The Prestige (19 page)

Once the cabinet illusion was done with, my enemy sprang his trap. He left the table,
shouldered poor Nugent aside, and snatched down one of the window blinds. A great deal of
shouting ensued, causing intense and uncontrollable grief for my client and his children.
Nugent was struggling with the man, and Julia was trying to comfort Mr L——'s children,
when disaster struck.

The man, in his madness, grabbed hold of Julia by her shoulders, dragged her back, swung
her around, and pushed her to the floor! She fell heavily on the uncarpeted boards, while
I, in the greatest distress, stood up from the table where I had been performing and tried
to reach her. The assailant was between us.

Again Nugent grabbed him, this time restraining from behind, clasping his arms at the back.

“What shall I do with him, sir?” Nugent cried valorously.

“Into the street with him!” I yelled. “No, wait!”

The light from the window was falling directly on his face. Behind him I saw the sight I
then most wanted to see; dearest Julia was rising once more to her feet. She signalled
quickly to me that she was not hurt, and so I turned my attention on the man.

“Who are you, sir?” I questioned him. “What interest is it you have in my affairs?”

“Get your ruffian to release me!” he muttered, breathing stertorously. “Then I will
depart.”

“You will depart when I decide!” I said. I stepped closer to him, for now I recognized
him. “You are Borden, are you not? Borden!”

“That is not correct!”

“Alfred Borden, indeed! I have seen your work! What are you doing here?”

“Let me go!”

“What's your business with me, Borden?”

He made no answer, but instead struggled violently against Nugent's hold.

“Get rid of him!” I ordered. “Throw him where he belongs, into the gutter!”

Then it was done, and with commendable despatch Nugent dragged the wretch out of the room,
and returned alone a few moments later.

By this time I had taken Julia into my arms and was holding her close, trying to reassure
myself that she was indeed unharmed, even after being thrown so roughly to the floor.

“If he has hurt you or the baby—” I whispered to her.

“I am not injured,” Julia replied. “Who was he?”

“Later, my dear,” I said softly, because I was all too aware that we were still in the
shambles of the ruined séance, with an angry or humiliated client, his miserable children,
his four adult relatives and friends now visibly shocked.

I said to them all with as much gravity and dignity as I could muster, “You understand I
cannot continue?”

They showed their assent.

The children were led away, and Mr L—— and I went into private conference. He was indeed a
sympathetic, intelligent man, proposing at once that we should leave all matters as they
presently stood, and that we should meet again in a day or two to decide our next move. I
assented gratefully, and after Nugent and I had transported our apparatus back to the cart
we set off for home. While Nugent drove, Julia and I huddled together behind him in a
state of distress and introspection.

I voiced my suspicions as we trundled along in the gathering twilight.

“That was Alfred Borden,” I explained. “I know little of him other than that he is a
magician, barely distinguished in the business. Since his interruption I have been trying
to recall how I know him. I think I must have seen him perform on the stage. But he is
hardly a major figure in our field. Perhaps he was deputing for another when I saw him.”

I was speaking as much to myself as to Julia, trying to make the assailant comprehensible
in a way I recognized. I could only explain his attack on me in terms of professional
jealousy. What other motive could there be? We were virtual strangers to each other, and
unless there was a substantial lapse in my memory our paths had never crossed before. Yet
his whole demeanour was that of a man bent on a mission of revenge.

Julia was hunched beside me in the foggy evening air. I questioned her about her health
many times, trying to reassure myself she had not been harmed by the fall, but she said
only that she was anxious to return home.

Soon enough we were here in Idmiston Villas, and I made her go straight to bed. She looked
exhausted and strained, but she continued to assert that all she required was rest. I sat
with her until she fell asleep, and after a hastily prepared bowl of soup, and a quick and
energetic walk through local side streets to try to clear my mind, I returned to write
this account of the day.

I have twice broken off to see Julia, and she is sleeping peacefully.

24th November 1878

The worst day of my life.

27th November 1878

Julia is home from hospital. once more she is sleeping, and once again I come to this
diary, such barely adequate source of temporary distraction and comfort as it is.

Briefly, Julia wakened in the small hours of the 24th. She was bleeding heavily and racked
with pain. This seemed to course through her like a series of waves, making her scream and
contort in agony before giving her temporary surcease, then beginning again.

I dressed at once, roused my neighbours, and begged Mrs Janson to leave her own bed and
sit with Julia while I sought help. She agreed without complaint, allowing me to rush off
into the night. Luck, if that is the word, was briefly with me. I came across a hackney
cabman, apparently returning to his home at the end of a night of work, and I pleaded with
him to help me. This he did. Within an hour Julia was in St Mary's Hospital in Paddington,
and the surgeons did their necessary work.

Our baby was lost; I almost lost Julia too.

She remained in the public ward for the rest of the day, and for the two days following
until this morning, when I was allowed at last to collect her.

There is a single name that has now unexpectedly entered my life, and it is one I shall
never forget. It is Alfred Borden’s.

3rd December 1878

Julia is still weak, but she says she hopes to be able to help me with my séances from
next week. I have not yet told her, but I have already decided that never again shall she
be put at risk. I have advertised once more for a female assistant. Meanwhile, this
evening I have a stage performance to carry out, and have had to search through my
repertoire to put together an act that does not require assistance.

11th December 1878

I came across Borden's name today. He is advertised as a guest magician in a variety show
in Brentford. I checked with Hesketh Unwin, the man whom I have recently appointed as my
agent, and learned to my satisfaction that Borden was a replacement for another
illusionist who had been suddenly taken ill, and in the process caused the magical act to
be moved from second on the bill to the graveyard of all magicians: the first act after
the interval! I showed this to Julia.

31st December 1878

Total Income From Magic for 1878: £326 19s 3d. From this must be deducted expenses,
including the hiring of Appleby and Nugent, the purchase and stabling of the horse,
purchase of costumes, and much apparatus.

12th January 1879

My first séance of the new year, and the first in which I was assisted by Letitia Swinton.
Letitia was formerly in the chorus at the Alexandria and has much to learn about the magic
profession, but I am hopeful she will improve. At the end of the séance I asked Nugent to
hurry me back to Idmiston Villas, where I have been with Julia, telling her of my day.

A letter was waiting for me here. Mr L—— has decided, in the event, that he no longer
requires a séance in his home, but that in careful consideration of what happened he has
decided I should be paid the full fee, as agreed. His payment was enclosed.

13th January 1879

Today Julia locked herself in the bedroom, ignored all my knocking and pleading and
admitted only the maid, who took her tea and some bread. I was not working today, and had
been planning to be at the workshop, but in view of Julia's strange mood felt I should
remain at home. Julia emerged after 8.00 p.m., and said nothing of what she had done or
why she had done it. I am perplexed by all this. She says she is no longer in pain, but
other than this refuses to discuss what happened.

15th January 1879

Nugent, Letitia Swinton and I conducted a séance this afternoon. Already it has become a
routine event for me, the only novelties being, firstly, the unavoidable need to work with
an assistant new to magic, secondly, the particular circumstances of whatever bereavement
I am attending, and, thirdly, the physical layout of the room in which the séance takes
place. These last two do not in general present problems to me, and even Letitia is
showing herself to be a quick learner.

Returning afterwards I asked Nugent to let me off in the West End. I walked to the Empress
Theatre in High Holborn, bought a ticket, and sat in the deep recesses of the rear stalls.

Borden's act was in the first half of the programme, and I watched intently what he did.
He performed seven tricks of varying type, and, of these, three were ones whose
explanation I do not know. (By tomorrow evening I shall have them!) He is a fairly
plausible performer, and carried out his tricks smoothly, but for some reason he addresses
the audience in an unconvincing French accent. It made me wish to taunt him as an impostor!

However, I must bide my time. I wish my revenge to be sweet.

On my return Julia was uncommunicative with me, and even after I told her what I had been
doing she remained cold towards me.

O Julia! You were not like this before that day!

19th January 1879

We both mourn the loss of the child we never knew. Julia's grief is so deep, so
inner-directed, that she sometimes seems unaware that I am even in the same room with her.
I am just as miserable, but I have my work to distract me. This is the only difference
between us.

For the last week I have been applying myself to perfecting my magic, trying by intensive
application to relaunch myself into my intended profession. To this end:

I have tidied up my workshop, thrown away a lot of junk, repaired and repainted several of
the illusions, and generally made the workshop into a businesslike place where I might
prepare and rehearse properly.

I have started discreet enquiries through Hesketh Unwin's office, and through other magic
contacts, for an
ingénieur
to work with me. I need expert assistance; of this there is no question.

I have set myself a practice schedule, to which I adhere absolutely: two hours every
morning, two hours every afternoon, one hour (if time with Julia permits) in every
evening. The only breaks I allow myself are when I am actually working.

I have ordered myself and Letitia new costumes, to give the act professional polish.

Finally, I have promised myself to quit the séances as soon as I can afford to do so.
Meanwhile, I am taking on as many of them for which the time can be found, because they
are my only secure means of making a living. My financial responsibilities are immense. I
have the lodgings to pay for, rent to find of the workshop and stable, wages to pay for
Nugent and Letitia, and soon for my new
ingénieur
too… as well as running the household and feeding Julia and myself.

All this to be paid for by the credulous bereaved!

(Tonight, though, another theatrical performance.)

31st December 1879

Total Income from Magic for 1879: £637 12s 6d. Before expenses.

31st December 1880

Total Income from Magic for 1880: £1,142 7s 9d. Before expenses.

31st December 1881

Total Income from Magic for 1881: £4,777 10s 0d.

Before expenses. 1881 is the last year in which I shall record my earnings here. This
twelvemonth has been sufficiently successful for me to purchase the house in which,
hitherto, we have merely rented our lodgings. Now we occupy the whole building, and we
have a domestic staff of three. The restlessness that beset me when I was younger is
directed fruitfully into the energy of performance, and I may record that I am probably
the most sought-after stage illusionist in Britain. My bookings diary for next year is
already full.

2nd February 1891

Ten years ago I put aside my diary, intending never to reopen it, but the humiliating
events earlier this evening at the Sefton Theatre of Varieties in Liverpool (whence I am
returning to London
en train
as I write this) cannot go unrecorded. As it has been so long since I wrote in my diary
these loose sheets will tonight have to suffice while I am without my notebook and file
system.

I was in the second part of my act, heading towards what is currently the climax of my
performance. This is the Underwater Escape, an effect which combines physical strength, a
certain amount of controlled risk, and a little magic.

The illusion begins with my being tied, apparently inescapably, to a stout metal chair. To
effect this I invite on to the stage a committee of six volunteers; these are all genuine
members of the audience, none planted, but Ernest Nugent and my
ingénieur
Harry Cutter do keep an eye on things.

With the committee on stage I engage them in humorous banter, partly to relax them, partly
to misdirect the audience while Ellen Tremayne (my present assistant; it is a long time
since I wrote in here) begins the Jacoby Rope Tie.

Tonight, though, I had just taken my seat in the chair when I realized that Alfred Borden
was one of the committee! He was the Sixth Man! (Harry Cutter and I use codes to identify
and place the on-stage volunteers. The Sixth Man is positioned furthest from me during
these preparatory stages, and is given the task of holding one end of the rope.) Tonight
Borden was the Sixth Man, only a few feet away from me! The audience was watching us all!
The trick had already begun!

Borden played his part well, moving clumsily and with well-faked embarrassment about his
small part of the stage. No one in the audience would have guessed that he is almost as
practised a performer as me. Cutter, apparently not realizing who he was, propelled Borden
into his place. Ellen Tremayne was meanwhile roping my hands together, and tying my wrists
to the arms of the chair. It is here that my preparations went awry, because my attention
was on Borden. By the time two other volunteers had been given the ends of the rope and
instructed to tie me as tightly as possible to the chair, it was too late. In the full
glare of the limes I was trussed helplessly.