The Diary of a Nobody

‘NIPUL’ was Lupin spelled backwards. This was quite exciting. Carrie was particularly excited, and said she hoped nothing horrible was going to happen.

Mrs James asked if ‘Lina’ was the spirit. The table replied firmly, ‘No,’ and the spirit would not give his or her name. We then had the message, ‘NIPUL will be very rich.’

Carrie said she felt quite relieved, but the word ‘WARN’ was again spelt out. The table then began to oscillate violently, and in reply to Mrs James, who spoke very softly to the table, the spirit began to spell its name. It first spelled ‘DRINK’.

Gowing here said: ‘Ah! that’s more in my line.’

I asked him to be quiet as the name might not be completed.

The table then spelt ‘WATER.’

Gowing here interrupted again, and said: ‘Ah! that’s not in my line. Outside if you like, but not inside.’

Carrie appealed to him to be quiet.

The table then spelt ‘CAPTAIN’, and Mrs James startled us by crying out, ‘Captain Drinkwater, a very old friend of my father’s, who has been dead some years.’

This was more interesting, and I could not help thinking that after all there must be something in Spiritualism.

Mrs James asked the spirit to interpret the meaning of the word ‘Warn’ as applied to ‘NIPUL’. The alphabet was given again, and we got the word ‘BOSH’.

Gowing here muttered: ‘So it is.’

Mrs James said she did not think the spirit meant that, as Captain Drinkwater was a perfect gentleman, and would never have used the word in answer to a lady’s question. Accordingly the alphabet was given again.

This time the table spelled distinctly ‘POSH’. We all thought of Mrs Murray Posh and Lupin. Carrie was getting a little distressed, and as it was getting late we broke up the circle.

We arranged to have one more tomorrow, as it will be Mrs James’s last night in town. We also determined not to have Gowing present.

Cummings, before leaving, said it was certainly interesting, but he wished the spirits would say something about him.

JUNE 4. Quite looking forward to the seance this evening. Was thinking of it all day at the office.

Just as we sat down at the table we were annoyed by Gowing entering without knocking.

He said: ‘I am not going to stop, but I have brought with me a sealed envelope, which I know I can trust with Mrs Pooter. In that sealed envelope is a strip of paper on which I have asked a simple question. If the spirits can answer that question, I will believe in Spiritualism.’

I ventured the expression that it might be impossible.

Mrs James said: ‘Oh no! it is of common occurrence for the spirits to answer questions under such conditions – and even for them to write on locked slates. It is quite worth trying. If “Lina” is in a good temper, she is certain to do it.’

Gowing said: ‘All right; then I shall be a firm believer. I shall perhaps drop in about half-past nine or ten, and hear the result.’

He then left and we sat a long time. Cummings wanted to know something about some undertaking in which he was concerned, but he could get no answer of any description whatever – at which he said he was very disappointed and was afraid there was not much in table-turning after all. I thought this rather selfish of him. The seance was very similar to the one last night, almost the same in fact. So we turned to the letter. ‘Lina’ took a long time answering the question, but eventually spelt out ‘ROSES, LILIES, AND COWS’. There was a great rocking of the table at this time, and Mrs James said: ‘If that is Captain Drinkwater, let us ask him the answer as well.’

It was the spirit of the Captain, and most singular, he gave the same identical answer: ‘ROSES, LILIES, AND COWS’.

I cannot describe the agitation with which Carrie broke the seal, or the disappointment we felt on reading the question, to which the answer was so inappropriate. The question was, ‘What’s old Pooter’s age? ’

This quite decided me.

As I had put my foot down on Spiritualism years ago, so I would again.

I am pretty easy-going as a rule, but I can be extremely firm when driven to it.

I said slowly, as I turned up the gas: ‘This is the last of this nonsense that shall ever take place under my roof. I regret I permitted myself to be a party to such tomfoolery. If there is anything in it – which I doubt – it is nothing of any good, and I won’t have it again. That is enough.’

Mrs James said: ‘I think, Mr Pooter, you are rather over-stepping – ’

I said: ‘Hush, madam. I am master of this house – please understand that.’

Mrs James made an observation which I sincerely hope I was mistaken in. I was in such a rage I could not quite catch what she said. But if I thought she said what it sounded like, she should never enter the house again.

Lupin leaves us. We dine at his new apartments, and hear some extraordinary information respecting the wealth of Mr Murray Posh. Meet Miss Lilian Posh. Am sent for by Mr Hardfur Huttle. Important.

Chapter XXIII

JULY 1. I find, on looking over my diary, nothing of any consequence has taken place during the last month. Today we lose Lupin, who has taken furnished apartments at Bayswater, near his friends, Mr and Mrs Murray Posh, at two guineas a week. I think this is most extravagant of him, as it is half his salary. Lupin says one never loses by a good address, and, to use his own expression, Brickfield Terrace is a bit ‘off ’. Whether he means it is ‘far off ’ I do not know. I have long since given up trying to understand his curious expressions. I said the neighbourhood had always been good enough for his parents. His reply was: ‘It is no question of being good or bad. There is no money in it, and I am not going to rot away my life in the suburbs.’

We are sorry to lose him, but perhaps he will get on better by himself, and there may be some truth in his remark that an old and a young horse can’t pull together in the same cart.

Gowing called, and said that the house seemed quite peaceful, and like old times. He liked Master Lupin very well, but he occasionally suffered from what he could not help – youth.

JULY 2. Cummings called, looked very pale, and said he had been very ill again, and of course not a single friend had been near him. Carrie said she had never heard of it, whereupon he threw down a copy of the Bicycle News on the table, with the following paragraph: ‘We regret to hear that that favourite old roadster, Mr Cummings (“Long” Cummings), has met with what might have been a serious accident in Rye Lane. A mischievous boy threw a stick between the spokes of one of the back wheels, and the machine overturned, bringing our brother tricyclist heavily to the ground. Fortunately he was more frightened than hurt, but we missed his merry face at the dinner at Chingford, where they turned up in good numbers. “Long” Cummings’ health was proposed by our popular Vice, Mr Westropp, the prince of bicyclists, who in his happiest vein said it was a case of “Cumming (s) thro’ the Rye, but fortunately there was more wheel than woe”, a joke which created roars of laughter.’

We all said we were very sorry, and pressed Cummings to stay to supper. Cummings said it was like old times being without Lupin, and he was much better away.

JULY 3. SUNDAY. In the afternoon, as I was looking out of the parlour window, which was open, a grand trap, driven by a lady, with a gentleman seated by the side of her, stopped at our door. Not wishing to be seen, I withdrew my head very quickly, knocking the back of it violently against the sharp edge of the window-sash. I was nearly stunned. There was a loud double-knock at the front door; Carrie rushed out of the parlour, upstairs to her room, and I followed, as Carrie thought it was Mr Perkupp. I thought it was Mr Franching. I whispered to Sarah over