It was a good deal more luxurious than a Holloway cell, though. Warm and clean, she even had her own flushing lavatory, but no table, chairs or window. A lightweight tin jug sat on the floor beside a shiny clean tin cup. Water, God, she needed water. Not yet trusting her legs, she slithered from the mattress across the floor and greedily drank down the jug’s contents without bothering to pour it into the cup. No water ever tasted sweeter — until it came up again a few seconds later in the lavatory bowl.
Shaking and cold from her upheaval, Florence dragged herself back to the rubber mattress that had been placed alongside a padded water pipe. Resting her head against the pipe she willed the pounding of her head to stop. What had she done to deserve this, she wondered, as memories of last night’s altercation slowly began to invade her consciousness. Had she really attacked the attendants like that? Yes, she had; she could see it all now, clear as day.
And had Beamish really been about to molest Aggie? About that, she was not so sure now — he had the female nurse with him, after all. If not for Eva’s warning, the thought might not have entered her head. What if this place was really making her insane? What if they didn’t let her out! Florence felt her panic grow. She must call someone, apologise, and assure Fogarty that she would never attack the staff again.
She looked around the cell for a means of communication, saw the viewing slot in the door and was about to stagger over and call someone, when an urgent tapping on the pipe made her stop still. Was this wishful thinking, a figment of her imagination? She dropped to her knees and put her ear next to the pipe. Sure enough, above the occasional digestive gurgle of water, she heard a distinctive metallic tap.
The suffragette Morse code.
That could only mean one thing: Eva was in the next cell.
‘Are you all right, Florence?’ Eva tapped.
At the junction of the pipe and the wall, Florence noticed a small section of exposed pipe missing its wadding. She grabbed her tin cup and tapped back on this. ‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘And you?’
Eva replied in the affirmative. Despite the length of time between taps and the patience it took, Florence and Eva talked in a depth they had not managed yet in the main house. The minutes ticked by.
Florence explained how she had attacked the staff because she thought they were about to molest Aggie. Now ashamed of her violent reaction, she told Eva she feared that she might have jumped to the wrong conclusions. Eva consoled Florence, told her she was right to do what she did, that they always used the excuse of giving Aggie medicine when they wanted to molest her. Beamish could do no wrong in Fogarty’s eyes and always took his side. They had an agreement apparently — Fogarty turned a blind eye to Beamish’s transgressions, and vice versa.
As soon as she heard this, Florence felt better for it.
Eva told Florence that she was going to be let out that morning. She’d had some treatment last night and responded well. If Florence wanted to be let out soon, she should accept whatever treatment they had in store and they would not get too rough with her.
Florence wanted to know what the treatment entailed. It couldn’t be an operation; Eva wouldn’t be able to tap if she was still recovering from an operation, surely? She was about to ask what it was when Eva broke in, asking Florence if she wanted to know the secret that she and Mary were hiding. Florence tapped, yes, and put her head to the pipe, eager to listen to Eva’s reply.
The cell door burst open and in walked Beamish.
‘Listening to that woman will do you no good, Miss McCleland. Haven’t you got yourself in enough trouble as it is?’
Florence sat up straight and looked Beamish in the eye. ‘I know plenty of policemen, Mr Beamish. You won’t be getting away with the abuse of poor little Aggie for much longer.’
Beamish let out a long-suffering sigh. ‘Is that right, miss? Come on now, it’s treatment time.’
Florence crossed her legs on the mattress and folded her arms, as she had done during countless suffragette demonstrations. ‘I am to have no treatments without my doctor’s permission.’
‘Doctor Fogarty has just been on the phone to Doctor Lamb. On account of your behaviour last night, he has sanctioned a remedy for your agitation.’
Florence’s panic began to grow. ‘I’m not agitated! My sister, I need to see my sister!’
Beamish turned to the door. ‘All right, chums, come on in and give me a hand.’
Two burly attendants strode into the room and pulled Florence to her feet.
While Florence was being dragged from her cell, the door to the cell next door opened and a serene-looking Eva was led out, about to be escorted back to the main house by a nurse.
‘Go with it, Florence, just relax and you won’t get hurt,’ Eva reiterated as she glided past.
‘That’s the most sense I’ve ever heard from that woman,’ Beamish muttered. ‘She’s right, Miss McCleland, just relax. We only want to help you.’
Florence took a deep breath and did her best to calm down, trying to follow Eva’s example. She insisted that they let go of her so she could walk on her own and promised not to give them any trouble. They stopped outside a bleak-looking room with a long table, a low hanging central ceiling light and a trough-like sink. It looked like an operating theatre with the addition of some strange-looking electrical contraptions.
Fogarty was standing in the middle of it, smiling at her, covered from neck to toe in a long white gown.
Once more, Florence began to scream.
‘It’s all right, Miss McCleland, no one’s going to operate on you, I promise,’ Beamish endeavoured to reassure Florence as both men struggled to restrain her. With the two of them attacking her at once it was impossible to perform her jujitsu moves. Finally Florence’s legs gave way, and she sank to the floor.
‘There there, my dear, sit quietly for a moment so I can explain. You don’t want to be put back in the straitjacket, do you?’ Fogarty asked in a tone of reason.
Florence shook her head, tried to control her tears, the panic churning inside her. ‘But I’m in an operating theatre,’ she said, looking around her.
Beamish continued to loom above her, ready to grab her if she made a bolt for it. ‘You are indeed in an operating theatre. But this one doubles as my electrotherapy room.’ Fogarty stepped aside and gestured towards a wooden box with a crank, and a cage-like contraption much larger than the box, with three sides constructed of wire mesh. It was plugged into a socket in the wall.
Florence knew little enough about electricity. Other than it could kill.
‘I refuse to consent to any of your treatments,’ she said to Fogarty through gritted teeth.
‘I’m afraid your behaviour last night made your consent, or lack of it, irrelevant.’
Her voice rose a pitch. ‘I’m sorry, then, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have behaved like I did and I will never do that again. Please!’ Unintentionally, she wrapped her arms around her torso and commenced rocking from side to side.
Beamish put his hand on her shoulder. ‘It’s all right, miss. All Doctor Fogarty is going to use on you is the Clerk’s machine. He uses it on Mrs Blackman all the time.’ He pointed to the wooden box. ‘The current is harmless, but strong enough to correct some of the electrical pathways in your brain that have gone wrong. You will feel much better for it, I promise.’ His tone was soothing and sincere.
‘What about that cage thing?’ Florence asked.
‘You will be sitting behind it for protection,’ said Fogarty.
‘You’re using the Faraday too, sir?’ Beamish queried.
Fogarty used his hand to flick the air, dismissing his concern. ‘Just a slight modification to increase safety — it’s perfectly above board, old chap.’
Fogarty moved over to a surgical trolley and drew something up into a glass syringe. ‘Help me give her this, Beamish. It’ll make her more compliant, and then you can leave us.’
Beamish hesitated.
‘Come on man, we haven’t all day
!’
‘Whatever you say, Doctor.’ Beamish took hold of Florence’s arm and pushed back her sleeve. ‘Don’t fight it, Miss McCleland, it’ll only hurt more if you do,’ he said gently.
Florence bit hard on her lower lip. ‘Ow!’
‘I’m sorry, that’s the only pain you will feel.’ Fogarty handed the syringe to Beamish. I think you will find the rest of your treatment quite pleasant. Leave us, please, Mr Beamish.’
‘Doctor, are you sure?’
‘I said, leave us.’ His tone was harsh now.
Beamish looked at Florence and smiled reassuringly before closing the door behind him.
Fogarty and Florence were alone. Fogarty folded his arms, leant against the trolley and stared at her. At first she felt self-conscious, and looked around the room for a weapon or a means of escape. She tried to climb from the floor and then decided it was too much effort. She felt herself relax as the drug took effect. Suddenly, she didn’t really care what happened.
After several minutes Fogarty stretched down his hand and helped her to her feet. She wobbled and he used both his hands to steady her.
‘Now it’s very important, for the sake of your own safety that you listen very carefully to my instructions. Do you understand?’
Florence nodded. She felt wonderful, as if she had floated away from all of her worries. He guided her to a wooden stool on a rubber mat and sat her down in the middle of the three-sided mesh cage.
‘This mesh is made of copper wire, Florence. When the power is turned on the wire will be transmitting a huge electrical voltage. It is very important that you don’t touch it, do you understand?’
Florence nodded. ‘Don’t touch the cage.’
‘Good. The cage is your protection from the modifications I have made to the settings of the Clerk’s machine. The voltage is now much stronger than the usual therapeutic dose and will be amplified further by the cage. The greater magnetic field means that the atoms in your body will be completely rearranged and the toxins expelled. This will be the making of you, my dear Miss McCleland. You have so much potential, but some tiny part of your wiring has been misdirected. You are my perfect candidate. You will be the first of many to be cured of their mental ailments. You and I will be going down in medical history as the first successful pioneers of electrical therapy.’
Chapter Twenty-Nine
‘So, do we have enough information to justify a search warrant?’ Dody asked Pike as they enjoyed a full breakfast in the hotel dining room.
‘Yes. And no. As the file was illegally obtained,’ Pike gave Dody a severe look over the top of his coffee cup, ‘it must be put back exactly where it was found, as I said last night. But while you were getting dressed I telephoned Singh and asked him to look into Hislop’s finances and told him what we had found in his ex-wife’s file. Namely, the exorbitantly high fees listed under miscellaneous expenses that suggest Hislop was paying first Doctor Fogarty senior to keep his wife locked away and then Fogarty junior when he took over.’
‘By the time Fogarty junior took over, I expect the poor woman was well on the way to being justifiably insane anyway,’ Dody commented.
‘Quite. I told Singh to use the information from the file for guidance only. I suspect poor Mrs Hislop is not the only victim in the home of this kind of corruption.’
‘Can you trust Singh?’
‘I would trust Singh with my life. He swore he’d not mention the file to anybody. I’m expecting to hear back from him this afternoon. Hopefully we’ll get enough evidence from Fogarty’s financial records to get a search warrant for the place. I’ll pop the file back when I’m searching the office and magically find it again.’
Dody breathed a sigh of relief. ‘I got it from the drawer, not the filing cabinet, meaning that Fogarty was probably looking at it recently.’ She looked at Pike fondly. ‘Thank you, Matthew, I know how hard this must be for you.’
Pike said nothing for a moment. ‘There’s one thing that both you and your sister have taught me …’ He hesitated.
‘Yes?’ she prompted.
‘That sometimes you—’ He coughed into a closed fist. ‘Sometimes one just has to learn to adapt the rules — be it ever so slightly.’
Her hand crept across the table to his. ‘Your integrity will be by no means diminished by this action, Matthew.’
‘I hope not. You are a corruptive influence, Doctor McCleland.’
‘And you are not without challenge yourself, Chief Inspector Pike,’ she said with a dash of saucy innuendo.
Pike chuckled.
Dody’s mind raced to other topics. ‘Don’t forget the specimen jars in the storeroom — that’s what I’m counting on. Proof of illegal operations will surely get the place shut down and investigated.’
‘Proof of men paying Fogarty to get their troublesome wives locked up and out of the way — the Mrs Hislops of this world — will also get the place investigated,’ Pike added.
‘Good. But I hope to reveal a lot more than that.’
Pike strode up to the front door of the rest home with Dody beside him, the magistrate’s search warrant in his pocket, and three village constables bringing up the rear. He could only pray that his actions would in some way make reparation to the women wronged by his part in the promotion of the ‘Cat and Mouse’ Act — a sobriquet that, shamefully, even he now saw as appropriate.
Not only had he capitulated to Violet’s pleas — something that only a week ago he could never have imagined doing — but he now found himself fighting for an even greater cause that he had not previously known existed: women who had been wrongly locked up and operated on, whose only crimes were their desperation for equality, independence, and the means to escape cruelty. God in heaven, he’d be wearing the purple, green and white next!
Pike showed the young man who answered the front door the search warrant and asked him to fetch the hospital administrator to meet with him in the main office. He sent one of the constables along to escort the attendant to ensure that no one was warned along the way. Then Pike ordered the other constable to round up all available staff not immediately responsible for patient welfare and confine them to one room. Dody chose to follow that officer, telling Pike she needed to find out where Florence was.
Pike and the third constable followed the signs to the administration office.
Fogarty’s office was as Dody had described. He told the constable to check the storeroom while he made a beeline to the top drawer of the desk. He was playing at examining Cynthia Hislop’s file when the constable rushed from the storeroom, a sickly green tinge to his youthful face.
‘Oh my God, sir,’ the lad exclaimed. ‘Come an’ ’ave a look in ’ere – this can’t be right!’
Pike peered into the storeroom and saw the jars, exactly as Dody had described them. No acting skills were necessary for Pike to give an impression of shock. The specimens in the jars were hideous, and made the ovary he’d been sent seem nothing more than a curiosity. One of the jars was big enough to contain the lower part of a woman minus legs, with the most intimate of her body parts exposed.
Worried that he might be sick, Pike spoke through his handkerchief to the constable. ‘Use the desk telephone and call the station. We need more men. Tell them to bring along plenty of evidence boxes and labels. I want the entire contents of this office packed up and itemised. Charges will be laid.’
Leaning on his cane, Pike lurched into the corridor and composed himself with some deep breaths. For the umpteenth time he wondered how Dody could be so inured to the gruesome sights of her job as to continue to pursue their own physical intimacy with such tenderness. Pike shook his head, wondering if he would ever manage to rid his mind of the hideous specimen in the jar.
Pike jammed his handkerchief into his pocket. The officer sent to fetch Fogarty was taking an inordinately long time; he’d better see what was holding him up. He followed the sign down the corridor to the day room where he found Dody and the constable questioning the gat
hered staff.
Dody finished with the attendant she had been talking to and hurried over to Pike, twisting her hands. ‘Apparently Fogarty is in the treatment building with Florence.’
Pike ran. Dody lifted her skirts and followed, dashing towards the rear of the building. They paused outside the activity room to read the signs. Two women dropped the baskets they had been weaving and joined them in the passage. Pike recognised one of the ladies as Lady Mary. The other was tall, graceful and dark-haired, and she seemed to know Dody as she had taken hold of her arm.
‘I know the building well, let me help you find Florence,’ she said.
‘Thank you, Eva, the more help the better,’ Dody answered.
They bolted on, sliding around the corners of the slippery floors, charging through doorways, Lady Mary shuffling along some distance behind. They ran out of the back door and pulled up in a cobbled yard, smack in front of an unmarked red-brick building. The constable Pike had sent earlier was hammering on the door.
‘The treatment house,’ Dody panted.
The constable stopped, turning towards them. ‘I was told Fogarty was in here with a patient, sir,’ he said. ‘But I can’t get anyone to open the door.’
Pike took in the solid brick structure with the chimney, small ventilation holes and distinct lack of windows. The unhinged padlock hanging from the thick chain on the door led him to assume the door had been bolted from the inside.
‘It’s soundproof, Chief Inspector,’ Eva said. ‘And when you see what goes on in there, you’ll understand why.’
Dody grabbed at Pike’s arm and dug her fingers into his flesh. Pike felt what she felt, a cold snake of fear wrapping itself around his heart. ‘There has to be some kind of ventilation shaft, or another way into this place,’ he reasoned aloud in a voice steadier than it felt.
There was a shout. A young attendant with a neat blond beard ran to join them, followed by the constable who was supposed to be watching the staff.
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