The fire was tended to give just the right degree of warmth, the upper window opened to admit fresh air without a draught. Brightness that did not tax the eyes, scents that soothed and an absence of the common odours of the sickroom were essential to Miss Cherry’s way of ministering to her patients.
It was, thought Mina, a tremendous amount of fuss over a dying woman. And she was dying, there was no doubt about that. If not that day then another not too far off; if not from this illness, then probably the next one. And what, after all, she mused, did she have to live for? She would never have a husband or children. Her family didn’t need her. Her stories, which she published under another name, did well enough but would never be accorded the status of good literature. Her life, she concluded, had no meaning and if she disappeared there might be a little brief regret and then the world would move on.
What would she miss, she wondered? The gentle friendship of Dr Hamid, the annoying but often amusing schemes of her quixotic brother Richard, and Brighton itself, the summer days when the sun gilded the town, and the scent of the blue-green sea as it washed over the pebbled beach. She was like a piece of limp bedraggled seaweed, drifting out with the tide.
As yet, she had not had a great deal of conversation with Miss Cherry, who discouraged her from speaking too much, and issued advice in the manner of a benevolent but firm command. That afternoon, Mina was trying to enjoy a cup of broth while her nurse inspected the medicines on the night table and made notes in a little book, but every so often Miss Cherry gave Mina a glance as if she wanted to make an observation but didn’t like to.
‘Please say what you wish to say,’ Mina whispered. It was the only use of her voice that did not stimulate a fit of coughing. ‘If I am not long for the world, I really want to know so I can make any arrangements.’
‘Oh! No, that is not it, I assure you.’
‘Then what is it?’
Miss Cherry hesitated then closed her notebook. ‘I hope you don’t mind my asking, but are you the same Miss Scarletti who has been mentioned in the newspapers? The lady who goes to mediums and finds out which ones are true and which false?’
Mina smiled slightly and nodded. ‘I am.’
‘I ask because there was a lady whose family I attended recently, and she said that she was about to write to you about a pressing question. I expect that she was not aware that you are unwell.’
‘I have not received a letter at all for some days,’ said Mina. She paused. No excitement and no exertion, Dr Hamid had said. Of course, she realised, if there had been letters, they would have been withheld from her. ‘If you should see the lady, you must inform her that I am unwell,’ she said. ‘I will reply to her enquiry as soon as I am able.’
‘I will do so, of course.’ Miss Cherry opened her notebook and continued her work.
Mina laid her cup aside. ‘Do you know what the pressing question was?’
Miss Cherry paused and frowned a little. ‘I cannot reveal the secrets of the sickroom, Miss Scarletti.’
‘No, of course not. I understand.’
‘Although there are circumstances regarding the family that have already been published in the newspapers and are not secret. You must have read about it. The case of Mr Jasper Holt, the man who disappeared?’
Mina had lived in Brighton for three years but had never heard of this event. She might have been struggling to breathe but her curiosity and love of the outré were unimpaired. ‘When did this occur?’ she asked.
‘In 1864. But of course, with recent events, it has become the talk of the town again.’
‘Recent events?’
‘Mrs Holt’s remarriage. I am not a gossip by nature, but my mother works in Mr Grant’s drapery shop in St James’s Street, and she hears all the town news. It is a very superior establishment, and Mrs Holt was once a regular customer there. When the betrothal was announced there were many people in Brighton who recalled Mr Holt’s disappearance, and they began to talk of it again. Mrs Grant especially; she kept all the newspapers and brought them out for her friends to look at. I saw them myself only the other day. All the old stories; the reports, the rumours and the suspicions have been dusted off and examined very closely. Of course, Mr Grant does not tolerate idle conversation, but much may be said over the counter while measuring ribbon.’
‘I may have forgotten the details,’ said Mina. ‘Help me sit up a little more and tell me all about it.’
Miss Cherry complied. ‘I read about it in the Brighton Gazette at the time,’ she said, ‘but somehow, it seems just like yesterday. It was July; the town was crowded with visitors, and it was a beautiful warm day with a calm sea. Not a hint of any danger. Mr Holt was a wine and spirit merchant, a family man, very well liked, and he wanted to take a trip on a yacht. He told the boatman that his doctor had recommended he should take the sea air for his health, and he thought he might purchase the yacht, but wanted to sail in it first. The yacht — it was a very small one — was called Ocean Breeze, and it was owned by a Mr William Sutherland. They took off near to the West Pier and lots of people on the shore saw them depart, and gave them a cheerful wave, and both men waved back. But when the yacht returned, some hours later, only Mr Sutherland was aboard. He was terribly upset and alerted the police immediately. He said there had been a tragic accident.’
Miss Cherry paused dramatically. Mina knew better than to interrupt and waited expectantly.
‘Mr Sutherland told the police that once the yacht was on its way, Mr Holt said he wanted to sail to Shoreham, so he turned the vessel to the west. They had been going on well for about half an hour when there was a sudden strong gust of wind. Yachtsmen like Mr Sutherland know that this can happen from time to time in hot weather, but Mr Holt, not being an experienced sailor, thought that the vessel was in some danger. Mr Sutherland did his best to reassure him that all was well, but Mr Holt became very agitated. He rushed to the side to see if there was any assistance nearby, stumbled, and a sudden movement of the yacht threw him into the sea. This caused the yacht to roll most alarmingly, and Mr Sutherland had to work hard to avoid a capsize.
Mr Holt must have struck his head on the side of the boat as he fell, because Mr Sutherland saw him floating on the water unconscious, and tried to steer towards him to make a rescue, but he was unable to reach and recover him before he sank, weighed down by the sea water saturating his clothing. His body was never found.’
‘His poor family,’ said Mina. ‘How old was he?’
‘In his forties. And there were two young children. But there was more grief to come,’ said Miss Cherry. ‘It was found that Mr Holt’s business was in terrible debt and was about to fail, something that he had kept very carefully hidden. In the week before he disappeared, he had insured his life with the Brighton and Hove Insurance Company for a very large sum. But the insurance company refused to make any payment. They said that there was no proof that Mr Holt was dead.’
‘They suspected fraud,’ said Mina.
‘They did. In fact it was suggested that Mr Holt had planned the whole adventure, to make it seem that he was lost at sea when he was actually still alive and in hiding. Both Mrs Holt and Mr Sutherland were suspected of being involved, and they were questioned by the police, but they weren’t charged.