by Sarah Rayne
‘Didn’t either of them struggle?’ asked someone. ‘Or call out?’
‘They were both drugged,’ said Thalia. ‘Dr Shilling gave them both sedatives.’
John managed to say, ‘It’s likely that neither of them knew what was happening.’
Aunt Rosa said briskly that this, at least, was one mercy, and looked round the room challengingly. ‘I can’t speak for everyone,’ she said, ‘but for myself I don’t mind admitting that I think we should consider covering this up if we can. For the sake of everyone here, and for the sake of the child herself.’
Dilys emerged from behind her handkerchief to point out all over again that it would not be the first time they had covered up something dreadful in the family; you could almost say it was history repeating itself, or even nemesis, or the sins of the fathers visiting on the—
‘Yes, but look here,’ hastily interrupted Cousin Elspeth’s husband, who could put up with a good deal but not Aunt Dilys becoming Biblical, ‘this is – well, it’s murder. We can’t connive at murder.’
‘Certainly not.’
‘Couldn’t agree to it for a second.’
‘Surprised you even suggested it, Rosa.’
Thalia said, as if the thought had only just occurred to her, ‘But you know, it would be the most appalling scandal if the truth ever got out.’
‘Oh, I don’t think we should let that weigh—’
‘Quite right. Duty before inclination.’
‘But have you thought,’ said Thalia, ‘how much damage the truth would do Ingram’s? I mean as a business concern? As a profitable business concern.’
There was an abrupt silence. This was putting a rather different complexion on matters. All of the aunts had inherited shares in Ingram’s from grandfathers or uncles, and all of them enjoyed a modest affluence as a result. Dilys and Rosa were part of several very pleasant little social circles in Battersea, which would not have been possible without their twice-yearly dividends. Elspeth was married to George who was thought to make a reasonably good living out of exporting porcelain, but it was unlikely that he could have run to the very expensive country club in Maidenhead or the delightful cottage in Stratford without his wife’s income. The frivolous cousin, whose name was Juliette, dashed around London in an open-top BMW and had a flat near Kensington High Street, both of which were certainly beyond her salary. And even Flora, with the pensions of two dead husbands and the alimony of a third live one, found herself hesitating and remembering such things as season tickets for Glyndebourne and the Royal Ballet, and first-class travel.
She said, rather sharply, ‘But even if we agreed, how could we do it? It would mean deceiving undertakers, coroners . . . The – well, the actual wounds would have to be disguised as well. Could we really do all that?’
There was a thoughtful silence. After a moment Thalia said, as if still considering the matter, ‘It might be possible. We would have to trust one another absolutely, of course. If we went ahead, there’d have to be no attacks of conscience afterwards.’
‘If anyone wants to bow out, they’d better do so now,’ said Rosa. ‘Just get up and go. No one will think any the worse.’
Juliette murmured, ‘Leave now or for ever hold your peace,’ and Aunt Dilys said very firmly that they were only considering the idea.
Cousin Elspeth’s husband, who was as anxious as anyone to avoid a scandal, said, ‘But what about all the – well, the practical things? Could they be coped with? It would mean – well, for one thing, it would mean cleaning up the room before the undertakers were let in.’
‘They could be taken to another bedroom. Royston and Eloise. And, well, laid out tidily.’
‘Could we do that?’
‘Well, George, we’d have to.’
‘So long as nobody expects me to do it.’
As if a signal had been given, everyone stopped talking and stared at one another.
Flora said, in a voice of horror, ‘We’re talking ourselves into it, aren’t we? Listen to us. We aren’t asking if we’re going to do it, we’re asking how.’
From his slightly removed seat by the window, John Shilling was aware of a remnant of medical integrity nudging him into speech. He said, ‘If we do agree to this, and if we can work out a foolproof plan, what about Imogen herself? What would happen to her?’
‘She can’t be left at large,’ said Rosa at once. ‘I couldn’t agree to that. I hope nobody thought I meant that.’
‘I certainly wouldn’t agree to it,’ said John.
Several people said they could not agree to it either.
‘Well, has anyone any suggestions? Flora?’
Flora said, thoughtfully, ‘The idea of some kind of private nursing home presents itself. Somewhere discreet and comfortable, but secure.’
‘Strict but kind.’ This was Aunt Dilys.
‘And a longish stay until we are sure – until we have evidence one way or the other as to her state of mind.’ Flora looked at them all. ‘If necessary, an indefinite stay. I would far rather put her somewhere like that than let the state put her in gaol or Broadmoor.’
‘Or somewhere like Thornacre,’ whispered Aunt Dilys.
Thornacre. The word dropped into the sudden silence like a deadweight dropping into a black, fathomless pool. Thornacre had never really belonged to the Ingrams but all of them knew its history, both the past and the more immediate. They all knew how the house had been built for Sybilla by the rich mill-owner she had married and how they had eventually been forced to shut her away in one wing of the place with a keeper and bars on the doors. Thornacre had long since passed into the hands of the Northumbrian authorities, but the name still brought a shiver of horror to most of the family. It was like having a bruise that never quite healed so that it hurt if someone pressed it. It had hurt last month when Thornacre had been on the national news, one of the mental homes investigated by the Rackham Commission.
Rosa was the first to speak. She said, very briskly, ‘Look here, wherever we put her, whatever Royston wanted or didn’t want, there’s still the matter of the death certificates.’ She looked challengingly around the room. ‘Has anyone thought about that?’
Every eye turned to John Shilling, and as if the words were being scraped out of him, he said, ‘Royston had been suffering from angina pectoris. An infarct – that’s a coronary thrombosis –wouldn’t be unexpected. It might even have been the actual cause. And his medical records would be consistent with that verdict. Yes, I could sign a certificate to that effect, and with reasonable honesty.’
‘And Eloise?’
Eloise . . . For the first time, John realised that he was something of a linchpin in this bizarre situation, and the knowledge steadied him slightly. ‘That’s a bit different,’ he said. ‘Unless a doctor’s been in attendance for the fourteen days immediately prior to death, a certificate can’t be given and the coroner has to be informed.’ He paused. ‘I was treating Eloise for several minor illnesses but none of them were consistent with – with sudden death.’
‘Ah. A pity.’
‘It would mean tampering with existing medical records, making out a false death certificate. If I was caught, I would unquestionably be struck off. I would probably be imprisoned for several years.’ The enormity of it showed briefly in his eyes. ‘I oughtn’t to be even having this conversation . . .’
‘But the very fact that you are . . .’ Thalia let the sentence remain unfinished.
‘If ever there was talk, if ever an exhumation was called for—’
‘Can’t that be got around by having them cremated?’ asked George.
‘Oh no, that’s out of the question. For cremation, two signatures are needed on the death certificate.’
‘We can’t risk that,’ said Rosa at once.
‘We’re asking too much of you,’ put in Aunt Dilys. ‘Yes, of course we are.’
Asking too much of him . . . John Shilling stared round the room.
After a moment, Thalia said gent
ly, ‘It would save Imogen, John. It would save Eloise’s daughter from an almost certain life sentence as well, if not in gaol, then in Broadmoor.’
‘Or Thornacre,’ said Dilys.
‘Oh, I don’t think we should even consider that as a possibility,’ said Rosa. ‘And anyway—’
‘Lucienne was put in Thornacre, wasn’t she?’ asked Cousin Elspeth.
‘Yes, she was actually,’ said Thalia. ‘I think it was privately funded in those days. Pre-NHS and welfare state, of course.’
Juliette asked if Thornacre was going to be allowed to continue as an asylum after the findings of the Rackham Commission, and was rather glad that she had thought of a word other than madhouse.
‘Yes, I think so,’ said Thalia.
‘Well, I’m very surprised to hear that,’ put in Aunt Dilys, ‘after all the scandal. A nightmare place, they called it. The attendants used to lock the troublesome patients into the old outbuildings so that they couldn’t hear them screaming. Wash houses and sheds. And there was a really bleak part which was once the workhouse in eighteen fifty-something – they put the really difficult ones in there and left them for days with only a trough of water and no proper sanitation or anything. And to think that Lucienne was once—’
‘Dilys, it would have been very different in Lucienne’s time,’ Thalia pointed out.
‘Is it National Health Service now?’ asked George, and hoped this did not sound as mercenary as he feared.
‘Oh yes.’
It was at this point that John Shilling suddenly saw that although he had never been of much service to Eloise during her life, he could be of service to her now. He could save his untouchable and untouched lady from the prurient curiosity of the world, and in the process he might save her daughter as well. Gaol or Broadmoor. Or Thornacre. Dear God, Aunt Dilys was right about that. Wherever else Imogen went, she must not go to Thornacre. Royston would not have wanted it, and Eloise, so fastidious, so private, would not have wanted it either.
Within John Shilling’s slightly sottish, slightly self-indulgent soul, an impulse reared up that was almost entirely selfless, and very nearly akin to medieval knight-errantry. He would do it. If he could not risk a bit of discomfort for Eloise, it made his devotion seem a very threadbare emotion indeed. His mind began riffling through acceptable causes of unexpected death. Pericarditis? Viral pneumonia? No, there had been that massive effusion of blood, that ought to be taken into account; it ought almost to be made use of. What about perforation of a stomach ulcer?
Clearing his throat to get their attention, he said, ‘I’ll do what you want. I think I see a way.’
Every head turned to him. ‘You will?’ This was Flora.
‘What will you do?’ asked Rosa.
‘How will you do it?’ demanded George.
John said, ‘If I were to give the cause of death as a perforated stomach ulcer—’
‘But Eloise never had a twinge even of indigestion in her life!’ exclaimed Rosa.
‘Do be quiet, Rosa,’ said Thalia. ‘Let him finish. Go on, Dr Shilling.’
John said, ‘It will mean making several fictitious entries on Eloise’s medical records.’ The word ‘fictitious’ pleased him; it sounded better than false. He went on more easily, ‘There would have to be several entries, some history of pain after eating. Even bouts of vomiting.’ He paused, thinking hard. A trial prescription for something like Lo-Sec would have to show on the records as well, and maybe a note to consider a gastroscopy.
‘Would you make such entries?’ asked Thalia.
‘Yes,’ said John, surprised to hear his voice sounding so positive.
Cousin Elspeth wanted to know if that in itself mightn’t look suspicious to somebody somewhere. ‘Things written in or crossed out on a card—’
‘Elspeth, darling, everything’s on computer these days,’ said Juliette. And then, suddenly doubtful, ‘Isn’t it?’
‘Oh yes.’ This had been in John’s mind while forming the plan. ‘Yes, I would only have to call up Eloise’s file and key in several extra entries. A couple of consultations, backdated, of course. I don’t think anyone could possibly tell that they had been added later.’
‘Or if they could, you would only have to say you were updating the disk from a handwritten memo,’ said George.
‘Exactly.’
‘And you’re prepared to do that?’ asked Rosa.
‘Yes. Yes, I am.’ And he thought: for you, my lady, my love, I’m prepared to do it.
Rosa said, ‘Why a stomach ulcer? Why not a heart attack, like Royston?’
John took a moment to reply, and then said, carefully, as if sorting his own thoughts, ‘Because of the blood. Several of you saw it. And it’s possible that however scrupulous the cleaning-up process, traces will remain. We should allow for the possibility of an inquiry – a thorough police search that might pick those traces up. Also, if the truth did get out, it would be better if I had given you a credible reason for Eloise’s sudden death, taking the haemorrhage into account.’ He paused, and then said, ‘Supposing I told you here and now that Eloise had a stomach ulcer that perforated and caused the haemorrhage, would you find it believable?’
‘Well, yes.’
‘There you are then. If the worst happened, you could all appear entirely innocent.’
‘You couldn’t, though,’ Rosa said bluntly.
‘No, but I could say I believed that Eloise had committed suicide and that I falsified the certificate to save the family further distress.’
‘You could say she stabbed herself?’
‘I think so. I could say the knife was found by her bed, and that suicide was the only believable explanation.’
There was a silence while the suggestion was considered.
Rosa said, ‘I don’t much like the idea of a suicide, but—’
‘But that’s only if it ever comes out, Rosa,’ Thalia pointed out, ‘which it won’t. We’re covering all the pitfalls.’
‘But supposing it did come out,’ persisted Rosa, ‘what reason would Eloise have had for suicide?’
John said, ‘Oh, Royston’s death.’
‘Ah. Yes, of course.’ Elspeth’s husband George felt it was time that the family took back the reins on this. He said, ‘Shilling, I wonder if you’d give us a minute, just to discuss . . .’
‘Of course.’
As John went out, the family went into little huddles. George said to Elspeth that it was a credible plan; there was the business of the blood, after all, you could not escape that, and Elspeth shuddered and wished George would not talk about blood when people were still feeling sick. ‘The fellow’s covering his back, of course,’ added George, ‘in case the thing goes wrong.’
‘You can’t blame him for that.’
‘And if it does go wrong, he’s the one who’ll suffer most,’ said Juliette sagely. ‘I think he’s being rather heroic.’
Aunt Dilys did not think a stomach ulcer was the kind of thing Eloise would have wanted to die from. ‘Indelicate, you know.’
Aunt Rosa said it could hardly make any difference and the important thing here was protecting Imogen. ‘I say we agree to Dr Shilling’s proposal,’ she said, raising her voice. ‘If he’ll be good enough to do it, I think we should trust his judgement on the medical details. Thalia? Flora?’
Thalia nodded. ‘I agree.’
‘Yes,’ said Flora after a moment.
‘Everyone? Good. Then we’ll call him back and tell him—’
‘Before we do,’ Thalia said, ‘there’s the question of Imogen. I think we should settle that between ourselves.’
‘Quite right, keep it in the family.’ This was George.
‘Somebody suggested a nursing home,’ remembered Aunt Dilys. ‘Flora, wasn’t it you?’
‘Yes, but I haven’t got as far as thinking of an actual place.’
‘I have,’ said Thalia. ‘I believe I know someone who might help. Someone I met through one of the committees. He’s actual
ly on the Rackham Commission, but I think he has a connection with Briar House.’
The relief at not hearing the terrible name Thornacre again was so great that people relaxed for the first time for several hours, and Aunt Dilys, voluble with relief, leaned forward and asked was that the place on the outskirts of Hampstead to the north. ‘A huge grey Victorian building, rather ugly, but with very nice grounds?’
‘Yes, that’s it. I think it’s the kind of place Royston meant.’
‘Well, that doesn’t sound too bad,’ said Dilys, looking round the room for approval, and several people nodded cautiously. Cousin Elspeth knew someone who knew someone whose brother – or perhaps it had been an uncle . . . Anyway, Briar House had certainly been spoken of with approval. Expressions like ‘nervous exhaustion’ and ‘emotional fatigue’ began to be bandied about, and Dilys’s voice rose above the rest, insisting that it was important that Imogen was put somewhere kind.
Thalia said drily, ‘Did you think I meant us to shut the child away in some bleak Victorian institution? Do you think Royston and Eloise would have wanted that?’
‘Dear me, no,’ chorused the aunts, shocked to their toes. Juliette wanted to know how they were to silence Mrs Scullion. Were they simply going to hope for a devoted family retainer, or should something be worked out?
They went into little huddles all over again, working out details of this aspect, reminding one another that Mrs Scullion had left the house before the appalling discovery was made, and Juliette was heard to say it was rather like constructing a country house murder mystery. Flora took the opportunity to ask about Thalia’s connection with Briar House.
‘I heard of it through someone I met on the fund-raising committee for the Students’ Counselling Service,’ said Thalia, and several people nodded, because this was the kind of thing that Thalia, dear, hard-working creature, had been involved with for several years. She had met some interesting people through her work and she was kindness itself to the younger people with problems. She had even been known to take one or two of the young men out to dinner at quite expensive places. She could easily afford it, but that was not the point.
