A Slight Trick of the Mind Read online

  “When I approached the attic door, the wineglasses I was holding began vibrating, and my ears began to ache. All the same, I could hear well enough. It wasn't a musical piece she was performing, nor was she idly experimenting with the armonica. No, this was a deliberate exercise, sir—an incantation of some unholy fashion. I say incantation because of what I then heard next: my wife's voice addressing someone, speaking almost as lowly as the tones she was creating.”

  “Am I to understand that it wasn't singing you heard?”

  “I wish to God it had been, Mr. Holmes. However, I assure you she was talking. Most of her utterances escaped me, but what I did hear was enough to produce a feeling of horror in my mind.

  “‘I am here, James,' said she. ‘Grace, come to me. I am here. Where are you hiding? I wish to see you again—'”

  I raised a hand, silencing him.

  “Mr. Keller, my patience is truly a limited resource, and it can withstand just so much. In attempting to put colour and life into your statement, you have continually erred by prolonging the arrival of the very issue which you wish to be resolved. If at all possible, do confine yourself to the notable features, as those will likely be the only things of any use to me.”

  My client said nothing for a few seconds, knitting his brows and averting his eyes from mine.

  “If our child had been born a boy,” he finally said, “James was to be his name—or Grace if it had been a girl.”

  Overcome by strong sentiment, he suddenly paused.

  “Tut tut!” I said. “There is no need for displays of emotion at this juncture. Pray continue from where you left off.”

  He nodded, setting his lips tightly. Then he passed a handkerchief over his brow and turned his gaze to the floor.

  “After setting the bottle and wineglasses down, I threw open the door. Startled, she stopped playing at once and looked upon me with wide, dark eyes. The attic was lit by candles, which were placed in a circle around the armonica, casting her in a flickering glow. In that light, with such deathly pale skin, she looked as if she might be a ghost. There was an otherworldly quality about her, Mr. Holmes. But it wasn't merely an effect of the candles which gave me this impression. It was her eyes—the way in which she stared at me, suggesting the absence of something essential, something human. Even as she spoke to me, her voice was hushed and lacked emotion.

  “‘What is it, dear?' she asked. ‘You frightened me.'

  “I went towards her.

  “‘Why you are doing this?' I cried. ‘Why are you talking as if they are here?'

  “She rose slowly from the armonica, and when I went to her, I saw a faint smile upon her white face.

  “‘It's all right. Thomas, it's all right now.'

  “‘I cannot understand,' I said. ‘You were saying the names of our unborn. You spoke as if they were alive and in this very room. What is all this about, Ann? How long has this been going on?'

  “She gently took hold of my arm and began moving us both away from the armonica.

  “‘I must be alone when I play. Please respect that about me.'

  “She was leading me to the door, but I wanted answers.

  “‘Look here,' I said. ‘I won't leave until you explain yourself. How long has this been going on? I insist. Why are you doing this? Is Madame Schirmer aware of what you are up to?'

  “She could no longer meet my eyes. She was like a woman who had been caught in a terrible lie. It was an unexpected and cold answer that finally passed her lips.

  “‘Yes,' she said, ‘Madame Schirmer is fully aware of what I am doing. She's helping me, Thomas—you saw to it that she would. Good night, dear.' And with that, she shut the door on me and locked it from the inside.

  “I was livid, Mr. Holmes. You can imagine that I returned downstairs in an agitated state. My wife's explanation—vague as it was—led me to one conclusion: Madame Schirmer was teaching Ann something other than music lessons, or, at the very least, she was encouraging her to perform that unnatural ritual in the attic. It was a vexing situation, especially if what I believed was correct, and I knew that only from Madame Schirmer herself could the truth be learned. My intention was to go directly to her flat that evening and discuss the matter. However, in an effort to steady my nerves, I drank far too much of the Comet wine, almost the entire bottle. Therefore, I couldn't properly call on her until the following morning. But once I did arrive at her flat, Mr. Holmes, I was as sober and determined as a man could be. Madame Schirmer had hardly opened the door when I confronted her with my concerns.

  “‘What rubbish have you been teaching my wife?' I demanded. ‘I want you to tell me why she talks to our unborn children—and please don't pretend you know nothing, because Ann has already told me enough.'

  “There was an awkward silence, and she was some little time before speaking. Then she asked me inside and sat with me in the drawing room.

  “‘Your wife, Herr Keller, is this bothered, unhappy woman,' said she. ‘These lessons she has from me, they don't really interest her. She keeps her thoughts always on the babies—no matter what, always the babies—and the babies are the problem, no? But, of course, you want her to play, and she wants the babies—so I do something for both of you, right? And now she plays most beautifully. I think she is happier, don't you?'

  “‘I don't understand. What is it that you've done for the both of us?'

  “‘It is nothing too difficult, Herr Keller. It is the nature of the glasses, you know—the echoes of the divine harmony—I teach her about this thing.'

  “You cannot fathom the nonsense that she went on to explain to me.”

  “Oh, but I can,” I said. “Mr. Keller, I have some basic knowledge regarding the unusual history surrounding this particular instrument. There was a time when certain disturbances were attributed to glass music. This produced panic in the general population of Europe, and led to the armonica's decline in popularity. That is why encountering one—let alone hearing one performed—is a unique opportunity indeed.”

  “What sort of disturbances?”

  “Everything from nerve damage to nagging depression, as well as domestic disputes, premature births, any number of mortal afflictions—even convulsions in household pets. No doubt your Madame Schirmer is familiar with the police decree that once existed in various German states, a proclamation which banned the instrument altogether for the sake of public order and health. Naturally, as your wife's melancholy antedates her usage of the instrument, we can likely rule it out as the source of her troubles.

  “However, there is another side to the armonica's story, one which Madame Schirmer was hinting at by mentioning ‘the echoes of the divine harmony.' There are some—those adhering to the idealistic musings of men like Franz Mesmer, Benjamin Franklin, and Mozart—who feel glass music promotes a kind of human harmony. Others hold the fervent belief that listening to the sounds produced on glasses can cure maladies of the blood, while others—and I suspect this Madame Schirmer is among them—maintain that the sharp, penetrating tones travel swiftly from this world into the hereafter. They are of the opinion that an extremely gifted player of glass can readily summon the dead, and that, as a result, the living might again communicate with their departed loved ones. This is what she explained to you, is it not?”

  “It is exactly so,” my client said with a rather surprised air.

  “And at that point you released her from your employment.”

  “Yes—but how—”

  “My boy, it was an inevitability, wasn't it? You believed she was responsible for your wife's occultist behaviour, so the intention, surely, was already there before you went to see her that morning. In any event, if she were still kept in your service, she would hardly have threatened you with arrest. Now please forgive these occasional interruptions. They are needed to expedite what might otherwise prove redundant to my mind. Proceed.”

  “What else, I ask you, could I have done? I had no other choice. Imagining myself to be fair, I didn't ins
ist she refund the fee for the remaining lessons, nor did she make an offer to do so. Nonetheless, I was shocked at her composure. As I told her that she was no longer needed, she smiled and nodded in agreement.

  “‘My dear sir, if you think it is the best for Ann,' said she, ‘then I, too, think it is the best for Ann. You are the husband, after all. I wish you both live a long, happy life together.'

  “I should have known better than to accept her at her word. When I went from her flat that morning, I believe she knew well enough that Ann was under her influence, and that my wife wasn't about to walk away from her. I realize now that she is a conniving woman of the worst sort. It's all quite evident in hindsight: the way she had initially offered me a discount rate and then—once poor Ann had been taken in by her rubbish—suggested extending the hourly lessons in order to get more from my pocket. I worry, too, that she has designs on the inheritance left by Ann's mother, which—while not greatly substantial—is still a rather tidy sum. I am absolutely positive of this, Mr. Holmes.”

  “It had not occurred to you at the time?” I asked.

  “No,” he answered. “My only concern was how Ann might respond to the news. I spent an uneasy day pondering the situation at work and debating the appropriate words with which to tell her. After returning home that evening, I asked Ann into my study, and, as she sat before me, I calmly spoke my mind. I pointed out that she had been neglecting her chores and responsibilities of late, and that her obsession with the armonica—it was the first time I had ever classified it as such—was putting a strain on our marriage. I told her that each of us had certain obligations to the other: Mine was to provide a secure, sound environment for her; hers was to maintain the duties and upkeep of the household for me. Moreover, I said, I was deeply bothered by what I had discovered going on in the attic, but that I didn't blame her for mourning the loss of our unborn. Then I discussed my visit with Madame Schirmer. I explained that there would be no more armonica lessons, and that Madame Schirmer had agreed that it was probably for the best. I took her hand, and I stared directly into her inexpressive face.

  “‘You are forbidden to see that woman again, Ann,' I said, ‘and tomorrow I am removing the armonica from the house. It is not my intention to be cruel or unreasonable in this matter, but I need my wife back. I want you back, Ann. I want us to be like we once were. We must restore order to our life.'

  “She began weeping, but they were tears of remorse and not anger. I knelt beside her.

  “‘Forgive me,' I said, and put my arms around her.

  “‘No,' she whispered in my ear, ‘it is I who should ask your forgiveness. I am so confused, Thomas. I feel as if I can do nothing right anymore, and I don't understand why.'

  “‘You mustn't give in to that, Ann. If you will just trust me, you will see that everything is all right.'

  “She promised me then, Mr. Holmes, that she would strive to be a better wife. And she seemed to honour that promise. In fact, I had never seen her make such a prompt turnabout before. Of course, there were moments when I sensed those deeper currents raging quietly within her. On occasion, her mood grew sombre—as if something oppressive had entered her thoughts—and, for a while at least, she did devote an inordinate amount of attention to cleaning the attic. But by then the armonica was gone, so I wasn't overly concerned. And why should I have been? The chores were all completed by my return from work. After supper, we enjoyed each other's company, just as we had during better times, sitting together and talking for hours in the front room. It was as if happiness had returned to our home.”

  “I am delighted for you,” I said blandly, lighting my third cigarette. “Yet I remain perplexed as to why you have chosen to consult me. It is an intriguing story on some level, to be sure. But you appear agitated about something else, and I do not understand why. You seem well capable of handling matters for yourself.”

  “Please, Mr. Holmes, I need your help.”

  “I can't help you without knowing the true nature of your problem. As it is, there is no puzzle here.”

  “But my wife keeps disappearing!”

  “‘Keeps disappearing'? Am I to gather, then, that she keeps reappearing, as well?”

  “Yes.”

  “How often has this happened?”

  “Five times.”

  “And when did her disappearing act commence?”

  “Just over a fortnight ago.”

  “I see. On a Tuesday, more than likely. Then again on the subsequent Thursday. Speak up if I am mistaken, but the following week it would be the same—and Tuesday last, of course.”

  “Precisely.”

  “Excellent. Now we are getting somewhere, Mr. Keller. Clearly, your story concludes at Madame Schirmer's front door, but do tell it to me anyway. There may be one or two particulars that I have yet to glean for myself. If you will be so kind as to begin with the first disappearance, although it really is inaccurate to describe her waywardness as such.”

  Mr. Keller looked sadly at me. Then he glanced at the window, shaking his head solemnly.

  “I have thought too much on this,” he remarked. “You see, as my midday tends to be rather busy, the errand boy usually brings in my meal. But my work was less consuming that day, so I decided to go home and join Ann for lunch. When I found her missing, I wasn't terribly concerned. In fact, of late I have encouraged Ann to get out of the house on a regular basis, and, taking my advice, she has begun enjoying afternoon walks. I assumed this was where she had gotten off to, so I wrote her a note and headed to my office.”

  “And where does she claim these walks lead her?”

  “To the butcher, or the marketplace. She has also grown quite fond of the public park at the Physics and Botanical Society, and says she spends hours there reading amongst the flowers.”

  “Indeed, it would be an ideal place for that sort of leisurely pursuit. Continue with your statement.”

  “I returned home that evening, only to discover she was still gone. The note I had put on the front door remained, and there wasn't any trace of her having been back. At that point, I became worried. My first thought was to go in search of her, but no sooner had I stepped outside than Ann wandered through the gate. How tired she looked, Mr. Holmes, and the very sight of me seemed to produce some hesitation in her. I asked why she was so late coming in, and she explained that she had fallen asleep at the Physics and Botanical Society. It was an unlikely but hardly implausible answer, and I refrained from pressing her further. Frankly, I was just relieved to have her home again.

  “Two days later, however, the same thing occurred. I arrived home and Ann was gone. She arrived shortly thereafter, explaining that she had once more napped underneath a tree in the park. The following week, it happened again, exactly as before—on Tuesdays and Thursdays only. Had the days been different, my doubts would not have arisen so readily, nor would I have sought to verify my suspicions this past Tuesday. Knowing that her previous armonica lessons began at four and concluded at six, I departed work early and took up an inconspicuous position across the street from Portman's. At almost a quarter past four, a vague feeling of relief impressed itself upon me, but just as I was about to vacate my position, I spotted her. She was walking nonchalantly along Montague Street—on the other side of the road—holding high the parasol I had given her for her birthday. My heart sank at that moment, and I continued standing there, not going after her or calling her name, only watching as she shut the parasol and then stepped into Portman's.”

  “And does your wife make a habit of arriving late for appointments?”

  “On the contrary, Mr. Holmes. She believes punctuality is a virtue—until recently, that is.”

  “I see. Do go on, by all means.”

  “You might well imagine the upset that finally stirred within me. Seconds later, I was racing up the stairs to Madame Schirmer's flat. Already I could hear Ann playing the armonica—those awful, disagreeable tones of hers—and the very sound of it simply furthered my ire, and
I struck with all my fury at the door.

  “‘Ann!' I cried. ‘Ann!'

  “But it wasn't my wife who met me. It was Madame Schirmer. She opened the door and gazed upon me with the most venomous expression I have ever witnessed.

  “‘I wish to see my wife, immediately!' I exclaimed. ‘I know she is in there!' Just then, the music abruptly ceased from inside her flat.

  “‘Go home to see this wife of yours, Herr Keller!' said she in a low voice, stepping forwards and shutting the door behind herself. ‘Ann is my student no more!' She kept one hand on the doorknob, and her massive body blocked the doorway, preventing me from rushing past her.

  “‘You deceived me,' I told her, speaking loudly enough for Ann to hear me. ‘Both of you have, and I won't stand for it! You are a vile, wicked person!'

  “Madame Schirmer had grown fierce with anger, and, indeed, I was so angry myself that my own words slurred from me as if I were intoxicated. Looking back, I realise now that my behaviour was somewhat irrational, yet this awful woman had betrayed me and I was fearful for my wife.

  “‘I just do my teaching,' she said, ‘but you make this trouble for me. You are a drunk man, so you think about this tomorrow and feel mad over yourself! I will talk to you no more, Herr Keller, so you never knock like this on my door again!'

  “At this, my temper erupted, Mr. Holmes, and I am afraid that I raised my voice beyond reason.

  “‘I know she has been coming here, and I am certain that you are continuing to sway her unduly with your devilish notions! I have no idea what you hope to gain by doing so, but if it is her inheritance you seek, I can assure you that I shall do all that is humanly possible to prevent you from touching it! Let me warn you, Madame Schirmer, that until my wife is free of your influence, you shall be hindered by me at every turn, and I won't allow myself to be fooled any further by whatever you might say to appease me!'