Dr Basildon showed us inside and told us to sit down. He had put cushions on the chair meant for me, and I was grateful for it. Marion’s leg tapped under her skirts as we waited for the doctor to take his seat, and I could see her breasts filling out her dress with each quick, short breath. I wanted to touch her arm and tell her she had nothing to worry about, that it was all my fault, but Dr Basildon spoke.
‘I need an explanation, girls.’ He unbuttoned his jacket, laced his fingers together, and rested his arms on the desk. He was trying to smile, but it wasn’t working.
‘It was my fault, sir,’ I said. ‘Marion needed to go… out. She asked me if I would supervise Mrs Huxley, and I said that I would, but I was occupied with Mrs Leverton. I had my back to Mrs Huxley when she…’
I took a deep breath. My head was beginning to swirl, and it felt like my temples were in a vice and someone was screwing it shut.
‘Mrs Leverton had got cold, she was shivering – my fault also, we had been outside too long. I was trying to warm her. Then there was a crash, and I didn’t realise what it was for a while, and then I saw Mrs Huxley doing what she was doing, but I was all the way on the other side of the room.’
‘Calm yourself, Miss Owen. I have asked Mrs Leverton her account of the incident and she confirms what you have said.’
‘I shouldn’t have gone,’ Marion whispered, her chin in her chest.
‘It wasn’t Marion’s fault, sir. I should have been looking after both of them.’
‘There was a pot of tea not too far from Mrs Huxley,’ he said.
Marion and I faltered, not understanding what he was getting at.
‘Scalding tea.’
‘I am sorry, sir, I did not think—’
‘How long have you been here, Miss Rowley?’
‘Almost eighteen months, sir.’
‘Eighteen months. Long enough to know that hot liquid of any kind should never be left within a patient’s reach.’
‘Yes, sir, I’m sorry sir, I didn’t—’
‘You didn’t think, Miss Rowley. You didn’t think of your charge at all. You left a vulnerable woman with the means to harm herself, and in turn, you abandoned your own colleague to deal with the fallout.’
Marion was crying.
‘Sir, please, it was me—’
‘Be quiet, Miss Owen!’ His voice boomed. I caught my tongue before I could say any more. Marion was silent, but her shoulders were shaking.
Dr Basildon cracked each and every one of his knuckles before he spoke again. ‘I am disappointed in you, Miss Rowley. I had thought you would make a fine attendant, but now I am not so sure.’
‘Please, sir, it was a mistake, I shan’t ever do it again. It was one moment.’
‘One moment of folly can lead to a lifetime of regret, Miss Rowley. Look at your friend. Two lives could have been lost because of your one moment.’
Marion crumbled. I opened my mouth to speak but didn’t know what to say.
‘I admire your courage, Miss Owen.’ Dr Basildon looked at me, ignoring Marion’s emotions, and his eyes softened as he glanced over my face and down my body, taking in the way my arms lay awkwardly in my lap as I tried not to catch a bruise. ‘You did nothing wrong at all. Mrs Leverton is your charge, and I can see that you were taking care of her to your best ability. She has been worried about you, and I think it would please her if you could visit her on your way back to your room.’
‘Yes, sir, I will.’
‘Now, Miss Rowley, I shall not dismiss you yet.’
Marion moaned in relief.
‘But you are warned. Do you understand?’
Marion nodded.
Dr Basildon pushed out his chair and got to his feet. I was about to stand when he came to my side and put his hand under my arm and helped me up. He took hold of my chin and turned my face from side to side.
‘Any sharp, stabbing pain anywhere?’
‘No, sir.’
He dropped his hand. ‘Very good. When do you think you shall be able to return to your duties?’
‘I should like to begin tomorrow, sir. The pain improves each day.’
‘You are a credit, Miss Owen.’ He smiled at me, like he had that time when he’d been on the stairs.
I dipped my head and followed Marion, who had been waiting by the door for me. She had stopped crying, and when the door shut, I was about to grab her for an embrace and tell her that he was just angry, that he didn’t really mean what he had said, but she turned to me with such a scowl that I stopped.
‘Quite the favourite, aren’t you?’
‘What?’
‘What happened with Mrs Leverton that morning? She wasn’t just cold. What had you been doing?’
‘Nothing. We’d walked too far.’
‘She had been crying, Katy.’
I would not tell Marion. I had tried to confide in her before about Mrs Leverton and she hadn’t wanted to know. Now, I feared she would use it against me, so we stared at each other in angry silence.
‘Marion…’
She ran down the stairs, and I saw our friendship slipping away.
‘Marion!’
‘Get yourself to bed.’
13
1956
Iris waited in the corridor for the nurse to finish giving Kath her physio. It looked brutal on Kath’s boney frame: Kath lay on her side, her arm held up in the air, wincing while the nurse rubbed and pounded on the side of her chest. When the nurse sat her up, it was a strain to breathe. Suddenly, her body convulsed, and she coughed up the poison inside her lungs and spat into the sputum dish. When she had recovered, the nurse held a glass of water to her lips, and they shared a joke.
‘How is she?’ Iris said when Nurse Okeke came out of the ward.
‘The antibiotics seem to be working better now.’
‘Does it hurt her, what you were just doing?’
‘It looks worse than it is.’
‘Has Albert been to see her?’
Nurse Okeke shook her head. It was obvious she didn’t think he was coming back, but Iris had more faith in him than that. Perhaps he had just been busy, or perhaps he had fallen ill too.
Iris entered the ward. There was a new lady across from Kath who snored as she slept.
‘Heart attack,’ Kath said, seeing Iris looking. ‘I find the sound comforting.’
‘The nurse said you’re improving. It won’t be long until you’re on your feet again.’
‘Back in Ward 13.’ Kath picked at the bed sheet, and her gaze flitted towards the window. ‘I haven’t seen a different view for years.’
‘Sorry it’s a carpark.’
Kath smirked. ‘I think I prefer the oak tree. I never understood how Persey could hate trees. So much life in them.’
‘Persey?’
‘Mrs Leverton. Persephone. She liked me to call her Persey, in the end.’
‘You became friends?’
Her smile grew sad. ‘We were the only friends we had left.’
Iris left the diary in her bag and took Kath’s hand instead. ‘What was it like, The Basildon Retreat?’
‘It was the biggest house I had ever seen. Grand. I thought it a palace – a palace with bars. Carpets – we never had carpets, see. And great long curtains, like waterfalls of solid gold. It really did feel like you were halfway to heaven.’
‘You remember it well.’
‘It is as clear as you are. It is everything since that is a blur. The years have all rolled into one. I had no idea it was 1956, you know. I asked the nurse and thought she was teasing me.’
It had not crossed Iris’s mind that Kath could have been so ignorant. Why hadn’t she thought that the patients would like to know the date? Because every day was the same. Because they weren’t going anywhere. Because no one thought it mattered.
‘Fifty-five years… Persey will be dead now, and Annie long gone.’
‘Do you think Marion became a matron?’
‘No doubt about it.’ Kath smil
ed before her chin began to tremble. She blinked rapidly, trying to flush away the tears. ‘What happened to the rest of them?’
‘I’ll find out,’ Iris said. ‘I promise.’
Elvis sang to her as she lay in bed, watching the sun slide behind the row of houses across the street. The sky was flaring in pinks, the clouds whispering across the expanse of blue and disappearing. The air smelt dry and hot, no hint of rain to feed the dying plants, all shedding their petals as they slumped in their pots. Even with her window as wide as it would go, there was no breeze to cool her sticky skin.
Her back sweat as she lay on her sheets. She went to the bathroom and splashed her face, then filled the basin and rested her hands in the cold water. Downstairs, she could hear the wireless and the soft murmur of her dad as he read out the crossword clues.
Someone knocked on the front door.
Mum got in a fluster – Iris could hear her scrabbling for her shoes, imagined her checking her reflection in the narrow mirror in the hallway. The door clicked open, her mother squealed, and there was the low rumble of a man’s voice, someone she seemed to recognise.
‘Iris!’ her mother called. ‘Come here.’
Iris pulled the plug out of the basin, shook the water off her skin, and plodded down the stairs. Mum was at the bottom, holding the door open, though not enough so that whoever was on the other side could see into the hallway. She glowered at Iris, pushed the tips of Iris’s shoulders back, and licked her thumb to scrub something off Iris’s cheek.
‘Smile,’ Mum hissed, then opened the door.
‘Hello.’ Simon stood on the step. His hands were thrust deep into his trouser pockets, and he swung a little from side to side as he talked. ‘How are you, Iris?’
‘Fine, thank you.’
Mum crouched behind the front door. She flicked Iris’s hand as it rested on the doorknob.
‘And you?’ Iris added begrudgingly.
‘Fine, thank you.’
She didn’t want to talk to him. What kind of man called on a girl he had only met once, at half past nine on a Thursday night? He twisted round so that he faced the sunset.
‘Beautiful night.’
‘It’s too hot for me.’
‘Ask him in,’ Mum whispered.
Iris stepped outside and shut the door on her mother. ‘Is there something you wanted, Simon?’
‘Just to see if you were all right and if you enjoyed the other night?’
‘It was pleasant.’
‘Good.’ A smile broke across his face. ‘I thought it was. I wondered if you would like to do it again some time?’
She was too hot to think of an excuse. ‘I’ll ask Shirley when I see her.’
‘I didn’t mean with John and Shirley.’
‘Oh.’ Iris plucked the head off a shrivelled daisy. ‘I’m busy at the moment. I visit someone after work so I’m not back until late.’
‘Right, I see. Another time, then.’ Reluctantly, Simon strolled for the gate.
She followed him out, making sure that he did indeed leave, but she couldn’t help but feel a stab of guilt at the way he hung his head like a scolded puppy. Still, she would not relent. Not with her mother peeking at them through the letter box. She folded her arms and pursed her lips until she saw the little red car parked on the pavement.
‘Is that yours?’
‘Pride and joy.’
‘I’m surprised you can fit into it.’
He laughed, and his face brightened. ‘It’s getting out that’s the trouble.’
She couldn’t help but laugh as Simon folded himself awkwardly into the car, banging his head and scraping his knee in the process and yelping when something sharp stabbed him in the side.
‘Right, well… Good night, Iris.’
He shut the door and started the engine.
‘Wait,’ she said just before he pulled away. ‘What are you doing this Sunday?’
Branches scraped the sides of the car. The track was not well used, and grass was growing in the middle of it. The car spluttered as the road wound higher and higher up the hillside, jerking them backward and forward.
After another five minutes, they reached a set of open iron gates. Luckily, the ground had levelled out, so Simon could stop the car without fear of rolling backward.
Iris walked through the gates.
‘This it?’ Simon called through the window.
There were too many trees lining the driveway to see the house. ‘Let’s go up and find out.’
‘We can’t just drive onto someone’s private property.’
‘The gates are open; we can always say we got lost.’
Simon frowned. She should have known he would be a stickler for the rules. She rolled her eyes, then jumped back in the car.
‘Go on, hurry up.’
Huffing, Simon shunted the car into gear, and they lurched forward. They followed the gravelled drive until the house came into view. It was a mighty house, just as Kath had said. It was Georgian, with pillars and long windows. The white paintwork was peeling, however, and the closer they came, the more cracks Iris saw in the plaster.
They parked on the driveway at the foot of the steps leading to the front door, beside several other cars. Behind them, the landscape rolled for miles, a chequerboard of green and yellow fields.
‘Can I help you?’
A man’s voice came from somewhere near the house, and he appeared through the front door. He skipped down the steps towards them, his grey hair flopping over his eyes.
‘Sorry to bother you,’ Iris said. ‘We were looking for The Basildon Retreat?’
The man laughed. ‘It hasn’t been called that in years. It’s Highfields now. Suits it, don’t you think?’ He spread him arms towards the view. ‘I’m Edgar Farrington.’ He put his arm out for a handshake.
‘Simon Raybould.’
‘Iris Lowe. We’ve just come on the off chance, really. I know somebody who used to work here. She’s been telling me all about the place, and I was wondering what had happened to it.’ Iris smiled, trying to do it the way Shirley did when she wanted something. ‘Did you know Katherine Owen?’
‘Afraid not. I’m Mrs Basildon’s nephew, you see, so I don’t have much of a connection with this place.’ Iris gazed past him to the house. ‘Would you like to come in? I’m packing everything up, so it’s a bit of a mess, but you’re welcome to have a look around, see how it’s changed.’
‘That would be wonderful, thank you!’ Perhaps she should smile more often.
Edgar led the way. Iris had to prod Simon to follow. She hadn’t told him about Kath until they were well into the journey. When she’d said they were going to an old madhouse, his cheeks had paled. But to be fair to him, he hadn’t protested too much, even though it wasn’t the secluded picnic he’d probably been hoping for.
The great oak door slid open to reveal a grand entrance hall where large clumps of furniture were hidden underneath old sheets. Male voices, shouting at each other to take hold of one end of something or to put something down, echoed from the rooms upstairs.
‘I’m trying to get everything in order for the sale. There’s so much stuff, you wouldn’t believe.’
‘You’re selling it?’
‘It’s too much upkeep just for me. Everything is falling to pieces. What did you say the lady’s name was who worked here?’
‘Katherine. She was known as Katy, though.’
‘When was she here?’
‘1900.’
‘Blimey.’ Edgar brushed away the mop of his grey hair. ‘She saw it in its heyday. Was she a domestic?’
‘An attendant.’
Edgar nodded. ‘She’d have been working through here.’ He ushered them down a long, bare corridor. Through the far door, a bright hall was revealed, which was clearly being used as a storeroom. A few of the windowpanes were smashed, and the metal bars were rusting. A black smoke stain smudged the inside of the fireplace, and she imagined how Katy might have once sat before i
t, a little white dog by her feet.
‘The day room.’
‘That’s right,’ Edgar said. ‘To be honest, I hate the thought of it, all those women locked up in here.’ His eyes darted around uneasily.
How her own patients would have loved the space, the peace, the freshness, Iris thought.
‘I won’t show you upstairs, if that’s all right? The dust gets on my lungs, and the damp.’
‘Of course.’ She glanced longingly at the ceiling before Simon put his hand on the small of her back and made her return to the main hallway.
‘Outside has remained pretty much the same—’
‘Is that Dr Basildon?’ She pointed at the top of the staircase. Amidst all the other smaller frames hung one huge painting of a man in a fine Edwardian suit with slicked blonde hair and keen blue eyes. He sat on a great armchair in front of a large window, through which one could see the Shropshire hills. He held a book, and there was a skull on a table beside him.
‘Yes. Ernest Basildon II. My uncle. He would have been in charge here in 1900.’
‘May I ask what happened to him and his wife?’
‘Ernest died just after the first war, not much older than I am now. Heart failure apparently, all very sudden. There were a handful of patients still here at the time. My aunt couldn’t look after them herself, of course, so they were shipped out to some other place.’
‘And you don’t know who those patients would have been?’
‘I don’t. I would imagine it would be in the files.’
‘Files?’
‘I found them all in the attic only the other day. Great big chests of books and papers. Aunt never told me about them.’
‘What happened to your aunt?’
‘She lived here on her own for over thirty years. Just her and one maid. She was steely, old Aunt Harriet. Not one to get on the wrong side of, if you know what I mean?’
‘Didn’t they have any children?’
Simon coughed too loudly. He widened his eyes at Iris, but Edgar didn’t seem to take offence at her question.
‘No, unfortunately. It was a blow to her, so I believe. That’s why I inherited this place. Uncle Ernest was an only child, his father an only child before him. My mother was Harriet’s one sister, so it all came to me. I can’t say that I was best pleased with the prospect, but here I am.’
Woman on Ward 13: A haunting gothic novel of obsession and insanity (Iris Lowe Mysteries) Page 10
