A Death in the Asylum (8 page)

‘Fraternise?’ I asked, assuming one of my mother’s minor expressions of haughtiness.

I thought it had done the trick for the woman had the grace to blush. But she was made of stronger stuff. ‘I’m sure it is very difficult for you to maintain the same level of decorum as Mr Stapleford and myself. I assumed you would relish the opportunity to spend time with someone of your own class.’

Merrit! My own class! My eyes were blazing so hard I could almost feel the heat. ‘I take my orders from Mr Stapleford, miss,’ I said in a low, level voice, which if she had known me better would have had her running for the hills.

Bertram snapped back to the present. ‘I shall escort Miss Wilton upstairs. If you could wait for me in one of the smaller salons, I would be grateful for a word.’

I nodded. At last he was coming to his senses. However, when he finally joined me in the overly pink and frilly room, so not what one would expect in a modern establishment, his expression was one of fury.

‘What the hell do you think you’re up to, Euphemia? Miss Wilton is deeply distressed over your behaviour. She has had to go and lie down. I have sent for the doctor. She has a weak heart, you know!’

I stammered for a moment trying to find words to express my feeling of injustice.

‘How dare you try to tell her how to perform her profession!’

‘But it doesn’t make sense,’ I finally exploded. ‘She knew nothing about the Lunacy Act. If she was investigating how the mentally ill are treated surely she would have some idea how the asylum worked?’

‘She explained that! She said she needed to make Dr Frank think she knew nothing so she could catch him out.’

‘Catch him out at what?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Bertram. ‘I’m not a journalist.’

‘She was asking questions about how one might get a family member committed.’

‘Yes, she was. That must be it. That must be what she suspects.’

‘You don’t think she might have had someone in mind?’

‘No,’ said Bertram. ‘There is no insanity in her family. She has assured me of that.’

‘That wasn’t what I meant.’

‘Then I don’t follow you, Euphemia.’ Bertram straightened his shoulders and curled his lip. His whole attitude was one of challenge.

I will always wonder if I had spoken then if things might have been different, but Rory’s warning played in my mind. I also knew of no manner possible in which I could convince him that Miss Wilton, for all her riches, was in her own way a gold-digger and Bertram was the prize. As it was I took refuge in half-truths. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m very concerned over Mrs Wilson. She and I have never been the best of friends, but with her in hospital so ill and us so far away not knowing how she is faring …’ I swallowed hard. ‘I apologise if I have distressed Miss Wilton. I am not myself.’

Bertram read my bright eyes as being on the verge of tears instead of the anger and disappointment I was suppressing. His face lit up. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I sometimes forget you are only a woman and do not have the male strength of mind.’ He added quickly. ‘I mean that as a compliment. You are the most capable young woman of my acquaintance, but you are still ill and shocked from the attack that terrible night.’

‘My head does hurt and I am more than usually fatigued,’ I said honestly.

‘I should have told you earlier. I rang up Stapleford and I have reports that Mrs Wilson is doing as well as can be expected. She is not yet fully conscious, but there is a policeman on hand to take her statement as soon as she recovers.’ He paused. ‘I must say I was quite impressed with the efficiency of that.’

‘They may be concerned that her attacker will not wish her to regain consciousness,’ I said.

‘What a horrible thought!’

‘But a very realistic one,’ I said sadly.

Bertram pondered for a moment then exclaimed, ‘But that means that you also could be in danger!’

‘Possibly, though I have made it clear to the police I did not see the attacker clearly.’

‘At least few people know where you are.’

‘Only those at Stapleford Hall,’ I replied.

An uncomfortable silence fell between us. Eventually Bertram said, ‘I must return to see how Miss Wilton fares.’

‘Will you need me?’

‘No, the lady will be taking her dinner, if she can manage anything, in her room, so your escort will not be required tonight.’

‘People might think her companion should attend her?’ I ventured, though the last thing I wanted to do was spend time with someone I felt was both devious and malingering.

‘I don’t think that would be wise,’ said Bertram. ‘She needs rest, but I appreciate the offer. Why don’t you go out and see a little of London for yourself? It’s early yet and while a lady could never walk the streets alone I believe many London servants do.’

I smiled and nodded, though his speech daunted me in more than one way. I had no inclination to spend the rest of the day shut up in my room and I did not think the hotel would look kindly on a mere companion sitting alone in the lounging areas. I was dressed too simply. But the thought of wandering through London alone was too daunting. I stood hesitating when my eye caught the attention of the concierge, who smiled encouragingly. He was a tall, wiry chap dressed in a uniform with enough gold material to suggest his importance and not enough that he could be mistaken for a bellboy, who for some reason were inordinately flash. He was also considerably older than me. I walked up to his desk.

‘Good evening, miss,’ he said in a rumbling voice. ‘How can I be of service?’

‘It seems,’ I said awkwardly, ‘that my services as companion are not required for the rest of the day and my ma-mistress has suggested I take in the London sights. However, I confess I am alarmed at venturing out alone.’

The concierge grinned. ‘Quite how it should be, miss. It’s all very well for those maids to go racketing about unescorted, but for a lady such as yourself it’s quite a different matter. You’re with Miss Wilton, are you not?’

‘Yes, I am,’ I said startled at this man’s perspicacity.

‘A very nice young woman, I’m sure, but new money, I would imagine, and not quite up to how things should be done.’

‘Is there something you could suggest I might do to fill my time?’ I asked growing increasingly embarrassed.

‘There is one of them spiritualists giving a talk in the blue saloon,’ said my new friend. ‘There’s a small charge, but we haven’t sold many tickets, so I’m sure I could sneak you in. Being as how you are a resident.’

‘Oh, I see. I’m not sure.’

‘Let me check my list. It’s a Madam Arcana.’

My heart skipped a beat. Coincidences do happen in life, but I am always wary of them. ‘Yes,’ I heard myself saying as if my voice came from a long way away. ‘I have heard of her. It would be most interesting.’

‘We’d better be quick then. Come with me, miss.’

He led me down a labyrinth of corridors, some of which I felt certain were servants’ passageways. Finally, he ushered me through a side door with an entreaty to ‘Enjoy myself.’

I found myself in a larger saloon than I had expected. It had a large, cavernous feel that was cold and unwelcoming. It was blue and it was filled with rows of corn-coloured chairs. These had been placed in rows facing a dais on which a familiar figure in a purple turban sat. The room was less than half full. I made my way down the aisle as quietly as possible and joined the last row of filled seats.

‘Oh-oh-oh,’ moaned Madam Arcana, who was either about to enter a trance or had severe food poisoning. I took the opportunity to appraise the audience. There were a number of girls dressed in plain, respectable dresses and which I guessed to be maids on their day out. There were also a goodly number of shabby-genteel women, who I took to be companions. In the front three rows I could see nothing but large feathered hats and these I took to be worn by older matrons, who formed the backbone of Madam Arcana’s moneyed following. Standing, trembling near the centre was a woman in her early 20s, whose smart but threadbare skirt and jacket, sensible haircut and face devoid of makeup clearly marked her as a vicar’s wife. I imagined her winning the egg-and-spoon race and tumbling along happily in the mothers’ sack event.

‘The Reverend Dipton says the church roof is more important than the refurbishment of the library,’ proclaimed Madam Arcana suddenly. ‘He says the fete should be used to raise money to shelter the faithful of God.’

‘Are you sure?’ said the woman in a nervous voice. ‘Only my husband is quite clear that the roof will last another winter and the children are so short of books.’

Madam Arcana opened her eyes. ‘My dear,’ she said, ‘I could not comment on the wisdom of the particular spirit you asked me to contact, but only pass on what he said.’

‘You mean,’ said the questioner in a startled voice, ‘that he might be wrong? I thought on the other side …’

‘Has he long been passed?’ asked Madam Arcana.

‘Some six months. Three months before my husband took the parish.’

‘And was he revered as a wise and good man when he was there?’

‘I really couldn’t say,’ said the woman in a tone that implied she very well could.

‘He may still be adjusting to the higher vibrations,’ said Madam Arcana. ‘It can take some spirits time to throw off their worldly desires.’

‘You mean we could do as we wanted?’

‘Was there ever any reason why you shouldn’t?’

The woman twisted a handkerchief between her fingers. ‘The vicarage is so very dark and gloomy. It feels as if he is still there.’

‘Then I strongly advise you to have a very happy and busy fete,’ said Madam Arcana. ‘He will see you are looking after his parishioners well and their jollity will extinguish his solemnity.’

‘You mean, like a party?’ asked the woman brightening. ‘Oh, what a jolly idea.’ She sat down very well pleased with what her shilling or whatever the entrance fee had cost her. I could only imagine the scene when she tried to explain her reasoning to her husband or perhaps she would have more sense.

‘Does anyone else have a query?’ asked Madam Arcana.

There followed a number of questions about lost dogs, lost wallets, who daughters should marry and the likelihood of an invasion by Germany. I was not once convinced that Madam Arcana was in contact with any spirits, but the dearly departed’s – or rather
her
– advice was always gentle, sensible and inclined to make the questioner think for themselves. I almost approved. I could not say whether it was her deception or the inability of those present to listen to plain, common sense unless it was couched in the mantel of the day that dismayed me more. But then, as my father used to say, there is nothing common about common sense.

When the final question had been asked Madam Arcana indicated the tea trolleys that had been placed in the aisles. (I had been too wrapped up in her performance to notice their arrival.)

‘Dear ladies and gentleman,’ she nodded at the one young man in the audience, ‘do help yourselves to refreshment. It is all included in your ticket price and after a session such as this we all need to replenish our energies. I will join, but,’ she raised a finger and smiled, ‘no more questions for our spirit friends. On general topics I will be happy to converse.’

There was a murmur then a round of applause. With almost undignified haste seats were pushed back as people made a beeline for the cake. I had intended to sneak away, but a particularly fine macaroon drew my attention and reminded me I had not had any lunch. Besides, there was clearly more than ample cakes unless they all proved to have appetites like the young vicar’s wife. In the time I had hesitated she had polished off two slices of Victoria sponge and an iced biscuit.

‘You should certainly help yourself,’ said Madam Arcana appearing at my shoulder. ‘George, the concierge, had strict instructions to ensure you attended.’

‘From whom?’ I asked.

‘Why, me,’ said Madam Arcana. ‘I wanted to ensure you remembered my warning.’

‘Beware for my enemies,’ I said coldly. ‘I take it you are referring to Mrs Wilson’s unfortunate experience. I am surprised news has reached London so quickly.’

Madam Arcana smiled. ‘I hear many things from many sources. But what I wished to remind you was that the message referred to enemies in the plural.’

‘But I don’t have any other enemies,’ I said. ‘Besides, we weren’t exactly enemies, I merely disliked her greatly …’ My voice trailed off.

‘Excuse me, I have to check on someone,’ I said.

Madam Arcana handed me the macaroon. ‘Take this. You look as if you need it.’

Automatically, I took the confectionary she held out to me, so I was still grasping it in my hand when I arrived breathless and flushed, after several wrong turns, in the main entrance. I turned about me wildly and headed towards the main staircase. On it, descending, I met Bertram, his face streaming with tears.

‘Oh, Euphemia,’ he said. ‘She’s dead.’

Chapter Seven
Visiting Mr Edward

Poor Mrs Wilson. A wave of guilt swept over me. I had on more than one occasion wished she did not exist in my life, but I hoped I had never wished her dead. And in such a way.

‘Euphemia, did you hear what I said? She’s dead?’ Bertram’s voice broke. His face was as forlorn as Little Joe’s had been when his first pet died. Bertram was still two steps above me on the staircase leaving me with a dilemma. I could hardly approach and comfort him. I certainly couldn’t push past him and, even if he had the remaining sense to follow me downstairs, we could hardly conclude this conversation in a public place.

‘I’m very sorry,’ I said. ‘Perhaps we should …’ I attempted to indicate that we should return upstairs to our rooms.

‘But what do I do?’

‘I imagine the right thing to do would be to return home at once.’

‘But she’s up there …’ He faltered and looked up the stairs.

‘Dear God!’ I exclaimed. ‘You can’t … You don’t mean Miss Wilton! I thought you meant Mrs Wilson.’

‘Why would I care about that old harridan?’ said Bertram with more truth than charity. ‘My poor Beatrice. It has all been too much for her. I found her just now lying in her boudoir no longer breathing.’

‘Has a doctor been sent for?’ I asked.

Bertram shook his head. ‘She’s dead.’

‘It is not always that simple to tell if life is extinguished.’ I turned and ran down the stairs to the concierge.

‘’Allo,miss. Did you enjoy the show?’

‘George, something terrible has happened,’ I said in a low voice. ‘My – the honourable Mr Bertram Stapleford has this moment found Miss Wilton unmoving in her suite. He fears she is dead. Can you send for a doctor at once?’

George’s eyes flashed me a look of sharp intelligence. ‘I should be able to do better than that, miss. The doctor what she sent for is on his way.’

‘The doctor what she – that
she
sent for?’ I turned to Bertram, who was now standing behind me. ‘I thought the doctor had already visited her.’

‘That’s what she said,’ answered Bertram.

‘Our man’s a Dr Smith. Right good ’un, but very busy. If I’d realised it was so urgent I’d have chased him up.’ The concierge looked quite dismayed.

‘She had a weak heart,’ I explained.

‘It could have happened any time,’ said Bertram. ‘It’s one of the reasons she lived her life as she did. Running at it. She always knew she might not have enough …’ He swallowed noisily.

‘Why that’s tragic, sir. Why don’t I find you a nice quiet corner and a large glass of something? We’ll get that doctor here toutey sweet. Maybe the young lady’s right – maybe it’s only a deep sleep or coma sort of a thing.’

He ushered Bertram away, calling to a bellboy to round up Dr Smith and left me waiting at the desk. He was back a few moments later.

‘Would you be willing to come up to her room with me, miss?’

‘Of course,’ I said. Though my father had tried to shield me of necessity I had come into contact with more than one corpse as a vicar’s daughter. And since becoming part of the Stapleford household it would be somewhat of a relief to encounter a natural death.

‘It’s not like I think there’s anything strange going on, but in these circumstances we ’ave procedures to follow. I should ask the duty manager, but he’s on his break.’

‘Procedures?’ I asked alarmed.

‘I need to lock the door. Many of our visitors have travelled widely and there’s some nasty things they’ve brought back. ’Ad she been abroad lately?’

‘No, I don’t think so. Do many people die in the hotel?’

‘All the time,’ said the concierge with a twinkle. ‘Place is only slightly less dangerous than a hospital.’

‘What? Oh, I see what you mean. People only go to hospital when they’re sick. But the guests?’

‘Often old ladies, retired gents, and those that ’ave picked up something nasty. Sheer numbers of people what come through here there’s bound to be a dead body every now and then.’ He stopped outside her door. ‘’Ere, you weren’t close to this young lady, were you, miss? Only I didn’t get that impression. I’m usually good at reading people, but you know no matter how many times it happens on your watch it rattles you a bit. I ’ope I ’aven’t been inappropriate, like?’

I shook my head. ‘We were not friends. I would not have wished her dead, but I can’t say I am in any way as distressed as Mr Stapleford.’

‘Aye, I can see he had a right fancy for her. But as they say what’s for ye won’t go by ye.’ He slipped the key into the lock. It didn’t turn. ‘Seems like the poor young lady did my job for me before she died.’ He shrugged. ‘There’s many can only rest behind a locked door.’

‘But shouldn’t we check if she is still alive?’

‘Do you have any medical training, miss?’

‘No,’ I said and only just stopped myself from saying,
but I have considerable experience with dead bodies.

‘Then I doubt there is anything you could do for the lady.’

‘But what if she’s dying! Alone?’

‘Mr Stapleford has reported her dead,’ said George. ‘That’s good enough for me.’

‘Let me go in,’ I urged. ‘Just to be sure.’

George squared up to me. ‘No, we don’t know what she died of. You’re not sure if she’s been abroad and I’m betting you have no idea if she’s been in contact with someone who has, so I’m putting me foot down. It’s a tragedy, but your death would only back it doubly so.’

‘I’m sure you’re exaggerating,’ I said.

‘Oh, the tales I could tell you. You’d shiver your skin right off your bones.’

‘But she had a weak heart.’

‘All the more likely to make her succumb to disease.’

Short of wrestling the key from him by force, and I had no expectation of winning such a battle, there was nothing to be done. I made my way back down to the saloon and Bertram.

‘’Course, if she is dead,’ said George, ‘we will ’ave to call in the police. But we’ll keep it as quiet as we can for both your sakes and the hotel’s.’

My heart sunk down into my boots. Yet again Bertram’s name and mine would be connected with sudden death. It would be a wonder if we weren’t carted away by the police on the spot. However, I knew that any plea on my behalf to circumvent procedure would only bring suspicion down on both our heads, so I nodded, took a deep breath and went in to comfort Bertram.

He was not as I feared inebriated. The decanter George had generously provided stood untouched on the small table before him. In his hand he held a glass, but it was barely lower than a full measure. He looked up at me with the blank, startled stare I had seen on all too many faces of those recently bereaved in my father’s parish. My heart stung. He must have cared deeply for her despite the short time they had had together.

‘She said the doctor had been,’ he said. ‘She said he told her to rest and she would be fine. I’d never have left her alone if …’ He struggled to continue.

I patted his arm awkwardly. ‘No doubt she was trying to reassure you. She didn’t want you to worry.’

‘But it doesn’t make sense. She didn’t lie. She never lied to me.’

Now was not the time to assert my suspicions over Beatrice’s motivations, but I could not resist saying, ‘You were deep in one another’s confidence, weren’t you?’ I tried to make it sound comforting, but I knew I was taking advantage.

‘She told me everything,’ said Bertram, finally taking a swig of his drink. ‘I could, of course, never return the compliment. What you and I know, Euphemia. I had to keep her at arm’s length … With a family like mine, I couldn’t take advantage of her innocence.’

‘You mean … Oh dear God, this changes everything. I’ve been so stupid.’

‘Changes what?’

I considered for a moment. Was now the right time to raise my suspicions after all? It might make Bertram think a little less of me, but it would divert him. Only such a short acquaintance I strongly doubted that they had been in love. Although Bertram ever one to leap into situations with passion and lack of thought might well fancy it was so. It might also lead him into a devastating expression of grief. I took a deep breath. ‘I thought you might have told her about your brother. From the questions she asked I thought perhaps you might be considering attempting to get him committed. Before he did any more harm,’ I added.

‘Do you think I’m a fool, Euphemia? Even if Beatrice was no more than a gossip columnist with aspirations she would be unable to let such a story pass her by regardless of her personal feelings. Print was in her blood.’

‘But she hinted to me that she knew.’

‘Of course she hinted. Journalists always hint they know more than they do. It’s remarkably effective at getting people to be indiscreet.’

‘Oh,’ I said. When he was in one of his passions it was easy for me to forget that Bertram knew far more of the world than I, but every now and then he would remind me to shocking effect. On the positive side Bertram was now looking a lot more alert. He put his glass down.

‘But her questions at the asylum. It was as if she was trying to provoke them.’

‘I don’t know the whole story. She only told me that she had strong suspicions and would feel safer with me around while she investigated.’

‘Did she make notes?’

‘Of course she did! Well done, Euphemia! They’ll be in her room.’ He stood up.

‘Her room is locked.’

‘But I have a key,’ said Bertram pulling it from his pocket with a flourish.

‘Put that away,’ I said harshly, pulling down his arm.

‘I suppose it does give the wrong impression,’ said Bertram. ‘But Beatrice had an abnormal horror of hotel fires. She only locked her room when she retired. She wanted me to have a key in case anything happened. Made me promise I’d rescue her.’ He swallowed and reached for his glass.

A chill swept over me. ‘But her room was locked,’ I said. ‘She would lock it if she was resting, wouldn’t she?’

‘No,’ said Bertram. ‘Only when she retired for the night.’

‘The other doctor,’ I began.

‘You think there was one?’ said Bertram.

‘I am beginning to fear so.’

‘Good gad! I can’t believe it. I know we’ve had some extraordinary experiences, but not every death has to be murder, Euphemia. Some people do die natural deaths.’

Bertram handed me his glass and I took a sip of the fiery liquid. I choked slightly. ‘We have had more than our share of bad luck,’ I said.

‘I’m rather afraid the police will agree with you.’

We sat in silence for a few minutes. ‘I should contact her family,’ said Bertram finally. ‘I don’t know what I will say to them.’

‘I should ask to speak to her father,’ I said. ‘Her mother would be too distressed. They know of her heart condition, so although they will be naturally grief-stricken it will not be entirely unexpected.’

‘What about our suspicions?’

‘I wouldn’t mention anything until we know.’

Bertram paled. ‘And the arrangements?’

‘Her family will want to take charge.’

‘I shall offer any assistance in my power,’ said Bertram.

‘Of course.’

His face fell. ‘But I have no idea of what I can do.’

I took a large swallow of Bertram’s drink, handed him back the glass and stood up, ‘But I do. I’m going to see Mr Edward.’

‘What?’

‘He gave me a contact address in London in case I ever needed it.’

‘But, Euphemia, this is hardly security of the realm stuff!’

‘I don’t know what it is. But his words were if anything untoward begins again at Stapleford Hall they would be keen to be made aware.’

‘But Beatrice’s death has nothing to do with Mrs Wilson’s attack.’

‘Doesn’t it?’

‘How could it?’

‘I don’t know, but I have a feeling.’

‘Euphemia, you can’t go to that man with a feeling! Do you realise how important he is?’

‘I don’t know what he is,’ I admitted. ‘But I think we need his help.’

We argued for a while, but the concierge came back to say the doctor had arrived and they were now having a discussion as to whether the room should be opened before the police arrived. The doctor thought it should and George disagreed. ‘My manager is still on his break, sir. So it’s a bit of an awkward one. I thought you might be the best person to sort this out?’

Reluctantly Bertram went off with him. His parting shot to me was, ‘And don’t go anywhere, Euphemia!’

Of course I waited for them to clear the stairs before heading to my room and fetching my coat.

I gave the address Mr Edward had given me to the cabbie and was surprised when in a very short time we pulled up outside a large building. It seemed to be comprised of offices and apartments and did not in any way look like a government building. I climbed the dingy staircase feeling more and more as if someone was playing an enormous joke on me. When I arrived at the right floor the door in front of me bore the legend of a private detective agency. Had Mr Edward changed jobs? However, I had come this far. I knocked on the door and went in.

A smart young woman was sitting at a desk. She looked up brightly and smiled. ‘How can I help?’

‘I fear I may be in the wrong place,’ I said. ‘I was looking for Mr Edward.’

‘And you are?’

I hesitated a moment and then gave my real name. Fitzroy had indicated he knew it and I was fairly certain what he knew Mr Edward would also know. The young woman gave me another bright smile and reached into her desk. She brought out a clipboard and traced her finger down a list of names. ‘Ah, here you are. Is this a matter of urgency?’

‘To be perfectly honest I don’t know. There has been one serious attack, possibly a potential murder, and another young woman died today, but that may have been due to natural causes.’

‘Were any of these persons of significance?’

I repressed the urge to retort that all human life was of significance. ‘One was the housekeeper at Stapleford Hall, the home of the Staplefords, and the other a daughter of the Wilton press family.’

The young woman nodded. ‘I think that will suffice,’ she said. ‘If you will follow me.’ She stood up and opened a door to the left. We entered a short passageway with no windows that led to another door. She opened this and showed me into a small room with a table and two chairs. There was a window, but it was grimy and barred. ‘Mr Edward will be with you shortly,’ she said and left closing the door behind her. I was relieved not to hear the sound of a key turning.