The Marshal and the Madwoman

by Magdalen Nabb

  'I don't know. I somehow think he was more weak than evil. He did Clementina no harm until this new wife came on the scene. That's a hard one.'

  'You've talked to her? It said in the papers she's made herself scarce.'

  'So she has. That's how I came to collect my friend here . . .' And his big eyes strayed to his companion who was now crouched on the floor by his side, his equally large eyes looking from the Marshal to Mannucci and back. 'That's what I came for, to bring him.'

  Mannucci laughed and then stared. 'He looks sane enough to me—and even if he's not, we don't admit patients here now.'

  'You're admitting this one.'

  'You're not serious, are you?'

  'I was never more serious in my life. His name's Giulio. And before you say anything else, just think of what the Press will make of it. You said you could never get much attention from them and you never will, either, unless you start thinking like they think. You'll never get them to care about the poor creatures you look after here.'

  'But—'

  'Giulio has just witnessed the suicide of his master and been abandoned by his mistress. His master was responsible for the murder of one of your ex-patients and would you believe, just by chance, Giulio's turned up here. Can't you see the headlines? "Dog Seeks Asylum!" There's murder, suicide, a money scandal and lots of sentimental interest with the dog. What's more, Giulio's not going to be a patient, he's going to work here, so I hope you're ready with your facts and figures on how short-staffed you are.'

  'I'm ready, all right. No problem there, but—'

  'You'd better come with me.'

  The sun was very low. The tops of the trees were already darkening against the sky but the lawn was still touched with a rosy golden light and Angelo's bare feet below his too-short trousers were curled in the last warmth of the grass. His head was down on his knees but turned to one side so that he could look up at them, and his eyes were alight with pleasure.

  Giulio shifted along the bench and put his big head down to lick Angelo's face.

  'Stroke him,' suggested the Marshal.

  'Can I? Can I stroke him? Can . . .' He rocked upwards and then down again, burying his face. Then he sat bolt upright and put his arm round the huge dog without looking at him. Giulio squashed right up against him, panting happily.

  Angelo kept his shining eyes fixed on the Marshal.

  'Is he sitting with me? Is he . . .'

  'Yes. He'll sit with you all the time if you feed him. Will you remember to feed him? We'll tell the sister to give you food for him but you must give it to him yourself. You can take him for walks, as well. I'll leave you his lead.'

  'I ... I ... I just want him to sit with me, to sit—is he frightened?'

  'No, no. He's a big dog. He's not frightened of anything.'

  'He's not frightened.'

  The dog put a heavy paw on Angelo's knee.

  'Look! Look ... he . . .'

  Angelo could no longer speak. The Marshal thought he might be going to cry, his eyes were so bright. He turned and walked away to where Mannucci stood waiting for him in the long shadow of a cypress tree.

  THE END