Dody cautiously agreed.
‘But with this Cat and Mouse Act enforced, I will have to go back when a doctor certifies that I am well enough.’
‘But I could have done that for you, told them you were still too ill to return!’
‘No, you could not. Don’t you think the authorities haven’t thought of that? Apparently I have to be examined by a prison doctor. A prison doctor, did you hear me? It’ll be that ghastly man from Holloway, the demon. If he so much as touches me again, I’ll, I’ll …’ Florence flopped against Dody’s shoulder and began to sob great tears of anguish.
Dody knew this was no act. ‘There there, I believe you,’ she said, close to tears herself as she stroked her hair. ‘But why the Elysium of all places?’
‘Well, I have a confession to make.’
‘Another?’
‘Yes. I’m afraid I overheard you and Pike talking last night, and I lay awake most of the night thinking about what was done to those poor women — having their privates interfered with and such — and what still might be done to them. Thinking that that kind of operation might still be being carried out on innocent women fills me with a white-hot rage. By getting myself admitted to that rest home, I will not only be getting away from the clutches of the authorities, but I will be able to help you and Pike with your investigations from the inside. By doing this I see myself as striking another blow for the cause of female equality.’
‘I can’t let you do that, Florence. It might be dangerous. We don’t know what they get up to in that place.’
‘I can’t see that my life will be in any more danger than if I was sent back to prison. Besides, you and Pike can keep an eye on me.’
‘I don’t know what Pike will think of it.’
Florence folded her arms. ‘Well, the crux is that neither of you can stop me. I am being voluntarily committed and you are not my nearest male relative so you cannot interfere. This is between Doctor Lamb and myself.’
For once Dody was speechless. Florence’s argument seemed uncharacteristically logical, and yet still so wrong. If only she could confer with Pike, but with Mother on her way she dared not leave the house.
Dody knew that Florence genuinely did have nervous problems since her release from prison, and she had been trying to think of ways of preventing her sister’s re-arrest. Her admittance to an asylum seemed like a valid solution, but why did it have to be that asylum? She could only pray that their suspicions of the home were unfounded; after all, they had no concrete evidence that the place was actually performing illegal or immoral operations. Mrs Hislop may even have undergone the operation elsewhere. If not for the preserved ovary, she and Pike might never have made the connection.
The front doorbell rang and Florence jumped to her feet. ‘That’ll be mother. Don’t allow Annie to let her in until I’m at the top of the stairs. I must change.’
Louise McCleland crossed the morning-room floor, flung her furled parasol onto the couch and opened her arms to her eldest daughter. ‘My darling, it is so lovely to see you.’
Dody launched herself into her mother’s embrace and squeezed her extra tight. When finally released, Louise pushed Dody to arm’s length and gazed at her through the same violet-hued eyes that she’d passed on to Florence. ‘My goodness, darling, what have I done to deserve that?’
‘It’s been a trying week,’ Dody admitted, wondering herself where her unusual show of emotion had come from. The lump in her throat fizzed and ached, but she refused to give in to it. She reached for the handkerchief in her sleeve and dabbed her nose.
‘I would have come earlier if I could,’ Louise said, eyeing Dody with concern. ‘I left Italy almost as soon as I got your telegram, but the bally ferry crossing was delayed by weather. How is Florence, is she still confined to bed?’
‘She is much better now. But Mother, you must know, there is something we’ve decided to do to prevent her re-arrest.’
Dody sat her mother down and explained about the now commonly referred to ‘Cat and Mouse Act’, and how Florence had chosen voluntary committal to avoid going back to prison. She made no mention of the operations they suspected of being performed in the rest home.
‘Is Florence that ill? Do you think she really will benefit from such a place?’
Dody looked her mother in the eye and answered truthfully. ‘Yes, Mother, I think she will. Just knowing that the police will be unable to arrest her again will give her hope and aid in her recovery.’
‘When will she have to go?’
‘Doctor Lamb is going to make the arrangements. He seems to think it might be as early as tomorrow if there is a bed for her.’ Dody paused to give Louise time to absorb everything she had been told. ‘Would you like a sherry, Mother?’
‘Take me up to Florence first please, dear, we’ll have a sherry later.’
They stepped into the hall. Her mother wore a day dress of white silk with a high collar and a yoke of bobbin silk. Dody suspected Louise’s stylish dress sense was her way of disassociating herself from the eccentric taste of her husband. Florence had acquired her impeccable taste in clothes from their mother. Dody wasn’t sure where she had been when the style instruction had been dished out —probably at boarding school.
‘You are looking well, Dody,’ Louise said, despite her earlier emotional exhibition. Her mother was probably trying to boost her spirits. ‘But your father and I do worry about you — not your career itself, but working in that dreadful place with Doctor Misogynist.’
Dody smiled. ‘I’m fine — it’s Florence you should be worrying about. How is Father?’ she added as they reached the first-floor landing.
‘He sends his love and apologises that he could not get away. He met some fellow Fabians in Rome who are working on ground-breaking prison reforms they hope soon to present to the British government. He felt he would be more effective helping Florence and her ilk that way than by getting under everyone’s feet here.’
Dody couldn’t imagine her father ever saying the latter part of that sentence. The Russian-peasant-garbed socialist had never worried about getting in anyone’s way before. As Dody knocked on her younger sister’s bedroom door she wondered just how much Louise had revealed to her husband of Florence’s predicament. Louise had probably played matters down. Although she was a literary critic and playwright (amongst other things) and was sometimes inclined to dramatise, she generally smoothed things in a way that cast a veil of calm over some of the more turbulent situations her family tended to court — unlike Florence, who seemed to thrive on the drama. Dody thought back to her Sarah Bernhardt performance for Doctor Lamb. Her sister was obviously feeling a little better. She smiled to herself and pushed open the bedroom door.
Part Two
Chapter Nineteen
A green and gilt-lettered sign announced the driveway of the Elysium Rest Home for Gentlewomen. Dody asked the taxi driver to drop them off there as they’d had enough of sitting on the train and wished to stretch their legs. He obligingly said he would deliver their bags to the village hotel. Florence carried only one small valise, having been told that all necessities, including an attractive uniform, would be provided.
‘I hate to think what the uniform is like,’ Florence said as they began their walk down the magnificent woodland-fringed driveway, the sun on their backs, a gentle breeze lacing the tops of the silver birches. ‘Why can’t I wear my own clothes?’
Because, sister dear, Dody thought to herself, in a uniform you will be easily recognised and recaptured if you decide to abscond. Lord, Florence do you really know what you are letting yourself in for?
‘Wearing a uniform is more practical,’ Dody said. ‘They’ll probably get you involved in all sorts of messy activities. You don’t want your own clothes ruined, do you?’
‘No, I suppose not.’ Florence turned to Louise, who walked beneath her opened parasol, the hem of her linen skirt gently brushing the surface of the gravel driveway. ‘Mother, don’t worry if I seem to be
acting a little strange when we meet Doctor Fogarty. I’m feeling a lot better now, but I don’t want to appear too normal in case they decide not to accept me.’
Louise shot Florence a worried glance. ‘But are you sure you will be all right in this place, dear? The cause is very noble, but —’
‘I’m doing this so I don’t have to go back to prison, Mother,’ Florence snapped. ‘I will wait it out here until that disgusting Act is repealed.’
Dody squeezed her mother’s hand. The three of them had discussed the topic ad nauseam through the night and into the early hours of the morning, but nothing either Louise or Dody could say would sway Florence from her course. To make matters worse, Dody had still not been able to tell Pike about the risky plan. All she could do was write him a quick note explaining that she would be absent for a few days and where he could get in touch with her. She would stay in a small hotel near the rest home until she was satisfied that Florence was in good hands. If he had nothing pressing to do, she’d written, he was welcome to join her.
After telling Doctor Spilsbury about the ovary, Dody had been given a short leave of absence to inspect the institution and compile a report for the coroner. She and Spilsbury had mutually decided that some subterfuge might be necessary to get to the truth. Her position in the Home Office pathology department would not be mentioned in the short term to the authorities at Elysium.
The rest home came into sight — a sandstone fantasy of rounded towers with ice cream-cone roofs, weathervanes, and stepped gables. A croquet course had been set up on the front lawn and several women sat relaxing on benches in the shade of an ancient cedar-of-Lebanon. The women, all wearing the same sage-green bonnets and striped aprons, appeared trance-like, staring vacantly at the croquet lawn, which only a peacock seemed to be taking full benefit of, strutting about with his hens. A young man wearing a short white jacket dozed in a deckchair nearby.
‘I say, that looks jolly relaxing,’ Florence said to Dody. ‘Though I wouldn’t be caught dead in one of those bonnets.’
‘That’s the least of your problems. Do as you’re told and toe the line, else things might become very difficult for you. And don’t, whatever you do, take any of the drugs that might be offered. Conceal them in your cheeks and spit them out as soon as you get the chance.’
‘Doctor Lamb told me he would prescribe no drugs or involuntary treatment for me, that I should consider this place nothing but a short-term holiday venue — a rest cure — and that is what I intend to do.’
No one on the croquet lawn looked at the McCleland women as they ascended the front steps of the building. Another young man in a white jacket, fair-haired with a neatly trimmed beard, met them in the entrance and escorted them to the office of the physician and administrator.
Doctor Fogarty was a small-framed man of about forty, with a hollow face, thick greying hair that had been disciplined with liberal quantities of pomade, and a tweed jacket a size too big for him. On the wall above his desk hung a medical degree and a gynaecological diploma. The sight of the latter shot a sudden jet of tension through Dody. That the chief doctor of the asylum was also a gynaecologist was not a good sign. It suggested that the prevailing attitude was that female biology was the major cause of insanity in women. She chastised herself for not asking Doctor Lamb about Fogarty’s qualifications; she had assumed he was a nerve doctor. Dody prayed to a God whose existence she doubted, that Lamb was as good as his word, and that no untoward treatments had been recommended for Florence.
Dody realised Fogarty was staring at her and forced herself to relax. If I’m not careful he’ll be locking me up too, she thought, taking a calming breath and sinking into the proffered chair.
Fogarty positioned the women in a semi-circle and sat with them rather than behind his desk. Two large sash windows presented a view of the croquet lawn and tree, under which the patients still sat, their positions almost unchanged. From the garden bed below, the tops of colourful roses bobbed, brushing against the lower panes in the delicate afternoon breeze. Atop a filing cabinet sat a box-shaped object about two feet high. Covered by a sheet, it piqued Dody’s curiosity. She was trying to work out what it was, when Fogarty began to speak.
‘The home was set up by my late father,’ he explained in a honeyed voice, deeper than one would expect from a man his size, ‘to attend to the needs of troubled women of a certain class. Then, as now, many of the problems boil down to the seduction of women by modern life and its diminishing values.’
He paused, continued to look at them while he absently picked at one of the many plasters encircling the fingers of his right hand. It was as if he had deliberately said something that he expected to be pounced on. Dody wondered if this was an attempt to ascertain their social convictions. To determine not just Florence’s, but her family’s suitability for the patriarchal rule he subjected his patients to.
All three women held their tongues. Dody was especially proud of Florence who was in the middle of a masterful performance of melancholia: head in hands, as if not taking in a word he said.
‘I see you’ve been in the wars, Doctor,’ Louise said, indicating his bandaged fingers.
Fogarty smiled. ‘I tend to the roses myself. Lovely to look at, but the devil to maintain — a bit like some of the patients here,’ he joked.
The women smiled politely.
The young, bearded attendant appeared again, this time introduced by Fogarty as, ‘Mr Beamish, my right hand man. I managed to lure him away from the army — he was a medic, you know.’
‘Not too much of a change really, ma’am,’ Beamish replied to Louise’s look of surprise. ‘Sick folk all require the same skilled care and attention, whatever the ailment, whatever the gender. The premises here are a lot more pleasant than at your average army camp though — I’ll concede to that.’
Fogarty stood up and approached Florence. When she refused to meet his gaze, he turned her face towards him with a finger on her chin.
‘Florence, look at me,’ he said.
Dody saw the muscles in her sister’s throat constrict as he looked deeply into her eyes. Her own flesh crawled as she watched on. Lord, what was her sister letting herself in for?
Waveringly, Florence at last managed to meet Fogarty’s eyes, small and dark as raisins. He smiled. ‘That’s better. I’ve read your notes. It sounds as if there is much to admire about you. Doctor Lamb says you have pluck. Pluck is good, provided it is channelled. With your help I will get you well again, Florence. I promise you I will.’
‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
Fogarty let go of her chin. ‘Off you go now, my dear.’
Florence was escorted away by Beamish to collect her uniform and be shown her private bedroom. Dody watched with a frown; it never made sense to her that while the majority of lunatic patients in any community were female, most of the carers were male. It was fortunate that Florence was no babe in the woods when it came to men.
‘Are all the attendants male, Doctor?’ she asked.
‘Oh no, that would be most unseemly,’ he replied, scrutinising her, though not in such a tender way as he had Florence. And with Dody his tone held a defensive edge. ‘We have female staff to attend to the intimate needs of the patients, and, of course, the more trivial domestic tasks. On the whole, though, we find the patients respond to the disciplinary authority of the male attendants better than they do to the females.’
Especially to the ex-army disciplinarians, Dody added to herself. And all presided over by you, the wise father benefactor, she thought wryly.
Dody and Louise were given a tour of the home by Fogarty himself. He started by showing them around the extensive grounds. From a terraced rose garden they looked down upon a nine-hole golf course wrapped around a sizeable lake. In warm weather the patients, under strict supervision of course, were permitted to sit by the lake, and sometimes the attendants would row them to the other side for picnics and flower-gathering sessions.
‘Florence loves boat
ing,’ Louise remarked.
‘In that case I’ll make sure that she is taken out as soon as possible, tomorrow even. Fresh air and rest are the most important treatments for anguish of the mind,’ he explained.
The two women nodded wisely.
‘I wouldn’t mind a stay here myself,’ Louise whispered to Dody as they strolled arm in arm along the stone pathways of a flourishing vegetable patch.
They came upon a woman forking potatoes, a huge pile of earthy goodness drying on sacking by her side. The woman stopped what she was doing, leaning on her fork to watch them pass.
Fogarty lifted his deerstalker hat. ‘Splendid job, Mrs Halifax — at this rate we’ll have enough potatoes to last all winter!’
The woman ran the back of her arm across her glowing forehead. ‘Thank you Doctor,’ she said with a smile before returning to her vigorous work.
The place certainly seemed idyllic, Dody thought, before reminding herself that even a graveyard could look welcoming on a bright summer’s day.
‘Wouldn’t speak a word when she was first admitted,’ Fogarty said once they were out of the woman’s earshot. ‘She’ll be going home soon if she continues to improve at this rate.’
Louise made noises of approval, and Dody relaxed slightly — maybe this place wasn’t so bad after all. Fogarty’s concern for his patients seemed genuine enough. They came to a modern building made of red bricks with a pitched slate roof and a heavy chimney. It was situated independently, several yards away from the rear of the house. The building had no windows and a thick overhead electricity cable running into its roof. The heavy wooden door was padlocked.
‘What is the nature of this building?’ Dody asked.
Fogarty waved a dismissive hand. ‘It houses the treatment rooms. We think they are best kept from the house proper.’
The Insanity of Murder Page 13