The Girl Who Couldn't Read

by John Harding

  I dressed hurriedly and went to meet Morgan. It was still very early and no one was stirring. He was waiting for me outside his wife’s room. He had in one hand a glass of water and in the other a small travelling bag. ‘I thought you would have no overnight bag, so I brought this for your stay at the city asylum. I have put the patient’s papers and your travel permit for the boat inside, together with the straitjacket. You must show the documents to the captain to prove you have my authority to take the patient ashore.’

  I thanked him. He held up the glass. ‘It’s a sedative. It will keep her calm for a short time, I hope until you get her across the river. I can’t be certain how long it will take effect for. I have erred on the side of caution because we don’t want her so sleepy she can’t walk, but in case she becomes too animated during the trip, I’ve left more in the bag. It’s a soluble powder and has hardly any taste, so you can give it to her in water. Just don’t use it all at once, or she’ll pass out. Here, hold the glass while I open the door.’

  I stood well back as he inserted the key in the lock and turned it carefully so as not to make any noise. It was exactly what you might do with a caged wild animal. Slowly, he opened the door. I stood ready for the woman to rush out screaming, a picture I had put into my own mind by my story to Morgan about O’Reilly’s death, but there was no movement or sound from within. Morgan stepped through the doorway and I followed cautiously. The madwoman was lying in the foetal position asleep on her cot, as peaceful as a child. She was still fully clothed because it was O’Reilly who normally prepared her for bed each night, and Morgan when O’Reilly was ashore. Last night he had not dared venture in upon her.

  He sat down on the side of the bed and gently stroked her arm. ‘Bella, time to wake up, my darling. I’ve brought you a drink.’

  Her eyes blinked open. There was something so sudden about it, it made me jump and a little of the liquid in the glass spilled over the rim. Morgan gestured for it and I held it out to him. He got one arm behind the woman’s head and lifted it and then took the glass from me. A look of panic sprang into her eyes and I thought for a moment she was going to dash the glass from his hand, but instead she bent her head to it and drank eagerly, gulping it down. Morgan looked at me and silently mouthed the word ‘Thirsty’. Of course, the woman hadn’t been given any food or drink the night before.

  Morgan handed the glass back to me and sat her up fully, exactly as you might an invalid, and seeing him so gentle with her in contrast to the way he was with the patients in the treatment rooms, I understood that this was how he saw her, as someone sick, not as a dangerous lunatic. ‘Fetch the food,’ he said.

  I went and got the tray from where we’d left it the night before and placed it on the bed. Immediately the woman grabbed the hunk of bread and started tearing it with her teeth. She devoured it and the cheese in a few brief minutes and then looked around wildly as if for more.

  Morgan had his hands around her shoulders and was making comforting cooing noises to her. She smiled and seemed quite at ease. I could see the drug was already taking effect. ‘Look in the bag,’ Morgan said to me, his voice calm and even. I went outside to the landing and opened the bag. There was the straitjacket, with the travel permit and patient dossier on top, and a paper packet that I presumed was the sedative powder. I lifted them up and took out the jacket, then replaced the other stuff and closed the bag. I had sense enough to put the straitjacket behind my back when I went back into the room.

  Morgan was talking softly to his wife and she was looking at him and paid me no attention. ‘Now!’ Morgan suddenly cried and I held out the jacket in front of her. He grasped the top of her right arm, the one next to him, and held it out toward me. The woman tried to struggle but I took her wrist and thrust the sleeve of the jacket over it. She was obviously a little drowsy and hadn’t the strength to resist and when she lifted her left arm to ward me off, I slipped the sleeve over it and within a few seconds Morgan was securing the buckles and she was held fast before she knew what was happening. She began kicking out with her legs and wailing.

  ‘Leave us a moment,’ said Morgan.

  I must have looked puzzled. His face crumpled. ‘Please, my good man. I would like to say goodbye.’

  I went out and gently closed the door upon them. Between the woman’s cries I could hear Morgan murmuring to her and eventually her noises calmed. After a few minutes the door opened and Morgan beckoned me inside. The woman was sitting in a chair beside the bed. Morgan went to a cupboard in the corner of the room, opened it and took out a woman’s travelling cloak.

  ‘Put it on her when the time comes to leave,’ he said. ‘And make sure the hood is over her head.’

  We left her there, sitting in her chair, dozing under the influence of the sleeping draught. Morgan consulted his watch as we hurried down the stairs, for once not out of habit but of necessity. ‘We must get back to our rooms before the discovery of O’Reilly’s body,’ he said. ‘When we two have made an examination of her, I will call the staff meeting in the day room, and the start of it will be your cue to slip back up here and take Bella down to the boat.’

  31

  I had not been back in my room above a quarter of an hour and had only just had enough time to pack some clothes in the overnight bag when I heard a great deal of yelling from downstairs and hurried footsteps and the banging of doors. I sat tight, as Morgan had told me to do, until there was a knock at the door. I quickly shoved the bag inside my closet and opened the door, to find Eva standing there.

  ‘Come quick, sir. There’s been an accident. It’s Mrs O’Reilly, sir. I think it’s serious.’

  I followed her along the corridor and down the stairs, at the bottom of which a small crowd of attendants had gathered. ‘Make room, make room, give her air!’ I heard Morgan’s voice call from within the throng. I stopped dead in my tracks and my heart froze within me. Was O’Reilly still alive? If so, then I was finished. I looked this way and that, thinking to flee, but just in time caught hold of myself. Of course! Morgan was only acting his part, which was sensible, for why would he assume the woman was dead if he did not already know? I pushed my way through the spectators and knelt down by his side. He had his stethoscope to O’Reilly’s chest, listening for a heartbeat. The crowd about us were all whispering and murmuring and he suddenly looked up, face red with anger, and snapped, ‘Be quiet! How do you expect me to hear anything with that racket going on?’ Instantly the hubbub subsided, leaving a dreadful silence in which you could sense everyone holding their breath.

  After what seemed an unconscionable age – which I thought was playing to the gallery a little too much for safety – Morgan slowly stood up, shaking his head. ‘No, she’s gone, I’m afraid.’ He looked at me. ‘Shepherd, help me carry her to the sickbay, would you; we need to examine her together to determine the cause of death, though I’d say it seems pretty obvious. She took a tumble down the stairs and smashed her skull.’

  As I bent to lift her, I had the inspiration to improvise so that I seemed almost to drop her and thereafter carried her awkwardly, giving the impression I had never carried a corpse before and certainly not this one. Morgan was quick on the uptake and took his cue from me, so that we made quite a difficulty of the whole procedure. The funny part was, I suddenly thought, that instinctively we’d each taken the same end of the body as we had before. I saw O’Reilly’s face was a strange purple colour, as though in death she was as choleric as she had been in life. I could not feel sorry for what I’d done.

  As the crowd parted to let us through, Morgan said, ‘All right, all right, there’s nothing more to see now. Please go about your duties as normal. The senior attendant in each department should cover for any tasks Mrs O’Reilly might have performed. I will address the entire staff later.’ He lowered his voice and said to one of the senior attendants who was nearby, ‘Please have the patients locked in their bedrooms after breakfast, would you? I shall want all the staff assembled in the day room later, when I w
ill speak to them.’

  In the sickbay we placed the body on a bed. Morgan turned to me and held out his hand. ‘Good luck, Shepherd. I can’t tell you how grateful I am. Assuming everything goes to plan, I look forward to seeing you tomorrow morning.’

  We shook hands and I sneaked back up to my room while the patients were at breakfast. According to Morgan’s timetable, I was to wait there until the staff meeting began and, while everyone was occupied there, go and fetch his wife and head down to the boat dock. The thing was, though, I was no longer on Morgan’s timetable; from now on I was on my own.

  I took the bag from the closet and finished my packing. Then I waited while the patients were taken from the dining hall back to their rooms. I could hear some of them protesting because of this break in routine. I couldn’t help thinking how odd institutional rigidity is. They were arguing because it was not what was normally done, when in fact the day room was so deathly dull they would almost certainly have preferred to spend the morning dozing on their beds.

  When the noise on the stairs finally stopped, I made my way to the attic. I opened the door carefully, still apprehensive the incumbent might come at me like a hurricane, but she didn’t. I found her as we’d left her, sitting in her chair, drugged and empty-eyed. I took her under one arm and pulled her to her feet. She was a heavy woman and it wasn’t easy because she was too sleepy to assist me. When I had her upright, I arranged the cloak around her shoulders, laced the front collars together and pulled the hood over her head so her face was in shadow. I said gently, ‘Come on, my dear, we’re going for a little walk.’ She was docile and allowed me to lead her out. I took her down the stairs, a pretty hazardous journey because in her somnambulant state she stumbled a couple of times and nearly fell, but I managed to buttress her against the wall and steady her. It seemed an age before we reached the ground floor.

  There was no one in the main corridor. The staff and patients were all out of the way, busy upstairs now, but I couldn’t be sure what Morgan was up to. If he saw me, he would wonder what I was doing heading away from the front door, and why I didn’t have the bag. I hurried the woman along, practically dragging her because she was so dozy, and in this fashion we reached the safety of the treatment rooms. I opened the door of the restraining room, tugged her inside and closed the door behind us.

  She was now showing signs of awareness and I realised Morgan had not given her nearly enough sedative to keep her quiet for the journey across the river, although on the other hand, given that I didn’t intend to do that, it was for the best; if he’d given her any more, she might easily have passed out before I could have gotten her downstairs. She looked around the restraining room, as anxious as a cornered animal. I was tempted to put my hands around her throat and squeeze the life out of her, which would definitely have made the next few minutes easier, although it would have been dangerous in the long run, as it would have given the game away about John Shepherd much sooner than otherwise, if indeed it was given away at all. As things stood, even when Caroline Adams was found, her death would not be connected with Shepherd for at least a day and maybe even longer. If anyone found my draft letter to the unfortunate Miss Adams in O’Reilly’s belongings, without her testimony to where she found it, there was nothing in its contents to connect it to the dead woman or to Shepherd and it would most likely be disregarded. It was even more unlikely that the death of Miss Adams would be connected with a dead convicted killer. But two strangled women at the hospital might have sounded an alarm in the memory of a homicide detective.

  I spoke kindly to the woman as I backed her toward the restraining chair and positioned her just in front of it. I undid the ties of the cloak and let it fall from her shoulders to the floor. Then I unfastened the straitjacket buckles and pulled it off her. She began giggling sleepily, pleased to be freed. I put my hand on her chest and pushed her firmly into the seat of the chair and thrust myself forcefully onto her, pinning her down. She began twisting and turning but I thumped her head against the back of the chair and held it there with one hand while with the other I fastened the strap around her neck. All the while she was snarling like a rabid dog and trying to bite me, so the moment I was finished, I leapt free of her.

  I was in a cold sweat now watching her writhe about. She kept trying to stand, but of course she couldn’t, with the strap tight round her throat. I was terrified she would scream and attract attention, but it didn’t seem to occur to her. That choker must have meant every little move she made was a torture and she began gagging for breath, and finally her struggling subsided. I went round behind her, got down on the floor, crawled along the side of the chair and grabbed her left leg. She attempted to kick out but I had it tight and got the strap round it, which was not easy as I had to lie on the floor to avoid her hand, which was flailing about and trying to seize my hair.

  Once the leg was strapped down, her movements were much more restricted. I crawled away, walked round behind her, forced her right arm down onto the arm of the chair and strapped it to it. After that the remaining straps were relatively easy. Once she was fully restrained, I took one of the gags from the cupboard and, after another tussle, managed to get it between her teeth. She was trussed up like a chicken ready for the oven.

  I wrapped the cloak around the straitjacket to make a bundle that nobody would be able to identify. I walked over to the door and listened at it. I couldn’t hear anything. I inched the door open and listened again. Nothing. I stuck my head out. The corridor was deserted. I went out and shut the door behind me. With no treatments scheduled for today anyway on account of the holiday – and, with myself and O’Reilly both absent, none likely for some time after that – it was possible the woman would remain there a good couple of days. I reflected with no little satisfaction that it was not much more than Morgan had imposed upon some of his patients. He had tried Moral Treatment on his wife without success; perhaps now it was time to give his normal methods a chance to work.

  I ran up the main stairs, heart in mouth at the prospect of meeting someone, although as long as it wasn’t Morgan, who believed that I was with his wife and preparing to leave once the staff meeting started, it wouldn’t really have mattered. A member of the staff might have had a momentary curiosity as to what it was I was carrying, but it wouldn’t have signified much to her.

  I achieved my room safely, retrieved the bag and hurried to Jane Dove’s room. She was in her chair and leapt up when she saw it was me.

  ‘Do as I say, there isn’t a moment to lose,’ I told her. I pulled the cloak off the straitjacket and held it up. ‘You must put this on.’

  She was transfixed by the evil garment, not moving an inch. Her eyes flashed with defiance. ‘I – I uncertain I can do that,’ she stuttered as I took it toward her.

  ‘You must,’ I said. ‘It’s your only chance. If you don’t, you’ll be lost here for ever. Don’t worry; I will tie the straps loosely so it won’t be too uncomfortable. I’ll take it off as soon as we are on the other side and out of sight of the boat.’

  She slowly lifted up her arms and I slipped them into the sleeves. Then I fastened the straps, but very loosely as I had promised.

  ‘There,’ I said, when it was done. ‘It’s as comfortable as I can make it. You could probably wriggle out of it if you wanted to.’

  She moved her arms about and twisted her body this way and that, until finally she seemed satisfied that this was so.

  I put the cloak around her and fastened it at the collar and pulled the hood over her head.

  ‘All right,’ I said. ‘Just follow my lead and don’t attempt to speak. Keep your head bent so no one can see your face.’

  I opened the door and peered into the corridor. It was still empty. I signalled to her and she followed me out. I closed the door behind us. I walked briskly to the top of the stairs with Jane behind me, moving awkwardly, finding it difficult to walk without swinging her arms. I was worried she might fall on the way down. I could not afford another tragedy of
that sort, and put my arm around her and helped her down every step, cautioning her not to hurry but to concentrate on treading safely. Once at the bottom, I pulled her toward the front door. I had it open and we were just about through it when I heard footsteps. Morgan was coming out of his office. He was only some twenty feet away. I was pushing the girl out when Morgan looked up and saw us. I froze, unable to move until I saw what he would do. I was sure he would not be able to resist approaching us for a last word with his wife. If he did that, everything would be over for me, my plans would be shattered. Once he discovered the woman in the cloak was Jane Dove and not his wife, he would go looking for her. When he found her trussed up in the restraining room, it would naturally trigger him to suspect I’d lied about O’Reilly’s death. Any time soon, Caroline Adams would be found and my duplicity would naturally make me the prime suspect.

  I swear my heart stopped beating. He looked uncertain as he took half a step toward us. It brought me back to life. There was only one thing I could do. I shoved Jane through the door, gave Morgan a conspiratorial wave and stepped outside, tugging the door shut behind me. I could feel his eyes boring into my back as I seized Jane’s arm and marched her off. All the way down the drive, every crunch of the gravel under our feet, I was waiting for the sound of his footsteps coming after us. I was counting on his not wanting to ruin the plan we’d devised to overcome his desire for a last look at his wife.

  The story would be that I was unwell and confined to my bed, so that nobody would be aware I had ever left the island. His wife would be smuggled ashore without anyone knowing of her existence and no explanation necessary to the staff concerning the identity of the patient taken away. It would have been impossible to correlate that with no patient being missing from the roll call.