“And what would you think?”
“I’d have no choice but to agree.”
“What do you suggest then, Miss Hinkle?”
“I suggest you forget about what you saw, or they’ll find a reason to lock you up here.”
Saying nothing more, Nurse Hinkle scurried back down the hallway. As I re-entered the women’s ward, I could only think of Nurse Hinkle’s warning. She wasn’t telling me everything she knew. Perhaps another doctor experienced the same thing and went mad. Was I seeing a ghost that no one else could see? Or was I simply witnessing something people chose not to see. With an unsettling feeling, I turned my attention back to Madelyn and Bonnie.
twenty four
DISCOVERY IN THE CABINET
Paul Watson’s Journal
June 28, continued.—After my session with Madelyn, I headed back to the infirmary, still bothered by Nurse Hinkle’s warning. Alexander Parker was still recovering, and I had yet another kitchen incident involving an oven flame and a patient’s arm. I reached into my coat jacket to grab my pen; I needed to update the burn patient’s file. I pulled out, along with a pen, the piece of paper that I nearly forgot about until that moment. I read it again.
The walls have eyes.
I felt a prickly feeling on my skin. Nurse Hinkle’s words, the ghost, this note—it was all too overwhelming. I decided to put it out of my mind and headed to Doctor Reid’s office. He had told me Edward Fitch would be inspecting the facility until noon and then would meet with both Doctor Reid and me in his office. The time was just five minutes until noon now. I let myself into his office. He wasn’t there, so I decided to wait for him. I studied his portrait for a moment. At first glance, his image seemed stoical, but as I continued to stare into his dark eyes, I noticed something obscure in them. Like most portraits I had seen, Doctor Reid’s was devoid of happiness. I shuddered and turned away from the painting and began to peruse the rest of the office.
Doctor Reid’s desk was very neat; barely anything was on top, although I did notice my file in the top left corner. I picked it up and glanced behind me to make sure no one saw me. I could see my address, my credentials, and a few written notes about how well I was doing at Kolney Hatch. He did not note the altercation about William Wilson, and for that I was thankful. With a satisfied grin on my face, I returned the file to its exact position on the desk. Then I walked toward two large file cabinets. I contemplated leaving his office to wait for him just outside, but something told me to check those file drawers. One of the drawers was locked and that piqued my curiosity. After again looking behind me to make sure no one was by the doorway, I looked through Doctor Reid’s desk for a key. I had no idea if I would find one, but sure enough I found a tiny copper-colored key in the top drawer of his desk. The drawer opened with ease then, and I carefully browsed through the stack of files. Suddenly I stumbled upon a folder labeled with a name I recognized.
Hannah Hamilton.
I pulled it out and gave it a cursory glance.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, except for a ledger with a record receipt of large payments, much, much larger than an under-funded asylum would ever receive. For the past two years, Kolney Hatch received these payments from a Theodore Hamilton, Hannah’s husband.
Immediately, I remembered what Hannah mumbled that night I visited her. She spoke of Theodore and the money, but Doctor Reid assured me that he was not taking money for his patients.
I should have left then, but instead, I returned Hannah’s folder and found George’s. Sure enough, other large payments were received from a Mrs. Wallingston, George’s step-mother, to Kolney Hatch Lunatic Asylum.
I wondered what Reid had done with the money.
Suddenly, my heartbeat quickened. Was someone watching me? Thinking perhaps the girl had followed me once more, I quickly turned around. Instead of the girl, the woman staring at me was Alice. She glared at me with her black beady eyes, and her arms were folded defensively.
That day, her voice was especially shrill and disapproving.
“Doctor Watson, do you mind telling me why you’re in Doctor Reid’s office, rummaging through his personal items?”
I was speechless for a moment as she ripped George’s file out of my hand.
“I was only waiting for Doctor Reid and Mr. Fitch,” I answered reservedly.
“Did that give you authorization to look through his desk and open a locked drawer?”
“No, but…”
“Doctor Watson, I’m appalled by your unprofessional behavior. I should have you fired for such an insolent act.”
“Alice, I’m sorry I just…”
“You just nothing, Paul Watson. If I ever catch you alone in Doctor Reid’s office again looking through his personal drawers, I promise you, Doctor Reid will have your license revoked.”
Just then, Doctor Reid and Mr. Fitch walked through the door.
“Doctor Reid, may I have a word?” Alice asked.
She shot me one last steely glance and walked out of the office.
Letter from Paul Watson to Amy Rose
“Dear Amy,” “June 30, 1926”
Your letters bring me happiness as well. In fact, lately I only find joy from reading your letters. If I had stayed in Scotland, perhaps we would be together. But I also believe our reconnection is fate.
August 1 we will have visitation day at the asylum. The staff is only required to work until two in the afternoon, and then the asylum will have a celebratory event in the dining hall. I hoped that I could come and visit you then. Mr. Newbury, the gardener, told me about an old tavern by a stone bridge just a short distance from here. Perhaps I could send a car to retrieve you, and we could meet there around three in the afternoon. I would really like to spend time with you. Please write to me and tell me you will meet me there.
Also, please, tell me more about your dislike for Kolney Hatch. I noticed some suspicious happenings lately, several in fact. Please tell me everything you know and what the people of Whitemoor know about this place. Have you ever heard of a ghost story surrounding the asylum? Have you ever heard of the evil one?
“Faithfully,
“Paul”
twenty five
THE WOMAN IN GREEN
“So you’ll come?” Claire asked Petunia excitedly one day as they fed the sparrows in the park. It was the beginning of July, and Claire and Petunia had decided to meet at Kensington Gardens around twelve in the afternoon each day and feed the tiny birds. Both Petunia and Claire found immense peace from this simple act, and their friendship grew. Claire invited Petunia to a celebration for Richard at the Baker’s home. A local production company had accepted his manuscript.
“I’ll come,” Petunia answered.
Although Petunia still had her reservations about Richard Baker, she considered Claire and Oscar Baker her friends. Of course, her husband Phillip had already been invited by Richard and demanded that Petunia go, but Petunia did not tell Claire that.
Two weeks after that conversation in the park, Petunia and Phillip arrived at the Baker’s for the much anticipated party. Thankfully, Phillip had barely spoken to Petunia all day. As long as Phillip wasn’t speaking, he wasn’t belittling her—she could live with his silence.
Claire opened the door, dressed in a silky sky-blue garb with a dark blue buckle. The dress fell just past her knees and matched her strap heels. The color of the dress set off her auburn hair—she looked healthier than she had in weeks (and less strained).
“Hullo, Petunia! And Phillip,” Claire said excitedly, ushering them through the front doorway and leading them into a fairly crowded drawing room filled with the smoke of cigarettes and cigars. “Phillip, Richard is over there. Please make yourself at home. Petunia, you can stay with me.”
Phillip hurried to join Richard who stood tall and confident by a geometrically patterned sofa. Richard had a glass of something, whiskey perhaps, in his one hand and a lit cigar in his other. He was talking to two men Petunia had never s
een before; she assumed they were from the production company.
To the other guests, Richard would have seemed radiant: bright smile, hair longer on the top than usual and slicked back, thick black mustache perfectly trimmed, and a twinkle in his large dark eyes. His white collared shirt with the cuffs rolled up to his elbows and matching dark gray vest and pants would have impressed any woman. But to Petunia, he looked like a typical ladies’ man basking in the immense attention he received.
“So, what do you think?” Claire was asking. It took a few seconds before Petunia realized Claire was telling her about the house and was asking her opinion of their newly redecorated parlor.
“It’s beautiful,” Petunia answered. “Really.”
“Paul doesn’t like that sofa. I don’t like it much either, but Richard has this thing about rare foreign pieces so…”
“Is Oscar coming?” Petunia interjected.
“Oh yes, he’ll be here later when he’s done at the hospital. He was so kind,” Claire said excitedly, “He gave us money to hire servants. He told me, since I was pregnant, I should not lift a finger.”
Petunia heard a loud knock on the door and Claire hurried off to answer it. Perfect. The Loxleys were here, and they had brought a host of people. Roger and John sauntered in as if they owned the home—John all smiles as he kissed and hugged Claire, Roger with his smug, mysterious expression. Following the two socialites were at least ten more guests, both men and women. They filtered into the Baker’s home, seemingly inebriated, judging from their rude, noisy behavior.
Soon, the room was loud and noisy. Dark haired servants in white aprons filled the glasses with more drink as the cigarettes and cigars continued to be lit. Claire seemed disgusted—apparently she was not prepared for this situation and did not know these new guests. But Petunia did. A woman had walked in on the arm of John Loxley, a despicable woman in Petunia’s eyes. She was dressed in a long green gown with unmistakable blonde-bobbed hair and icy-blue eyes. Rosalind.
Petunia could not believe this woman had the audacity and disrespect to show her face in Richard’s home. She contemplated telling Claire about what had happened at the Loxley party many times, especially as they had grown closer. Petunia did not want to upset Claire now when she seemed so happy.
But Claire noticed Rosalind and asked Petunia about her.
“That woman in the green,” Claire said, arms folded, as she leaned into Petunia. “Have you seen her before?”
Petunia was not sure how to answer, but she did not want to lie to Claire.
“I think she was at the Loxley’s last party.”
“Oh,” Claire said. “She’s very pretty. I wonder if she came with John.”
Petunia did not answer. She was watching Richard’s face. He had gone to greet the Loxleys and the other guests who had filtered into his home and practically ignored Rosalind.
“I don’t even know any of these people,” Claire said. “They’re all from the Chelsea Arts Club or something, actresses and actors. They probably want a part in the movie.”
Petunia still watched Richard’s face. He had seen Rosalind. Petunia watched his dark eyes shift quickly to Rosalind and then back to John who was conversing with the two production men.
Rosalind pretended to be interested in one of the actors, a lanky fellow, whose face Petunia recognized from a picture she had seen in London—an advertisement for a local production. But she noticed Rosalind’s eyes shift toward Richard and back to the thin actor.
Now Richard made his way toward Claire and Petunia. He smiled at Petunia when he saw her and kissed her hand.
“Petunia,” Richard said, “Thank you for coming.”
Well, this encounter with Richard was certainly different from the last one, Petunia noted.
Had he too much to drink, Petunia wondered, or was he just avoiding an interaction with that woman?
“Claire tells me you spend a lot of time at the park together,” he continued.
Suddenly Rosalind appeared next to Richard, Claire, and Petunia.
“Richard, darling, congratulations!” she exclaimed, extending her hand for him to kiss. Petunia noticed Richard seemed a trifle uncomfortable.
“Thank you, Rosalind,” Richard said. “I’m surprised you’re here.”
“Oh, Richard, you know I’d never miss an occasion as important as this one,” she answered, flipping her bobbed blonde hair.
The situation made Petunia feel ill. She looked at Claire who also seemed to notice the strange interaction.
“Hullo there,” Claire said pushing herself between Rosalind and Richard. “I’m Claire, Richard’s wife. Welcome to our home.”
“So...this is Claire,” Rosalind said looking from Richard back to Claire. “Richard’s told me so much about you. You’re gorgeous.”
Petunia noticed Richard’s uncomfortable eyes. He took a deep breath.
“Thank you, Rosalind,” Claire said with a strained smile. “How do you and Richard know each other? From the Arts Club?”
Richard interjected before Rosalind could speak.
“Rosalind’s an actress. She’s very, very good. Met her through John.”
Petunia could not believe the ease with which Richard told his lies.
“Are you from London, Rosalind?” Claire asked.
“Oh, no. I live in a small town in Scotland.”
“Your accent is hardly noticeable.”
“My mother was from England.”
“I see. Did you travel far to get to London? What part of Scotland are you from?” Claire asked.
“Whitemoor.”
“Whitemoor!” Claire exclaimed.
Even Petunia was shocked by this revelation.
“So you must know our friend. He works at Kolney Hatch Asylum.”
“That’s my uncle’s asylum.”
“You know Paul Watson then?” Claire asked enthusiastically.
“Of course I know Paul. Paul and I are very fond of each other.”
Petunia watched Richard’s expression, which was now one of intrigue.
“You are?” Asked the startled Claire. “How fond?”
“Claire!” Richard exclaimed and then turned his attention to Rosalind. “You’ll have to excuse her, Rosalind, she’s very protective of Paul.”
“Well, Claire, Paul and I spend every moment that we can together,” Rosalind retorted. “I’m headed back to him tomorrow, in fact. He is truly the most wonderful man.”
Now Richard seemed annoyed.
“I wouldn’t think Paul Watson would be of any interest to you.”
“Oh, quite the opposite, Richard. Paul Watson is exactly the sort of man who captures my full interest.”
Petunia noted the unmistakable tension among the three people standing in front of her. Funny, how this interaction would have interested her in the past, how she would have been bursting to tell Tessie and Beatrice about this juicy drama. But now she just felt, well...uncomfortable. She almost would have rather been standing with Phillip.
It was Richard who furthered the tension.
“Claire, darling,” he said glancing for only a second into Rosalind’s piercing eyes. “Wouldn’t this be a wonderful time to tell everyone you’re having a child?”
Rosalind seemed livid, and Claire, distraught.
“Sure, Richard,” Claire said gracefully. “Perhaps in a few moments. I just want to freshen up.” She turned to Petunia. “Would you accompany me? I could use a hand with something.” And then back to Rosalind. “It was very nice meet you, Rosalind.”
twenty six
A SECRET MEETING
Petunia followed Claire up the stairs and into a petite sitting room. Claire closed the door and paced back and forth on the Persian rug, one hand on her head, another on her stomach. Petunia just stood there. She had nothing to say…well, nothing to say that would not make the situation much, much worse.
“There’s something very wrong with that woman,” Claire said finally. “Did you notice so
mething odd about her?”
“I don’t care for her,” was all Petunia said.
“Did you hear how smug she was about Paul?” Claire mimicked Rosalind. “Paul and I are very fond of each other. I can’t imagine Paul taking interest in such a haughty woman.”
Given Paul’s past relationships, Petunia was sure he would take an interest in Rosalind.
“And what about Richard? He seemed to know this Rosalind a little too well.”
“Claire, calm down now darling,” Petunia said putting her hand on Claire’s shoulder. “Don’t worry yourself while you’re pregnant. It’s not good for the baby.”
Claire continued to pace back and forth. Petunia decided it best to keep silent, although she desperately wanted to blurt out that Richard was a lying, cheating brute and that Claire ought to remove Rosalind from her home.
“Petunia,” Claire said stopping abruptly. She looked faint. “I’m not feeling well now. I’m going to lie down.”
“Alright, Claire, you rest, and I’ll let Richard know you’re feeling ill,” Petunia said.
“Thank you,” Claire said weakly.
Petunia made her way toward the stairs. She would relay Claire’s illness to Richard and then take a cab home. She had no reason to stay, and she was sure Phillip would not object to her leaving. There were plenty of women there to keep his interest.
Petunia stopped on the third stair from the top. She could hear voices, familiar voices, four of them. First she heard Richard Baker, then a woman’s voice. Petunia was sure it was Rosalind’s. Rosalind was laughing. Then Roger Loxley’s voice. Then Phillip’s voice. What were they talking about, she wondered?
“Well, alright,” she heard Richard say, after a long pause.
She dared not move; she needed to hear what they were saying.
She did not hear Richard or Rosalind’s voice after that, and she could only assume they walked away together. But she did hear Phillip and Roger speaking now.
The Secret of Kolney Hatch Page 13
