by Carl Nixon
‘How do they define mental illness?’ asks Elizabeth.
‘An excellent question, Mrs Whitman. We will make a lawyer of you yet. The answer is that the lawmakers have not defined it, not in any detail. They have left that for the judiciary to decide, in the context of specific cases. Although the Act does mention in a later paragraph that being a threat to other people’s or your own safety is of particular interest.’
Elizabeth frowns. ‘As I said, Lucky did stab someone.’
‘That is undoubtedly a point against him.’
‘Mrs Blackwell has consulted with only one professional that I’m aware of. That was Dr Parkinson.’
‘The director of Sunnyside?’
‘Yes. Do you know him?’
‘Only by reputation. I don’t imagine that the good doctor will have any trouble producing a further two signatures on his paperwork seeking Mr Blackwell’s committal. He may already have them.’
‘But no one else has actually assessed Lucky.’
‘I doubt they will bother. I’m sure that two of Dr Parkinson’s colleagues at Sunnyside will be more than happy to sign the forms with virtually no questions asked.’
‘But that doesn’t seem fair.’
‘They will perhaps glance over Dr Parkinson’s notes before signing.’
‘Can’t we do anything?’
Mr Burfoot scratches one of his chins. ‘I think we can. Off the top of my head, there are at least two legal arguments I believe we could make. However, first things first. If Lucky is sent to Sunnyside, and from what you say that is in all likelihood going to happen, then I will immediately petition the Magistrate’s Court for a writ of habeas corpus.’
‘Which is what exactly?’ asks Elizabeth.
‘In short, the law states that no one can be held against their will without being brought before a judge. It is a basic tenet of English law dating back to the Magna Carta. Normally it is used by people who are in prison but I have found several instances where those who have been institutionalised have sought such a writ. I believe it will serve us very well.’
They talk for another fifteen minutes. When Elizabeth says that they really must go Mr Burfoot escorts them to the lift, still animatedly talking. He shakes both their hands again and promises to be in touch shortly.
It is not surprising that when Elizabeth and Lucky emerge into the street some eighty minutes after they entered the building they are feeling optimistic. Perhaps their mood would be less jovial if they had chanced to notice Martin Templeton standing in a doorway on the other side of the street, watching them. When Elizabeth and Lucky hurry back toward the museum, the Blackwells’ driver crosses to Dalgety Chambers. He takes careful note of the bronze plaque on the side of the building bearing the name of the law firm, even going so far as to scribble down the details on a piece of paper that he pulls from his coat pocket. When he is finished he all but runs back to the car. People he passes turn and look after him strangely.
Five minutes later Lucky and Elizabeth find the driver sitting behind the wheel, perusing the racing section of the newspaper.
‘You were gone a while,’ he says, folding the paper. ‘I was just about to come and see how you were getting on. Must have been some interesting stuff in there.’
Elizabeth struggles to control her breathing. ‘Yes, we learned a lot. I hope you weren’t too bored.’
‘No, I was fine. Actually, I learned quite a lot myself — in the paper, I mean.’
Later that same day, Martin finds Mrs Blackwell in the glasshouse, watering the orchids.
‘Are you sure?’ she asks, when he has finished. She carefully puts down the watering can.
‘I’m sure, all right. She took him to a lawyer. Here.’ He hands her his scrap of paper.
‘Thank you, Martin. That will be all. You’ve done the right thing.’
forty-four
It is just after ten o’clock that evening when Elizabeth’s mother hears the letterbox rattle. She pulls back the curtain above the kitchen sink and is just in time to see a tall man wearing some type of uniform walking briskly off down the street.
The letter is addressed to Mrs E. Whitman. Elizabeth immediately recognises the heavy paper and the firm rounded handwriting.
It has been brought to my attention that you have broken trust with me in the most grievous and calculated manner possible. By seeking legal advice regarding my husband’s situation, you have not only gone behind my back but challenged the agreement that I have entered into in all good faith with Dr Parkinson.
I can only assume that you believe you have my husband’s best interests at heart. However, it is inconceivable to me how you can possibly imagine that it is in any way your place to not only go against the wishes of his family, but also against the best advice of the medical establishment.
You have acted far outside your role as my employee and as a nurse. I have no alternative but to terminate your employment immediately. I trust that you have the good sense to end further contact with any member of the Blackwell family.
The letter is signed Mrs Paul Blackwell. Within the envelope is a £10 note and six shillings — the exact wages owed to her.
‘What is it, Lizzy?’ asks her mother. ‘You’ve gone pale. What’s the matter?’
Elizabeth is sitting at the kitchen table. ‘The Blackwells have let me go.’
‘Whatever for?’
‘I think I made a mistake.’
‘You’ll be able to get your old job back at the hospital, won’t you?’
‘I think so.’
Her mother looks relieved. ‘Well then, no real harm done. You said at the start you’d just see how things went with that lot. People with money aren’t like the rest of us. You’re best off out of it.’
Her mother has more to say on the subject but Elizabeth isn’t listening. She is thinking about Lucky and wondering what will happen to him now.
forty-five
The next day, without any fuss, the man they call Paul Blackwell is driven to Sunnyside Mental Hospital where he is committed under the Mental Deficiency Act on the grounds of reduced mental capacity.
forty-six
The Whale swam through the warm blue ocean.
High on its back stood the Tiger, peering anxiously ahead, his eyes narrowed against the glare of the sunlight off the water. They had been travelling for over an hour, the great tail fanning the ocean behind them, a bow wave surging in front of the Whale’s mountainous head. About a mile in front of them lay the kidnappers’ boat and the Tiger could make out the two cages on the deck. He could also see that several of the kidnappers were standing in the stern staring back at the Whale. Every one of them was holding a rifle.
The Balloonist came to stand by the Tiger’s side. His clothes had dried quickly in the sun and his pockets still bulged with diamonds.
‘I’m worried that if we get too close they will start shooting.’
‘My thought exactly,’ said the Tiger. ‘They would have to be very poor shots indeed to miss our fishy friend.’
‘Actually Balaenoptera musculus is a type of mammal.’
The Tiger growled deeply and the man stopped talking.
At that moment, the engine noise from the kidnappers’ boat faded to a low rumble and then died. The boat bobbed ahead of them. At a word from the Moon Virgin, the Whale also came to a halt, just out of range of the rifles.
‘I need to talk to them face to face,’ said the man. ‘I’ll swim the rest of the way.’
‘Are you sure you can swim that far?’ said the Tiger.
The man was already taking off his shoes. ‘I was swimming champion at my grammar school three years in a row.’
‘I’m assuming that you did not race with your pockets full of stones.’
‘A good point,’ said the man, remembering how he had almost drowned earlier. ‘A few of the larger ones should be all I need.’
He emptied his pockets of all but the three biggest diamonds. The rest he handed to the Moon Virgin for safe
keeping.
‘Good luck,’ she said in her sing-song voice.
‘Thank you.’
It was too high to safely dive from the Whale’s back so the man slid down the curving flank, tall as a cliff, until he hit the water with a large splash. When his head reappeared he set off towards the boat, using a strong crawl.
‘Watch out for sharks,’ called the Tiger mischievously, but the man’s ears were full of water and he did not hear.
The kidnappers were waiting for him when he reached the boat. Two of them hauled him roughly out of the water and dropped him like a large fish onto the deck. They all stood over him with the muzzles of their rifles pointed at his chest. The Balloonist stood slowly.
The leader of the kidnappers was a burly German with a shaved head and a scar that writhed across one cheek. His name was Karl Kruger and he was famous across three continents both for his cruelty and his overwhelming love of money. In his hand he held a pearl-handled revolver. Kruger had murdered a quite famous cowboy in order to steal that gun. Now he pointed it at the Balloonist.
‘What brings you to my boat?’ he asked in his thick German accent.
‘I think that we can do business,’ said the man. ‘It will be to both our advantages.’
‘What type of business could I do with a dripping rat pulled from the ocean?’ A nasty smile made Kruger’s scar twitch like a tortured snake.
‘I represent a mutual acquaintance, the Tiger who you may already have observed.’ He gestured towards the Whale. The Tiger could clearly be seen standing at the front of the beast’s great head. ‘He would like the safe return of his wife and cub.’
‘He can’t have them,’ snarled Kruger.
‘He is willing to pay.’
Kruger gave a mocking laugh and was joined by several of his men. ‘What could a mangy house cat like that possibly have of any value?’
The man reached into his pocket. Every rifle that was pointed at him was raised a little higher and fingers twitched on hair triggers.
The Balloonist froze. ‘If I may?’
Kruger nodded. ‘Slowly.’
Carefully the man removed the three precious stones from his pocket and held them out on his palm. Several of the kidnappers gasped. ‘Diamonds!’
Kruger snatched the diamonds from the man’s hand and inspected them closely.
‘Would you look at that,’ muttered one of the crew, an African with a gold earring in each ear. ‘They’re as big as hen’s eggs.’
‘I think those should more than match what any zoo would give you for the female and the cub,’ said the Balloonist.
Kruger raised his eyes from the diamonds. ‘The price is ten diamonds.’
The man frowned. ‘That’s too many.’
‘I see you’re not denying that you’ve got more.’
The man knew that Kruger had him at a disadvantage. ‘We will give you five.’
Karl Kruger raised his revolver and shot three times. The first bullet splintered the deck between the Balloonist’s bare feet. The other two droned past his head like angry flies.
‘Ten diamonds,’ repeated Kruger.
‘Agreed,’ said the man.
Kruger laughed. ‘Actually, I’ve changed my mind. I’ve a better idea.’ He turned and yelled up at the wheelhouse. ‘You up there, start the engine. Turn this floating bucket of rust around.’
‘What are you doing?’ said the man. ‘We had a deal, ten diamonds.’
‘The deal’s off.’ Kruger gestured and two of his men grabbed the Balloonist. ‘Throw him in the cage with the cub!’ said Kruger.
The Balloonist struggled but the kidnappers were too strong. ‘The diamonds would’ve made you rich,’ he shouted, as he was dragged away.
‘I know what will make me richer. First we kill the male tiger. Second we convince you and your pale female friend back there to tell us where these came from. Then we’ll have all the diamonds we want.’
The engines spluttered into life and the boat swung slowly around to face the Whale.
‘Full steam ahead!’ yelled Kruger. ‘All guns to the bow!’ His revolver flashed in the sun as he raised it and let off another shot. His men raced to get into position.
As the boat picked up speed, the Balloonist was thrown into the cage with the young tiger. The padlock snapped shut as the cub whimpered and backed away from him into the corner.
‘It’s all right,’ said the man. ‘I’m a friend of your father. Everything is going to be fine.’
But the Balloonist didn’t believe his own words. Even as he spoke, he could feel the boat gathering speed, the deck vibrating beneath his feet. The engines roared, black smoke billowed into the sky. Through the thick bars of the cage he could see the kidnappers lining up along the bow, their rifles loaded and at the ready.
forty-seven
For several days after she is dismissed from the Blackwells’ service, Elizabeth does little except haunt her parents’ house. She makes no effort to contact the hospital about returning to her work on the wards. It is possible that she now believes she did the wrong thing in championing Lucky’s cause. Perhaps she slips into a brief depression, overwhelmed by her circumstances and the seeming hopelessness of her situation. Or maybe she just needs time and space to think.
Jack is delighted that his mother is available to take him to the park and read books but even he is aware that she is strangely distant; sometimes it is as though she were speaking to him through glass. When Elizabeth’s mother begins to grumble and snap, Elizabeth takes to going for rambling walks through the city. She does not choose her path in advance, but turns left or right or moves straight ahead as the mood takes her. After almost a week of such random perambulation, she finds herself standing in the foyer of Dalgety Chambers.
She is informed by the woman at the front desk that Mr Burfoot is out of the office on business.
‘When is he expected back?’
‘Not until tomorrow morning. Do you wish to make an appointment?’
‘Perhaps. Actually, I’m not sure. Thank you anyway.’
Back on the steps of the building she is at a loss about where to go next. She stands in the sunshine, turning her head slowly this way and that as though searching for inspiration.
‘Mrs Whitman?’
She recognises Mr Burfoot’s secretary and recalls that the young woman’s name is Miss Sellers.
‘Oh, hello.’
‘Are you coming to see Mr Burfoot? I’m sorry but he’s out today.’
‘I know. The woman in the foyer just told me.’
‘Are you all right? You look a bit lost.’
‘Do I? I suppose I am. I was really hoping to see Mr Burfoot. It took quite a bit of courage to come here and I’m not sure I can muster it again tomorrow.’
‘Is it very urgent?’
‘Yes, I think it is.’
Miss Sellers takes Elizabeth by the arm and leads her down the steps. ‘Look, I really shouldn’t say anything but I know that Mr Burfoot’s quite excited about your case. He’s been talking about it a lot with the other partners ever since you first saw him. Today’s his day for having lunch at the Mansfield Club. He’ll be there all afternoon. But they won’t let you in. It’s for men only.’
‘I can try. Thank you, Miss Sellers.’
‘Just please don’t say that I told you where to find him.’
‘My lips are sealed.’
The Mansfield Club is a large brick building located down a quiet street adjoining Latimer Square. The club is frequented by wealthy farmers in town for a few days, and also by urban professionals seeking an oasis from both work and domestic obligations. At the door Elizabeth stretches the truth by telling the doorman that there is an emergency. He disappears inside and returns a few minutes later with Mr Burfoot in tow. He shows no surprise at her unexpected appearance.
‘Mrs Whitman, welcome. It is good to see you again.’
‘It is terribly impolite of me to interrupt you like this.’
; ‘Actually, I was just ruminating on your Mr Blackwell’s case. Shall we walk?’
‘Certainly.’
They cross the road and sit on a bench in the park. Mr Burfoot listens to the latest instalment of Lucky’s story, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his fingers forming a plump steeple.
‘I can’t help thinking that I did the wrong thing by bringing Lucky to you,’ concludes Elizabeth.
‘So you think he belongs in Sunnyside?’
‘No. But I am, after all, just his nurse. Mrs Blackwell was perfectly justified in dismissing me.’
‘There are higher principles than obligation to an employer, Mrs Whitman. Do you wish to abandon the case? Is that what you have come here to tell me?’
‘No. I have been doing a lot of thinking and I would like you to continue on Lucky’s behalf.’
‘I’m glad. It is unusual that someone outside the family should try to prevent a person being institutionalised, but I see no reason why we shouldn’t proceed.’
‘Thank you.’
‘As it happens, I’ve taken the liberty of drawing up the petition to the court seeking a writ of habeas corpus. I’ll have it sent this afternoon, if you are quite sure that you want to proceed?’
‘I am.’
‘Mrs Whitman, can I ask you if you’ve given any consideration to what will happen to Lucky if we succeed and he is not kept at Sunnyside? What then?’
Elizabeth frowns. ‘I hadn’t really thought that far ahead. I suppose that he will be free to do as he chooses.’
The lawyer emits a disapproving drone from deep in his throat, like a bagpipe as it inflates. ‘Hmmmmm. I have been thinking about Lucky’s plight quite a lot since our first meeting. It seems to me that making choices for your future is almost impossible if you have no past. Don’t you agree?’
‘I will have to give that some thought,’ says Elizabeth.
They continue to talk for a few minutes and then she accompanies him back to the entrance to the club.