Woman on Ward 13: A haunting gothic novel of obsession and insanity (Iris Lowe Mysteries)

by Delphine Woods

  ‘Our wedding will be—’

  ‘I am engaged.’

  I blinked.

  He had not moved, I had not seen his lips move, had I?

  ‘I am engaged to Mabel Robins.’ He stuck his bleeding thumb in his mouth and sucked.

  ‘Mabel Robins?’ I forced the words out. It was all I could do to repeat the name, as if by repeating it I might understand. Mabel Robins… Mabel Robins… I dug through my mind, trying to match a face to the name, and then it came, a person appearing through the fog. Black hair, a thick jawline, a firm and hardy body bound tight in a dress clogged with mud. ‘The farmer’s daughter?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Engaged?’

  He took his thumb out of his mouth and the saliva on it glistened. ‘Da wanted it. She’s got money and land. We’ll be set up.’

  I couldn’t speak. Mabel Robins? How? And why? He couldn’t love her, could he? He couldn’t love her whilst he loved me.

  A noise echoed through the trees. It sounded like a wounded animal, and then I realised it was coming from me.

  ‘Don’t cry,’ he said, as tears fell from his own eyes. ‘Don’t cry, Katy.’

  It didn’t feel like I was crying. It felt like I was dying, like I was suffocating, like there was a rope slicing into my throat. I dragged in air and heard the rush of it against my closing airways. My chest burned as if I were being sawn open.

  ‘I couldn’t do anything!’ Bertie stood up, started jabbing his feet into the ground as he walked in circles, grabbing at his face and hair. ‘There was nothing I could do! It was done before I knew it was ever a thought.’

  ‘Don’t marry her, Bertie,’ I managed to choke out, my voice cutting off into sobs.

  ‘It’s done, Katy. My word is given, it’s out there, it’s hers! And you know Da wouldn’t have allowed me and you.’

  ‘We were saving.’

  ‘I never asked you to save, Katy. That was your idea.’

  ‘You said we would be married!’

  He stopped pacing, and his shoulders crumpled in. He stood in front of me, my Bertie, my little Bertie Blackbird. I would have hugged him, pulled him close, kissed those big, soft lips of his, kissed the tears away from his cheeks, like I had done before because I could, because he was mine, but I couldn’t move.

  I wanted him to tell me he could get out of it, that it had been a mistake, that he would stand up to his father, but he just stood there crying, his fist pressed into his cheek, and I knew he was not going to do anything.

  ‘How could you?’ I breathed.

  ‘I had no choice!’ His leg jerked up and he kicked the lamp, smashing the glass, spilling oil on the mulch. For a moment, the ground blazed blue and yellow, then all was dark. ‘Shit!’

  As my eyes adjusted to the light from the moon, a sudden calmness came over me. My tears stopped; my breathing returned to normal. I stood, but my legs buckled and I grabbed hold of the tree trunk just in time. He ran for me, his hand out to catch me, but I pushed him away. My feet felt like they belonged to someone else as they started to move.

  ‘Katy. Katy, I should walk with you.’

  He had not bothered before when it had been dark. I continued to stagger, my head feeling like tissue paper was stuffed underneath my skull.

  ‘Katy,’ he called, but I did not turn. Then I heard his feet plodding towards me, his voice high pitched like a little boy. ‘Katy. Katy, I should walk with you.’ He grabbed my arm. ‘Katy.’

  ‘Go away!’

  My scream reverberated all around us. Animals scuttled away. Bertie’s eyes widened as he stared at me. I had creased over, digging my nails into my arms and ripping the material, bruising my flesh once more as I wailed dementedly.

  ‘Go away!’ I screamed over and over and over again until I heard his footsteps retreating. When I next opened my eyes, he had gone.

  I fell to my knees and sobbed until I was sick.

  I don’t know how long I was slumped on the grass. My eyes burned with each blink, my mouth was dry and sour from the vomit. When I finally moved, my arm and leg joints cracked and creaked. I put my hand to my face but felt nothing. I was numb.

  I forgot where I was. Something moved out of the corner of my eye, startling me, before I realised that it was only a cow walking under the moonlight, that there were more cows behind that one too. The animals gave me a strange sense of comfort and focused my mind. The river was to my left. The thick clump of trees where Bertie and I had met was in the distance in front of me.

  I turned my back on the woods and made my way along the riverside until I found the familiar track that wound up the hill to the The Retreat.

  I slipped around the back of the house to the women’s wing, for I wanted to clean myself up before I checked in on Mrs Leverton.

  ‘There you are.’ I knew the voice, though I couldn’t see the face until it came out from the doorway to the dairy. ‘Been anywhere nice?’

  ‘Have you been following me?’

  ‘Just having a smoke before I went looking for you.’ Daniel took a cigarette from his top pocket and struck a match against the stone wall. The flame flickered as he brought it before his face.

  ‘I have to see Mrs Leverton.’

  His head tilted to the side. ‘Do you know what time it is?’ My silence was his answer. ‘A search party is about to go looking for you.’

  I ran past him straight into the female wing, not bothering to check myself. I took the stairs two at a time and found Miss York at her desk.

  ‘There you are! You’ll have to go to Mrs Thorpe. Where have you been?’

  ‘I lost track of time.’

  ‘You’ll have to think of something better than that if you don’t want a hammering off her.’ Miss York sniffed, pushed her spectacles up her nose, and brought her attention back to her book.

  I scurried to Mrs Leverton’s door and yanked down the latch. She was sleeping, Annie beside her, as usual. I had said I would be back to share late night ghost stories over some hot milk.

  ‘She was worried about you,’ Miss York said, making me feel even worse.

  ‘Will you tell her I am safe if she wakes? And that I’m sorry.’

  Miss York nodded. I closed the latch as gently as possible.

  ‘Mrs Thorpe’s gone to Doctor about you, so I wouldn’t hang about.’

  I cursed and ran down the stairs, into the main house. I met Mrs Thorpe in the hallway.

  ‘Where on earth have you been? Do you have any idea what time it is?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Thorpe. My… My da is ill, and I was nursing him. I lost track of time, and then it was dark, and I got lost.’

  ‘We thought something dreadful had happened. Dr Basildon was just going to look for you himself.’

  And then he appeared on the landing, swinging his coat over his shoulders, rushing down the stairs.

  ‘Very sorry, sir, Miss Owen has just returned.’

  He slowed, but his face remained stern. ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘Her father was taken ill, and she forgot to check the time.’

  ‘Can she not speak for herself?’

  Mrs Thorpe blushed at that but said nothing.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir. I shouldn’t have stayed so long; I didn’t mean to.’ I studied the patterns on the carpet.

  ‘Go to bed, Mrs Thorpe, we have a big day tomorrow.’ He sighed. ‘And thank you for letting me know about this.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ Mrs Thorpe bobbed into a curtsey. I tried to smile at her, but she turned away.

  Dr Basildon had been standing on the last step. Now he approached me. ‘What has happened to your cheek?’

  My fingers found dents in my skin, but from what, I did not know. ‘I got lost in the woods and tripped.’

  He grabbed my chin and lifted my face, like he had done after Mrs Huxley had attacked me, but he was not so gentle this time. ‘You have been crying.’

  I tried to swallow, but my mouth was too parched. ‘Just upset for my da, s
ir.’

  ‘Twenty years I have been a doctor, Miss Owen. I know when someone is lying to me.’ He dropped my chin. ‘I will not tolerate lies. You must tell me the truth, always.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ I whispered.

  He waited.

  I waited.

  He was simmering with rage, I could tell. I didn’t want to be in that confined space with him a second longer.

  ‘Go to bed.’

  I gladly left him there.

  Outside, the cold took my breath away. It was a wonder I hadn’t caught my death earlier.

  My bed called to me. I ached all down my left side from how I had been lying on the ground, and exhaustion was making me shiver. I couldn’t wait to slide under my covers, rest my head on my pillow, and slip into welcome oblivion.

  As I opened the door to the laundry, I found the smoking end of a cigarette on the threshold. I peered over the courtyard, squinting, trying to focus on any movement in the shadows, but everything was too dark. I stomped on the cigarette end then spat on it. I thought I heard Daniel’s chuckle as I shut the door, but I could not be certain.

  17

  1956

  Iris closed the diary. Her hands shook. She pushed them between her knees and forced herself to look at Kath.

  Tears trickled over the old woman’s lined cheeks, her eyes partly closed, her mouth gaping like usual as she struggled for breath.

  ‘Kath?’

  ‘It still hurts.’ She lifted one trembling hand to her cheek.

  Iris pulled a fresh tissue out of the box on the bedside table and gave it to her.

  ‘You don’t die of a broken heart, Iris. That’s the worst thing.’

  Iris could not imagine the pain. She had never been in love. She tried to equate it with something else – being torn from her dreams of a successful career, hope extinguished, despair looming. The ache was as fresh for Kath now as it had been back then. If she had been allowed to get on with her life, find another man who she could have loved, who would have cherished her, Iris wondered, would the pain be as acute now?

  Iris felt the sting of anger in her stomach but swallowed it down for Kath’s sake. She stayed by the bed and waited for Kath’s eyes to shut, for sleep to ease her sorrow.

  It was a long journey on the bus, which made unnecessary stops and turns down narrow country lanes. A couple of young lads hopped aboard at one point and sat opposite her. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed their heads flicking her way. A cigarette fell by her feet, and one of them came over to retrieve it and crouched beside her, taking a long look at her legs as he did so. When she glared down at him, his round, freckled face seemed almost angelic in the evening light, but his smirk was devilish. She crossed her legs, nearly catching him with the toe of her shoe, and turned to gaze out of the window.

  After an hour, the bus stopped outside the Sandhill estate. Iris marched to Albert’s door.

  Through the glass, she watched him hobbling, and a twinge of sympathy struck her; it was difficult to think of this frail old man as a young heartbreaker. But when he twisted his head to see who was at the door, his face fell – he’d been found out, and he knew it.

  ‘You’ve read it.’

  ‘Yes.’ Now that she was here, her words, which she had imagined spitting at him, were locked in her throat.

  ‘It was a wretched thing to do to her.’ He kneaded his hands together. ‘I was young; we were both so young.’

  He was still making excuses for himself. Anger flared inside her. ‘You were a coward, Albert. A horrible coward.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And you still are. You can’t face her even now.’

  ‘I didn’t think it would feel like this. I thought she would be… different.’

  ‘How?’

  He shook his head. ‘It’s like the years have never passed. It’s still Katy in there.’

  ‘You thought she really was mad, didn’t you?’ Iris swayed and steadied herself against the wall. ‘That would have made everything you did acceptable, wouldn’t it?’

  He couldn’t look at her.

  Footsteps echoed – an old woman walked along the pavement, straining to see what was happening. She stopped at the foot of the drive. Iris glared at her.

  ‘Everything all right, Albert?’

  Albert held up his hand. ‘Fine, Mary, thank you.’

  Mary regarded Iris warily but scampered away.

  ‘Would you like to come in?’ Albert said.

  ‘No.’ She couldn’t bring herself to be in the same room as him. Her sympathy had evaporated. ‘She’s dying, Albert. You promised you would see her again. Or do you break every promise you make?’

  He flinched. ‘I thought I could face it, what I had done. I needed someone to know; that’s why I gave you the diary. Fifty-five years I have had to live with myself.’

  She did not soften when his voice broke.

  ‘Fifty-five years Kath has been locked up in Smedley,’ she said. ‘Fifty-five years of being woken up at seven in the morning, stripped naked in front of strangers, forced to eat the same food every day, staring at the same four walls, listening to women scream. She’d have scrubbed floors at the beginning, you know. Done the laundry, maybe. Piles and piles of shit-stained sheets to scrub by hand. We don’t make them do that now, you’ll be pleased to hear. They have the luxury of sitting around all day, doing nothing, losing the last bits of their minds to boredom. Only occasionally, we stab them with needles to make them sleep better.’

  She shoved her trembling hands into the pockets of her skirt. She didn’t know who she was upsetting more, Albert or herself.

  How could she work at such a place? How could she keep these pathetic old women locked in this deathly cycle? She wanted more for them, she wanted better for them, but she was only a nurse. She could do nothing but offer kindness and a smile and treat them as more than just lost, irritating souls.

  Albert sagged like she had kicked him in the stomach. She had said enough. She didn’t like the way her words had come out, laced with sarcasm and spite. He was an old man, after all.

  ‘I guess I won’t see you again, then.’

  He sniffed. He might have been crying, but Iris couldn’t see his face.

  ‘She still loves you.’

  He sobbed and brought a handkerchief to his face.

  Iris walked away.

  The sun had disappeared by the time she trudged onto her street. The sky was changing from baby blue to navy, and the birds were singing their final songs before they went to roost. Her feet ached – the backs of her heels would be raw when she removed her shoes. Her stomach growled, although she didn’t think she’d be able to eat more than a dry slice of toast.

  She slipped into the back alley. Fred, next door’s ginger tomcat, jumped off the wall and prowled towards her, meowing until she stroked him. His silky body snaked around her legs, cool and gentle, and his pink tongue scraped against her palm, licking off the sweat of the day. She picked him up, carried him into the kitchen, found a saucer, and poured him a little milk. She dropped into a chair and watched him lap it up. Milk splashed on his whiskers, frosting them white.

  ‘Where in God’s name have you been?’

  Fred jumped off the table and ran out of the door. The milk in the saucer quivered.

  ‘Do you know what time it is?’ Mum shuffled to the other side of the table and faced Iris, her hands crushing into the softness of her hips.

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘With Katy.’

  ‘Your father’s been worried sick. Your tea’s gone cold; I had to chuck it in the bin.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  Her mum sat down and resentfully began to soften. ‘You look awful. What’s happened?’

  ‘It’s been a long day. One of the patients isn’t well.’

  ‘I thought that was the point of working in a hospital. You’re in for a shock if you think they’ll all come out dancing.’

  Iris
glowered at her.

  ‘Who is this Katy anyway? What do you do together until half past nine on a weeknight?’

  She couldn’t be bothered lying anymore. Nothing would ever be right for her mother, so what did it matter anyway?

  ‘She’s a patient. She’s got pneumonia. I read to her.’

  ‘I thought you said she was a friend? Don’t you see enough of that lot as it is?’

  ‘She is my friend,’ Iris said, crunching her teeth together, trying to remain calm.

  Her mum rolled her eyes. ‘You’ve been putting Simon off for a mad old woman. Honestly, I just don’t understand you sometimes. He’s been round tonight, you know, asking for you. He looked ever so sad when I said you weren’t home. I offered him in for a cuppa, we sat in the living room. He looked ever so big in there, so big and handsome, like our Alan.’

  ‘Be quiet, Mum.’ Iris’s head felt like it was splitting.

  ‘I beg your pardon? Don’t you speak to me like that in my own house.’

  ‘Stop talking about Simon.’ She clawed her nails into the table. ‘I don’t like Simon. I will not court him, I will not love him, and I will not marry him.’

  ‘You should think yourself lucky that a man like him would be interested in you, my girl. Look at us.’ Her mother threw her hands in the air and stomped to her feet. ‘A bank manager, Iris! You wouldn’t have to work another day in your life.’

  ‘For God’s sake, when will you get it into your head that I actually want to work? I don’t want Simon! Why would I? So I can clean his clothes and darn his socks and cook his meals and look pretty for him so he can impress his colleagues? So I can have the privilege of being a bank manager’s wife?’

  ‘You could do a hell of a lot worse. Do you want to end up like me?’

  ‘That is my point. I don’t want to be anything like you!’

  Her mum reeled back, her hands grasping for the edge of the cupboards. Her skin paled. She swallowed then staggered out of the kitchen.

  Iris sat at the table, her chin in her hands, watching the sky blacken through the window. She let the tears drip off her face and splash on the wood.