Breakfast at Midnight

by Fiona MacFarlane

CHAPTER THIRTY

  Inmates

  Michael eventually rejoined the group at the watchman’s quarters, the building where the overseers used to reside, but his enthusiasm for the outing had long since evaporated. Agnes’s words resonated uncomfortably in his ears, and while the rest of the party visited the Commandant’s house, the guard tower, convict hospital, the old prisoner barracks and the officials’ offices and quarters—some of which had been converted into private residences—he trailed after them, seeing little and hearing just as much. He had regained some of his spirits by the time he reached the asylum, and even allowed himself the luxury of a smile when George did an entertaining impression of a lunatic. Apart from this, though, Michael remained aloof and deep in thought.

  While a reflective Michael kept to himself, Thomas Maycroft continued to provide the group with a detailed, yet rather desultory commentary on all the different buildings, including the Model Prison, which they had just reached. Unfortunately for Thomas, everyone had long since lost interest in his observations, and they were more concerned with the brief disappearance of George and Jack, who had gone missing whilst looking for a lavatory. George soon regained his bearings, and was able to find his way back to the prison entrance, where the Wintersleigh party was now congregating.

  ‘Thank goodness you’ve arrived,’ Frances remarked to George. ‘Mr Maycroft has scarcely drawn breath since you left.’

  George rolled his eyes. ‘What’s the saying, Frances? You can choose your friends, but you can't choose your family. Wait a minute,’ he added more seriously, ‘why are we standing around in this stupid fashion?’ He transferred his gaze to the group around him, who was standing absently by the door to the Model Prison. ‘What are we waiting for?’ He darted forward. ‘Last one in is a rotten egg!’ he declared over his shoulder, and would have been the first inside, had his brother’s voice not stopped him in mid flight.

  ‘There’s an entrance fee of one shilling.’

  George was not amused and made no secret of it. ‘One shilling!’ he exploded. ‘But that’s daylight robbery! We already had to pay four shillings for that infernal boat trip! By Jove! Well, you can count me out.’ He turned his back on the party and began to walk away from the entrance.

  ‘Where are you going, George?’ Michael inquired tersely. ‘Aren’t you coming in?’

  ‘No I certainly am not. I refuse to pay good money to see inside the crusty remains of a prison.’ He folded his arms defiantly over his chest.

  ‘George,’ Louisa said reproachfully, ‘we all go in together, or we do not go in at all.’

  ‘Well it’s settled then,’ he declared, beginning to move off.

  ‘How can you be so selfish, George Brearly?’ Agnes asked with a sneer. ‘We would all like to go in, and I’m not changing my plans just because you are too self-centred to—’

  ‘Now wait just one moment, Agnes Wentworth,’ George retaliated, ‘I’ll have you know that I’m not made of money. I’m just a sad, lowly writer, crushed by poverty.’

  ‘I’ll crush you if you keep going on about it,’ Michael interrupted. ‘For heaven’s sake, George, if money is the only consideration here, I’ll pay for you to go in.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ George replied with a disarming smile. ‘Well that’s awfully generous of you. I wouldn’t want to take money from my big brother, but since you offered…’

  ‘I did offer, now let me through so that I can pay for the two of us.’

  ‘Good man,’ George said moving forward. ‘I knew my poor, lowly writer story would do the trick.’ He heartily, and rather affectionately, slapped Michael on the back.

  The rest of the Wintersleigh party then paid their entrance fees, and they all entered the prison together. They were later to discover from Thomas that these proceeds were to go to a Church of England clergyman, Rev. J.B. Woollnough, who, having bought the Model Prison, intended fitting it up for his own private residence. Once the group was inside, they were immediately greeted by an all-pervading stench of dirt and dampness.

  ‘Mercy!’ Louisa cried, hastily raising her lace edged handkerchief to her nose. ‘It smells like a tomb in here!’

  ‘Or my shoes,’ George added with a chuckle.

  The other women, by this stage, had also covered their delicate noses with their handkerchiefs, and while they adjusted their eyes to the shadowy dimness of the corridor, they began to edge their way along it. They stopped occasionally to inspect the insides of the prison cells that were lined on either side.

  ‘Imagine living in a room this size,’ Louisa said, peering tentatively over her handkerchief into the dank confines of one of the cells. ‘Why, my wardrobe is larger than this!’ She shook her head in silent wonderment.

  In the background, not far from the prison entrance, Frances and Jack had fallen victim to Thomas Maycroft, and were enduring one of his irksome lectures. ‘Isn’t this a fascinating building?’ Thomas was saying with a disturbing cheerfulness. ‘Evocative of bygone years of cruelty and oppression.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Frances murmured, ‘delightful.’

  ‘Still,’ Thomas resumed, ‘it’s all rather interesting, isn’t it? One could easily imagine what it would have been like to live here.’ He leant into his walking stick. ‘As I understand it, there were guards mounted strategically around this area, mainly in the central hall, further up ahead. They were instructed to shoot, without hesitation, any prisoner who was tempted to break bounds.’

  A thrill of alarm caused Frances’s heart to miss a beat. ‘Oh dear,’ was all she could manage to say.

  ‘I don’t like it in here, Daddy!’ Jack wailed all of a sudden. ‘I want to go home!’

  Thomas ignored his son’s distress, and continued speaking. ‘Another form of punishment in this gaol was silence. Prisoners were required to be silent at all times.’

  ‘I see,’ Frances muttered under her breath, ‘well you wouldn’t have lasted very long then.’

  Thomas was too busy inspecting the quality of the stone masonry to hear her remark, and taking advantage of his distracted state, Frances hurried away from him to rejoin the rest of the party. By the time she joined them, Jack was in tears, and was being comforted by his Uncle George.

  ‘Come on, my little whipper snapper,’ George was saying gently, ‘why are you crying?’

  ‘I want to go home,’ Jack spluttered.

  ‘Go home? But don’t you want to see all the skeletons?’

  ‘Skellingtons?’ Jack repeated ineptly. He was suddenly divided between smiles and tears. ‘Where are they? Where?’

  ‘Oh, George,’ Agnes moaned, ‘how can you say such things to him? He’s only a child. He doesn’t know any better.’

  ‘Where are the skellingtons, Uncle George?’ Jack persisted. ‘I want to see them. Now!’

  ‘Not now, Jack,’ George emphasised. ‘I’ll be with you presently.’ He returned his attention to Agnes. ‘Now, Miss Wentworth,’ he said condescendingly, ‘what is it you wanted to say?’

  ‘You have no right promising a child something you cannot give him,’ Agnes berated. ‘It only leads to disappointment.’

  ‘Humph! And since when were you an expert on children?’ George scoffed. ‘You’re barely past childhood yourself.’

  ‘How dare you!’ Agnes hissed. Her dark eyes seemed to burn unnaturally bright in the dimness. ‘You’re the one who never grew up!’

  George was just about to launch into a fresh round of derogatory remarks, when he noticed that Jack was no longer by his side. His pulse quickened, and turning hastily away from his adversary, he began to look about him. The corridor further ahead was scattered with the odd tourist, but there was no sign of a child resembling Jack amongst them. On the other side, only Thomas and the ensnared Louisa were making their way towards them.

  ‘And if you notice the size of the rooms,’ Thomas was saying, with an accompaniment of sweeping hand gestures, ‘in direct proportion to the ceiling, you’ll find that…’

  ‘Agnes
,’ George heard himself blurt out, ‘Jack’s gone.’ He regretted the words as soon as he had uttered them.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Agnes asked. ‘He was with you a minute ago. He was standing right beside you.’

  ‘Yes, thank you for pointing that out. I was aware of the fact. The point is that he is no longer with me. He must have run off when I had my back turned. He did look fairly on the rush. Damn and botheration.’

  ‘Well don’t just stand there, you beastly man,’ she whispered ferociously. ‘You’re the one who lost him. Go and look for him, before the others find out!’

  This heated conversation continued in a similar vein for a little while longer, until eventually Agnes and George excused themselves from the party, and began, in separate directions, to search for Jack Maycroft in the dim and sinister recesses of the Model Prison…