“A disgrace of a woman indeed,” Mrs. Wallace, Timothy Wallace’s mother, muttered to a friend as they walked passed Petunia on the street.
So was the common treatment Petunia received in Kensington and in most places she traveled in London. She heard the whispers of Annie Boswell to the new couple that had moved on the street. Even Barnaby Teller’s dog growled at her as she passed by his house.
Petunia decided on this day, however, that she would do something she had not done for many years. She would feed the sparrows in Kensington Gardens. She had the bread carefully wrapped in her purse, and though the neighbors continued to blatantly humiliate Petunia as she walked, she would not be deterred from her mission.
The hum of an omnibus filled her ears until she reached the gardens, where suddenly a wide array of trees blocked the usual gray look of the city. The gardens were such a beautiful place, so green and inviting. Would the trees remember her—how she visited them so many years ago, every day? The woods beckoned her to enter, and she traveled down a long path, feeling comforted by the surrounding greenery. The trees, unlike people, would not judge her. No, the trees would only whisper to her in the gentle breeze.
Petunia sat down by the Italian Gardens. A long time had passed since she had seen those beautiful sculptures. As she threw the tiny brown birds small pieces of bread, she could not stop the tears that traveled gently down her soft cheeks. The last time she fed those tiny birds was the last day she saw her son. She threw another piece of bread, and then slowly closed her eyes. If only she could relive that moment, the last moment she was happy, right here with her son, feeding the sparrows.
The tears streamed down her cheeks now as a small ray of sun peeked through the clouds and shrouded her in warmth. She felt herself smile, a true genuine smile, at the thought of Peter’s laugh, his innocence.
Suddenly she heard the leaves rustle, and Petunia snapped back to the present. She felt someone’s eyes staring at her back. Quickly she turned, and sure enough a figure emerged from behind one of the trees. It was Claire Baker.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” Claire said as she approached Petunia in her flowered navy-blue dress and matching cloche hat and heels. “Oh Petunia. You’ve been crying. Are you all right?”
“You followed me here,” Petunia accused as she wiped the tears from her eyes.
“I need to talk to you about the letter, Petunia,” Claire said as she removed her white gloves.
“Oh yes, that,” Petunia said, annoyance in her tone. “You could’ve just visited me at my home if you wanted to speak about it, Claire. No need to follow me throughout London.”
“I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s just… I didn’t want Richard to know…if I’d gone to your home, he would’ve followed me. He’s acting peculiar. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
Petunia felt a pang of guilt. She supposed she should tell Claire what happened at the Loxley party. But she did not feel particularly interested in divulging any secrets on this day. Claire sat down next to Petunia on the bench.
“Do you mind if I feed them also?” Claire asked, motioning toward the bread.
Petunia handed Claire some bread, and they both fed the sparrows in silence. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves, a woman with a panting dog passed, and the sounds of London hummed in the background, muffled by the trees but still audible.
“So you know then,” Claire said quietly.
“Yes I do.”
“Are you going to tell anyone?” Claire asked. “I’ll do anything for you not to. Richard can’t know.”
Petunia turned to look at Claire’s face which seemed to have aged from worrying.
“I’m not going to tell him anything.”
“Oh thank you, thank you Petunia!”
They sat in silence together then, and suddenly that gentle breeze, the sounds of those birds, and the sweet smell in the air made Petunia feel sad again. She could not control her tears now as they streamed down her cheeks. She had not cried like this for an entire year. Claire comforted her—she was misty eyed herself at the sight of Petunia’s tears.
“What’s wrong, Petunia?” Claire asked.
Petunia only shook her head. She couldn’t speak—her throat was tight.
“Oh, was it something I did?” Claire asked worriedly.
“Oh, heavens no,” Petunia said through her tears. When she finally composed herself, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “I lost him right here.”
“Who?”
“My son…Peter. He was right here where you’re sitting. Right beside me. We came everyday at this time to feed the sparrows. He loved these little birds, and they loved him too.”
Petunia seemed lost in the nostalgic moment, and sighed before she continued. “I turned my back for just a moment. Just a moment to help a woman who’d fallen and bruised her ankle, and when I turned back around, Peter was gone.”
She paused again.
“He vanished into thin air. I searched everywhere in this entire park, in these waters...in every single structure...but he was just gone, as if he blew away in the wind.”
Petunia did not know why she was telling Claire all of this—she had not spoken a word to anyone about this story, anyone except Wendy.
“They never found his body. I have my theories. I think someone was watching us that day. I think someone took him.”
“Oh, Petunia, I am so sorry.” Claire said between tears. “I never knew.”
“I tried to tell Phillip. I did...but the damage was done. He blamed me then, and he still blames me now. And he’s right. I’m the reason Peter’s gone.” Petunia could barely make out the words now. “I was a very bad mother.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Petunia.”
“It was my fault, and I deserve my punishments. Lord knows I’ve suffered. But I deserve it.”
“Petunia…no.”
Petunia turned to face Claire.
“I’ve ruined a lot of lives, Claire. I do deserve to be punished.”
Claire hugged Petunia then, and the women cried together for each other. Then Petunia sat back and heaved a huge sigh of relief. They sat in silence for a long while until Petunia finally spoke.
“You should tell Richard you’re pregnant. That’s what Paul said in the letter...that Richard would change his behavior if he knew.”
“So he was happy?”
“He seemed very happy for you, yes.”
“I see.”
Petunia sensed Claire’s disappointment.
“You must love him very much,” Petunia said suddenly.
“I do love Richard. He’s….”
“I wasn’t talking about Richard,” Petunia interjected. “I’m talking about Paul.”
“I’m sorry?”
Claire seemed taken aback at the accusation, almost offended, but also in deep thought about what she would say next.
“I’ve always loved Paul,” Claire said carefully as if she were saying it out loud for the first time. “I’m afraid I always will.”
Petunia sensed that perhaps Claire could not confide this love to anyone else, and rightfully so.
“That is something to fear,” Petunia said, and suddenly she started laughing. For some reason, thinking about all of the women in this city that loved her best friend’s son seemed so absurd to Petunia that she could not stop laughing. Claire seemed to read Petunia’s thoughts and began to laugh as well. And they sat, the two of them, and continued to feed the sparrows in the park.
twenty two
THE INSPECTOR’S VISIT
Letter from Amy Rose To Paul WAtson
“Dearest Paul,” “20 June”
I did not think you would remember the locket. It pleases me so that you do. I am faithful to you also, in the same way that you are to me.
Selfishly, I wish you stayed with me in Whitemoor and that we grew up together. Perhaps our lives would be different today.
Happiness for me arises in simple ways. Your le
tters make me happy Paul. Lately, I’ve felt contented just to connect with you again.
I hope you never change Paul, especially during your time at Kolney Hatch. Nothing good seems to come from that place. I am sorry to say it, but it is true. I am sure you notice the strange people and things there. No one in Whitemoor will go anywhere near that asylum. Please, always be the good soul I know you are.
“Always Yours,
“Amy”
Letter from Claire Baker To Paul Watson
“My dear Paul,” “18 June”
Thank you for your letter. I understand now why you have always been so kind to Petunia. She really is a misunderstood woman, isn’t she? Please tell me how you are. I want to hear more about Kolney Hatch. What are the patients like? I want to know everything Paul, every detail about your time there, every person you meet. When are you coming home to us?
“Your loving,
“Claire”
Letter from Eda Holmes To Paul Watson
“My dear Paul,” “June 21, 2 o’clock in the morning”
My brother Amicus passed early this evening. I will return to London once the burial takes place. I hope you are doing well in Whitemoor, and I am sorry I did not write to you sooner. I miss you terribly.
“Your humble,
Eda”
Paul Watson’s Journal
June 28, late morning.—Birds. I heard the birds. And quietness. Though my muscles ached from the hard bed, at least I slept well.
After I dressed, I made my way down to the dining room which was mostly empty on this morning, except for Lamont, Nurse Hinkle and a few patients.
“What do you suppose he’ll do?” I heard Nurse Hinkle ask Lamont as I approached their table.
“Morning,” I said to both of them.
They answered at the same time.
“Good Morning, Paul.”
“Good morning!”
Nurse Hinkle’s cheeks flushed.
“Have you seen the inspector yet?” I asked.
“Yes,” Nurse Hinkle answered. “He arrived just a few minutes ago.”
“I hope the inspection goes well.”
“It always does,” Lamont assured. “Edward Fitch has inspected us before...he and Doctor Reid are friends.”
“I see...well...enjoy the rest of your breakfast.”
I sat at one of the tables in the back of the room by the kitchen and in seconds, one of the kitchen staff brought me some porridge. As I ate, I thought about my reports. I finished them and had already given them to Doctor Reid. There were ten deaths this year. Two deaths were unusual: Frederick Hume and a patient who died before I came to Kolney Hatch of a perforated stomach from swallowing a toothbrush. The remainder of deaths and records were routine, though I still questioned William Wilson’s sudden discharge from the asylum. I hoped Edward Fitch questioned it also.
“In the night, in the night, come and take him in the night,” I heard the Captain say. He muttered to himself as he ate his porridge, occasionally directing his stares toward the wall. “Why! Why did you take it?” He yelled at the wall. And then: “Put ‘em in a locked box, cut ‘em up and let ‘em rot.”
Anna McCrae, who suffered from a rather severe case of mania from a train accident (her eye bulged almost completely out of the socket now), sat next to the Captain and stared downward, expressionless. Eaton Fergus sat next to them, twitching.
“Put ‘em in a locked box, cut ‘em up and let ‘em rot,” the
Captain repeated.
I tried to write out my schedule in my notebook for the day as I finished my porridge, but the Captain’s words distracted me.
“Put ‘em in a locked box, cut ‘em up and let ‘em rot, down into the darkness. Gone. Gone.”
Suddenly I felt an extraordinary chill run through my veins. The feeling was incredibly intense—enough to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand tall. I slowly looked up from my journal and turned my head ever so slightly toward the glass window near the door. To my horror, a figure stared at me with the iciest eyes I had ever seen. The steely glare froze my entire body and paralyzed my muscles for several seconds.
My night visitor had returned, but this time in the light of day, her sinister look was even more frightening. After a few moments in the captivity of her eyes, she released me from her stare, and again I felt life pulse through my body. I looked down for just a second, closed my notebook and jumped up from my seat, but when I looked back the girl had vanished. I hurried through the dining room door, and when I reached the hallway, I saw no one was there. I ran back into the dining room.
“Did anyone see her? The girl by the window?”
I asked Lamont and Nurse Hinkle first, and then looked toward the patients. Anna and Eaton did not even acknowledge my question.
“Are you alright, Doctor Watson?” Lamont asked me.
“You didn’t see a girl standing by the window? That’s the girl that was in my room! I…”
“Doctor Watson, there was no girl there,” Nurse Hinkle said softly.
“But I saw her…I know I did. She was there. None of you saw her?”
“I saw her, Doctor,” the Captain said. “I saw her.”
Frustrated, I hurried out of the dining room. I found Nurse Bigsby in the lower level West Wing corridor by the operation theater.
“Nurse Bigsby!” I called to her. “Eleanor!”
“Oh, Doctor Watson,” she said. “Are you...all right?”
“Did you see a girl run down this hallway?”
“No, I’m sorry, I haven’t.”
I took a deep breath.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m quite positive.”
“But I saw her!”
I turned to go back into the dining room and nearly walked into the Captain.
“Ahhhh hahaha,” he cackled.
“Sorry Captain, but you must be accompanied by a nurse or attendant.”
“I saw her. I saw her.”
“You cannot be out here alone...”
“The ghost of Kolney Hatch. I saw her. I saw her!”
“Captain..please....”
“Put ‘em in a locked box, cut ‘em up and let ‘em rot... Put ‘em in a locked box, cut ‘em up and let ‘em rot...that’s what they’ll do to you too, Doctor!”
I hurried him back into the dining room.
“Keep watch on him this time,” I snapped at Lamont. He’d been too busy courting Nurse Hinkle to notice the Captain missing. “He was wandering around the hallways.”
Nurse Hinkle blushed and Lamont looked embarrassed. I hadn’t meant to scold them, but I could not think straight between seeing the girl again and the Captain’s blubbering. Someone had to have seen the girl. She couldn’t have been a ghost, could she?
twenty three
THE WARNING
Paul Watson’s Journal
June 28, evening.—Bonnie White was new to the staff of Kolney Hatch, even newer than I. She was only twenty and was a wonderful teacher from an orphanage in town.
In the two weeks she’d been at Kolney Hatch, she was able to connect with Madelyn and the other patients with kindness and encouragement I did not see in the other staff at Kolney Hatch. She was even able to set some time aside in between working with her larger classes of patients to work one on one with Madelyn because of her inability to leave the ward.
I headed to the women’s ward that morning to find the ward empty of other patients. The gramophone played an upbeat tune and Bonnie sat beside Madelyn as she drew something on a piece of paper.
When Bonnie saw me she greeted me with her large white smile.
“Hullo, Doctor Watson.”
“Please, call me Paul, Bonnie.”
Bonnie blushed.
“Madelyn’s doing so well,” she said. “You have to see. I think we’re making really good progress here. The gramophone’s helped, and her drawings...well...she even drew one for you...”
She handed me a handful of drawings of dogs, rab
bits, and meadows. One drawing was of a sun, grass, and a river. Though underdeveloped, they were all beautiful because Madelyn drew them.
“This one’s mine?”
“Yes,” Bonnie answered.
“This is wonderful!” I said to Madelyn, examining the drawing. “You drew this?”
Madelyn turned her head slightly to look at me. She smiled for the first time, and I couldn’t help but feel my insides double over in happiness. This small girl’s smile made me feel pure joy.
“This is the best I’ve seen her in the short time I’ve worked with her,” Bonnie said. She looked at me with eyes full of admiration. “She’s really likes you, Doctor Watson. Truly.”
All of a sudden, an excitable Nurse Hinkle entered the ward.
“Doctor Watson...Paul...may I please speak with you a moment...in private.”
“Of course, Nurse Hinkle...” I said. Then, to Bonnie. “I’ll just be a moment.”
“Sure,” Bonnie said with a smile.
I walked out into the hallway of the women’s ward, where Nurse Hinkle was pacing back and forth.
“I’m sorry,” she said nervously. “I don’t want to sound rude, honestly, but if I don’t tell you this...well... I’m afraid you may find yourself in a rather unpleasant circumstance.”
Nurse Hinkle looked almost frightened. I waited for her to continue.
“It’s just…the patient’s are a little excitable lately. You see...they believe this silly story about a girl that was murdered and whose ghost haunts the asylum. She picks her victims...one by one. They call her…”
“The evil one.”
“Yes, how did you know?”
“I heard one of the patients talking about her.”
“So...you can imagine then, you going around saying you’ve seen the girl...or...the ghost rather...it’s all they talk about.”
“But I never claimed to see a ghost. It was a girl.”
“Please. I beg you to stop this. You never saw the girl. Paul...if you keep this up, Doctor Reid, Alice, and the rest of them—they’ll think you’ve gone insane here.”
The Secret of Kolney Hatch Page 12
