The estate had then passed into the hands of a brother, named Peter, of that ancestral Ambrose. Our research indicated that a rumor about a family treasure had started at about that time.
There were, as so often the case in old houses where one family has remained in occupation for centuries, a dozen or more ancestral portraits, mounted in an ascending line along the stairway. Cooper’s reply to my question confirmed that one of the portraits near the top was indeed that of the Ambrose Altamont who had died in 1765. beside that portrait hung another, of the Peter Altamont who had inherited the estate. The resemblance between the brothers was notable.
As soon as the butler had left us, Holmes privately expressed to me his own concern for Mrs. Altamont’s welfare: “There is one thing we may be sure of, Watson; whether the mediums are pure charlatans as her husband supposes–or whether the true explanation proves to be more outré–her current state of happiness stands on a false basis and cannot last.”
In the circumstances I felt vaguely guilty about practicing even a slight deception upon the bereaved lady, by pretending an innocent enthusiasm for the coming séance. but I was able to reassure myself with the thought that I was doing everything for her own benefit.
Holmes was still keenly interested in inspecting the rowboat which had played such an important part in the recent tragedy, and as soon as we were settled into our rooms, Armstrong undertook to be our guide. He led us down through the garden behind the house, along a path which incorporated rude stone steps built into the gentle slope. Soon this winding descent took us out of sight of the house, among shrubbery and tall flowers to the small dock and boat shed beside the river. Here our guide pointed out to us the boat that had been involved in the strange incident. The small craft, painted a dull and undistinguished gray, lay bottom-up on wooden blocks in the shade of some tall elms, where it had been placed on the day after the drowning. Our guide informed us that the boat had been examined several times for damage, but none had been discovered.
Holmes whipped out his magnifying glass, and after a quarter of an hour of intense effort announced that he was able to detect small scratches left in the gray paint and wood of the gunwales, near the prow.
“The fine indentations are on both sides, and very nearly symmetrical. Of course there is nothing to prove that they were made at the time of the tragedy.”
Armstrong appeared to be strongly affected by Holmes’s discovery and announcement. but the young man made no immediate comment.
I thought Holmes meant to question him further, but before he could do so a fair young woman, of perhaps seventeen or eighteen years of age, appeared descending the rude steps and path from the direction of the house. Martin Armstrong stood up and introduced us to Rebecca Altamont, who unlike her mother was still wearing mourning.
Rebecca bore a strong resemblance to her mother, and later we heard from several people that Louisa also had done so, all three women being slender and blonde.
When Holmes in the course of our conversation asked Miss Altamont whether she planned to attend this evening’s séance, she responded that she did. Her tone was firm rather than hopeful, that of someone determined to perform a disagreeable duty.
Rebecca, at least at first, kept her own opinion on the subject of séances rather guarded. Meanwhile she asked several questions, with the evident object of finding out whether Holmes and I were really enthusiastic spiritualists. She appeared somewhat relieved to learn that we claimed no more than to have open minds.
When asked about her own beliefs, she stated somewhat defiantly that she was in general agreement with her father and young Martin: the séance must have been a fraud. but I received the strong impression that the young woman’s main concern was to shield her mother from further grief rather than exposing the mediums, or even to protect the family fortune.
Rebecca Altamont bestowed on the fatal rowboat a single glance of obvious repugnance, and then turned her back on it. I glanced at Holmes, but he chose not to mention to her his discovery of the peculiar marks.
Holmes wanted to hear Miss Altamont’s version of her sister’s drowning, and the events surrounding that tragedy.
After protesting that she was weary of discussing the matter, the girl went on to give an account generally confirming Armstrong’s. She had been seated in the stern of the rowboat with her sister, both young ladies facing forward, toward the young man who naturally sat amidships, facing them as he rowed.
“Then, Mr. Holmes, we experienced a violent shock.”
“As if the boat perhaps had struck a sunken log?”
“No! Not like that at all.” The young woman shook her head decisively. “That suggestion was made more than once at the inquest, but it is wrong. What happened was more like... as if some huge creature had reared up under our prow, which rose partially from the water.”
“Armstrong,” I ventured, “mentioned the idea of a sea monster– fancifully, of course.”
“I know,” said Rebecca, staring at me somberly from under the brim of her summer hat. “And then in fact the boat seemed to be gripped and twisted in a way that neither Martin nor I have ever been able to explain. The only suggestions we can make seem fanciful, I know, but I have been able to think of no better way to convey the sensation of what was happening.” And Miss Altamont stared at Holmes and myself with earnest hopefulness.
This account, while certainly strange enough, was still consistent with Armstrong’s version of events–and with the marks that seemed to indicate some grip of prodigious strength had been fastened upon the boat. Yet my friend did not pursue the point at once.
Shortly after our return to the house we encountered the mediums–and the Kirkaldys proved to be as curious about us as we were about them.
The attitude of Mrs. Altamont toward the Kirkaldys was almost that of a fond aunt, or even a doting mother–she insisted that they must be accommodated and treated, by both servants and family, as honored guests. The lady of the house had her way in this, as in much else, though I thought privately that some of the servants at least had other ideas–more in sympathy with those of her husband–regarding exactly what kind of treatment the mediums deserved.
Sarah, bustling and almost plump, dark-haired and in her very early twenties, was plainly the more aggressive of the pair, a shrewd young woman active in a business way. She was simply dressed, but her clothes were not inexpensive. Her brother Abraham was perhaps four or five years younger, a tall, frail lad of gentle appearance, evidently less concerned about his appearance, with soft brown hair and eyes, and the almost invisible beginning of a mustache. His sister alternated between doting on him tenderly and treating him severely. She seemed to be genuinely convinced that her brother was really sensitive in psychic matters.
In fact, I thought there was a moment at the dinner table when he really seemed about to go into a trance–staring into space, with soup dripping unnoticed from the spoon he held. I thought he might even be drooling from the corner of his mouth, and it occurred to me to wonder if the youth suffered from some mild form of epilepsy.
Toward the end of dinner, Rebecca Altamont, as if she might be growing apprehensive about the evening’s prospects, suggested that the séance might be more likely to succeed if it were postponed by twenty-four hours–or that another sitting held on a certain future date would be even more certain of success.
She added wistfully: “That day would have been Louisa’s twentieth birthday.”