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.