“Lily, for heaven’s sake!” Stephen broke off when he realized she was not hearing him. She was speaking into the mouthpiece. “Madge,” she said abruptly. “It’s Lily. I need you to answer some questions. Do you promise to tell me the truth?”
There was a muffled squawk.
“I’ll tell you all about it later. Now tell me. Where were you yesterday morning between half past nine and ten o’clock? Lily made a note on the telephone message pad. “Can anyone confirm that?” She wrote, “In bed. Landlady.” “Thank you,” she said. “No, I can’t talk now. I’ll talk to you later,” and broke the connection on Madge’s insistent voice.
She dialled another number. Stephen stepped back into the drawing room and listened to Lily speak to one friend after another in this new hard businesslike voice of hers. When they were unclear as to where they had been, or had no-one to confirm their whereabouts, she insisted that they explain to her what they were doing, and whether anyone might have seen them. She grilled them like a sergeant major, he thought resentfully. They were all suspects to Lily now.
His mother came slowly into the room, her address book under her arm.
“She’s going ahead,” she said, nodding to the hall.
Stephen nodded.
“This means everyone will know,” Muriel said. “It’ll be all over town by lunchtime.”
“I know.”
“Do you want me to give her my address book?”
Stephen shrugged. “Hardly,” he said. “But how can we refuse to help her? She thinks this is the way to find Christopher.”
“She is letting us all down,” Muriel said icily. She handed the address book to Stephen with a gesture of resignation. “She is an embarrassment.”
Stephen took the book. “I can’t see how we can stop her,” he said. “When she finally draws a blank I suppose she will stop.”
“That could take all day,” Muriel said. “Is she to stay there, hunched over the telephone, shrieking at my friends all day?”
“The situation could change,” Stephen said.
Muriel raised an eyebrow.
“We could get some news. Or Charlie could confess.”
“Do you think it is Charlie?” Muriel asked. “I simply cannot believe it.”
Stephen nodded slowly. “The inspector is convinced of it. He says that Charlie had some mad idea of stealing Christopher and then persuading Lily to leave me, once Christopher was out of the way.”
Muriel’s cold face froze yet further.
“Did he take liberties?” Stephen asked very quietly. “While he was here supposed to be teaching her the piano? Did he take liberties?”
“I knew he was in love with her,” Muriel said. “And I’m afraid”—she hesitated on the betrayal but Lily’s hard insistent voice from the hall forced her onwards—“I’m afraid Lily encouraged him.”
Stephen flushed a deep red of anger. “Then all this is her own fault,” he said. “All of this distress could have been avoided if she had toed the line with that—that—that damned bounder.”
Muriel sat down in the window seat and looked out at the grey sea and lowering sky. “She always kept him at arm’s length,” she said. “I’m certain of that.”
Stephen swore under his breath and strode out into the hall. Muriel half-rose as if to stop him, but then let him go. “He was her choice,” she said under her breath. “They’re married now. They’ll have to work it out themselves.”
She heard the telephone bang as Stephen snatched it from Lily and put it down on the table with a crash.
“Before you tell all of Portsmouth that your boyfriend has kidnapped your child, there are one or two things you should know,” he said. “That the inspector, and my own mother, have both told me that Charlie Smith is in love with you, and that you’ve been making a fool of me, in my own house, behind my back.”
“I never,” Lily said.
“Don’t interrupt me,” Stephen said, his voice deep with rage. “Don’t think of interrupting me. My own mother tells me that you’ve encouraged him. How far has it gone? How far have you encouraged him? Is he your lover, eh? Is he perhaps Christopher’s father and you’ve palmed me and my family off with a bastard, and now his real father wants to take him back? Is that what’s happened? And is all this grief of yours, and your driving down to see the inspector and your so-called sleepwalking, all a big act, a big act from a little actress to get Charlie Smith off the hook, and yourself off the hook?
“We all know he did it. The police, my mother, me, we all know he did it. What we don’t know is whether you were in it too? Did you open the garden gate, not shut it? Did you hand the baby over to another girl of his? Do you know exactly where Christopher is, while we’re all going out of our minds with worry!”
“No!” Lily screamed. “No! No! No! Charlie Smith does love me, and I love him, but we were never lovers, and we never will be. Christopher is your son. You of all people should know that! It was you who forced me time after time until I conceived and had to give up the theatre. Charlie would never hurt me, he would never take my baby away from me. And I would never be parted from Christopher. You’re mad to think so! You’re mad to suggest it! All I want is to get my baby back! I want my baby back!”
She broke into frenzied sobbing, and Stephen stepped forward, took hold of her shoulders and shook her in his anger. At once she flew at him with her hands flexed like claws, flew at his face and slapped him and scratched him, screaming: “I’ll kill you if you say such things! I’ll kill you, Stephen!” and then tore herself from his grip and rushed up the stairs. They heard her bedroom door slam.
“Good God!” Stephen said. He pulled his handkerchief from his top pocket and held it to his face. She had drawn blood. When he took his handkerchief away and saw the red of it, he went pale.
Muriel appeared in the drawing room doorway. “Dr. Mobey is here,” she said. “His car has just drawn up. Go to your study, Stephen, he mustn’t see you like this.”
“He’d better see Lily,” Stephen said. “She’s hysterical. She’s out of control.”
“I know,” Muriel said grimly. “I heard it all.”
The doorbell rang. Stephen turned and went into his study, closing the door. Muriel stood still while Browning toiled up the back stairs, straightened her cap in the mirror, and opened the front door.
Dr. Mobey came in with a smile. “How are you all?” he asked.
Muriel took him into the drawing room, and ordered Browning to bring coffee. “The strain is beginning to tell,” she said. “My daughter-in-law’s friend and accompanist has been arrested for the kidnap of Christopher. But they don’t know where the baby is being held.”
“Good God!” The doctor was genuinely shocked. “The chap who played with her, at the concert I went to? Your ‘do’ in aid of the distressed officers?”
Muriel nodded grimly. “It appears that he thought she might leave Stephen if he had Christopher safely out of the house.”
Dr. Mobey looked stunned. “And she?” he asked cautiously.
Muriel’s face was haggard. “She led him on,” she said shortly. “I am speaking in confidence, Doctor.”
“Of course, of course.”
“My son even doubts whether Christopher is his child. The mother may even have been party to a plot.”
Dr. Mobey reached out and took Muriel’s hand. It was icy cold. He chafed it and scanned her tired face. “What rotten luck,” he said softly. At his sympathy a little colour flowed back into Muriel’s sallow face. “What rotten luck. Shall I see her?”
“She’s crying in her bedroom. She was sleepwalking last night, and hysterical again today. She has eaten nothing. I don’t know that we can manage her here. She just quarrelled with Stephen and she was violent.” Muriel compressed her lips into a thin line. “This whole situation is becoming quite unmanageable.”
Dr. Mobey nodded. “I see, I see.” He paused. “Would it be your wish, if I could find a suitable place for her, for us to take h
er into safe keeping somewhere? Until the baby is found and your son can decide what is best? If she will not eat or sleep it is probably my duty to ensure she is properly cared for.”
“An asylum?” Muriel asked, shocked.
“A rest cure,” Dr. Mobey said gently. “For ladies with overstressed and overactive nerves. There’s a place towards Southampton where all the London ladies go when they are overwrought. The very best of care, a large country house, and the most up-to-date of treatments. Electricity shocks, water treatment and fresh country air.”
“I don’t know,” Muriel said hesitantly. “We cannot safeguard her here, but . . .”
“Is Stephen at home?”
“I’ll fetch him.”
Muriel went from the room and Dr. Mobey heard her swift explanation. Stephen came in; he had not wiped his face and the doctor could see the four long lines scored by Lily’s fingernails down his cheek. “Good God,” he said.
Stephen managed a slight smile. “Just a scratch,” he said ironically.
“This cannot go on,” Dr. Mobey said. “I take it that this was an unprovoked attack?”
“I had accused her of infidelity,” Stephen said. “I share the blame. I was angry and intemperate.”
Dr. Mobey took Stephen’s chin in his hand and turned his face to the light. “Maybe so,” he said. “But this is not the reaction of a sane woman. Not the action of an innocent woman.”
“Tell him about the address books,” Muriel prompted.
As Stephen explained, and told the doctor of Lily’s visit to the inspector, he nodded. “I’ll see her,” he said. “And then I will bring a colleague of mine. If he confirms my diagnosis we can have her admitted to Green Lawns.”
“Are you sure that’s the best thing?” Stephen said. His face was pale and strained, the scratch marks standing out as livid accusations against Lily. “Shouldn’t we try to keep her here if we possibly can? She’s just heartbroken over Christopher. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. And if she had any part in encouraging the kidnap—well—I think she’d just lose her mind.”
“Green Lawns is the place for her,” Dr. Mobey said firmly. “I assure you, Stephen. It’s a most attractive house and gardens. And you cannot keep her at home if she is behaving like this. What if she were to attack your father or your mother? It’s a risk I cannot allow.”
Stephen nodded. “I hadn’t thought,” he said apologetically. “I am sorry. I am a little overwrought myself.”
“No wonder!” the doctor said. “Now, I suggest you go to a bathroom and put a little iodine on that cut, and I will go up to your bedroom and speak with Mrs. Winters.”
“I have some iodine in my bathroom,” Muriel offered. The three of them went up the stairs. Muriel and Stephen stopped at the first landing and watched Dr. Mobey go up to the second floor and tap gently on Lily’s door.
41
“WHO IS IT?” Lily demanded.
“Dr. Mobey. May I come in?”
“I don’t need a doctor.”
“Perhaps you don’t. But I should like to see you, if I may.”
They heard the key turn slowly in the lock and Lily stood in the doorway.
“Here I am,” she said grudgingly.
“And looking well enough, too. Have you any news of your baby, Mrs. Winters?”
Lily’s face was cold and hard. “Nothing new,” she said. “Just new ideas of who to blame. But no-one has found him. No-one is looking for him.”
“Come come now, I think the police are looking for him, aren’t they?”
“No.”
“But they have arrested a suspect, haven’t they?”
Lily lowered her voice. “They’ve arrested my friend,” she said quietly. “My best friend. And they’re trying to prove he did it. And now they’re saying that I had something to do with it too. I can’t understand it. I can’t understand why they’re saying that. I keep thinking and thinking. Because I know who did it. I must know, somewhere in my mind, who did it. It must be someone who knows us, who knows me. Someone close to us. But I can’t think who would take my baby from me. I can’t think who would do it.”
She snatched herself back from the edge of tears. “I’ll discover it,” she said rapidly. “The name. I keep thinking and thinking. I was going to telephone everyone I know, everyone Muriel knows. But they wouldn’t let me do that. They don’t want me to do that. But as I was phoning I knew it wasn’t someone from the theatre or from the Palais or even someone from Highland Road. It’s someone mad. I know whoever did it was mad. And I’m the only one who knows. And somewhere in my mind there’s a name. The name of the mad person who has taken Christopher. And I’ll keep on and on thinking, until I can get that name. And when I find out who it is, I’ll kill them.”
There was a little silence. “You’re very overwrought,” Dr. Mobey said gently. “I’m going to make you up a little drink to help you sleep, and then you’re to go to bed for the rest of the morning. You can get up for some lunch, and you must eat something, mind! I hear you’re skipping meals and that’s no good at all! After lunch you’re to have another rest. And we’ll leave all this thinking to the people who do it for a living—eh? To the police. And to your husband. We’ll get them to do the thinking for you, Mrs. Winters. You leave it to them.”
Lily’s hands formed into claws again and Dr. Mobey flinched, remembering she was violent. “You’re another one then,” she said bitterly. “You’re another one who wants Christopher lost. Another one who doesn’t care if we never find him. I won’t sleep. I won’t sleep till I get him back. I have to think. I can’t think if I’m asleep. He’s been gone twenty-four hours and I have to get him back. I’ve got the key, the inspector himself said. I have the key to the secret. In my mind.”
“Come into your room and sit down then,” Dr. Mobey said gently. “Shall I ask them to bring you up a cup of coffee? Or tea?”
Lily went into the bedroom. The bed was unmade, her dressing table a mess of hairbrushes, spilled powder and open lipsticks. The wardrobe door was open, a couple of dresses drooping from the hangers. Dr. Mobey took in the untidiness in a swift assessing glance. “And we’ll get you tidied up,” he said gently. “You sit there and think, and I’ll go down and order you some coffee. And when I come back, I’ll bring another doctor to see you. He’s good at helping people think. He’d help you.”
Lily sat obediently in the chair he indicated. She hugged her knees to her chest and stared out of the window. She looked like a child banished to her room for some small misdemeanour. She hardly heard him as he talked, and she did not see him palm the key of the door as he went quietly from the room. Lily did not turn her head.
“Who?” she whispered to herself. “I must think.”
Stephen and his mother were on the landing. Stephen’s scratches were highlighted with the buttercup yellow of the iodine. “Downstairs,” Dr. Mobey said in an undertone.
When they were inside the drawing room with the door shut he handed the key to Stephen. “I thought it best that we should have this in our possession,” he said. “She had locked herself in when I first went up.”
Stephen took it with a nod.
“With your consent I shall phone a colleague of mine to come and have a look at her,” he said. “She seems to me to be dangerously overwrought. She needs sedation and skilled nursing. I don’t think you can care for her properly here.”
“I don’t want her to go,” Stephen said. “It’s just that she’s so anxious—I’m sure she’s not really dangerous. If she would only rest and eat something she would be all right.”
Dr. Mobey shook his head. “As you say—if she would rest and leave the worrying to the police she would be well. But I’m afraid that’s the last thing she can do. She’s a powerfully maternal woman and right now she’s a lioness with a stolen cub. She doesn’t know what to do with herself. I’m afraid I must insist.”
Stephen raised his hands in a reluctant gesture of assent. “Very well,” he said. “B
ut she must have the very best of care.”
“I guarantee it,” the doctor said. He went into Stephen’s study, and telephoned his colleague, and then the Green Lawns home.
“Bad news on one front,” he said, returning to the drawing room. “Green Lawns can’t take her until tomorrow. She’ll have to spend tonight here. They’ll send an ambulance for her tomorrow morning at nine o’clock prompt. I can hire an experienced nurse to stay with her here for this evening. My colleague, Dr. Ramsden, is coming at once. I was lucky enough to catch him at the hospital before he does his rounds.”
“He’s a hospital doctor?”
Dr. Mobey made a grimace. “Nervous illness,” he said. “He found his practice very much enlarged since the war. He’s now a very busy man. Shellshock victims, neurasthenics, neurotics. The effects are long-lasting, and for many, quite incurable.” He smiled at Stephen. “They don’t all have your constitution, I’m sorry to say.”
Stephen returned the smile. “It was a dreadful time,” he said. “Many of the chaps should never have been there in the first place, they didn’t have the temperament. Some can take the pressure and some cannot.”
“How’s that chauffeur of yours?”
“Coventry? He’s unchanged. They could never find anything wrong but it’s my belief he took a piece of shell in his throat which severed the cords. He still can’t speak. I think he never will.”
“We could ask Dr. Ramsden to have a look at him, while he’s here.”
Stephen shook his head. “I wouldn’t waste his time,” he said.
“Anyway, Coventry isn’t here,” Muriel interrupted. “He took the car and went, as soon as he had brought you back from the police station. He had the car last night too and he didn’t come home till this morning.”
Stephen nodded. “I said he could,” he said. “He was so distressed about Christopher that he wanted to drive around and see if he could spot anything. I think he was searching most of the night. He wanted to have another drive around today, just in case he saw the pram. The police have everyone out looking, but often it’s the lucky chance that solves something like this. Coventry wouldn’t be denied. He’s a loyal chap. One of the best.”
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