The Camden Spiritualist

“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the Theatre Royal Drury Lane!” 

The audience responded with a round of applause. Once it had subsided, the grey-whiskered man on the stage continued. “Allow me to introduce myself to those who are unfamiliar with the name Professor Mortimer. I am a scientist. For many years, I studied the remarkable elements of this earth. But these days I devote my work to a much higher element. The world of spiritualism.”

Professor Mortimer paused to allow his words to sink in. His wavy grey hair extended beyond his collar and he wore a double-breasted black velvet jacket over a pair of black breeches.

“Joining me on stage this evening is a girl who requires no introduction at all. However,” he raised a finger, “for the benefit of anybody here who hasn’t heard of her – and I doubt there are many,” he grinned. “Her name is Elizabeth Shelley.” 

This statement was met with further applause. Professor Mortimer drew his hands behind his back and smiled as he waited for the noise to subside. 

Then he continued once again. “Her history, as you know, is quite remarkable. A young waif, abandoned at St Pancras Workhouse. She was schooled there, as every young child at the workhouse is these days, but her lessons did not go to plan. As the schoolmistress attempted to instruct her young charges in letters and numbers, they heard mysterious tapping sounds coming from the corner of the classroom. Upon further investigation, no one could determine their source. 

“As time went by, the regularity of these sounds intensified. And it wasn’t just tapping sounds. Before long, witnesses saw objects moving entirely of their own accord! To begin with, the items were small: a piece of chalk and a writing slate. But then larger items began to move: a desk, followed by an entire bench with eight children seated upon it! 

“After a while, these unexplained phenomena began to manifest in other parts of the building. In the children’s dormitory, gaslights swung on their fittings, bedsheets were pulled off unsuspecting children and entire beds moved around the room! Naturally, the children grew extremely fearful, and a priest was called in to examine what many believed to be the actions of a malevolent spirit. However, further investigations revealed something crucial. The only person present during every unexplained incident happened to be Elizabeth Shelley.”

The audience around me in the upper circle remained quiet, seemingly entranced by the story, even though many must have heard it before. There was no doubt that Professor Mortimer was a proficient storyteller, but I struggled to believe a single word of it.

“I would like you to write a review of the medium Elizabeth Shelley,” the editor of the Morning Express newspaper had asked me a few days previously. “She’s causing quite a stir with her abilities and I think our readers would like to find out what happens at her shows.”

“I’m not the sort of person who believes in psychic powers,” I had replied.

“You don’t need to believe in them, Mrs Blakely. Just write a review what you see. Perhaps she may convince you?”

“I doubt it, sir.”

I accepted the commission in an act of loyalty to my former employer, hoping the next request would be for a topic that interested me a little more.

Professor Mortimer continued his story. “The priest questioned Miss Shelley and she claimed the cause of the trouble was a spirit who went by the name of Sally Moulin,” he said. “It seemed this spirit had chosen her in order to communicate with the land of the living, and Miss Shelley was extremely afraid of her. 

“I became involved in this curious case a little over three years ago, in the summer of 1882. A mutual friend of the priest alerted me, knowing I possessed a profound interest in spiritualism and the supernatural. My immediate response was one of concern for this poor young girl, who had found herself burdened with such a remarkable ability. 

“Upon meeting her, I was struck by her maturity and serenity, in the face of what must have been extremely trying circumstances. I took her into my Camden home – my priority being to help her control the spirit of Sally Moulin.”

I felt myself growing impatient, keen to see what Elizabeth Shelley was capable of. Within the past year, she had become a real sensation, yet I wasn’t exactly sure why. Perhaps it was her youth and unique appearance; I had heard it said that her eyes were two different colours. Whatever she intended to demonstrate this evening, I knew it would be trickery; however, it concerned me that so many members of the audience seemed prepared to believe her powers were genuine.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” he called out. “Please welcome to the stage Miss Elizabeth Shelley!” 

Applause rang out around me, and I tapped my hands together, aware that it would be churlish to show no sign of appreciation at all. 

A slight girl, who appeared younger than her fifteen years, walked out onto the stage. She wore a plain blue dress and her mouse-brown hair was tied in a long plait. 

Professor Mortimer rested a hand on her shoulder as she stood next to him. “Please be aware, ladies and gentlemen, that you may hear unexpected noises or even witness objects moving, as if they were being transported by an invisible hand. I urge you to remain calm at all times. The spirits are often more frightened than you are! I appreciate that you may feel alarmed at certain points during this show, but please rest reassured that there is nothing at all to worry about.”

The curtain behind him lifted to reveal a three-walled wooden booth. Within the booth was a simple wooden chair. Professor Mortimer placed his hand on Miss Shelley’s back and guided her over to the chair. He gestured for her to sit and, as she did so, he pulled a number of ribbons from his pocket.

“For the benefit of the sceptics and doubters,” he said, “I shall now tether Miss Shelley to this chair so that she cannot stand until the end of the performance.”

We watched as he tied her ankles to the legs of the chair with the ribbons. Then she joined her hands together around the back of the chair so that he could also tie them together. “And just to be certain,” he continued, “I shall now place a silk pillowcase over Miss Shelley’s head. She will be able to breathe perfectly normally, but it will deprive her of her senses.”

I wasn’t sure how a thin pillowcase could completely deprive someone of their senses, but the spectacle was complete when the professor pulled the red silk pillowcase over her face and her head slumped forward, as if she had suddenly passed into a trance. Then he stepped back and pulled a red velvet curtain across the front of the booth with a flourish, the brass rings jangling on the pole.

“I must insist on complete and utter silence as Miss Shelley manifests the spirit of Sally Moulin!” he called out. “Please remain silent during the proceedings. If there is any noise or distraction the show will have to be halted, and I’m sure you would agree that we would all be sorely disappointed if that were to happen.”

The lights dimmed as the professor stepped to the side of the stage, plunging the curtained booth into darkness. Then a spotlight appeared on a curtain over on the other side of the stage from the booth. 

There was a long pause – so long that I grew impatient – and then came a slight yet discernible movement from behind the curtain. The woman next to me gave a nervous giggle.

“Who goes there?” Professor Mortimer called out.

There was no reply. Instead, the curtain shifted again.

“Show yourself!” he commanded.

The curtain moved again, this time a little more vigorously.

“Don’t be shy! We are all waiting to hear from you. We’re ready to accept whatever you have to say. Step out and show yourself!”

The curtain shook so vigorously that I wondered if it would fall from its fittings. There was something rather amateurish about the spectacle, and I felt my toes curl a little with embarrassment. Suddenly, the curtain was flung to one side and gasps sounded all around me. A girl in a long white robe stood there, illuminated by an eerie green light, her hair long and loose. It was difficult to discern her features, but she was of the same height and stature as Miss Shelley. In fact, I had no doubt that it was Miss Shelley. She had clearly escaped her ribbons and walked around the back of the curtain before loosening her hair, pulling on a robe and emerging over on the other side of the stage.

“Tell me your name,” said the professor.

“Sally Moulin.” Her voice was rough and raspy; presumably an effect she was putting on to make it sound otherworldly.

“Who are you, Sally Moulin?”

“I am no one.”

“But surely you must be someone?”

The girl didn’t answer. Instead, she slowly raised her hands until they were held out in front of her, her palms facing the audience. “He’s here,” she announced.

“Who?”

“Joey.”

“Joey?”

“Grimaldi.”

She was referring to Joseph Grimaldi, an actor who had been famous for playing a clown at this theatre. It was rumoured that his ghost haunted the place. A long discussion ensued between Professor Mortimer and Sally Moulin, during which she purported to be relaying messages from the deceased actor. 

I heard whispered comments around me from people who appeared to have fallen for the trick. It was tempting to inform them that they were witnessing a piece of fiction, but I decided it was better to leave them to their own amusement.

I grew uncomfortable in my seat as communication supposedly ensued with the spirit of Thomas Hallam, an actor who had been murdered in the theatre by another actor, Charles Macklin, during a quarrel. Then boredom set in and I felt a certain resentment toward my editor, Mr Sherman, for requesting his review of this sorrowful show.

Eventually, Sally Moulin retreated behind the curtain once again. Professor Mortimer gave an aggrandising speech about Miss Shelley’s powers, allowing her enough time to return to her chair in the booth. When he eventually pulled the curtain back, she was slumped over, as though she had been sitting there the entire time. Applause broke out around me, but I struggled to join in, even half-heartedly.

The auditorium fell quiet again as Professor Mortimer untied the ribbons that had bound Miss Shelley to the chair. The ribbon that had bound her wrists must have tied in such a way that she could slip her hands in and out easily.

I heard the doors to the upper circle swing open behind me, then a voice called out, “Fraud!” 

There were numerous gasps and mutterings as we turned to see who had interrupted the performance. I was sitting about four rows from the back, so I had a good view of the woman standing there. 

“Fraud!” she shouted again. “Every one of you here has paid good money to be lied to!”