The Sunday Girls (40 page)

He gave me a questioning look over the top of his spectacles. ‘Mr Pringle wants to see you all after this meeting.’

We were then ushered from his office to another identical one which also faced the street. This was Maddie’s dad’s domain. He made us all welcome and ordered tea to be brought in.

When we were sitting with our cups and saucers, I said, ‘Mr Pringle, is Miss Hood in the Royal Infirmary?’

‘No, she isn’t,’ he said.

I cheered up. ‘Oh, I’m so glad she’s better. I’ve been really worried about her since that day at the Ferry. Is she living in her cottage in Monifieth? Or at Whitegate Lodge?’

Jean and Mr Potter looked as mystified as I was.

Mr Pringle looked at me sadly. ‘Miss Hood was admitted to a mental asylum on the night of Mrs Barrie’s death. She’s in Westlea and has been there ever since. I doubt if she’ll ever get out again.’

This statement hit me like a sledgehammer. ‘Oh, surely she’ll get home sometime?’ Then I thought, what did I know about mental illness? Surely it was hard not to have any hope of release ever. My voice sounded choked. ‘But she’ll be cured … I mean someday?’

He shook his head sadly. ‘No, Ann, she won’t.’

I was upset. ‘This was all my doing, Mr Pringle. If I hadn’t confronted her about my coat, then this could all have been avoided.’

He shook his head. ‘That is the reason I’ve brought you all here. To explain what’s behind Miss Hood’s condition. Years ago Miss Hood had a broken love affair. She had an illegitimate child, a boy, and the child was taken away from her by the father. Eva, Mrs Barrie, tried all she could to help at the time but, over the years, Eva lost touch with her. Then, out of the blue, a letter arrived explaining how Miss Hood had tried to kill herself. And that was when Eva brought her to the Ferry in order to look after her because it was clear, even then, that she was mentally ill. Eva thought she could look after her and she would be safe while under her roof.’

He stopped to let us digest this terrible news. ‘Everything went well to start with even although Miss Hood got rid of a lot of staff in the beginning. Then you started work, Mrs Peters, and she knew she couldn’t bully you or Mr Potter. My wife and I are kicking ourselves for introducing Ann into this situation but we thought Miss Hood had settled down. Mrs Barrie however was growing increasingly worried about you, Ann. She wrote a letter to me a week before she died and she wanted my help in getting Miss Hood to retire. She would have a good pension and she already owned her own cottage. Miss Hood went berserk at this news and Eva was on the point of telling Ann to leave – for your own safety, my dear.’

‘Why did you not tell me or Jean about this, Mr Pringle? We could have made allowances for her and I would have understood her malice towards me.’

He shook his head. ‘Eva wanted to protect her and we think Miss Hood was beyond any help by this time.’

Jean and I looked at one another. This was how the lovely Mrs Barrie would act – to protect her housekeeper.

When we were outside, I said to Jean and Mr Potter, ‘Even although I didn’t cause her mental condition, that fight must have put her over the edge, Jean. That’s why she’s now in a mental hospital.’

Jean was annoyed but firm. ‘Now don’t you be daft, Ann. We’ve all been blessed by our wonderful bequests from a lovely lady so just you enjoy the money and the books and not give yon housekeeper another thought.’ She turned to the gardener. ‘What do you say, Mr Potter?’

‘Aye, she’s right. Yon besom was a horrible woman. She might have been deferential to the missus but she was an evil, wilful woman to everybody else.’

Although this advice was good, trying to put the terrible guilt from my mind wasn’t easy. I was over the moon about my legacy and the lovely books but I still felt it was partially my fault the housekeeper was in the hospital – no matter what anyone said.

That evening, in the midst of my confusion, Maddie and Danny turned up at the house. Danny was teasing me. ‘I see you’re a rich heiress now, Ann. Maybe I should be getting married to you instead of waiting till Maddie finishes her training for our wedding.’

I was happy for both of them but couldn’t help but feel how our paths had diverged. ‘Oh, that’s good news.’

Maddie made a face. ‘But until that blissful time I’ll have to endure the infirmary’s semolina pudding. The good old 365.’

I knew I should be feeling happy. With my money, I was going to ensure my family would be as comfy as possible – especially after the hardships we had endured. Dad had settled into a relationship with Rosie, Lily was growing up fast and, now that I was no longer at work, the added burden of my sister was lifted from my grandparents. Then there was Maddie and Danny with their forthcoming engagement. And last, but not least, was Greg – dear Greg. I should have been overwhelmed with happiness but the spectre of Miss Hood kept appearing in my mind.

The nightmares were getting worse as I relived that terrible day over and over again. One night, while strolling home from the pictures, I turned to Greg. ‘I’m going to see Miss Hood – just to satisfy myself that she doesn’t hold me responsible for her situation.’

He didn’t look happy about this. ‘I don’t think that would be a good idea, Ann.’

‘I have to go, Greg – even although I’m afraid of what I’ll hear,’ I said to him. ‘I keep thinking about it and I can’t go on like this, with all these nightmares and guilty feelings.’

He gave me a stern look. ‘Well, you can go on one condition – that I come with you.’

‘I can’t drag you into this nightmare, Greg – it’s my problem.’

He gave me another stern look and I realised how nice it was to be able to lean on him. ‘All right, I’d be grateful for the lift as I don’t know if any buses or trams go to this hospital.’ I knew I had to keep calling it a hospital because my mind couldn’t cope with the term ‘asylum’.

We went to Westlea the following Sunday. Apart from Mr Pringle, who made the appointment for me to see her, I told no one. It was a grey dismal day with the hint of rain in the low mist that clung to the houses and hedgerows. In a perverse way, I was glad of this gloomy weather because it matched my feelings.

Greg arrived on the motorbike, assuring me it was now fully repaired and roadworthy. To my surprise, we buzzed along the narrow country roads at a speed I found breathtaking and also exhilarating. There was the occasional puff of black smoke from the exhaust but, on this dismal day, the smoke merely disappeared into the landscape with hardly a trace – except perhaps for the slight smell of acrid vapour that seemed to linger in the air as we sped along. Then, before I was truly prepared for it, the gates of Westlea loomed out of the drizzle.

Greg parked the bike just inside the high wall and we walked up the wide gravel drive. We couldn’t help but notice how the grounds of the hospital almost merged with the imposing but grim-looking grey stone building. The windows looked bare and lifeless, giving the building a strange featureless quality, and I was dismayed to see some of the windows were barred. It looked more like a prison than a hospital but I had to remind myself that I knew almost nothing about mental illnesses.

Even the name filled me with dread because it was something I hadn’t come across in my life. Oh, I knew the Hilltown and Overgate had their fair share of eccentric people but being sent out here was another matter – a life sentence if Mr Pringle was to be believed.

We approached the entrance with trepidation. The large hall had a geometric tiled floor in three bright colours and it seemed a cheery start to the place but, once through the inner glass door, all the initial colour was obliterated. The corridor was painted in a sludgy grey colour while the polished floor was covered in nondescript plain linoleum. It was a grey corridor in a grey building in an equally grey world.

I was grateful for Mr Pringle’s help in arranging this meeting. Although I was doing this much against his wishes, he understood I had to make this journey.

I put my hand on Greg’s arm. ‘I have to go on my own, Greg. This is something that has to be done alone.’ He looked annoyed but I went on. ‘You do understand, don’t you?’

He nodded and smiled – a smile that lit up that depressing place like a hundred candles. ‘I’ll wait beside the bike for you.’

A middle-aged nurse with a stocky figure and a jolly face took me along endless corridors. She opened each door with a key that hung from a huge bunch on her belt. She hardly spoke except to ask me to wait while she opened yet another door. Her voice, in contrast to her plump face and sturdy looking arms, was delicately soft and pleasing and it made me think that perhaps the place wasn’t as bad as it looked. Maybe I was seeing it on a bad day. Maybe, with the sun shining through the windows, it was a happy place of peace and meditation.

Miss Hood was in a small room at the end of a corridor. She was dressed in a simple black frock that looked much too large for her shrivelled body. She was sitting in a chair in the corner, rocking back and forth with her body. She looked terrible. I walked over to her but there was no recognition on her haggard face. Even her eyes looked blank and vacant. ‘Miss Hood, do you remember me?’

She didn’t look at me but she shouted, ‘Who are you?’

‘I worked at Whitegate Lodge with you,’ I explained slowly, as if speaking to a child. ‘Don’t you remember? With Mrs Barrie?’

I thought I saw tears in her eyes but I wasn’t sure. Then she suddenly looked at me and I recoiled from the look of intense hatred on her face.

‘Go away. I don’t like you,’ she snapped. She sounded like she did in her heyday at the house.

The nurse had remained silent but she now went over to the corner and put her hand out to stop the rocking movement. To my surprise, Miss Hood slapped her hand hard and the nurse moved back to the door.

I tried once more. ‘Do you mind the day Mrs Barrie died, Miss Hood? We had a fight. Do you mind that?’

But there was no more reaction from her. Miss Hood rocked silently in her chair and looked at the floor. The nurse motioned that I should leave.

‘You’ll not get anything out of her. Her mind’s completely gone.’

I explained how I thought I had triggered this off but the nurse laughed harshly. ‘For heaven’s sake, lassie, you didn’t cause this. This patient’s been like this for years. If it hadn’t been for her employer sheltering her under her protection, then she would have been in here long ago.’

I knew in my heart that this was the way Mrs Barrie would act. She was a lovely, kind-hearted woman and a charitable one at that, keeping this mentally ill woman in her house all these years.

‘Mr Pringle says she’ll never get better,’ I said and the nurse confirmed this.

‘She’s grown more ill over the years and, because of her problems, she has also grown more bitter. It’s very sad.’

Poor Miss Hood – what a cruel world it could be. Maybe, if she hadn’t met her Othello or had her illegitimate child taken away from her, then her life would have been happier. Then I remembered Granny – she had nothing to face adversity with but her strong character and good humour. Still, maybe Miss Hood wasn’t blessed with these sterling qualities. We would never know.

As I turned to thank the nurse, a stream of oaths came from the room. Once again, I was shocked but the nurse took it in her stride as she hurried me away. As we retreated down the corridor, I could hear Miss Hood snarling after me, ‘Young madam, young madam …’ over and over again.

The nurse said, ‘You were very lucky she didn’t harm you in that house as you seem to have become the focus of her hate. I believe Mrs Barrie had arranged with Mr Pringle to get you away that very week, she was so worried about the danger you were in.’

When we reached the staircase, the nurse said goodbye and hurried off in a different direction. An elderly woman was mopping the stairs, her large mop swishing over the lino and slapping against the banisters. As I approached, she gave me a knowing look so I stopped. ‘I’m sorry for walking over your clean floor,’ I said, thinking she was annoyed at me.

She waved my protest aside. ‘Oh, there will be plenty of folk walking over it. We do get visitors in here.’ She must have read my thoughts. ‘Oh, aye, some of the patients get visitors but some folk don’t.’ She cocked her sideways. ‘You were visiting Miss Hood were you not?’

I looked at her in surprise. How could the cleaner possibly know who I had visited?

She tapped the side of her nose. ‘Aye, it’s a great thing, my mop bucket. I have to go into places that would normally be out of bounds. I was mopping the corridor just along from Miss Hood’s room when I heard you.’

I tried to side-step the woman, desperate to be out of this dreadful place.

The cleaner, however, was in a chatty mood. ‘Did you notice she was dressed entirely in black?’

I nodded. I hadn’t made anything of it, thinking it was the regulation uniform.

‘Well, that’s the reason us cleaners call her the auld crow. She’s like a black hoodie crow and that’s her nickname in here – “black hoodie crow”.’ The small woman gazed at me, satisfaction written all over her face at her descriptive narrative.

It was then that a huge weight was lifted from my shoulders and a veil stripped from my eyes. A blackbird – of course. Even before I set foot in Whitegate Lodge, Ma Ryan had warned me about being in danger from a blackbird but it was a black bird she’d meant, not a blackbird, and there was surely no bird blacker that a crow. For the first time in weeks, ever since that terrible day at Whitegate Lodge, I felt free.

I now knew with clarity that Miss Hood’s illness had nothing to do with me. Her troubles had all happened a long, long time ago – before I was even born – and this canker had eaten away the mind of the housekeeper. It had festered away day in and day out, year after year. Unfortunately, the jealous rage she’d directed towards me had been the final straw for her but it wasn’t my fault. Everyone had told me this but I had been too blind to see. But now I was free.

Greg was waiting for me, a worried looking frown on his face. I ran over. ‘It’s all over, Greg – no more guilt about Miss Hood.’