A Death in the Asylum (13 page)

‘Well, I am going after breakfast,’ said Mr Bertram. ‘You can either come with me or wait at the hotel. So far you and Rory have done all the investigating, but this is a family matter and I must attend to it personally.’

He had a stubborn set about his jaw that I recognised. It was the same expression he had used when he had repeatedly refused to listen to my warnings about White Orchards’ cellar. ‘I will come with you,’ I said. ‘Please give me a few minutes to prepare.’

I returned to my room and snatched up my coat. I then made my way to the front desk as quickly as I could. Mr Bertram was not in sight. With the help of my friend the concierge I obtained the number I needed from the operator. My hand shook as I held the telephone. After an interminable wait I was put through.

‘Could I speak to Mrs Mason, please?’

‘Can I say what it is about?’ asked a polite female voice.

‘I visited two days ago – about my daughter. She may be joining you. I’d rather not give my name.’

‘Of course, ma’am.’

There were a few clicks and Mrs Mason’s voice came on line. ‘How can I help, my dear?’

‘I’m struggling with my final decision,’ I said. ‘It really is the thought of what happens next. When she is grown. I wondered if it might be possible to speak to one of your charges who had moved on to the next stage.’

‘I see,’ said Mrs Mason. ‘There is an issue of confidentiality.’

‘Of course, but you mentioned someone – Amy, was it? Who was a friend of Sophy’s?’

‘Yes, I did, didn’t I?’

‘I wondered if she is still at the same asylum that Sophy attended.’

‘I have not heard she has moved,’ said Mrs Mason with admirable discretion.

‘Although I did wonder if she might be too upset to see me. Was what happened to Sophy recent?’

There was an intake of breath at the other end of the phone.

‘The family doesn’t talk about it,’ I said quickly. ‘In the same way I imagine they will not talk about my daughter when her time comes.’ I managed a little half-sob.

‘It’s kind of you to consider Alice’s feelings. Alice, not Amy. I don’t know how she will take it. Sometimes these simple souls accept matters of life and death much more easily than we do.’

‘So it was recent.’ I said.

‘Very,’ said Mrs Mason. ‘I do not wish to be unsympathetic, but I feel I have already said more than I should. I give you my word that should you decide to place your daughter with us I will ensure she has the very best care and attention.’

‘I have no doubt of that,’ I said sincerely. ‘Thank you.’

I rang off and went to sit in one of the foyer chairs awaiting Bertram. I felt incredibly guilty, but at least now I had a plan. It was a much better one than Mr Bertram had suggested, but it was also far, far more dangerous.

Chapter Twelve
Meeting Alice

The main reason my plan was so dangerous was that I could tell no one about it. I greeted Mr Bertram with a guarded smile and listened respectfully to all his ideas as we set forth in the hired carriage. These were rambling and inconclusive. They centred around finding any excuse for his brother not to be involved. When he paused I did not point out any of the obvious flaws, but instead asked, ‘Did you not wish Rory to accompany us?’

Bertram frowned. ‘I thought it would be easier to seek an audience if it was the same party as those who he had met before. I intend to tell him about Beatrice’s death and see if he reacts.’

‘If he reads the newspapers he will surely know about it,’ I said.

‘But not that we suspect murder!’ retorted Bertram. ‘Nor that we know there was another doctor involved!’

‘But we don’t have any proof of that either.’ I could not prevent a wailing note from entering my voice.

‘I shall face him man to man,’ said Bertram. ‘You wouldn’t understand how these things work, Euphemia, but I assure you I will know if he is guilty of aiding in Beatrice’s demise.’

At this point I chose to smile politely and nod. If I argued further he would see how little I thought of his plan and wonder why I had come. I regretted Rory was not with us. He would surely have seen the danger of confronting a potential accomplice to nefarious activities on his own ground armed only with a moral compass. One’s sense of morality, no matter how acute, is I have sadly learned no match for cold steel or indeed ruthless determination. I could not help wishing that this matter had been of national interest and we had had someone with the skills and flexible outlook of one such as Mr Fitzroy
⁶
to accompany us.

I had many ideas of what we might find at the asylum. The most likely discovery I thought we would make was some indication that Richard Stapleford had been in communication with them recently and before Sophy’s death. I thought it unlikely that we would be able to link them with the doctor Beatrice had told Bertram had visited her before the arrival of the hotel doctor. I was fairly confident in my mind that this first doctor had been the product of Beatrice’s desire to ease Bertram’s worries. I would be more than content should all roads lead to Lord Richard, but I knew by now that friends in high places and money could hide many actions. I also thought that Bertram was liable to only find more suspicion rather than proof. The best I felt that could be gained from his actions was a cat among the pigeons effect with someone somewhere making a mistake such as sending an ill-advised communication. It seemed a very outside chance. Even my own plan had little chance of success. But what else could we do? Never could I have imagined what we were to find.

From the outside the asylum had not changed since the three of us were here a few days before. Having seen the countryside estate style of the children’s asylum I could now see that in reality this was a small affair. It was also extremely well kept and I suspected full of patients from the better classes of society. Mr Bertram marched up to the door and rang the bell. I followed more slowly in his wake. The same woman we had seen before opened the door to us. Mr Bertram demanded to see Dr Frank. She demurred. Mr Bertram began to raise his voice. A large male attendant appeared behind the woman. I won’t go as far to say his shoulders were wider than the door, but he was well muscled. Mr Bertram refused to back down. When I feared things might go as far as to become physical I placed a restraining hand on Bertram’s arm.

‘Come away,’ I said clearly and coldly. ‘I shall return to the commissioners and tell them we were refused entry. They can come down and see for themselves.’

My words acted as a cold shower on the scene. Mr Bertram opened his mouth to utter what I felt certain would be a stinging reprimand, when the woman at the door said, ‘I am so sorry, sir. I didn’t understand you had come with the commissioners’ blessing. You should have said. Of course Dr Frank will make himself available for you. I didn’t lie when I said he was very busy today, so I am afraid you may have to wait some little while in his office. It should be comfortable enough and it is for your own safety.’

‘Do you have dangerous inmates here?’ asked Bertram.

‘Indeed we do, sir,’ growled the man. ‘That is why we has to be most unencouraging of visitors. But like Mrs Turner says if you have the commissioners’ ear it is quite a different matter.’

I inwardly prayed Bertram would have the sense not to correct their assumption. He did give me a strange look, but allowed himself to be led inside. Once through the door we were led along the same set of corridors as before and into Dr Frank’s office. Our male escort peeled away at the outset, but I was alarmed to see that Mrs Turner also took a seat in the office. ‘John will tell him you are here,’ she said.

‘Please don’t let us detain you from your duties,’ said Bertram.

‘I couldn’t possibly leave you alone,’ said Mrs Turner with a smile that had several implications. We were still suspected.

I had hoped to search the good doctor’s desk for patient records and, from the disappointed air that hung around Bertram, I believe he had had the same thought. I rose from my seat, coughed slightly and began to pace the room. I passed by the picture of the asylum I had seen during my last visit and managed to ascertain that everything was how I remembered. I paced a little longer, growing obviously more agitated.

‘Euphemia, is there something wrong?’ The genuine concern in Bertram’s voice was my cue to collapse to the floor. I have only once fainted in my life and had no real idea how to do it again, so I closed my eyes and threw myself down. In doing so I hit my poor head hard on the floor. For a moment I was overcome by dizziness and nausea. Mr Bertram helped me into a chair. I croaked something about water and Mrs Turner, who was the one I was most worried about fooling, appeared both convinced and concerned. She held my wrist in a professional manner and pronounced my pulse was fluttery.

‘She suffered a bad concussion a few days ago,’ said Mr Bertram. ‘I should never have brought her to London.’

‘Indeed not, sir,’ said Mrs Turner. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if that faint hasn’t brought it all back again. This is no place for a young woman of sensibility and refinement.’

‘She’s …’ began Mr Bertram and then with rare sense stopped.

‘I think you should take her right home, sir, if you don’t mind me being so bold …’

‘I think you might be right,’ said Mr Bertram with what I felt was a woeful lack of insight.

‘Water,’ I whispered throatily.

‘Of course, duck,’ said Mrs Turner. ‘You rest there a moment. I’ll be right back.’

The moment the door closed behind her I rose shakily to my feet.

‘Euphemia, you must rest.’

‘Rubbish,’ I said smoothing down my dress. ‘I did that on purpose.’ I put up a hand to rub my head. ‘I do wish I had not misjudged the edge of the rug, but it can’t be helped. My vision appears to have returned to normal.’ I steadied myself with a hand on the back of the chair. ‘If she returns before I do you must say I felt the need for some air.’

‘What? How? Why?’ babbled Bertram.

‘I am going to find Sophy’s friend Alice,’ I said. ‘I have no more time to debate this.’ I made my way across the room, but Bertram caught me by the wrist.

‘I’ll come with you,’ said Bertram. Sometimes he clearly displayed more courage than sense.

‘She will be in the women’s quarters,’ I explained. ‘You would be immediately noticed. With luck I will be able to slip in. My dress is quite plain and I may well be mistaken for an inmate.’

‘No, Euphemia. You can’t. They will know everyone in here. Besides you have no idea of where to go!’

I pulled my arm free and pointed to the map on the wall I had taken pains to study earlier.

‘You’ll never find her,’ cried Bertram. ‘You don’t even know what she looks like!’

‘Make my excuses as best you can,’ I said and slipped out the door.

For a moment I feared he would follow me or open the door and cry out, but he did not. The corridor I was in was quiet and empty. My heart beat fast in my chest and I almost wished Bertram had managed to stop me. I took a deep breath and headed off in the general direction where I expected the women’s quarters to be. The map I had studied had only shown the outline of the buildings, so I headed in what I hoped was an easterly direction.

Unfortunately I soon found myself at a cross junction. The passage behind me had been wood panelled. The three ways forward were white with wooden doors set at intervals down the sides. The asylum had suddenly taken on much more of the form of a hospital. I chose the way that seemed most easterly and continued on. A low moan issued from behind one of the doors I passed and I felt the hairs rise on my neck. I suddenly remembered Mrs Turner’s warning that the asylum harboured dangerous inmates. I had taken this as a deterrent for visitors rather than the truth, but now I wondered. I quickened my pace.

Ahead of me stretched a series of doors on either side. The passage ended in a door and I hurried towards it not caring what lay on the other side. This was a mistake. My boots rang against the hard floor. Suddenly there were noises coming from behind several of the doors. Then came a loud bang. I stopped, turning around. The noise came again and I saw one door shake. Something heavy was being thrown against it by an inmate. It did not give way, but I was unconvinced how heavy an assault it would take. My mind conjured hideous possibilities of whom or what lay on the other side. I took to my heels and fled the length of the corridor not caring if I ran straight into Mrs Turner or one of the other staff. In fact, I rather hoped I would.

I slammed hard against the exit only considering on impact that it might not open, but fortune favoured me and the door gave. Suddenly I was outside in the bright sunlight. I put up a hand to shade my eyes and looked about me. It was a lawned garden. I cast my mind back to the map and realised I wasn’t as far from my destination as I feared.

This area had been labelled the formal garden. Ahead of me lay two long buildings: one for men and one for women. Behind these, I recalled lay the work buildings, the laundry, the water tower, the refectory and a few other unnamed buildings that doubtless had equally utilitarian purposes.

The garden was lovely. There were meandering paths that ended in small follies and summerhouses. A maze of low hedges between the flowerbeds gave the illusion of privacy, but would allow an attendant to clearly see any pedestrians. I saw two walkers in the distance approaching a small folly. They had not yet seen me, but it was only a matter of time. There was nowhere for me to hide. I did the only thing I could and walked purposefully forward towards the building I was almost certain housed the women.

I kept my head up and my eyes forward. I was within 20 steps of the building when a bell rang and two doors in its side opened. Women in white dressed poured out. They were all ages from youthful to those tottering with the support of canes. Some of them were neatly kempt and others had the wild, wind-blown hair that the popular papers associate with the insane. Of course, Dr Frank had said that they believed in healthy exercise for all the inmates. This must be their daily constitution. At least I could be fairly certain none of those present would be violent.

However, I knew there must be attendants. I would not have long. I started to look around for anyone who could be Alice. I knew Mrs Wilson had worked for the late Lord Stapleford prior to his first marriage. I didn’t know when Sophy had been born, but it seemed logical that any dalliance must have occurred before his marriage in order for him to keep it secret from the rest of the family. Alice was of age with Sophy, so I began to search for any woman who looked slightly older than Richard.

It was very difficult to tell. I approached one woman and asked gently if she was Alice. Pale blue eyes stared into mine. Tentatively she put out a hand and touched my hair. ‘Is it you, Margaret?’ she asked.

‘No, I’m afraid not,’ I said. ‘I’m a friend of Sophy’s. I’m looking for her friend Alice.’

‘Sophy’s gone,’ said the woman. ‘They took her away in the night.’

‘Who took her?’ I asked, a cold shiver creeping down my back.

‘Why, the dead ones,’ said the woman. ‘They come at night and take their own.’ She leaned in closer. Her breath was strangely sickly and sweet ‘They have no faces.’

‘Of course,’ I said retreating, but the woman still had hold of my hair. She held hard. ‘Guard your virtue,’ she warned in a low, gravelly voice. ‘You’re a fair one. They all get taken. All of them. I’ve been here since I was a girl and I’ve seen them all go. No safety for the pretty ones. Like my father said, beauty is a curse. You’re cursed. Cursed to hell.’

The words were uttered without anger. It made them all the more chilling. Gently I disentangled her fingers from my hair and stepped away. As I would with a feral animal I kept my eyes on her until I was clear then turned quickly and walked away without looking back.

All at once I desperately wanted my father. I wanted him to explain to me why God could be so cruel to cripple minds inside healthy bodies.

I made my way towards one of the summerhouses. This had been a foolish plan. I should seek out an attendant, explain I had been taken ill and hopefully someone would escort me back to Dr Frank’s office.

Inside I found an attendant in a blue dress seated on a bench. She looked up as I entered and I saw she had been crying. ‘Can I help?’ I said without thinking.

‘Help?’ asked the woman. Her voice was light and clear. ‘I don’t think anyone can help me now.’

‘Oh, I’m sure that’s not the case,’ I said sitting down next to her. ‘There is always something to be done.’ I confess that I meant this merely as a platitude. I was hoping to enlist her support to return to the main building without fuss.

‘I’m going the same way as Sophy,’ said the attendant. ‘Poor Sophy.’

‘Sophy?’ I exclaimed.

‘We came up together,’ said the woman. ‘She was a simple soul, but she had a lovely nature. She could do most tasks if it was explained clearly. She trusted everyone. Never any trouble.’