Murder Lies Waiting

by Alanna Knight

  I pulled myself up sharply. I had to stop this, feeling sorry for myself wasn’t on my agenda. Tomorrow morning I would, from all accounts, need to be vigilant and not expect too much from that visit to the asylum for the insane and an encounter with Miss Ellen Boyd. Meanwhile in preparation for tomorrow before retiring to bed, I got out my notebook and made careful and exact notes of what Dr Wills told me.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Chanonry House Asylum did not advertise itself. Indeed, it seemed eager to keep its presence as secret as possible as I soon discovered to my cost when I went in search of it, as I had been directed, in the wooded area beyond Ardbeg. There was a morning visiting hour and that meant I would also be able to visit Vantry in the afternoon, glad that I would not have to waste another of the next few days, when hopefully Sadie might be well enough to travel. Thankfully, the ferries had taken to the water again, back on their daily schedule, with the storm clouds brushed momentarily aside.

  Once more the tramway had been useful but I was experiencing problems with persuading the conductor – who was either deaf or, by his expression of amazement, taken aback, looking at me wide-eyed – to please set me at the stop for Chanonry House.

  He frowned, regarded me anxiously and asked was I sure, then in a whisper so that the other occupants might not overhear, he leant over: ‘The asylum, is that what you are wanting, miss?’

  I said yes, definitely, and with a clanging of bells the tramway vehicle duly stopped and he pointed: ‘There’s a path up there, across a field.’

  And on foot was presumably the only access for visitors. Without a roadway, any carriages would have to be parked where I left the main road, before setting off in the direction of a building hidden by trees and invisible from the junction. Fortunately, the weather was reasonable in that it was not raining, otherwise a cold, windy and unwelcoming walk to a cold, unwelcoming house might have put off all but the stout-hearted.

  At least the gates were unguarded with a short walk up to the front door of an unimposing building, once a handsome private residence but now appearing much the worse for wear after many years of neglect. There was a garden of sorts, thinly planted with a few shrubs, and with a sprinkling of rickety tables and chairs, sadly in need of paint and sprawling in disorder close to the walls, as if the residents had just left or had been called inside, or abandoned them in a hurry to escape a shower of rain.

  I rang the bell on a door that had seen better times and waited with some unease, wondering what I might expect to find inside. At last there were footsteps, the door opened and a uniformed maid, neat and tidy, appeared. When I asked to see Miss Ellen Boyd, her surprised expression and repeated question suggested Miss Boyd had few visitors, and nodding vaguely, she indicated that I enter and take a seat.

  I found myself in a dark room with a dozen chairs thrust back against one wall, opposite a window that shed little light into the gloom. There were no other visitors, only an ominous silence reminiscent of a doctor’s waiting room.

  The footsteps returned. This time a large lady appeared in the uniform of a senior nurse and, with a brisk manner combined with an air of authority, declared herself the matron of Chanonry House Asylum.

  ‘Is it Ellen Boyd you wish to see?’ she asked sharply and as she said the words she frowned, her expression as surprised as the maid who had opened the door.

  I stood up. ‘If that is possible, yes,’ I said, already dreading what those words were to bring forth and with a confidence long since evaporated. I was not feeling at all competent about dealing with a woman reputedly mad and inclined to violence.

  The matron nodded and indicated that I should follow her.

  ‘Are you a relative or a friend?’

  I smiled. ‘Friend of a friend. I’m visiting Rothesay and I promised to look in and see her.’

  The matron nodded again. The explanation seemed to satisfy her. ‘I merely wondered. Ellen does not have any relatives or many visitors.’

  From the warnings I had received, I felt she might have conveniently substituted ‘any’ for ‘many’, as I followed her from the main reception area through a door and down a narrow, tile-lined corridor with a somewhat forbidding, prison-like atmosphere.

  I wondered in alarm if this was where the inmates were kept securely in locked cells, when the matron said: ‘In here, miss,’ and opened a door out of the gloom and into a blaze of sunlight.

  I blinked. Here was a large kitchen, with a few servants scurrying about and a rich smell of baking.

  Ushering me inside, the matron shouted: ‘Ellen, a visitor for you!’

  From the furthest table, a woman looked up, stared towards us short-sightedly, and laying aside a rolling pin, dusted her hands on her apron and came briskly across.

  At first glance, she did not look mad or violent, no more demented than a shop assistant overburdened by customers on a busy Saturday morning. I guessed she would be mid forties but looked older, her hair streaked with white, an amiable and polite, but rather surprised expression, understandable since we had never met before. She looked pleased, a warm, shy smile, a welcoming hand.

  Looking over her shoulder to one of the other kitchen women, similarly clad in caps and aprons, she called: ‘Watch that oven, Betty. They’ll be ready in five minutes. I shan’t be long.’ And touching my arm: ‘We can talk in the sitting room.’

  The sitting room turned out to be the gloomy place with those vacant chairs. Indicating one, she sat down beside me, turned with a smile and said: ‘So good to see you, miss.’

  I said, ‘Mrs Macmerry.’ She smiled again and waited, obviously for some explanation. I began rather awkwardly, saying that I was on holiday in Rothesay.

  To my relief, without waiting for any further explanation as to how I had come to visit her, she said eagerly: ‘And how do you like it? Have you seen the castle?’

  The next minute I was listening to all the glories of Bute that were not to be missed. Had I seen this and that? Had I been here or there? And all the time I was thinking this conversation was like meeting a stranger on a train journey, skimming across the surface of polite acquaintanceship with never a hint of anything personal. And in Ellen Boyd’s case, not even a question or at least a curious enquiry as to why I had come to visit her in Chanonry Asylum.

  I felt I knew the answer. The sad, sad reason being – and the matron had provided the clue – Ellen Boyd had no visitors, and she was so glad to see even a stranger that she asked no questions of who or why.

  I also thought I had found another grim answer. This pleasant, friendly woman had been falsely incarcerated in an asylum. She was as sane as I was.

  A lull in the conversation. Weather had been discussed, suggesting the finality of topics. The moment I dreaded. In the silence that followed, she was smiling politely, doubtless waiting for some further explanation regarding this unexpected and surprise visit.

  I could tell her a lie, about some mutual friend, or get up and go, but I would leave with an unsolved mystery, the main reason I had come to the asylum to further Sadie’s cause and unearth more revelations about the tragic events at Vantry twenty years ago. The two sisters’ strange behaviour as witnesses at the murder trial was why I had been sitting here talking to Ellen Boyd, all part of that deeper reason, to prove Sarah Vantry’s innocence. How wild and even curiously unimportant that was becoming, I thought, as I stood up and said that I must be going now. She looked disappointed and nodded. ‘I suppose you must, but it has been so good to meet you. Thank you for coming.’

  It was then I took a deep breath and blurted it out. ‘I was so sorry to hear about your trouble – the sad business about your sister Mavis.’

  For a moment she stared at me wide-eyed, not understanding, and then she said quickly. ‘I can never forget her last words, before … before she died. She said to me it wasn’t her ladyship. So it was Edgar Worth who killed her.’ And then as this sudden realisation unlocked some forbidden chamber in her mind, like a blast of lightning it stru
ck her.

  She leapt to her feet, threw her arms above her head and screamed: ‘Get away from me. They sent you – I know who you are. You came here to kill me!’

  I staggered back as her screams rocked the room.

  The door opened and the matron came running in, followed by two muscular-looking nurses who went swiftly to Ellen and got her to sit down again, holding her and stroking her arms gently, trying to placate her until her screams changed into heart-wrenching sobs. Gently they whispered, raising her to her feet and leading her towards the door, darting bitter, accusing looks in my direction.

  The door closed, leaving me with the matron. She looked at me silently for a moment. ‘What have you done? Do you know what you have done?’ she added sternly.

  I merely shook my head, bewildered and too shocked to find any appropriate excuse or answer, sickened by how a few ill-chosen words could transform this gentle-seeming woman into a screaming madwoman.

  The matron was leading me firmly towards the entrance while I stammered apologies, saying I had no idea.

  The matron shook her head sadly. ‘No, you had no idea, how could you have any idea? How the mention of her sister could still have this effect. We have to be very careful never to mention her sister Mavis, that still does the damage. Otherwise, she is just a nice, kindly, normal person.’ She sighed. ‘She believes that Mavis was murdered. It has obsessed her whole life, destroyed her. I expect you know the story, madam – or was it idle curiosity that brought you here?’ she added bitterly.

  I could think of nothing, no excuse. She opened the front door, touched the flaking paintwork. ‘We do not have an easy life, money is scarce. There is no income. We have to rely on charity – in this case, Lady Vantry gives us what she can, helps us to stay open to offer shelter to those whose afflicted minds, if unrestrained, might damage the fabric of our society.’

  She gave me a hard look. ‘Something you might bear in mind, madam, regarding the nature of asylums. The description, the very word frightens people, they avoid them, think of them as prisons.’ She shook her head and added sadly: ‘Not all are mad people, some, like Ellen Boyd, are brought here for their own protection.’

  The door closed behind me and I was faced with the long, bleak walk back across the field once more.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  I had plenty to think about heading back through the trees along past Ardbeg to the hotel. I was still shocked by what I had witnessed and now it seemed that all roads led back to Vantry. To Sadie’s false accusation of murder, there was now added Ellen Boyd’s incarceration at Chanonry Asylum, its doors kept open by the charity of Lady Vantry, Bute’s lady bountiful, and I remembered the matron’s ominous warning, that perhaps Ellen Boyd was there to keep her safe.

  Safe from whom or what! At every turning Vantry was there in some shape or form and it was there, I was sure, I might find the answer.

  There were so many threads in this sinister web, for the moment I was dismissing Sadie’s original problem regarding her reply to Captain Robbie’s proposal that she should marry him, which I now had reason to suspect had been overwhelmed and cast into the shadows by a newer problem, her affair with Harry. That was something she had to work out for herself, but I was now in the grip of mysteries surrounding Vantry. I had little time left but as I reached the hotel, I resolved to hire the bicycle again and visit Lady Vantry as planned.

  Dr Wills was just leaving. He was in reception talking to Harry and had been to see Sadie. He saw me arriving and said there had been an improvement.

  Smiling he added, ‘She is a strong, healthy, young woman and I am hopeful that by next week she should be fit to travel back to Edinburgh with you.’

  Although I responded with relief to Dr Wills, I felt guilty that I was now the one who was reluctant to leave with yet another unsolved mystery. I hated the questions burrowing into my mind, questions that gave me nightmares and kept me awake half the night when I was on a case, despite Jack’s assurance that I slept like a log.

  Dr Wills had a companion. Perhaps I had interrupted some important conversation, as in the pause that followed, I thought I detected a reluctance to introduce me. ‘This is Dr Richards, Mrs Macmerry.’ As we shook hands, Dr Wills said: ‘Tom is just here visiting friends. His mother lives in Wemyss Bay.’

  This was greeted by a smile. ‘And don’t forget my esteemed relative in Rothesay. My cousin is with the police, an inspector, no less.’ His dry laugh and the doctor’s frown indicated that there was not much love lost in that relationship. ‘But the doctor and I worked together. I was his junior, before I moved over to Glasgow. I am a Bute man too, but I succumbed to the mainland’s attractions – I like the bright lights and high life, unlike some I could name.’

  An attractive man, some twenty years younger than Dr Wills, with a charming smile hinting at a bedside manner that must be most agreeable to his women patients. And then I remembered the name. Dr Richards was the young locum who had been summoned to Vantry, signed the death certificate for Mavis Boyd’s death and attended her hysterical grieving sister.

  From my point of view this was a piece of unexpected luck. He was the very man I wanted to talk to as I wondered if his had also been one of the signatures on the certificate declaring Ellen Boyd insane and committing her to Chanonry Asylum.

  Dr Wills was saying: ‘I have some patients to see still, but if you’d like to stay here we can meet for lunch.’

  ‘I’d be delighted, Ambrose.’ A beaming smile. ‘Perhaps Mrs Macmerry would like to join us.’

  Dr Wills did not quite conceal a slight frown but the polite invitation was the perfect opportunity. Vantry could wait. How much would Dr Tom Richards remember? There was only one way to find out. In Ambrose Wills’ absence – odd I had never thought of him having a first name – I would broach the subject of Ellen Boyd.

  First of all, I went up to see Sadie, who was sitting up in bed. She looked much better and said although she still felt weak, her old self was emerging. She greeted me cheerfully and said that she was sure she was on the mend. I said that was good news but when I told her I had seen the doctor and he thought she might be well enough to travel back to Edinburgh next week, her smile faded.

  ‘I thought you would be pleased, Sadie.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ but she didn’t seem convinced. She shook her head. ‘I’m rather worried, Rose. That awful Uncle Godwin looked in this morning – I don’t know how he dared – said he had heard I was ill and so forth and hoped I hadn’t spread my infection round the hotel. So bad for their reputation and their takings. He was just checking.

  ‘Cheeky old devil! Then he got to the point, said he wanted another twenty pounds as money didn’t go far when you were a man with expensive tastes. I was taken aback. How dare he—’

  I stopped her. ‘Wait a moment, Sadie, you said another twenty pounds. Don’t tell me after all my warnings about blackmailers and going to the police that you actually gave him money the first time.’

  She sighed deeply. ‘Yes, I did, Rose. I shouldn’t have and I know now that you were right. But I was scared, really scared that he’d spread it around that he knew who I really was – and that he’d tell Harry.’

  It was on the tip of my tongue to say that if they were as close as appearances indicated, then she should tell Harry herself, but I said: ‘That was a lot of money. And have you given him another twenty?’

  She shook her head vigorously. ‘Of course not. I haven’t that much on me any longer. I told him that he’d have to wait until I was on my feet again and able to go to the bank,’ She paused and looked at me. ‘He said I could get it from my rich lady. Meaning you, of course. And I said no, I couldn’t without telling you and I certainly wasn’t going to steal it.’

  I gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Why didn’t you just tell him to bugger off!’

  She looked tearful, shook her head. ‘I’m scared of him, Rose. He frightens me and he is horrid about Gerald too, saying such malicious things when he knows h
e is Harry’s closest friend and such an asset to the hotel.’

  I could understand her being scared of Godwin: just seeing him slinking about the hotel, appearing unexpectedly in his carpet slippers, I found quite unnerving, but there was one consolation. ‘You don’t need to worry about Uncle Godwin and his blackmail. We’ll be leaving in a few days and he can’t touch you in Edinburgh.’

  She didn’t look as relieved as I’d hoped by that observation.

  Downstairs, Tom Richards was seated at a window table overlooking the sea. He stood up, bowed and seated me opposite.

  Looking again at the sea, he pointed. ‘Great day for a sail while I’m here. Might take one of Harry’s boats out.’ Again the beaming smile that crinkled his eyes in a very charming way. ‘Care to join me, Mrs Macmerry?’

  I thanked him but said hastily that I had an engagement. He shook his head, looked me over rather candidly and drawled: ‘Another time, perhaps?’

  I nodded vaguely while we considered the menu that appeared as usual handed over by an enigmatic and expressionless waiter.

  Richards said: ‘I’m starving. Shall we give Ambrose a couple of minutes before we order?’

  I agreed and there followed some polite preliminaries regarding Edinburgh, Glasgow and inevitably the weather. Then, with a show of anxiety, whether I had enjoyed my holiday.

  This was my chance, at last. I said I had met a former patient of his.

  He looked surprised, until I added that it was a Miss Ellen Boyd and once more produced the fictional mutual friend in Edinburgh – I was beginning to believe in her myself – who had asked me to visit her.