Meanwhile, at the Dernstrum Institute

by Catherine Griffin

  On the first floor, the stairway split, going left and right to meet a broad landing that made a complete square, with closed doors all the way round. Light streamed in from large windows on the front of the house, affording a good view of grey sky, brown sea, and the low green smudge of Wales. Langstone had been working in his laboratory for the last few days. Whatever he did in there raised an unholy stink, an eye-watering mixture of putrid seashore and burning rubber.

  The door of the laboratory was shut. I hesitated. Obviously, I needed to tell him about the farmer and there was no reason to delay. But all weekend I’d been trying to avoid Langstone. He had a habit of brushing against me in passing, or bending over me to look at the book I was reading. It might be just my imagination, but it made me uncomfortable.

  He was my boss though. Uncomfortable or not, I had to deal with him. I took a deep breath, then knocked firmly.

  The door jerked open from the inside. Langstone frowned at me. He was unshaven and his collar hung loose.

  ‘What? Oh. It’s you, Miss Wright.’

  He held the door open a few inches, his body blocking the view of the room beyond. I could see nothing but the curtains covering the windows. Darkness shrouded the room.

  ‘I need to speak to you, sir.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘There’s a local farmer, a Mr Cheever. One of his sheep has died on our land, and he thinks it’s the fault of the Institute somehow. He wants compensation, or he says he’ll speak to the police and the newspapers.’

  Langstone blinked. ‘A dead sheep. What happened to it?’

  ‘Its throat was torn out.’

  He stared through me. His mouth worked, but he didn’t speak. He leaned against the door frame.

  ‘What... What does the man want?’

  ‘Twenty pounds, he said.’

  ‘Pay him.’

  It wasn’t the response I had expected. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘It’s nothing. There’s enough talk about the Institute already. We don’t want any trouble with the locals. Pay him.’

  He shut the door in my face. I stepped back, surprised and a little aggrieved by his brusqueness. He was clearly rattled. Was there really so much bad feeling about the Institute that the farmer needed to be kept quiet? If there was, it was news to me.

  On my way back to the library, I nearly walked into Hack and his now assembled camera.

  ‘Sorry. I should watch where I’m going.’

  ‘Would you like to sit for me? It won’t take a moment.’

  ‘No, thank you. I have work to do.’

  I shut the door of the library behind me and sat down to think. Langstone’s attitude bothered me. Of course, it was the Institute’s money, and his responsibility, not mine, so why did I care?

  Pushing aside my concern, I wrote a very businesslike receipt for Mr Cheever to sign. Longhand, as I couldn’t face trying to type it, which would take all day. Then I went to the safe to see if we had cash to cover the payment.

  The smell of gravy signalled the approach of lunchtime when I emerged from the library. Sunlight streamed in through the high windows. Hack was still photographing the hall. Avoiding him, I crossed to the foot of the stairs, only to see Langstone on his way down. I waited for him.

  ‘Could I speak with you a moment?’

  He stopped a few steps up, squinting at me as if he had trouble with his eyes. ‘Of course.’

  ‘In the library, I think.’ I ushered him across the hall.

  Hack intercepted us. ‘Dr Langstone, if you’ll just stay where you are one moment. The light is perfect. This won’t take a second.’ He disappeared behind his apparatus.

  Langstone turned his back on the camera. ‘Please have the kindness not to involve me in your research, Mr Hack.’

  ‘Oh.’ Hack looked at me appealingly. ‘But I just thought, if it wasn’t any trouble…’

  I gave Hack a stern glare and followed Langstone into the library, pulling the door to behind us.

  ‘Now, what did you wish to discuss, Miss Wright? Is it the farmer again?’ He sat down, folding his hands on the table in front of him.

  There was a fresh cut on his jawline. He must have nicked himself shaving. He’d changed clothes too, since I’d spoken to him earlier.

  ‘Not exactly.’ I moved my chair a little further from him before sitting down. ‘The thing is, I can pay the farmer. But then there won’t be enough cash to pay the staff next week. The Institute is broke.’

  ‘Hardly broke, Miss Wright. The Professor’s endowment was very large. We can’t possibly have run out of money already.’

  ‘I suppose not. But there isn’t much cash in the safe. And we need cash to pay the staff, and settle the grocer’s account, and, well, lots of things.’

  He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers to his temples. ‘Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.’

  I hoped he was talking to himself.

  His hands hid his expression, but his tone was bitter. ‘This is entirely my fault. I’m responsible.’

  Silence stretched while I wondered if he would explain. His head dropped. A shudder ran through his frame, then he straightened and looked me in the eye.

  ‘Cash has to be withdrawn from the bank in Bridgwater. It’s been some time since I felt well enough to travel myself, but that’s really no excuse. It’s a lapse in judgement on my part.’

  ‘Someone else can go to the bank, can’t they?’

  He nodded. ‘If they have the proper authority from myself and Mr Bentley. You must write him a letter. And please type a letter of authorisation for me to sign.’

  ‘Of course, I’ll do it today. Who are you authorising?’

  ‘Why, you, Miss Wright. You’re the logical person.’

  Obviously, I was. But it was a significant responsibility, a mark of trust. And more importantly, a chance to get away from Uggley for most of a day. My heart leapt.

  Mrs Jones served sheep’s head broth for lunch. I didn’t eat much. Neither did Langstone.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE CAR SPED along the country roads, leaving Uggley further behind with every minute. Hack had let me drive. I was a little rusty, but soon got the feel of the motor. The engine purred as I navigated the steep and twisting lanes through sleepy villages.

  ‘You can slow down a little, you know,’ Hack said. ‘My colleague’s train isn’t due until midday.’

  I laughed. ‘She’ll do 60.’

  ‘Yes, but I’d rather not.’

  In consideration for him, I did slow down a bit.

  ‘Tell me, what do you make of Langstone?’ Hack lit one of his medicated cigarettes.

  ‘You’ve seen as much of him as I have.’

  ‘Not at all. You speak to him all the time. Has he said anything about his illness?’

  ‘Not really.’ My hands tightened on the wheel.

  ‘What about his background? What did he do before?’

  ‘I don’t know. I haven’t asked.’ Why was Hack so interested? ‘And I really don’t think you’re in any position to pry.’

  ‘What? A man can be curious, can’t he? Aren’t you?’

  ‘It may have escaped your notice, but the Institute is paying your food and board. Dr Langstone is at least who he says he is. If you’re a spiritualist, I’m a Dutchman.’ I had been at the Institute over a week, and in that time all Hack had done was play with his camera.

  ‘What? Miss Wright, I’m shocked, I really am. I thought we were friends.’

  ‘Friends tell the truth.’

  He puffed on his cigarette for a few seconds. ‘Your suspicion wounds me deeply. I have credentials from the London Spiritualist Society. I’m sure when you meet my colleague you’ll see how sincere I am.’

  I kept my thoughts to myself.

  ‘Besides, it’s not as if you’ve been forthcoming about your past, either.’

  ‘Me?’ I stared at him.

  He coughed and pointed at the road, reminding me I was driving.

  ‘I have no
thing to hide,’ I said.

  ‘Professor Dernstrum had a business partner, one Joseph Wright, didn’t he?’

  ‘Wright is a common name.’ I hadn’t been deliberately secretive about my family connection. It hadn’t seemed important. It still didn’t, I just didn’t like to admit Hack was correct.

  ‘But Joseph Wright was your father, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Yes. What of it?’

  ‘Wright fell out with Dernstrum and their partnership was dissolved. Dernstrum went on to make a fortune while Wright descended into poverty. And now, Wright’s only daughter turns up as secretary at the Institute which Dernstrum founded with all that lovely money. It’s hardly a coincidence, is it? What are you doing here? Out to repair the family fortunes?’

  ‘No!’ The car swerved. ‘Nothing like that. My father died last year and I needed a job.’

  ‘I’m sure your intentions are perfectly pure. But you can see how people might wonder. Funny old world, isn’t it?’

  When I took the job, it had never occurred to me how it might look to other people. What exactly could I get out of working at the Institute, except what I was getting, a wage packet? It was laughable, yet Hack made it sound deeply suspicious.

  ‘Are you trying to blackmail me?’

  ‘Heavens, no.’ He sounded genuinely surprised. ‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’

  I relaxed a little. ‘It isn’t a secret. But all the same, I’d rather you didn’t talk about this back at the Institute.’

  ‘My lips are sealed. You can rely on my discretion absolutely.’

  I didn’t know if I should believe him or not. He always sounded half-sincere, half-joking, whatever he said.

  Bridgwater struck me as a pretty town, though rather sooty. The brick buildings and busy streets made me homesick. I hadn't realised I was missing London, missing pavements, shops, and all the bustling, thriving life of people working and living together. The country was all very well, but you could have too much of it.

  I parked the car and we parted. I had a number of tasks in town and Hack planned to occupy himself until his colleague arrived. We arranged to meet at the Corn Exchange at midday.

  My first mission was the appointment at the bank. After much humming and hawing and reading of my credentials at length, the manager handed me over to a teller who counted out the requested cash sum. I had never seen so much money, let alone had to carry it. I gripped my bag tightly as I walked out, fearing I would be robbed at any moment, or lose it by some accident.

  I lightened my load by paying off the Institute’s accounts with various tradesmen and making some small purchases for Mrs Jones. Then, after a brief battle between expedience and conscience, I paid myself an advance on my wages so I could buy a few necessary items of clothing.

  Hack reached the Corn Exchange before me. On his arm was a woman of remarkable appearance.

  ‘Ah, there you are. Allow me to introduce Madame Dellargo. Madame, this is Miss Wright.’

  It would be hard to overlook Madame. She was taller than Hack and built on a grand scale. With black hair and eyes, dark complexion and an Indian mantle patterned in every colour of the rainbow, she could hardly have been more conspicuous. A small white dog trailed behind her on a leash.

  Madame held out a plump hand loaded with rings.

  'Pleased to meet you,' I said.

  'Enchante.'

  The small white dog rounded the woman's legs to lunge at me, yipping with high-pitched savagery.

  'Oh, do be good, Fru-fru,' she said mildly, and jerked the lead so the little animal lost its footing. The dog whined.

  'Finished your shopping, Miss Wright?' Hack said. ‘We thought we’d get some lunch. You’re welcome to join us.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we be getting back?’ Much as I was enjoying the trip, I wouldn’t be able to relax until the money was locked away.

  ‘I’m sure Langstone can manage without you for five minutes. Or are you missing Mrs Jones’ cooking already?’

  ‘Of course not, it’s just…’ I bit my lip. Mentioning the money while standing in the street would be a bad idea.

  Hack made a show of consulting his watch. ‘We’ve missed the tide now, anyway. So we may as well have lunch.’

  ‘All right.’ I sighed. ‘You’re quite right. Where shall we go?’

  Now the decision was made, my heart lifted. It had been a long time since I’d gone out to eat. Since I had no choice, I might as well enjoy myself.

  With Madame on his arm, Hack led the way to a tea shop. I trailed behind them with a curious sense of invisibility, attracting less attention than the dog.

  Once we were seated at a table, I tucked my bag between my feet, resolved not to lose track of it for a moment. The uniformed waitress took our orders without taking her eyes off Madame, who didn’t seem at all disturbed by the curious stares of the locals.

  ‘These little towns are so charming, don’t you think?’ Madame said, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. ‘London is so crowded these days. Only last week, I was saying to the Countess—’

  ‘Oh, the Countess? How was she?’

  Madame flipped a hand dismissively. Bracelets jangled. ‘I did not think she would let me go. She was so determined to keep me. But you know I would never let you down.’ She turned to me ‘This dear man, do you know he quite rescued me once, from a German—’

  ‘Belgian,’ Hack said.

  ‘Someone of that sort. He had a glass eye.’ She shuddered. ‘That sort of man is what I cannot abide, absolument.’

  Any further explanation was interrupted by the waitress delivering our sandwiches and tea. The food distracted me from identifying Madame’s accent, which swayed from France to Italy, occasionally touching East London.

  She turned to me abruptly. ‘My dear, have you been to Paris?’

  The question caught me with my mouth full, but she didn’t wait for an answer.

  ‘Such a beautiful city. Everyone should visit Paris. Aloysius, you will remember Monsieur Rothschild?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Hack laughed his wheezy laugh.

  ‘Such a time I had with them last year. Seances every night.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Quite exhausting. But they are so charming, one does not mind, of course.’

  Madame began inspecting the cutlery. She huffed on her fork and polished it with her napkin.

  ‘Are you planning to stay long?’ I asked. No effort of my imagination could envision Madame living under the same roof as Mrs Jones.

  ‘A few weeks, I hope,’ Hack said. ‘If you can spare the time?’

  Madame’s teaspoon vanished into her sleeve. I blinked, finding it hard to believe my eyes. All Madame’s cutlery had disappeared, presumably in the same way.

  ‘Bien sure, mon ami.’ She beamed at him like a mother at a precocious child.

  At this point the dog, which had been lurking under the table, took exception to the ankles of a passing waitress.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  HACK DROVE US back to Uggley. Not at all subdued by being thrown out of the tea room, Madame chatted to Hack about mutual acquaintances and places they had visited. I relaxed in the back seat, hugging the bag of cash and letting their conversation wash over me while I thought about other things.

  Dragging the little dog in her wake, Madame swept into the house on Hack's arm like a queen taking possession of her domain. Mrs Jones stared.

  'Mrs Jones, may I present Madame Dellargo?'

  'Pleased, I'm sure.' Mrs Jones drew herself up. What she lacked in height she made up in sheer outrage. 'When you informed me of the arrival of your colleague, Mr Hack, you didn’t tell me she was a… female person.'

  'I didn’t think it necessary. She’s here purely in a professional capacity.'

  Madame had wandered across the hall and was apparently lost in admiration of the cornices.

  'That may well be so, but she can’t stay here.' Mrs Jones looked Madame up and down. 'It’s quite impossible. There isn’t any suitable accommodation.’


  'She's one of the most eminent mediums in London.'

  Mrs Jones sniffed. 'I daresay, but you’ll have to make some other arrangement. Mrs Chunley at The Hanged Man keeps a few rooms.'

  Hack wilted. I heard him wheezing from where I stood. 'Well. Of course, if you say so.'

  She smiled, relenting now she’d made her point. 'I assume she will join us for dinner this evening? The dog can stay outside though. I can't be having dogs in the house. Filthy animals.’

  Leaving them to it, I went into the library. I deposited the cash in the safe and locked it again with considerable relief. Now I could sort out wages for the staff. According to the accounts, Mrs Jones, Molly, a gardener, and myself needed to be paid. The gardener was something of a mystery, for I hadn’t met him as yet, nor did the sheep-grazed park seem to need much gardening.

  A few hours remained of the working day, but I didn’t feel like dealing with the wages. I decided to work on the report for Bentley.

  The black typewriter sat on the table, radiating malice. I had begun with the friendliest intentions towards it. It was only a machine, after all, and not a very complex one, yet I had the impression the typewriter knew I was a fraud. I pulled myself together. It was foolish to think this way; I just needed to apply myself. Typing was no more difficult than driving, surely? Any physical skill could be mastered with diligent practice.

  Grimly, I squared up the machine and fed in a fresh sheet of paper.

  The Dernstrum Institute

  Monday, 5th Febuary

  Slow, but no mistakes. My confidence crept up a notch. This wasn’t so bad, really. The keys made a satisfying clatter and the carriage return dinged cheerfully as the roller moved the paper up a line. I referred to Langstone’s handwritten draft. His writing was old-fashioned and hard to decipher.