He sighed. ‘Once this is all over then I should hope you will feel able to continue with your life.’ He released my hand and sat back in his seat, turning his head to follow my gaze out through the rain dappled window. ‘I know how much Beatrice’s disappearance devastated you and I was hoping that knowing what has become of her will mean that you are able to carry on with your life as before.’
I reached up and trailed one finger down the mist of condensation that had gathered on the inside of the window, watching in fascination as it turned to water and dripped away. ‘I don’t know if that’s possible,’ I whispered. ‘Although I suppose that in the end it will all depend on what we find at Panacea House.’
My father thought that I was on my way to the refuge in Whitechapel and I dreaded to think what he would say should he learn the truth - that we had picked up Patrick at Canonbury Station and then headed straight out of London towards Essex. It would, perhaps, have been a better idea and more anonymous to go by train but there was always that danger that someone who knew us both would see us together so we decided to take a carriage instead. It could have been worse though - the coachman had known me all my life and, like most of the staff at our house, colluded only too happily with my plans knowing that they would be well rewarded for their silence and there was no chance of being turned out by my soft hearted father should the deception be discovered. My aunt, of course, was a different matter but I rather thought she would be completely mollified by the fact that Patrick was with me and so didn’t worry too much about her reaction should she find out.
‘Am I doing the right thing, Patrick?’ I said. I’d been happy in my own way before the envelope with Beatrice’s locket had landed on the chill marble floor of our hallway or, at least, I had supposed that I was. Now though, I wasn’t sure as a restlessness, a sense of something missing that had throbbed below the surface threatened to overwhelm me.
Patrick looked at me and shook his head. ‘I don’t know, Alice,’ he said. ‘Only you can know the answer to that.’
I felt in my reticule and brought out the letter that I had found on my father’s desk then handed it to him. I had read it so often now that the words were seared across my memory.
‘My dear sir,
I am writing to let you know that your daughter, Miss Beatrice Redmayne is settling in well at Panacea House and no longer requires any significant methods of sedation. She is sleeping and eating well and has even been playing the piano in the evening, which brings everyone much pleasure.
I do not advise visits or any form of communication at the present time as it may lead to a relapse of her nervous condition but I am sure that all of this may be resumed in the future when she is more herself again.
I will, of course, let you know immediately if there is any change in her condition.
Yours etc.
Mrs Smith-Welsh.’
Patrick said nothing as his eyes scanned the letter then handed it back to me. ‘I can’t believe that she has been there all this time and that no one thought to tell me,’ I said. ‘I hope that she does not think that we have all forgotten about her.’
‘I am sure that she does not think that,’ Patrick said in a low voice, taking my hand again and gazing at me most earnestly. ‘I have heard that these places can be damnably strict and you can see from the letter that they discouraged any communication until she was better.’
‘But surely she must be better by now?’ I said, pushing the letter back into my reticule. ‘This was written six years ago. You remember how she was, don’t you?’ I stared at him. ‘She was perfectly normal, perfectly sane and yet this letter makes it sound like she was some sort of madwoman or some wild creature that must be cut off from the world.’ I felt tears welling in my eyes and angrily dashed them away with the back of my hand. ‘There is something very wrong here, Patrick, and I am determined to get to the bottom of it.’
He smiled. ‘I have no doubt at all that you will,’ he said. ‘This doesn’t explain the locket and envelope though.’ I had told him everything while making the arrangements to travel out to Panacea House together and would always be grateful for the careful way he had listened to every single word, for his absolute and wholehearted belief in everything that I had said no matter how preposterous it had seemed once uttered out loud.
I shrugged. ‘I’m sure that there is a perfectly straightforward explanation,’ I murmured, gazing moodily out of the rain and mud splattered window. ‘Perhaps this girl Emma was a fellow inmate of Panacea House and stole them from her?’
Patrick nodded. ‘That does seem like the most likely scenario,’ he said quietly.
We arrived at Rayleigh shortly afterwards and as if by magic, the rain cleared up so that I was able to push the window down and relieve some of the stuffiness in the carriage as we rolled up a pleasant and well tended street lined with shops and pretty pale stone houses. ‘I suspect that Panacea House is on the outskirts,’ I said, smiling up at the rainbow that was just beginning to shimmer into life above the rooftops. ‘How fresh everything smells after a really good rain shower.’ I took a deep breath then settled back into my seat. ‘Have you ever been to Italy, Patrick? The air there smells extraordinary when the rain has stopped.’
‘I went to Venice and Naples when I was younger,’ he said, stretching his long legs out in front of him and wincing when they wouldn’t go as far as he would like in the cramped conditions of the carriage. ‘I would like to go back one day. Perhaps we should go together after…’
‘Let’s not talk about that now,’ I said quickly, cutting him off.
‘But we will talk about it?’ He ran his fingers nervously through his thick hair, which he was wearing a little longer these days. The gold signet ring on his finger caught the light and dazzled me.
I sighed and shrugged. ‘Yes, one day but not today.’ I looked at him pleadingly. ‘Please, Patrick, let’s not do this now.’ I gave a shaky laugh. ‘I know that I have compromised my reputation by travelling so far alone with you but I do hope that you haven’t been colluding with my father and aunt to use this as a means of forcing me into matrimony.’
He grinned and shook his head. ‘No, but I’m willing to wager that they will be most disappointed not to have thought of such a ruse themselves.’ He leaned forward and caught both of my hands in his. ‘Very well, Alice, I won’t speak of it now but after we have returned to London, I will be making an appointment to speak to your father at the very earliest convenience.’
I hesitated for a moment then nodded. ‘As you wish,’ I said in a low voice. ‘I know when I am beaten.’
Panacea House did indeed lie on the outskirts of Rayleigh and we passed out into open countryside with rolling fields, clumps of trees and a few scattered cottages before finally turning in through a rather forbidding looking stone gatehouse topped with crenellation and a large lozenge decorated with a coat of arms. ’This is much grander than I had expected,’ I remarked to Patrick as we rolled up a long winding driveway that passed through dense woodland before coming to an abrupt end in front of a large pale stone house built in an austere Georgian style with columns holding up a pediment at the front and a pair of small wings attached to the sides.
‘Whoever owns this place must be raking it in,’ Patrick said appreciatively as our carriage came to a halt in front of the house and the coachman jumped down to pull open my door.
‘Well, according to Lucasta, this is the most fashionable place to send wayward young ladies,’ I said tartly as I descended on to the gravel then drew the short veil that edged my hat down over my eyes.
Patrick jumped down behind me and then after a moment’s hesitation offered me his arm. ‘Shall we?’ he said.
I looked up at him, suddenly frightened and nodded. ‘Don’t desert me,’ I whispered from lips that felt suddenly dry and bloodless.
He squeezed my hand. ‘I will remain by your side until the very end,’ he said with a meaningful look that made the blood rush into my cheeks and ga
ve me the strength to walk the few yards to the front door, which already stood open with a pert faced little maid standing beside it.
‘Welcome to Panacea House,’ she said in a distinctly Essex accent as we approached. Her eyes flickered over us both and I saw a frown appear between her dark eyes as she clearly wondered if we were merely visitors or if Patrick was bringing me in to be committed and I started to feel vaguely panicked in case someone appeared from the shadowy hall between her with a straight jacket. What was the procedure in these places anyway? I looked around curiously, taking in the avenue of lime trees that led to a pleasant garden at the side of the house and the pretty pink and green curtains that hung at the window nearest to us. It didn’t look like the formidable institution that I had been imagining but more like a rather charming private home.
‘I am Lord Woollam and this is Miss Redmayne. We have come to see Mrs Smith-Welsh,’ Patrick said, clearing his throat nervously. ‘We have some questions about a young lady who has been residing here.’
The maid nodded and led us into the hall, which was large, painted a soft shade of periwinkle blue and lined with portraits. ‘I will let her know that you are here,’ she said. ‘If you will just follow me into the parlour?’
We silently went across the hall to a room at the back of the house, which was papered with pretty Japanese wallpaper painted with peacock feathers, lush exotic flowers and tiny golden fish. Pale green watered silk curtains hung at the windows and I pulled one aside to peer across the lawn at the back of the house, where I could see about a dozen young women walking together - some in pairs with linked arms and bright heads close together and others alone, either reading from a book or just staring into the distance. I had vaguely expected the young ladies of Panacea House to wear some sort of uniform but instead these girls were dressed as fashionably as any you might see at a Mayfair garden party or taking the air in Hyde Park.
I looked for Beatrice among them but they were too far away. I thought that perhaps one of the blonde girls, who was wearing pale pink and was sitting alone on a bench at the very far end of the lawn, might be her but it was impossible to tell at such a distance. ‘It’s really quite pleasant here,’ I said to Patrick as I regretfully turned away from the window. ‘Much nicer than I expected.’
‘I’m so pleased,’ a woman’s voice said in tones of amusement and with a shock I turned to see that a dark haired middle aged lady dressed in pale grey silk that I took to be Mrs Smith-Welsh had entered the room and was now surveying us with frank curiosity. ‘Did Rosie bring you tea?’ she asked, moving towards me with a smile. ‘She’s very new and really rather hopeless but what can you do?’ She went to a blue silk bell pull that hung beside the highly decorated white plaster fireplace and gave it a sharp tug. ‘As you can imagine, we have quite a high turn over of staff here at Panacea House.’
I couldn’t imagine and looked doubtfully at the window, through which I could still see the pale dresses of the young ladies walking in the garden. Mrs Smith-Welsh followed my gaze with her own and gave a small, tight smile. ‘I do wish that all of our young ladies were as well behaved,’ she said enigmatically.
A very flustered Rosie appeared a few moments later, tucking her hair back under her neat white linen cap then wiping her hands down her apron. My aunt Minerva would have been appalled but I rather warmed to her. ‘You rang, Mrs Smith-Welsh?’ she said breathlessly as if she had been running.
‘Tea, Rosie,’ Mrs Smith-Welsh said with a thin lipped smile. ‘And cake, I think?’ She turned to Patrick with an apologetic shrug as the maid scampered off again. ‘I expect that I really ought to offer you something stronger but as you can no doubt appreciate, we consider it unwise to have strong spirits on the premises lest it excites the young ladies.’
Patrick nodded. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Tea will do perfectly well.’
Our hostess motioned that we be seated then, after we had perched on one of the very uncomfortable jade silk covered sofas arranged either side of the fireplace, turned to me with an arch of her eyebrow. ‘And what can I do for you, Miss Redmayne?’ she said smoothly. ‘I do, of course, recognise your name but…’ she made an expressive little gesture with her small plump hands that indicated that she had no idea what I was doing there.
I took a deep breath and decided that it was best to be bold than waste time beating around the bush and probably getting nowhere. ‘I have come to see my sister, Beatrice Redmayne,’ I said, reaching into my reticule for the letter that she herself had sent six years before. ‘I believe that she is a resident here.’
‘Is that so?’ Mrs Smith-Welsh put out her hand for the letter and scanned it quickly before handing it back. ‘I remember writing this,’ she said. ‘That poor girl.’
‘So she was here then?’ I said, clutching at Patrick’s hand.
Mrs Smith-Welsh nodded briskly. ‘She was indeed,’ she said carefully, ‘but no longer.’ She looked from me to Patrick and then back again. ‘I am so sorry, my dear, but she left Panacea House just over a year ago.’
I stared at her in amazement. ‘She left?’ I gasped. ‘But where has she gone?’ I looked around at Patrick but his expression was just as confused.
Mrs Smith-Welsh opened her mouth to reply but then closed it again with a snap as the door was pushed open without ceremony and Rosie entered, flushed and panting under the weight of a large silver tray laden with a pretty pink floral tea service and cakes arranged on a china plate. She flicked me a curious look from beneath her sandy lashes as she placed the tray on the table in front of the fireplace and started to arrange the tea things.
‘How many young ladies do you have living here?’ Patrick said, breaking the uneasy silence that fallen in the room. ‘It is a much larger establishment than I had anticipated.’
Mrs Smith-Welsh gave him a polite smile. ‘We have around thirty young ladies living here at any time.’ She watched warily as Rosie poured the tea. ‘Some of them are here permanently but others are here for a rest.’ She looked at me. ‘Society life can be so very exhausting, can’t it? Some of our young ladies come here for a few weeks or perhaps a month to recuperate before returning to their usual life.’
Rosie finished pouring the tea and straightened up. ‘Will that be all, ma’am?’ she said to her mistress before whisking from the room without waiting for an answer.
‘She won’t last long,’ Mrs Smith-Welsh said with a sigh, handing me my cup of tea. ‘They never do.’
I took a polite sip of my tea then put the cup back on the table in what I hoped was a business like manner. ‘Why did my sister leave?’ I said.
Mrs Smith-Welsh paused in the act of raising a piece of seed cake to her lips and coughed before replying. ‘I don’t know,’ she said candidly. ‘I know that she wasn’t entirely happy here but I didn’t realise that she was unhappy enough to want to leave.’
I digested this. ‘But where did she go?’
Mrs Smith-Welsh sighed and put the piece of cake back on to her plate then sat back, wiping her hands on a lace edged napkin. ‘I have not the faintest idea,’ she said. ‘She left no clues as to her current whereabouts so I rather presumed that she had gone home. Naturally, I immediately wrote to your father to make him aware of the situation.’ She frowned. ‘I expected him to come here and talk to me about it but he obviously did not see fit to do so.’
‘It’s possible that we were abroad at the time,’ I murmured, trying to remember where we were a year ago. There had been a trip to Paris in the spring and then three months in Italy across the autumn. Had Beatrice gone back to Highbury only to find us all gone? I felt cold at the thought of it. What must she have thought of us all, carrying on with our lives as if she did not exist? What must she have thought of me?
‘That would certainly explain it,’ Mrs Smith-Welsh said, lifting up her cup and taking a sip of tea. ‘We were all very worried at the time as it was so unexpected.’
Patrick gave a discreet cough. ‘Do your young ladies often just wal
k out?’ he said. ‘I was under the impression that the residents of Panacea House were on the whole compelled to remain here until given permission by their families to go home.’
Mrs Smith-Welsh reddened slightly. ‘That is quite true, my Lord, but in this case I am afraid there was a lapse in the usual security arrangements and Miss Redmayne was able to leave.’ She sighed. ‘It happened very late at night when we were all in bed or at least should have been. We found out later that she had managed to befriend one of the maids who let her out of her room and then helped her to find her way to Rayleigh, where we believe that she caught a train to London. The maid was, of course, immediately dismissed.’
I felt like crying. I suppose that most people would describe Panacea House as tranquil but the silence felt like more like a sepulchral hush to me. ‘Did she have many visitors?’ I asked in a low voice.
Mrs Smith-Welsh shook her head. ‘No, I’m afraid not.’ She took another sip of tea and watched me over the rim of her cup. ‘Your parents and aunt came a few times but then shortly before she vanished, her behaviour deteriorated and I advised them to stop visiting as it was causing distress.’ She did not say to whom but I could imagine it all so clearly - my father, red eyed and silent with misery; Aunt Minerva, weeping into her handkerchief and Beatrice..?
‘You say that her behaviour deteriorated?’ I said, still holding onto Patrick’s hand as if my life depended upon it. ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Ah yes, well, by that I mean that she became erratic, hysterical and really quite difficult to manage,’ she put her cup back on the table and regretfully eyed the seed cake. ‘There were several unfortunate outbursts particularly during…’ her voice trailed away and she cast a meaningful look at Patrick.
From Whitechapel Page 26
