossed my mind,’ said Flask, truthfully. ‘I – I am out for a stroll.’

‘I wonder what it would be like to throw oneself from a bridge and plunge into the water,’ said the man. He was standing next to Flask by now. Then he turned about to stare down into the river. The medium could not make out much of the other’s appearance, except that he was clean-shaven and about Flask’s own height.

‘What passes through your mind as you plunge through the dark air? Regret or elation or despair? The fall would not last much more than a second. Is it a long second, I wonder?’

Eustace Flask had relaxed for an instant but now began to think that he might be in the presence of a lunatic.

‘No doubt you consider this as idle speculation, sir,’ said the man, as if he guessed Flask’s thoughts. ‘But I have had good cause recently to imagine the last plunge from a bridge – then the immersion in dirty, fast-flowing water – the instinctive struggle to survive – the inexorable way in which one’s garments become waterlogged and drag the wearer down. Even if you had willed yourself every step of the way thus far, do you think you would sink without a fight?’

‘Probably not,’ said Flask.

The man shivered, though whether from the chill of the evening or the thought of a watery death, Flask did not know. He made to move off but the man put out a hand to detain him.

‘Not so fast, my friend. I saw you at the theatre this evening.’

‘I don’t want to talk about that.’

‘You are not well disposed towards Major Marmont, I think?’

‘No.’

‘You would like revenge on him?’

Flask, normally so fluent, said nothing but that was answer enough for the man, ‘I could tell you things that might surprise you.’

The man might have been about to say more but they were interrupted by the sight of the beat constable at the eastern end of the bridge. He was standing under the gaslight, clearly visible and presumably a deterrent to any nefarious activity in the area.

‘But not now,’ said the man. ‘Meet me tomorrow morning and I shall tell you more.’

‘Where?’

‘Here. At ten.’

He spun on his heel and loped across to the western side of the bridge. He passed under the pool of light from the gas lantern on that side and, for an instant, Flask thought of a predatory beast; there was something so silent and purposeful in his movement. Still, there could be no harm in meeting him again, could there?

Something had fluttered to the ground as the other man walked away. Flask picked it up. It felt like a handkerchief. He held it to his nose and detected the faintest trace of a woman’s scent.

The Medium Departs

As far as the rest of the world was concerned, Eustace Flask came to light the next day. A band of workers were using saws and axes to cut up a fallen tree on the eastern bank of the river where it doubled back on the far side of the cathedral. Their overseer was alerted by the cries of a woman. With a couple of his companions, he followed the direction of the sounds. The three ran a couple of hundred yards or so along the bank and then up the wooded slope to a small clearing.

There lay the body of a man, face up. He had died violently and blood was welling from a deep wound on his neck. But, more shocking and surprising than this sight, was the presence of a woman standing close to the body. When she saw the men enter the clearing, her cries ceased and she began to shake. The woodman made to go towards her but one of his companions held him back. He said nothing but nodded towards the woman’s hands, which she was holding out stiffly in front of her. They were bloody.

The overseer despatched the man to get help while he and the other worker kept a wary watch over the woman. After a time she seemed to realize the oddness of her posture. She let her hands drop to her sides. She made no move to run away but neither did the men come any closer. After a time – which seemed a very long time – there was the sound of whistles and police rattles and a constable came red-faced and panting into the clearing. Within moments others arrived, including a superintendent. Two of them approached the woman warily as if closing in on a wild horse.

‘I think you had better come with us, Miss,’ said the superintendent.

‘It’s Mrs,’ said the woman. Her voice was high and unsteady.

‘You had still better to accompany us,’ said the officer. He spoke quite gently. As he and a constable led the woman away out of the clearing, the others clustered about the body which would very soon be identified as that of Mr Eustace Flask.

The workmen had not been the only people in the vicinity of Flask’s body. There were various other individuals on this eastern portion of the bank of the River Wear who had noted him (when alive), and responded in their various ways.

There was Septimus Sheridan, for example. He was not toiling away in the cathedral library this morning. Rather, he had been so wearied by dear Julia’s harping on the subject of Eustace Flask that he decided to get some fresh air before burying himself in his ever-open books. He loved Miss Howlett with an undeclared love but even he could take only so much of her agitation over the wretched medium who had disappeared the previous evening at the Assembly Rooms. Good riddance to him! But from Julia there was a stream of questions and queries. What should they do about poor Mr Flask? Should they go to the police, for instance?

Septimus Sheridan noticed that the nice young couple felt the same way. Helen had become almost impatient with her aunt while her lawyer husband had quit the breakfast table as soon as possible to do some work. Eventually Septimus could stand it no longer. He left the house in South Bailey and rather than go the few hundred yards to the cathedral precincts he walked several times that distance, crossing the Elvet Bridge and turning south towards Church Street.

As he sometimes did when he felt weary or dispirited he went to St Oswald’s Church which lay on a wooded bluff overlooking the river. It was not the church where Septimus had served as a curate during his time in Durham many years before but he liked St Oswald’s for its extreme antiquity and its slightly forlorn air. He did not always go inside the church but contented himself with wandering off the flagstone paths and into the quiet of the graveyard. This was an overgrown place especially towards its western, river-facing fringe and Sheridan felt the long grass brush his trousers as he ducked under tree boughs and skirted the graves which poked lopsidedly through the soil. There was a ragged line of palings marking the church boundary and an unlocked gate on to a steep path which led to the riverside walk.

Septimus paused here and breathed deeply. The smells and noises of the town were drowned by the sound of birdsong and the scent of blossom. Dominating the tree-line on the far bank was the great eastern tower of the cathedral but from this aspect it was softened and framed by foliage and Septimus imagined that the scene could not have changed very greatly in almost a thousand years.

All those centuries ago an individual like Eustace Flask, with his cheap tricks and his claims to be in touch with the dead, would have been regarded as a witch. A warlock. A heretic. Flask would have been tried, convicted and summarily burnt at the stake. Septimus was not a violent man. He knew that he lived in a kinder, more enlightened age and he was thankful for it. But there was something to be said for those ancient forms of justice.

Septimus attempted to push such thoughts and imaginings out of his head. He distracted himself by listening to the birds. But the place was not so peaceful after all. From the wooded slope below came a crashing sound as of some animal forcing its way through the undergrowth. Septimus thought it must be a deer but a flash of bright, artificial colour – someone’s jacket perhaps – showed that it was a person. The colour immediately stirred an unwelcome recollection in Septimus Sheridan and he waited to see the route taken by the intruder in the woods. After a time curiosity got the better of him and he pushed open the gate in the dilapidated fence and started to tread carefully on the downhill path.

Any observer in St Oswald’s churchyard about a quarter of an hour later would have seen a rather stout man making his way at quite a lick through the long grass. More than once the man stumbled over a low-lying grave before he reached the flagged path which led to Church Street. An observer would also have heard a woman’s screams coming from the river area and rising above the birdsong. If the stout man was aware of them he did not stop, let alone turn back and investigate. Instead he walked as rapidly as decorum and his aching lungs would allow back in the direction of Elvet Bridge.

Another wanderer in the area was Ambrose Barker. He had been following Flask and Kitty for over a day now. He had attended the performance at the Assembly Rooms the previous evening and had been greatly cheered when Flask had been shut up inside that cabinet and made to disappear. Pity it was all a trick. Sure enough Flask had turned up again, like a bad penny. Ambrose was aware of this because he had been on the point of returning to the house in Old Elvet earlier that morning to have it out with Kitty once and for all. But as he was about to turn into the street he saw Flask coming out of the door. Ambrose turned away and waited until the figure in the bright green frock-coat had passed. Ambrose changed his mind about seeing Kitty that instant. His feelings, of resentment and anger, were directed once more towards the guv’nor. If he had disappeared once, surely he might be made to disappear again?

Superintendent Frank Harcourt had left his house earlier that morning. For him it was a brisk walk along Hallgarth Street towards the police-house in Court Lane. As he was approaching New Elvet he was dismayed to see Eustace Flask on the other side of the street, although the medium seemed to have lost something of his usual swagger. Flask was apparently heading for the old part of town. Harcourt would have identified him anywhere by that frock-coat. The Superintendent took advantage of a convenient tree and watched as Flask passed. When the medium had gone a hundred yards or so, Harcourt wondered whether to follow him and see what he was up to.

So the body in the woods was soon identified as that of Eustace Flask. Just as the woman standing over his corpse would soon be identified as Mrs Helen Ansell.