Angeline looked up at May through blurry, streaming eyes. Something outside herself enabled her to climb onto the chair and reach for May’s hand, but she still couldn’t grab the bottom of the ledge or May’s fingers.
‘Wait a minute.’ May swung her legs out of the window and turned onto her stomach, as her feet found a foothold in the old stone wall outside. Balancing on her belly and with both arms now reaching for Angeline, she said fiercely, ‘Try, damn it! Try, lass. You can do it, I know you can.’
Somehow Angeline managed to get one foot on the top of the back of the chair, but without anyone to steady it, as she had done for May, it slipped from beneath her. But May had grabbed her, almost overbalancing and falling back inside as she took Angeline’s weight. Scrabbling with her bare feet up the wall, and with May dragging her upwards, it was only a second or two before Angeline was able to heave herself onto the ledge, but it felt as though she had run a mile. Hanging there, with May now steadying her, she gasped for clean air. And suddenly there was an almighty bang, as the door at the far end of the corridor seemed to explode and a huge ball of fire belched towards them.
May jumped down into the courtyard, pulling Angeline with her, and Angeline felt the fury of the fire singe her feet as she tipped headlong towards the stone slabs. But for the fact that she fell squarely onto May, whose body cushioned the impact, she would have done herself a serious injury. As it was, a sharp, shooting pain in her left wrist told her she hadn’t escaped unscathed. May had had the wind knocked out of her and lay for a minute, fighting for breath, as Angeline rolled off her.
When May could speak again it was with her usual humour: ‘Good job you weren’t Big Bertha, lass, or I’d be as flat as a pancake on Shrove Tuesday. What have you done to your wrist? Ooh, that’s broken, by the look of it. Everything else all right? Come on then, we have to find a way out of here without anyone noticing us.’
The pain in her wrist now excruciating, Angeline held it to her chest with her other hand as she stumbled after May. In one corner of the courtyard a small, narrow gate opened onto a row of greenhouses and beyond them stood the walled kitchen garden. May seemed to know her way about and led the way past the kitchen garden, taking care to stay in the shadows cast by the high brick wall.
As they walked, Angeline became aware that they were at the back of the asylum, but as they skirted more outbuildings, which May informed her were the men’s workshops, and began to move down the side of the building, the shouts and screams and general hubbub became louder.
May stopped, drawing Angeline to her side. ‘The water tower is at the back of the men’s side of the building, and they’ve got everyone helping who is able, but the fire’s got too much of a hold. That’s why the superintendent’s sent for help. We need to get down to the main gates while they’re still open, if we can.’
Angeline gazed at May. ‘But the gatehouse? The keeper isn’t going to let us just walk out. They’ll be watching for patients all the time.’
‘I know, but we have to try – it’s our only chance. Nothing like this is going to happen again.’
Angeline looked down at her feet, which were cut and bleeding from the glass in the courtyard. ‘May, I’ve no shoes and I’m in my nightdress. How far do you think I’d get? You have to go by yourself. Everyone will know I’m a patient.’
May looked down at her own striped dress. ‘They’re not exactly going to think I’m Lady Whoever, lass,’ she said wryly. ‘But once we’re outside, we’ll manage somehow. Beg, borrow or steal.’ Then she paused. ‘I’ve an idea. Wait here.’
Before Angeline could stop her, she had disappeared back the way they had come, running like the wind. Angeline sank down to the ground, her head spinning and her wrist so painful it made her feel nauseous. Verity, oh Verity! She gave a little moan. Please, God, let the smoke have overcome her before the flames reached her. May had said she’d found it impossible to reach the seclusion rooms, but the echo of the terrible cries coming from that direction reverberated in Angeline’s head.
She shut her eyes, willing the dizziness to subside, as the smoke and screams and shouts became a sickening cacophony that made her wonder if she was going mad.
How long it was before May returned, Angeline didn’t know. It could have been minutes or hours, because she was sure she had slept in between. Then May was standing in front of her, her arms full of clothes and a pair of boots in one hand, dangling triumphantly from their laces.
‘Courtesy of the clothes store behind the laundry.’ May grinned at her. ‘So you won’t have to leave practically naked after all, and I will never ever wear anything with stripes again for the rest of me days.’
‘How did you get into the clothes store?’
‘I’ve got the hang of breaking windows now. These are clothes they have for the paupers who come in, so they’re not what you’re used to, lass.’
Angeline took the clothes May passed her. ‘If we get out of here tonight, I am a pauper, May. Angeline Golding will have died in the fire. I can’t go home and, even if I could, there’s nothing there for me any more.’
They stared at each other. ‘We can stick together, lass. How about that? I can’t go home, either. Me da washed his hands of me when he found out I was expecting a bairn. It didn’t matter to him that it weren’t my fault. Mind, I’m not sorry to see the back of him. Knocked us about something cruel when we were bairns, he did – me mam an’ all. I’ve a brother in Newcastle. He left home as soon as he could, we all did. We could look Jack up. He’s the only one who’s come to see me since I’ve been here.’
Angeline had managed to pull on the petticoat and the coarse grey frock May had brought as her friend had been speaking, but May had to fasten the buttons. As she stuffed her feet into the ugly black boots she found they were a couple of sizes too big, not that it mattered. If by some miracle they really could escape tonight, nothing mattered. No one but May was going to help her get out of here, she knew that. And May was right: Oswald would see to it that she was incarcerated here for years, and how much insanity could you be party to before you lost your own mind? That was the thought that had become a constant torment of late.
May had changed her frock and now bundled the despised striped dress under one arm, saying, ‘I’ll get rid of this when we’re far away from here. Don’t want to leave any clues that we got out alive.’ Then, taking in Angeline’s chalk-white face, she proceeded to rip the skirt of the striped dress in two, making a rough sling, which she tied round Angeline’s neck, before helping her to insert her injured wrist into the hanging fold of material. ‘Better? Good. I know it’s painful, lass, but if you can stand it, we need to go.’
They crept along the side of the building, and now the night was lit by the glow of the fire. Skirting under the cover of some trees, they stood for a moment looking at the scene in front of them. One or two ladders were propped against the building, and some of the male staff had entered windows on the first floor and were helping patients and nurses who had been trapped by the flames to climb down them. Patients of both sexes in their night clothes were standing, sitting or lying in the courtyard, with nurses and attendants – some of whom were also in their night clothes – attempting to take care of them and keep order. Quite a few of the figures lying on the ground appeared to be in an insensible condition, and a number of patients were clearly distressed, some being forcibly restrained by staff.
Even as they peered out from their hiding place, they saw one of the female patients climbing one of the fire escapes and then clambering along the guttering of a ward roof, followed by a uniformed nurse. As the nurse reached the woman, the patient clearly objected to being held, flailing her arms and struggling to get away. Flames were licking along the roof towards the two women, and some male staff left their fire buckets and stirrup pumps and ran to fetch a ladder from a few feet away. But as they hastily leaned it against the wall, both women fell, screaming, to the ground.
‘Wait, May.’ As May went to
move off, Angeline grabbed her arm. ‘Shouldn’t we try to help?’
‘Help?’ May stared at her. ‘Don’t be daft. You can do nothing with that arm, and if you think I’m risking escaping this place to help them, you’ve got another think coming. God helps them that help themselves – that’s what my da used to say, when he was thieving stuff down at the docks. And although I didn’t agree with much he said, that rings true. You want to do another five, ten, fifteen years in here? Do you?’
Angeline shook her head and, as May moved away again, she didn’t stop her, but followed after a moment or two.
Beyond the copse of trees they had sheltered in lay an open stretch of lawn, leading down to more trees and then the huge walls enclosing the grounds of the asylum. The drive that led down to the gatehouse was to their right. As they reached the edge of the trees, May stopped. The moonlight, added to the illumination provided by the raging fire, made it almost as light as day in the courtyard fronting the asylum; but even here, some distance away, it wasn’t as dark as they needed it to be.
Angeline glanced at the girl who, together with Verity, had kept her going over the last months. Without the pair of them, she doubted she could have kept her mind focused and her will strong. May was staring ahead over the expanse of manicured lawn, her lovely face rent with doubt as her black hair wafted about her shoulders. ‘May?’ Now looking straight into the vivid green eyes, Angeline said, ‘Anything is better than not trying. All their attention is on the fire. If we can get to the trees, we can try to climb one and get over the wall that way, rather than leaving by the gates. Let’s do it. We’ve nothing to lose.’
‘I haven’t perhaps, but you?’
‘I would rather die than become Oswald’s wife again. One way or another, Angeline Golding is dead. If we succeed tonight, we start afresh. If not . . . ’ She shrugged, wincing as her broken wrist sent a shaft of pain shooting up her arm. ‘But we will succeed. I know we will.’
May’s gaze searched her face. ‘For Verity,’ she said softly.
‘For Verity.’
And together they left the shelter of the trees and began to run across the open space, expecting any moment to hear shouts and cries behind them and the sound of their pursuers.
Chapter Nineteen
‘No, oh no, Albert. How did it happen? Is Miss Angeline all right? How can we find out? How many people were hurt?’
‘Whoa, lass, take a breath.’ Albert put his arm round his wife’s shoulders. Myrtle and Frederick had arrived at the farm minutes beforehand, after their overnight stay in London, and all day he had been dreading having to break the news to her about the fire at Earlswood Asylum. ‘I only know what’s in the paper. It being market day, Daniel went in to Castletown with the eggs and cheese and what-have-you, and everyone was talking about it apparently. He pricked up his ears when he heard it was an asylum that had gone up, so he went and bought a paper, to see if it was Earlswood.’
‘And it was.’ Myrtle’s face was tragic. ‘I shan’t rest till I know Miss Angeline’s safe. And this after Mrs Jefferson said she’d help to get her out of that place.’
‘She did? Well, that’s good, lass. Now, don’t you go thinking the worse. Likely Miss Angeline’s as right as rain.’
‘Let me see what the paper says.’ Myrtle took it, sitting down at the kitchen table in her coat and bonnet and reading it avidly, while her mother made them all a cup of tea. It began:
Fatal Fire at a Lunatic Asylum
Early yesterday morning a fire was discovered at Earlswood Lunatic Asylum. The asylum receives insane persons for private treatment and also a number of pauper patients, and is run by Medical Superintendent Dr Rupert Craggs. The fire was discovered by one of the female attendants shortly after two o’clock, and an alarm was at once given, owing to the hold that the flames had already obtained on the building. The inhabitants of a neighbouring village assisted wherever they could and the Newcastle Fire Brigade was summoned when it became apparent the fire was out of control.
Commendable acts of bravery were reported, and foremost among these was Nurse Audrey Clark, who died attempting to save one of the female inmates who had climbed onto the roof of the building. Patients escaped the flames clad only in their night clothes, some of whom were badly burnt or suffered breathing problems due to inhaling the smoke, which was reported as being foul in nature. Other brigades followed the Newcastle brigade, and heroic efforts were made to extinguish the flames and save lives. However, it became apparent after some time that nothing could be done, except to save a number of the outlying portions of the building. Sadly many bodies are buried in the debris, and serious injuries to both inmates and staff have been reported.
Details of those missing will follow in due course, after relatives have been informed, but among the injured in hospital are: Mr Adam Norris, the proprietor of the village inn, who sustained a serious cut on the head; Mr Ivor Longhurst, male attendant, concussion of the brain; Captain Howard, a patient, broken arms and fractured ribs; Mr Irvin Wright, a patient, broken spine and burns; Mrs Geraldine Middleton, nurse, injury to the foot and arm; Miss Cicely Hutton, patient, serious burns . . .
And so the list went on for more than half a page, before the article finished by saying:
Those at the scene were indefatigable in their attention to the injured and dying. Many patients were in a state of great anxiety and confusion in consequence of the fire, but through the efforts of Superintendent Craggs and his staff excellent order was maintained. It is thought the removal of some dangerous walls and damaged parts of the building will commence once those persons buried in the debris are retrieved. Estimated damage: £45,000.
‘She’s not listed among the injured.’ Myrtle took the cup of tea her mother passed her with a nod of thanks, as she added to Albert, ‘That’s good, isn’t it?’
‘Course it is.’
‘I must write and tell Mrs Jefferson. She’ll be able to find out what’s what. They won’t tell me anything, that’s for sure. Oh, Albert’ – Myrtle’s voice caught in her throat – ‘she has to be all right. Mrs Jefferson will get her out of that place, I know she will. It would be too cruel if Miss Angeline’s died now.’
‘Lass, you’ve done all you can, and more besides, and it’s no good worrying. Now drink your tea and tell me how you got on. Young Fred look after you properly?’ Albert grinned at his brother-in-law, who smiled back. ‘And did you find the house all right?’
Myrtle filled him in on all that had happened, and later in the evening, when the rest of the family gathered in the kitchen, she told her story again. To a man they insisted that Miss Angeline would be fine and she mustn’t worry, but Myrtle couldn’t respond as she knew they wanted her to. She had the strangest feeling on her . . .
Oswald sat in the superintendent’s parlour listening to the doctor rattle on about all that had been done to save each and every patient, and how the tragedy could not be laid at the door of the staff. ‘When dealing with the insane, every safeguard is taken,’ Dr Craggs said earnestly, ‘but one cannot predict every eventuality. It seems one of the female patients, Lady Lindsay – who had run amok earlier in the day and had been taken to one of the seclusion rooms – overpowered the nurse who had been assigned to take care of her, sometime after midnight.’ The superintendent didn’t mention here that he had suspended Lady Lindsay’s usual nurse, who was accustomed to the patient’s ways, as punishment for the incident in the morning, in spite of the nurse begging him to reconsider due to the patient already being in a highly volatile state and needing the reassurance of familiar faces around her.
‘Exactly what happened after that, we cannot be sure yet,’ the superintendent went on, ‘but in the past the lady’s condition has led her to do strange and dangerous things, if not restrained.’ At Oswald’s raised eyebrows, the doctor added, ‘She hears voices instructing her what to do.’
‘I see.’ Oswald didn’t really care. The fact that he was now free of the burden of Angeline was enoug
h. ‘Besides my wife, how many people died in the fire?’
‘Due to the sterling actions of my staff, a lot less than it could have been.’
‘How many, Superintendent?’
‘Along with Nurse Clark and several others, seven people died at the scene, but twenty-four are unaccounted for and believed to be buried in the debris. I’m deeply sorry for your loss, Mr Golding.’
‘Thank you. And I am sure you and your staff did all you could, in the circumstances.’
‘That is very gracious of you, Mr Golding.’ The superintendent was clearly relieved. He had been receiving anxious relatives all day, and one or two had proved to be difficult, especially as it would be impossible to identify who was who for the burials. ‘We are all quite devastated, of course.’
‘Naturally.’ Oswald stood up. After shaking the superintendent’s hand, he allowed the man to see him out. He paused on the doorstep, turning to say, ‘I will expect the payment I made this month for my wife’s care to be refunded.’
‘Of course, Mr Golding. And may I offer my condolences once again.’
Oswald walked across to the waiting carriage, his step lighter than it had been when he had arrived, to find out what was what. He’d hardly dared to hope that Angeline was one of the deceased. It had seemed too good to be true. But the fire having been started at that end of the asylum, it seemed she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or the right place at the right time, as far as he was concerned. He smiled to himself, pleased with his little joke, before pausing and breathing in deeply, expanding his chest and sighing with satisfaction. Then he climbed into the carriage and sat back in the leather seat, lighting one of his favourite cigars.
Beyond the Veil of Tears Page 22
