A Death in the Asylum

by Caroline Dunford

  ‘So I am often told,’ I said reverting to my real accent and sounding like the earl’s granddaughter I am.

  Mrs Mason came up and took one of my hands in hers. ‘Your husband not with you, my dear?’

  ‘He leaves such matters to me.’

  ‘Men!’ exclaimed Mrs Mason in an exasperated, breathy voice. ‘Still you have your fine Scottish cousin with you.’

  I nodded and tried to bring a tear to my eye.

  Mrs Mason patted my hand. ‘It’s a wee bit chilly, but I think you’d enjoy seeing the children at play. Could you be persuaded to walk a while, my dear?’

  ‘Certainly, if you think it best,’ I said in a subdued voice.

  ‘This way then and you can meet some of my charges.’

  Instead of taking us through the house Mrs Mason led us round the substantial left wing and down along a wooded path. As we progressed the sound of laughter became louder. Finally, we turned a corner and came across four children aged between, I imagine, four and eight, playing with a hoop and stick and watched over by a young woman, also in a black dress. At first glance there was nothing different from what one might have seen in any park up and down the country.

  ‘Go forward, my dear,’ said Mrs Mason. ‘They’re a friendly lot.’

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw her place a restraining hand on Rory’s arm. I stopped a little distance from the children as if I was studying them, but ensuring I could still overhear her conversation with Rory. A little girl with a sweet but vacant face suddenly sat down at my feet engrossed in playing with a loose ribbon. The others did not seem to notice she was missing. I knelt down beside her.

  ‘That’s a pretty ribbon,’ I said.

  The child laughed and pointed at my face. ‘Ah-gog,’ she said. Then continued in a stream of happy babble. She must have been six years old and was clearly without speech. Carefully I retied the bow for her and she looked at me with such openness and trust that a genuine tear came to my eye.

  ‘Leave her be,’ Mrs Mason was saying to Rory. ‘It’s important for the mothers to see we treat them as normally as we can. She’s very young. I take it the poor wee one is a tiny mite?’

  ‘Aye,’ said Rory promptly. ‘A few months.’

  ‘And you could tell already,’ said Mrs Mason. ‘The poor lady. But she’s young. She’ll have others.’

  ‘I believe the child has the same condition as …’

  ‘Lord Stapleford’s niece?’ finished Mrs Mason.

  ‘It’s never been discussed, you understand, but one hears things.’

  ‘A six months’ child, so sad. A very sweet nature and the face of an angel. She grew into a truly beautiful woman. When she came to us she wasn’t expected to live. Such a tiny thing. But she did. Tenacious, that’s what Dr Frank called it, a tenacious desire to live. But the kindest, most gentle being alive. If you took it slow she could understand most things. Such a shame her mother never felt up to visiting her, but then so many don’t. I still miss her.’

  ‘When did she …?’

  ‘Oh, at 18, like all of them.’

  ‘I see,’ said Rory in a bemused voice. ‘At 18.’

  ‘At least she had Alice to go with her. She was a particular friend.’

  ‘I see,’ said Rory, swallowing.

  ‘Oh, they’re quite capable of friendship and affection. That’s why they’re such a particular charge when they’re grown.’

  ‘You mean she transferred elsewhere?’ The relief in Rory’s voice was evident.

  ‘Oh yes! This place is only for children. When they’re grown they go to an adult institution, but we do our best to ensure they are placed in the most modern places run on similar ideas to ourselves. Care, compassion, exercise and pleasant usefulness. Sometimes they can be trained to live simply in the outside world, but in Sophy’s case that simply wasn’t possible. She’d been in an institution all her life and besides, if a mother doesn’t want a child home, there really is nothing one can do. Do you think?’

  ‘I don’t think she has yet made her decision,’ said Rory.

  The little girl ran away from me and back to the group with the hoop. The young woman in black smiled encouragingly at me, but I shook my head. I was already feeling uncomfortable about our subterfuge and the innocent, happy cries of the children were making me feel worse. One little boy turned his face towards me and I saw the difference marked clearly upon it. He had beautiful, clear eyes and a lopsided smile. I retreated back towards Rory.

  ‘Come inside,’ said Mrs Mason. ‘I’ll show you around. Most of our inmates are at play or work, so we won’t be intruding. We do our best not to make them feel they are being inspected.’

  I smiled. This was a far cry from the horror tales of Old Bedlam. The inside of the building was much as we might have expected. There were long dormitories for the separate sexes for the younger children and a selection of single rooms for older residents, whose relatives could afford a larger donation, and who it was felt would benefit from isolation. ‘Most of them prefer to be in the dormitories,’ Mrs Mason assured us. There were large open schoolroom workshop type places where the children were taught occupations according to their abilities. It was a place full of bright light, open spaces and cheerfulness. Mrs Mason told us it was inspired by the Quaker values and the central focus was to make the children feel as if they were part of one big, happy and productive family.

  ‘This is a more idyllic childhood than many children achieve,’ I said sincerely.

  ‘You must bear in mind that the understanding of many of our charges is severely limited. What seems to you tranquil may still feel overbearing to some of them.’

  I nodded sadly. ‘But after this?’

  Mrs Mason hung her head. ‘Many of them do feel it is a wrench to leave and I feel for them. But the difficulties of looking after simple adults and the temptations that attend them mean that they need a special kind of care.’

  ‘We very much appreciate your time, Mrs Mason,’ said Rory as we enjoyed a final cup of tea in her office. ‘I think it would ease my cousin’s mind if we would also see the institution that Sophy moved on to.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Mrs Mason. ‘I’ll write the address down for you.’ She penned a few lines and passed them over to Rory. ‘And please let me say I was so sorry to hear about Sophy. She was a lovely girl, but then the Lord often sees fit to gather these special ones to himself early.’

  My cup rattled in my saucer.

  ‘Oh, I’ve spoken out of turn,’ said Mrs Mason. ‘There really is no reason to think your child won’t enjoy a long and happy life, my dear.’

  ‘Unlike poor Sophy,’ I said quietly.

  Chapter Ten

  Mrs Wilson’s Bargain

  ‘I must tell Bertram,’ I said.

  We were back in the automobile.

  ‘Then we will have to tell him everything we have done. He won’t be happy,’ said Rory.

  ‘He needs to know he had a half-sister.’

  Rory took my hand. ‘We don’t know for certain Sophy was his sister.’ I opened my mouth to protest, but he forestalled me. ‘I agree we have every reason to be suspicious, but we don’t have any proof, do we?’

  I looked down at his hand in mine. I knew my mother would be appalled at this familiarity, but all I saw in Rory’s face was a deep concern. ‘We could be in danger, couldn’t we?’ I said.

  ‘Of losing our situations certainly,’ answered Rory. ‘As for anything else. Yes, I agree we might know potentially damaging information about the Staplefords or we may only have uncovered that the late Lord Stapleford made proper arrangements for his unfortunate niece.’

  ‘But she’s dead, Rory.’

  ‘Mrs Mason was quite clear that those that God has made differently often do not live long lives.’

  ‘I know, but I cannot but fear …’

  ‘That Richard Stapleford killed her? But what reason would he have?’

  ‘Scandal?’

  ‘Do we know the ex
act wording of the late Lord Stapleford’s will?’

  ‘Bert-Mr Bertram said the first legitimate heir of his children would inherit the estate and a trust to run it.’

  ‘It would only matter if there was any chance of her being released from the asylum, marrying and having a child. It’s a bit of a stretch,’ said Rory.

  ‘From what Mrs Mason says that seems unlikely,’ I said. ‘Besides she is illegitimate, so wouldn’t that rule her out?’

  ‘It would depend on how the will was worded.’

  ‘Unless he married Mrs Wilson,’ I said.

  ‘I think we can discount that possibility, don’t you?’

  ‘It does seem the most farfetched of all the ideas we have discussed,’ I agreed.

  ‘Aye, it’s a strange world where murder to prevent scandal is more likely than marrying for love,’ said Rory.

  ‘I cannot imagine Mrs Wilson ever being lovable!’

  ‘I’m sure she was young once,’ said Rory.

  ‘I fear she was merely convenient.’

  ‘You don’t think much of the Staplefords, do you?’

  ‘I have no reason to think well of any of the noble families of my acquaintance,’ I said truthfully.

  ‘And you know so many?’ teased Rory.

  I took a deep breath. ‘Rory,’ I said, ‘there’s something you don’t know about me.’

  ‘Aye, lass. I’ve always suspected you had a secret or two. But is now the right time to tell me? We’ve got enough on our plates as it is, don’t you think?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. My head is spinning with all this. I want to be honest with someone.’

  ‘Will it change things between us?’

  ‘It might,’ I admitted.

  ‘Yer no married to Mr Bertram, are ye?’

  I laughed out loud. ‘Oh no, it’s nothing as awful as that!’

  Rory’s eyes twinkled. ‘In that case if it’s something that’s going to open up another long discussion I think we should leave it for now. Tell me after all this. If you still want to.’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘I’ll remember you wanted to tell me,’ said Rory.

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘So where do you think we go from here?’

  ‘You’re right. We need some proof of something.’

  ‘We could go back to the asylum.’

  ‘Back?’

  Rory showed me the address. ‘Didn’t you realise the asylum Sophy was sent to was the one Beatrice wanted to investigate? Mrs Mason mentioned Dr Frank.’

  ‘Beatrice was further along in the investigation than we are.’

  ‘Aye, it was a right shame about her.’

  ‘I hope so,’ I said under my breath.

  We arrived back in London towards evening. Merrit dropped us off at the hotel and took the automobile round to the garage without a word. I found his singular lack of curiosity unnerving, but Rory took it in his stride. ‘He’s a model servant,’ was his comment. ‘Doesn’t ask any questions.’

  The memorial service was long over, so I steeled myself to face a barrage of questions from Mr Bertram. However, when I enquired of him from the concierge I learned he had not yet returned to the hotel. I left a message at the front desk that I was to be called when he returned and retired to my room. I meant to only close my eyes for a moment, but travelling is remarkably fatiguing. I was dreaming that Beatrice Wilton and I were in a crowded dining room. She was trying to tell me something important as she passed me a cup of tea, but the sound of other diners clattering cutlery and chatting drowned out her words. She was becoming increasingly agitated. I, on the other hand, was consumed with the necessity of explaining one never drank tea with dinner. Finally with an expression of exasperation Beatrice slammed a book down upon the table making the dishes jump and startling the room into silence.

  I woke up on the edge of the sound unsure if what I had heard was real or still in the dream. My curtains, undrawn, showed a night-black sky. The room was full of shadows and I had the eeriest feeling I was not alone. My heart knocked loudly in my chest and my breath caught in my throat. By sheer effort of will I lay perfectly still. I reasoned if the intruder had not harmed me, believing I was asleep, then they might well depart leaving me unmolested. I squinted into the darkness. Without light my room seemed preternaturally enlarged. I could see nothing but the shapes of the furniture.

  A sharp knocking at the door brought me bolt upright. ‘Help,’ I squeaked.

  The door, which I had foolishly left unlocked, opened. Rory stood on the threshold and the gas light from the hall flooded in.

  ‘There’s someone in here,’ I cried, springing from the bed and running towards him.

  Rory turned up the gas. There was no one there.

  ‘I think you’ve had a bad dream, lass,’ said Rory.

  ‘I was so sure,’ I said sheepishly.

  ‘Dreams can be powerful things,’ he said kindly, leading me into the room. We sat either side of the cold fire. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, but I’ve had a thought that might help us.’

  ‘Is Mr Bertram back?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ve had no word, but I imagine he must be.’

  ‘I left word I was to be sent for when he returned.’

  ‘It’s late, Euphemia. He may have superseded your instructions.’

  ‘I suppose so, but it’s odd.’

  ‘It’s hardly a normal time.’

  ‘But what will he have been doing?’

  Rory sighed. ‘I don’t know. I imagine he’s been with Miss Wilton’s family. There will have been many questions. For all I know the family is demanding an inquest.’

  ‘But wouldn’t they have had to do that before she was buried?’

  ‘It was a memorial service today, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ I rubbed my eyes. ‘Of course. There is still time. What did you want to see me about?’

  ‘We need some evidence one way or another and I’ve thought of someone who can give us some?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Mrs Wilson.’

  ‘But she’s in a coma.’

  ‘Not any more. Word came to the hall before I left that she was improving. I heard Dr Simpson tell Lord Richard she was having periods of lucidity.’

  ‘But then she could be in the most terrible danger!’

  Rory produced a pamphlet from his pocket. ‘I don’t think we can get away with borrowing the automobile again, but we could get a train to the town where the hospital is. There’s a milk train that leaves in two hours that would get us there this morning. If we caught the afternoon train back we’d only be gone the day. Your Mr Bertram might not even notice we were missing. We could leave word we had business out of town.’

  ‘He won’t like it,’ I said.

  ‘I think we’ve gone too far to turn back now,’ said Rory. ‘If we’re right we’ll come back with proof he had a half-sister. He will have to be interested in that.’

  ‘And if we’re wrong?’

  ‘We’ll need to look for different situations,’ said Rory grimly. ‘But I don’t think we are wrong.’

  ‘No, neither do I,’ I said quietly. ‘I wish we were. If we’re right then the chances are neither her death, nor Miss Wilton’s, was natural.’

  ‘The train leaves in two hours. I’ve arranged for a carriage to call in an hour. Can you be ready?’

  ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Thank you, Rory. I can’t imagine doing this without you.’

  It is alarming how quickly one adapts to the modern era. I found the horse carriage that took us to the station extremely uncomfortable. As Rory paid off the driver my teeth chattered in my head as much from the bumpy journey as from the cold. The drive through London had been full of mist and shadows. On another occasion I might have found it romantic in the picturesque sense, but this morning the world was full of menace. I constantly fancied we were being followed. Even Rory’s patience was on the verge of breaking and he had given up reassuring me. My dream of the night befo
re dragged at my mind.

  ‘Why is milk going from London to the country?’ I asked suddenly.

  ‘It’s not,’ said Rory. ‘This is the train going out to pick up the milk for London.’

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘You don’t want to know. There’s one passenger carriage. I don’t expect it will be that comfortable, but you should try and sleep.’

  ‘I don’t think that will be a problem,’ I said yawning. ‘Maybe I’ll be able to recapture that dream.’

  Rory muttered something under his breath that I decided not to hear. We made our way onto the platform. This was not the first time I had travelled by train, but as we approached the great, steaming beast I felt my heart flutter. That such a huge engine could reach such great speeds with only the aid of fire and water reminded me of the power of the natural world. There was much about this new century that I loved, but man’s desire to master the elements unnerved me. The train snorted steam as we approached our carriage. I could not suppress a fantasy that it was somehow aware. Rory handed me up the steps past the enormous iron wheels that would propel us forward across what during my father’s youth would have been unimaginable distances to cross in a day and we would traverse in a few short hours. I snuggled down into my seat, under a blanket Rory had provided, closed my eyes and, with what I felt was more than a little cowardice, banished my surroundings from my thoughts. There was an enormous hiss, the carriage jolted and we were on our way.

  Beatrice Wilton was still shouting at me in my dreams when we reached our journey’s end. Rory had to shake me awake I was so tired.

  ‘You should see a doctor,’ he said. ‘I think you’re still having effects from your concussion.’

  ‘I’d be fine if Beatrice would shut up,’ I snapped.

  ‘I think I should find us transport,’ said Rory looking up and down the emptying platform. ‘It’s only a couple of miles, so I was going to suggest we walked, but you don’t look at all well.’

  The train station was small with only two platforms, but it was respectable with a high glass-panelled ceiling. There was a first-class ladies’ waiting room and the green benches were freshly painted. ‘How large is the town? Could we not find a trolleybus or something?’