The strange transfiguration of Hannah Stubbs
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.