“It’s really no trouble, Richard. I was going for a walk anyway.”
Claire and Paul walked in silence down Westmill Street, listening to the humming of traffic and noisy chatter of men, women, and children enjoying their Sunday. A beautiful pale-faced woman with brown eyes smiled at Paul as she passed, prompting Claire to slip her arm around Paul’s arm. They had turned right on Berkeley Street before either uttered a word.
“Paul,” Claire said as they passed Lansdowne Row. “Why do you want to leave London?”
“Don’t you know?” Paul said, turning his head to look into Claire’s eyes. “I need to start fresh someplace else—out of the busy city. Someplace…more quiet.”
Claire was quiet then—a pained look had crossed her face as they continued to walk in silence. An omnibus full of people thundered passed them, distinguished by a large yellow and red Haig Whiskey sign on the side.
“Why not the English countryside though?” She asked as they strolled along. “Surely, there are places there you could work and enjoy the fresh air.”
“I’m sure there are Claire, but Scotland’s very special to me. It’s where I last saw my mother happy. It’s the last time I knew of my father being alive. You know all of this already.”
“Yes but still…it’s so far…”
“Yes, I know. But that’s the point. England has been nothing but pain for me.”
“Has it been all pain, Paul?”
“You know what I mean,” Paul said as he pulled Claire to the edge of the sidewalk as two yelling boys, no older than eleven, ran past them almost knocking the couple over.
“I know. But you can’t run away from your past.”
“I’m not,” he said calmly, looking into her bright blue eyes. “I’m putting an end to it—I suffer here. I can’t live like this anymore.”
“I understand. I thought maybe…for a second you were leaving because of me,” Claire said as they made a left onto Piccadilly.
“You? No, Claire,” Paul said.
But the truth was a part of him was leaving because of Claire.
The London uproar filled their ears like a rush of water fills an empty glass. They walked in silence. When they reached the scent shop, Claire turned to Paul.
“Thanks for escorting me Paul. You don’t have to wait of course. You know I’ll be just fine.”
“I’ll wait for you, Claire. I need to make sure you get home safely.”
Just then Mrs. Wendell emerged from the shop with a small bag and a black parasol that matched her usual black dress.
“Good afternoon Mrs. Wendell,” Paul said tipping his hat to her in greeting.
“Mr. Watson,” she said, greeting him with a stern nod, but upon seeing him with Claire, she gave a fierce look of disapproval and hurried to climb into a loud motorcar that waited for her outside the shop.
“You really are the kindest man I know, Paul,” Claire said with a smile and walked into the shop.
A while later they returned to the Baker’s townhouse. Paul gave Claire a goodbye hug, closing his eyes as he breathed in her flowery scent.
“Bye, Claire,” he said and watched as she walked to the door.
Just before she reached it, she turned to look at him once more.
“If you decide that you want to come back and make a life for yourself here, Paul, know that London’ll be waiting for you with open arms.”
“London, my greatest love,” Paul said in his smooth voice. Then he turned and walked back down Westmill Street.
four LOOSE ENDS
Paul Watson’s Journal
26 April, afternoon.—In a few days, I leave for Scotland, and I’ve decided to keep a record of my journey in this handsome brown-leather journal Eda bought for me for my birthday this past year. Bits of gold silk are woven into the binding, and the paper is of a fine quality.
I have Richard to thank for this upcoming opportunity in Scotland, for Charlie Wicks was easily able to convince the superintendent of Kolney Hatch Lunatic Asylum, Doctor Thomas Reid, that I should be the new resident physician. I received the letter just a few days ago from the superintendent asking for verification that I would accept the position.
I can think of nothing better at this moment than to leave this place. The energy in London is thick and heavy. News of a great strike circulates throughout the city. The murderer of the actress, Louisa Stilwell, is still at large, and a second woman has gone missing. The authorities speculate the murder and the missing woman are connected somehow.
This discovery has everyone on edge. In addition, my nightmares have not subsided. They are always the same: a dimly-lit stone chamber, a hooded figure, a dark room. And then I come upon that lifeless, disfigured face, and I remember my mother. I can only hope that the nightmares will wane once I leave London.
3 in the morning.—Tonight, I had just about finished packing all of my things, when I heard a frantic knocking at the front door. A heavy rain pelted against the windows, and as I hurried down the stairs, I thought perhaps Eda had returned home early from her visit with friends and had forgotten her key.
When I opened the door, however, I was surprised to see Claire standing on my front step, drenched from the rain and looking as beautiful as ever, except for the tears running down her soft cheeks. Immediately, I thought something had happened to Richard, and I ushered her inside.
I led Claire into the drawing room. She took a seat on the golden-upholstered sofa that rested by the front window. She trembled, and I quickly retrieved a blanket from the cupboard.
“What’s wrong, Claire? Is it Richard?” I asked her calmly as I wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and sat down beside her.
She did not answer right away, only stared into my eyes.
“You shouldn’t have come here alone,” I said coolly to her, for the murderer was still on the loose. The last thing I wanted in this world was to see something bad happen to Claire.
“I had to see you,” was all she murmured as she looked at me through her teary eyes. The rain had matted down her auburn hair; it formed a slight curl as it began to dry.
I did not believe Claire had traveled to my home in this dreadful weather just to see me.
“What happened, Claire?” I asked her again calmly, bracing myself for her to tell me someone had died.
Claire still said nothing, but she never took her eyes off me as she put the blanket to her side, stood from the couch, and removed her coat. Tonight she wore a simple silk dress—the ocean-blue color set off her eyes. I thought, perhaps she was just making herself comfortable, that was until she removed her dress.
I stood up, my voice stern. “Claire, what are you doing?”
She slowly unbuttoned the dress and slid it off. I turned my head away at first. After all, I was a gentleman.
“Turn around Paul,” Claire said in a low, tremulous voice.
I turned my head and took in the sight before me. I had longed to see the exquisite curves of Claire’s beautiful figure. All I could do was gape. For a moment, I felt uncontrollable excitement. But then my mind was in a strange state of confusion, and when the reality of what had happened finally sunk in, I felt an uncomfortable ache in my heart.
Her bruises were already a mixture of green and blue—one was on her arm, and one was on her chest right above her left breast. Now as she stood in front of me, I saw the fear in her eyes. I saw the trembling of her body.
“Claire, tell me what happened.”
She said nothing.
“Please, you can trust me,” I assured her and gently touched the bruise on her arm.
“He came home drunk,” she said finally, so softly I almost did not hear her at first.
I remained silent as she continued.
Claire’s voice quivered as she spoke. “He was the worst I’d ever seen him. Out of control. Angry. Wild. Paul, I was so frightened. He said he’d been out with Loxley, not John, Roger, and something had happened, but he wouldn’t tell me what.”
She took a break to take a deep breath as the tears streamed down her face.
I should have comforted her, but I was in shock. When I finally snapped out of my immobilized state, I had to keep the rage inside me intact so as not to frighten Claire. I made my way over to the cupboard and pulled out the brandy. I poured a full glass. The bottle was empty now.
“I kept asking him why he was so upset. When I wouldn’t let up he became so angry, he grabbed my arm, twisting it with one hand, his other hand on my neck, squeezing tighter and tighter.”
Claire took a deep breath and gently touched her neck before continuing.
“I tried to scream for him to stop. I couldn’t breathe or speak. I didn’t think he would let me go. I thought he was going to kill me. Then he shoved me hard into his writing desk. My shoulder hit the corner of the desk as I fell to the floor. He didn’t even care. He just…left.”
I walked over to her, brushed the tears away from her cheeks and then hugged her close to me as she cried.
Richard. Of all people to hurt a woman…Richard. Sure, maybe he’d had a few verbal brawls when we were younger, but never to the point of hurting someone, much less a woman. Especially Claire. I was so angry with him, and yet, I did not want to believe he would do something so awful intentionally.
I took a deep breath, still holding Claire close to me. I don’t know how long we stood in that embrace, but eventually she calmed down, and we sat back down on the sofa.
“I’m so sorry,” I said as I gently brushed the hair out of her eyes.
“I can’t go home, Paul,” she said, clasping my hands into hers.
“Claire, I’m sure that Richard feels awful for what he’s done. He loves you very much. I don’t know why he’d do such a thing but…”
“You don’t believe me?”
“Of course I believe you. Of course I do.”
“He hurt me, Paul. Don’t make me go back there. Let me stay here with you.”
“Claire, you can’t stay here. It wouldn’t look right.”
She sounded desperate. “But I don’t want to go home. I could go with you to Whitemoor, please.”
“Don’t complicate things,” I said calmly as I gently brushed a hair out of her eyes. “You’re just upset, but you love Richard.”
Claire let out a gentle sigh; her eyes filled with chagrin.
“Paul, please,” she begged softly. “I’m frightened.”
She moved closer toward me, enough so that I could feel her breath on my face.
“And I need you. I feel safe with you,” she said again, and then she pressed her soft lips first against my cheek, and then onto my lips.
Her lips lingered on mine, and though I wanted to push her away, a sudden surge of animalistic excitement ran through my limbs as she gently cupped my face in her hands. She kissed me again, and this time I returned the kiss passionately.
Irrepressible lust pumped through every vein. I’d suppressed my desire for Claire for far too long. I knew what Claire and I were doing was wrong, but suddenly I needed to satisfy my appetite, and I lost all inhibition. Though my actions meant I would betray my very best friend, in that moment, I did not care. I kissed Claire’s bruises gently, and then found my way back to her lips. I meant to be gentle, but I was caught in a sensational eroticism.
She wanted it too, and she let her body surrender toward mine immersed in the same intense lasciviousness. I stopped to look into her eyes for a moment--I had to make sure she desired me as much as I desired her. I saw the hunger in her eyes.
Then I made love to Claire.
The guilt surfaced immediately after it was over. I was ashamed and horrified that I had such little self-control over my desire for Claire. I could sense by her facial expression that she felt the same.
“I’m so sorry, Claire,” was all I could say.
“No,” she said. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Paul. I didn’t mean…I’m a married woman.”
“We should find Richard,” I said indifferently, though inside I was in emotional turmoil.
I had not meant to sound so insensitive. For a moment, Claire looked hurt as if she expected me to say something more. And then we were both silent as we quickly dressed, and I helped her with her coat. She turned to me.
“Paul, I really am sorry. This is my doing.”
But it wasn’t her fault. I was just as much to blame, and I told her this as I looked into her apologetic, blue eyes. I changed the subject then as I quickly guided Claire out of the drawing room. I thought I might feel less guilty if we were not in the room.
“Listen, Claire,” I said as I attempted to keep my composure. “If Richard ever hurts you again, go straight to Oscar and tell him what’s happened. If you don’t feel right about telling him, then you must go to Hemsby. Eda will be there caring for her ill brother while I’m gone. It’s far, but safe. As far as what happened between you and me, we can never tell anyone, you understand? Especially Richard.”
Claire nodded in agreement, and I just hoped she would keep her word, at least for now. “Come, I’ll take you home,” I said to Claire as we stepped out the front door.
She shook her head. “Perhaps I should go…alone,” she said.
“No. I’ll accompany you,” I replied. I did not know what condition Richard was in at the moment. I needed to find him to make sure he was okay and to make sure he would not hurt Claire again.
I told Claire to wait inside the house while I attempted to hail a cab, but she refused to go back inside. We waited in the pouring rain for a few long minutes before a car finally stopped. Sopping wet, we sat in complete silence for the entire ride back to Richard’s home.
When we entered the house, all was quiet. Richard was nowhere to be found. I could see Claire’s exhaustion by her ghostly white skin and the dark circles under her eyes.
“I’m sure he’s fine, Claire,” I said quietly.
As I stood in the front hall of Richard’s home, I could not help the mixture of anger and worry that consumed me. I knew that Richard would feel awful for what he had done, and yet I could not understand why he had committed such a vile act. Then I heard a rummaging at the front door, and finally the door opened. It was Richard. As he stumbled in, he tripped over the carpet. Drenched as he lay belly down on the carpet, he squinted up at me.
“P…Paul, that you mate?” he asked, his speech severely slurred.
I hurried to help him up.
“Cot on the pine-ree, Paul,” he said to me attempting to point his finger back to the outside.
“Okay, Richard,” I answered. He was barely coherent, the worst I had ever seen him. “I have you.”
Claire no longer seemed frightened by Richard. Her folded arms and glowering eyes, coupled with her now rosy cheeks, gave away her fury.
“I’ll help him to the couch,” I said sheepishly.
“Or mah friend, or mah friend,” Richard kept repeating.
I helped him onto the sofa in the drawing room. Seconds later, Richard was in a deep sleep.
I looked at Claire. We were both quiet for a moment before I spoke.
“I don’t believe he’s going to remember much about tonight Claire. That’s no excuse for his behavior…” I paused. “And I sincerely apologize for my own behavior. Please forgive me.”
Claire said nothing, but then her eyes softened, and she hurried to hug me goodbye, at first formally as an acquaintance might. I returned the formal hug, not wanting to embrace her further, but then she held on tightly, and I knew she was hugging me goodbye for a long time. I kissed her on the cheek and left—I would not let her see how deeply I cared, how much I had wanted tonight to happen, how I wished I could change the past.
The truth was I did not know when I would see Claire again, and my leaving London forever was perhaps the best decision for everyone. If only I hadn’t ruined my chance with Claire all those years ago. Perhaps she wouldn’t have found comfort in Richard’s arms. Perhaps she wouldn’t have loved him, wouldn’t have married him
. In that moment, I wondered how different my life would have been if I had married Claire.
fiv e A CURIOUS LETTER
Paul Watson’s Journal
April 27, morning.— The tick-tock of the clock, the yells of children playing and the roar of motorcars and omnibuses and taxicabs woke me from my usual nightmare. Barnaby Teller’s woolly dog yelped for his breakfast. A gentle morning wind blew the gray curtains by my open window, and as time passed, the outside noises of Peddler Street grew and grew until they meshed into one pandemonium from which no single sound could be distinguished.
But I wasn’t ready to rise from my bed. Not yet. I relived last night’s events for an hour or more, and when I finally stood, my insides swelled with incredible guilt, for I found myself justifying my actions and hoping that what occurred between Claire and me would happen again. And rage. I still felt incredible anger toward Richard for what he’d done. He would come to me. He would talk to me about it I was sure, and then I would tell him how I felt. I made a decision then to put what had happened between Claire and me aside, and wait for Richard to confess what he had done.
Evening.—Oscar and I spent the day reviewing the benefits of occupational therapy for patients—the patient demonstrates his independence, which in turn builds self-confidence, self-esteem, and self-pride. Life then becomes worthwhile.
He supervised as I conducted a full physical examination of a woman, age forty, who came to Maudsley in a state of agitated anxiety, verbal hallucinations of hearing, and severe asthenia.
“She has a feeble cardiac action and very low blood pressure,” I told Oscar, who watched me intently as he adjusted his gold spectacles.
“I’m going to treat her with one half milligram of adrenaline subcutaneously.”
I told him that with this treatment twice daily, her anxiety hopefully would decrease in about twenty days, and her blood pressure would increase. Oscar praised my accurate diagnoses and treatments, and then we reviewed a few other cases.
I arrived home after the long day tired and hungry. Thankfully, Eda had dinner prepared, and I quickly finished my fish and potatoes.
The Secret of Kolney Hatch Page 3
