Dangerous Decisions (27 page)

That same morning as was his habit during the summer months, Nicholas had travelled by hansom cab to a certain point and then walked the rest of the way to Wimpole Street. It was being in this exclusive area of London after the poverty-stricken one of the previous afternoon that led him to muse on the vagaries of life.

In the East End of London in the sweltering heat, he had been helpless to prevent a fair-haired little girl in a grubby vest, her throat strangled by diphtheria, from losing her struggle for life. The contagious disease had also taken her two-year-old brother a few days earlier. Her mother was in the early stages of tuberculosis, and Nicholas could only guess at the sparse diet that the remaining four children survived on. Yet today he would spend tending to the ills both real and imaginary of people whose lives were a constant round of ease and pleasure. Even for himself, due to a mild indisposition of Mrs Haverstock, last night had brought the contrast of an impromptu theatre invitation. And a delightful evening it had proved to be, with once more the company of the Murray family, and the twin daughters in high spirits.

It was with an image of Miss Elspeth lingering in his thoughts that he went up the steps and into the practice to bestow a warm smile on Miss Barnes. ‘What a lovely morning.'

As always, her colour rose as she looked up at him. ‘Good morning, Dr Carstairs, and indeed it is. Dr Haverstock expressed a wish to see you immediately you arrived.'

Nicholas frowned and after a light tap on Andrew's door found him standing before the window with a copy of
The Times
in his hand. He turned, his expression grave. ‘Nicholas, what a dreadful business.'

‘I'm sorry?'

‘You haven't seen this morning's newspaper?'

Nicholas shook his head. ‘I seem to have a problem with my delivery lately; my housekeeper is looking into it.'

Silently Andrew held out the paper and Nicholas stared down at the front page. Below the main news item was a headline,
‘Prominent
man murdered on Embankment
' and beside it a photograph of Oliver Faraday. Nicholas caught his breath, his eyes widening in shock as he read the report in growing disbelief. Oliver dead? He'd been murdered? Stunned, he looked across at Andrew. ‘As you say, this is dreadful.'

‘It's outrageous that a man isn't safe in his own city!' Andrew's burr was even more pronounced than usual.

Nicholas shook his head, looking down again at the article. ‘But why, how?'

‘No details are given, nor exactly where he was on the Embankment. Whoever did it needs hanging – it's damn well nothing but thuggery. I spent some time in India, Nicholas, and could tell you things …' Andrew shook his head. ‘This has shaken me, I can't deny it. I knew Oliver from a child, as I did his parents.'

Nicholas nodded, but his own thoughts were flying in desperation to Helena. She must be devastated …

‘As Mrs Faraday is my patient, I must send my condolences. I shall ask Miss Barnes to arrange for a note to be sent round.'

Nicholas thought swiftly. ‘I think I can help you there. Miss Standish too must be in shock. If you recall I treated her for hemiplegic migraine and a sleeping draught might be advisable. My appointments are light today, I could easily call at Faraday House later this afternoon and take a prescription for her and your note at the same time.'

‘Excellent. And I shall prescribe a sedative for Mrs Faraday too, just in case she might find it helpful. Thank you, Nicholas.'

Nicholas turned at the sound of an imperious voice outside.

‘That will be Lady Trentley,' Andrew said, ‘and she doesn't like to be kept waiting. Are you able to join me for lunch?'

‘Yes of course.' Once inside his own room, relieved that his first patient was not due for another half-hour, Nicholas sat thoughtfully in his leather armchair. Like Andrew, the news had shaken him. He may not have held Oliver Faraday in high esteem but he had been Helena's husband, the father of her child, and no man deserved such an untimely and violent end.

Into his mind came her lovely image, followed by a thought that later shamed him. Once time had passed, when her mourning period was over … could it be possible … and then he smote one fist with the other. God in heaven, the man was not yet in his grave.

What he should be doing was to think of Helena's needs, of her distress. Even if he could only see her for a few moments, it might be that she could find some comfort in his presence, however fleeting. At least he had the reassurance of knowing that she had her baby to hold in her arms, Nicholas had seen many times what comfort that could bring to a young mother.

It was after lunch that Helena, having discovered that Nanny Evans was remaining in isolation, knew that she could no longer evade her duty. As she climbed the stairs to the third floor her conscience was heavy, knowing that she had been so immersed in her own misery and pain that she had given little thought to that of anyone else. However, she still had to force herself to enter the prettily decorated nursery where in the sunlight Betsy was sitting by the fireplace sewing. Seeing her visitor, she hurriedly put the pillowcase aside and jumped up. ‘Good afternoon, Madam.'

‘Good afternoon, Betsy. Where is Nanny?'

‘She's in her room, Mrs Faraday. Er … I'm ever so sorry, you know …'

‘Thank you.' As Helena crossed the room, the poignancy of Rosalind's empty cot was unavoidable, but she looked away and tapped at the adjacent door. ‘It's Mrs Faraday, Nanny.'

There came shuffling footsteps and when the door partly opened, she gazed into the tortured eyes of a woman who seemed to have aged ten years. Quietly she said, ‘How are you?'

‘I should be asking you that question, Madam. Not that I have any right after the way I've let you down.'

‘May I come in?'

Helena went into the small neat room, trying to subdue the feelings of bitterness, even hatred she had been feeling towards the woman to whom she had entrusted her child. But even she had to admit that this was not a case of deliberate negligence.

‘My first duty was to Miss Rosalind. I should never have left her side. There is still no news?'

Helena shook her head. ‘I'm afraid not.' She hesitated. ‘But there is something I must say, Nanny, and it is only out of concern for you. From now on, I wish you to resume taking your morning coffee and afternoon tea in the Servants' Hall with the rest of the staff. It will not do at all for you to hide away from everyone.'

The broken woman sat in an armchair, her hands lying limply in her lap. ‘I'll never get over it, never. I'll have to resign of course, and I doubt if anyone will trust me with their children after this.'

‘You may rest assured that I shall still give you a reference.'

‘Thank you, Mrs Faraday. The secret is not in what is written but in what is omitted. We both know that a discerning employer learns to read between the lines.'

Helena remained silent.

‘Mrs Faraday?' Nanny Evans rose and going to a drawer at the side of her bed withdrew something and held it out. ‘This was left in the perambulator.'

Helena turned to see sunshine glinting on Rosalind's silver rattle.

‘Why on earth didn't the woman tell the Chief Inspector?' Jacob was furious.

‘Isn't that the rattle Dorothy bought?' Beatrice said.

‘Yes.' Helena was fingering its engraved image of a rabbit, tears stinging her eyes as she remembered Rosalind's delight in it.

‘Surely no normal criminal would leave behind such a valuable object? I shall take it to Scotland Yard in case it might be viewed as evidence.'

The two women watched Jacob leave, then turned as a parlourmaid brought in tea. Helena shook her head as Beatrice offered her a scone. ‘Please try and eat, you hardly touched your breakfast, and at luncheon only pushed your food around. You will be ill, and that will do no one any good.'

‘I'm sorry, Aunt Beatrice. I just cannot stand all this inactivity. I want to go out there, search the streets, anything! She's
my child
, I should be doing something.' Her nerves were at screaming pitch when there came a peal of the doorbell. Helena said wearily, ‘I don't wish to see anyone, whoever it is.'

A moment later, the butler came into the room. ‘Dr Carstairs has called, Madam. He says he has no wish to disturb you, Mrs Faraday, other than to bring a letter of condolence from Dr Haverstock. Miss Standish, if convenient he requested that he might see you for a moment? I have shown him into the morning room.'

Beatrice rose immediately. ‘But of course.'

Helena could only put a hand to her throat, feeling profound relief. Nicholas was here … Surely he would be able to help her. The letter from Dr Haverstock would be the excuse he had needed to bring him to Faraday House after reading the news of Oliver's death. But although Helena did grieve for her husband, hating the way he had suffered such a violent death, what was causing every hour to be a living nightmare was her fear and terror for her baby's safety. She would never be able to help Oliver again, but Rosalind needed her as never before.

‘Helena, my dear,' Beatrice soon returned. ‘I have been prescribed a sleeping draught and if you feel well enough, Dr Carstairs has suggested that you might like to see him for a few moments. It would seem sensible as he could then let Dr Haverstock know how you are.'

Helena kept her eyes lowered. ‘If you think that might help.'

Beatrice smiled at her with relief. ‘Yes I do.'

Helena watched her leave and then at last, the butler ushered in the man she had thought never to see again. As the door closed and he began to walk towards her, his step slowed and she saw his expression alter with deep concern.

Nicholas could only gaze at the young woman who rose to face him in profound shock. He had expected to find Helena pale and saddened, but never to find her so ravaged. The dark circles around her eyes, her excessive pallor, the trembling of her hands revealed the extent of her distress, and apart from his concern, he felt bewildered. Had he been wrong all these months, had he misjudged the happiness within her marriage? Had she after all been deeply in love with her husband? When they had talked together in this room all those months ago, she had evaded his question in such a way that … Nicholas felt as if his world had shifted.

She rushed towards him. ‘Oh Nicholas, I can't believe I am seeing you again.'

He pulled himself together, hating to see her suffer so. ‘Helena. I am so sorry about Oliver.'

‘It's dreadful. Oh, I'm so glad you've come.' Her voice caught in a sob. ‘You cannot know …'

‘Helena, I …'

‘You don't understand – it's Rosalind …'

He stared at her in bewilderment. ‘Your baby? Is she ill?'

She shook her head. ‘No, it's not that.' Her eyes full of panic, she clutched at his sleeve. ‘Nicholas, she's been kidnapped.'

He stared at her in disbelief.

Her eyes brimming now with tears, she said, ‘You know that Oliver was murdered just after midnight? Well, earlier that day in the park, Nanny went to help some woman who had fainted and …' her voice broke, ‘someone stole Rosalind out of her pram!' Now Helena's voice became a wail. ‘I don't know where she is, Nicholas; I don't even know whether she's been hurt.'

For the first time Nicholas drew her into his arms, holding her close, feeling at last her slender yet soft body against his own, and as Helena wept on his shoulder, he tried to grasp the enormity of what she had told him. Then once her sobs became quieter, he led her to the sofa and gently folding her hands inside his, said, ‘I want you to tell me exactly what happened, everything.'

He listened carefully, his mind dissecting every detail. ‘And you say there has been no word, no ransom demand, nothing?'

She shook her head.

‘But you
have
told the police?'

She nodded, ‘Papa is even now at Scotland Yard.'

Nicholas gazed at her wan face, and opened his bag. ‘Helena, I want you to promise me to take this sedative that Andrew has prescribed.'

‘I promise. And Nicholas, you mustn't say a word to anyone about Rosalind. I really shouldn't have told you.'

‘I understand. Do you still have the card I gave you, with my telephone number?'

She nodded.

‘Please use it, Helena, day or night, whenever you need me.' He shook his head. ‘I can't believe such a thing can happen. I mean here, in England.' He said with reluctance, ‘I suppose I ought to leave.' As he watched her walk over to the bell pull, the slump of her shoulders tore at his heartstrings, but he could only promise to come again as soon as he possibly could.

When a few minutes later he left Faraday House, Nicholas was consumed with unease; no matter how he tried to dismiss it, a creeping suspicion was growing with every second that passed, and it was so horrendous that he hardly dared to face it.

The memory of Oliver Faraday's cold blue eyes that first and only time they had met, Andrew relating Oliver's horror on first seeing Rosalind's imperfect hands, that he had even threatened to hide his own daughter away from public gaze. And even as a child he had apparently refused to play with a toy that was imperfect. To Nicholas all this tended to lead to one conclusion. Besides, he could only think of two possible reasons why a man should leave his home and his distraught wife in the middle of the night and go to the Embankment. Either he had been contacted by the kidnappers or – and may God forgive him for thinking ill of the deceased – he was himself involved in the crime.

The family may not think him capable of such evil; however, were the officers at Scotland Yard aware of Oliver's true feelings towards his child?

Cora had never risen so early in her life. Nor had she ever felt so afraid. Not even on the day of the kidnapping had her nerves bothered her so much.