by Andy Emery
‘I haven’t finished! The scrawny cat that wanders around the stockade occasionally. It’s not been seen in the last few days. And two days ago, Skliansky saw Volkov hiding something under the floorboards. Swears blind he was wiping blood from his face when he got up again.’
‘I can see where this is going. The death of that consumptive yesterday?’
Maliutin nods. ‘Markov, yes. Skliansky was a doctor in general practice. He says there was a small wound in Markov’s chest. Of course, no chance of examining the body, but he reckons that may have been the cause of death, not the disease.’
‘And the connection to Volkov?’
‘He was the last man anyone can remember talking to Markov. Quietly whispering to him for ages, not long before he died. But was talking all he did? Administering his own version of the last rites, more like.’
Cheremukin scoffed. ‘You realise it could be Doctor Skliansky who’s the lunatic? I’m still not convinced. Even if Volkov put the consumptive out of his misery, it might be viewed as another mercy killing.’
‘So, someone’s appointed himself an angel of death, finishing off those he considers deserve to die, and you think it’s fine?’
‘Listen, Maliutin. I’ve got enough to think about just surviving in this place. I’m sick of this gossip. It belongs in the playground.’
Cheremukin gets up, with much effort, and makes to push through the crowd, away from Maliutin. But Maliutin grabs his sleeve. ‘Alright, be like that. But if you’re sensible, you’ll avoid him. Mark my words.’
Volkov glances at the two men as they bicker: one tubby, the other unnaturally tall and thin. They had stolen furtive looks at him just now, but he’s not concerned. He reaches inside his greatcoat and feels the furry body he has secreted there, warmed by his own torso.
He has carefully chosen a position where he cannot be overlooked when he faces the wall, as he is doing now. He’s next to the end of a bed, further concealing his actions. He carefully pulls out the rat’s limp carcass and slits open the middle of its belly with his knife. He scoops out the entrails and slides them under the bed.
He lowers his head and chews on the meagre meat.
20
Gedge and Polly were dropped by a hansom cab at the ornate wrought-iron entrance gates of the Farnsworth Asylum for the Criminally Insane, an imposing structure not far from Liverpool Street railway station. The last time they’d been there, Gedge was trussed up naked in the boiler room, and Polly had rescued him, disguising herself as an older woman and knocking out a thug in the process.
The edifice that faced them now looked totally different from the sinister building they had entered several months earlier. It could have been a brand new structure: renovated brickwork, freshly painted doors and window frames, gleaming steel bars protecting all the windows.
Polly looked up at the building. ‘So I gather this place is now privately run?’
‘Yes. It used to be operated by the London Corporation, but it’s under new management. From what Cross said, its public face is this Professor Demeter character, who’s highly regarded in the treatment of mental diseases. There’s talk that his methods are new and revolutionary. It’s actually run by a board of directors, but aside from Demeter, the rest of their names aren’t published. They’re assumed to be rich philanthropists. Demeter cooperates with the police, of course, and there’s some degree of government scrutiny. But the governance of the place sounds a bit fishy to me.’
‘And me! Still, we need to concentrate on the matter at hand. Levitt.’
They climbed the steps to the main entrance, and a porter in a pale blue uniform showed them to Professor Demeter’s office on the first floor.
‘I must say, I was surprised by this request to interview Theodore Levitt again. I was minded to refuse permission, but I was convinced otherwise by an official in the War Office, if you please. You have some highly placed friends, Mr Gedge.’
In just a few minutes of pleasantries, Gedge had already formed a bad impression of Professor Gilbert Demeter. Pomposity seemed to be his stock in trade. His hair and moustache glistened with oil, and for a man his age, the deep chestnut brown could only have been achieved with dye. He constantly fiddled with his wire-framed spectacles, moving the smears around with a cloth.
‘Thank you for agreeing to let us meet Levitt, Professor. He may be able to help us understand the death of Miss Rondeau’s father.’
Demeter looked at Polly. His eyes lit up and a grin spread across his face. ‘Ah, yes. Miss Rondeau. It is rare to have such a pretty young lady within these walls. The only females here are inmates, and they are, well, decidedly unattractive.’
Lascivious as well, thought Gedge, noticing Polly tense in her chair. He spoke before she had a chance to respond. ‘Can you summarise Mr Levitt’s condition and his treatment, Professor?’
Demeter leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. ‘He’s an interesting case. He hears voices, sees visions and has episodes of erratic behaviour, which all suggest a condition called dementia praecox, coined by the German, Dr Kraepelin, a few years ago. Kraepelin says that such cases develop in the young, and tend to always get worse with age. I believe that there is a possibility of a cure, however. Our man Levitt may provide me with the opportunity for a great breakthrough in the treatment of mental disorders. Unfortunately his previous regular use of opium has complicated things. As to his treatment, I am not prepared to reveal the details. I would not wish my pioneering work to be exposed outside this building, until I have a chance to publish.’
Gedge said, ‘Indeed, Professor. And the details may be beyond us mere mortals. But the general thrust?’
Demeter considered his response. Gedge got the impression that his desire for secrecy was battling with the urge to boast.
‘The regime involves some re-education in proper behaviour, aided by the application of certain medicinal drugs, leavened with periods of restraint. I will not reveal more, especially as you are not even family members.’
The atmosphere had become frosty. All three were silent for a moment.
Demeter revived himself. ‘I don’t imagine, Miss Rondeau, that you wish to expose yourself to the unpleasantness of venturing onto our wards, so I’ve taken the liberty of ordering some refreshments for the two of us, while Mr Gedge takes care of business with Levitt.’ He gestured to a sideboard, and a tray of tea and biscuits.
Gedge smirked. He knew what was coming.
‘My dear Professor. The only purpose of my being here is to see Mr Levitt myself. I will certainly not be taking tea or anything else alone with you, and furthermore, I find your earlier comments, both about me and your female inmates, to be offensive and unprofessional.’
Demeter drew his mouth into a taut line and looked as if he might choke. ‘I have never been spoken to in such a way by a woman!’
Polly shrugged. ‘Well, if you carry on the way you are going, you might have to get used to it.’
Gedge intervened. ‘Professor, time is short. Could we please see Levitt now? As you said, this interview does have the backing of a government department.’
Demeter’s nose had been put out of joint. ‘Very well. I will get an orderly to take you up there. I’m sure you will get nothing useful out of him, but it’s your own time you are wasting. I have important matters to attend to, and I will not be able to see you when you leave. I hope you will not require any further visits to our institution. I predict today’s little pantomime will, if anything, set back our patient’s progress.’
With that, he rang a bell on his desk, got up and left the room, slamming the door. Gedge cast a sidelong glance at Polly and both had to stifle giggles.
A few seconds later, another blue-uniformed lackey appeared. He was gaunt and vacant and spoke in a harsh Scottish drawl. ‘Sir, madam. My name’s Fraser. I will take ye to Mr Levitt.’
They followed the silent warder up two flights of stairs, and waited as he unlocked a heavy door. Beyon
d, a long corridor gave onto a dozen rooms either side. At the far end was a desk, where a seated functionary looked up and nodded, before returning to a book.
Gedge looked at Fraser. ‘The professor used the word “ward”, giving the impression of a hospital environment. But what we’re seeing here is more redolent of a prison block.’
‘Aye, well, this is an establishment for the criminally insane. Almost by definition, the inmates are dangerous and need to be confined. We couldn’t have them just wandering about. The man ye’ve come to see, Levitt, is a danger to himself, rather than others.’
‘Really? How so?’
‘His mania. At times it has caused him to rake his fingernails down his own face, to scratch at his exposed forearms. He even began to bang his head on the walls. The professor thought he was trying to bash his own brains out. We have to restrain him.’
‘Presumably,’ said Polly, ‘withdrawal symptoms from the laudanum would have had a bad effect on him, in addition to whatever else ails his mind?’
‘No doubt, miss, but ye’d have to talk to the Professor about that.’
Polly cast a worried look at Gedge, which he returned. The prospects, both for Levitt himself, and their chances of getting anything out of him, were looking bleak.
Fraser approached one of the doors, and looked through a barred window. He produced a set of keys, unlocked the door, and stepped into the cell-like room. ‘Theodore, a couple of visitors for ye.’ He stepped to one side, revealing the interior to Gedge and Polly.
They first noticed the smell: a sickly odour of disinfectant that couldn’t quite hide an underlying bouquet of faeces, urine and sweat. Polly raised a hand to her face.
The only light was provided by a small barred window, high in one wall, and a couple of candles in wall sconces. The corners of the cell were cast in darkness. A single dilapidated cupboard stood against one wall, with a filthy commode against another. Facing them was a double bed, the sheets dirty grey and damp-looking. A figure lay there: a human form, but thin to the point of emaciation. He was pinned to the bed by some sort of leather jacket buckled around his chest. Leather handcuffs were chained to the jacket and prevented his hands from moving more than a few inches from his body. He was wearing pyjamas, grey and stained, and his hands and feet were ghostly: pale and bony. The face that stared at them from the propped-up pillow was like that of an animated cadaver.
For a second, the thought crossed Gedge’s mind that this remnant of a man might once have been quite handsome. He was in his late twenties, with a long jaw and a Roman nose. His black hair, projecting from his head in tufts, was already greying. His mouth sat open in a rictus grin, exposing a set of bright white teeth and allowing trails of spittle to meander down his chin. Levitt’s eyes almost bulged out of their sockets as he stared directly at Gedge and Polly, transfixing them with the piercing cobalt blue of the irises.
Polly turned to Fraser. ‘This is barbaric! Is this the sort of care you provide? I thought Professor Demeter had revolutionary new ideas about treatment? This looks like a return to the dark ages.’
‘With respect, Miss. The Professor is an expert in mental disorders, and he is clear that restraint like this is vital to the ultimate recovery of the patient. It is only part of the treatment. Ye must appreciate that the care of these people can be extremely challenging.’
Polly shook her head and looked away, muttering.
‘I will leave you with Mr Levitt, on condition that ye don’t say anything to excite him unduly. I will be outside in the corridor. Please note that Professor Demeter has told me to allow ye half an hour at most with the patient. Any longer may put an unacceptable strain upon him.’ Fraser turned on his heel and left the cell, leaving the door ajar.
As Gedge and Polly turned back to Levitt, they were astonished that he addressed them, in a clear, if somewhat laboured voice.
‘Visitors! How charming! I am Theodore Levitt, and you have the advantage on me.’
‘I’m Lucas Gedge and this is my associate, Polly Rondeau. Mr Levitt, we have come to ask you a few questions, if you feel up to answering them?’
Levitt let out a thin peel of laughter. ‘That is all the conversation I have these days, it seems. People ask me questions, and I answer them, best I may. What is it this time? More probings about my childhood? Demeter is fascinated by that. He thinks he can explain my condition, you know.’
Polly stepped forward. ‘No, Mr Levitt. We are not doctors. Nor do we work for the police. We want to ask about the incident at Clerkenwell that led to your arrest and then your incarceration here.’
Levitt goggled at her. ‘Your face looks familiar to me, Miss Rondeau, but I can’t place you.’
‘My father was killed at Clerkenwell that night. He was at the top of the stairs leading to that underground hell hole. He got into a fight and shot one of the men trying to escape, but he was killed. Stabbed to death. I believe by a young woman called Sally.’
Levitt recoiled. His eyes rolled back in his head and a grey tongue reached out and moistened his lips. He swallowed, and spoke. ‘That’s it! I recognise that man in your face. He was your father? Oh, I’m so sorry.’ Tears welled up and trickled down his hollow white cheeks.
Polly approached the bed, and placed a hand on Levitt’s pinioned arm. ‘Mr Levitt, can you tell us anything about my father’s death?’
‘Yes, I can!’
Polly produced a tissue and wiped the tears from Levitt’s face. ‘Please tell us, in your own time.’
‘What’s going on?’ Fraser burst into the room. ‘Didn’a tell you he’s not to be excited? Ye’re going to have to go.’
Gedge stepped in front of the man. ‘Please give us a few minutes longer. Mr Levitt has just indicated he knows something about the death of Miss Rondeau’s father. We may be on the verge of getting at the truth.’
The Scot looked sceptical. ‘Alright. Ye can carry on, but only with me standing right here. Any undue pressure put on the patient and the two of ye are out. Ye ken?’
Polly turned to Fraser. ‘Thank you for your understanding.’
Levitt continued. ‘It’s perfectly alright. I want to tell them what happened, as much as I can recall. It will be what Demeter calls cathartic.’ He took several deep breaths. ‘With all the commotion in the underground passages that night, gunshots and so forth, it was obvious the game was up. Please believe me. I would not have gone to such an event if my friends hadn’t taken me. The sale of girls to the highest bidder? Disgusting! It was like the return of slavery. My weakness lay in other areas. The occult, the mysteries of ancient Egypt. But my friend said it would be too good to miss.’
Polly leaned in. ‘Who was this friend of yours?’
‘Vincent Gunther. He was the son of a wealthy family in North London. I became friends with him through a shared interest in the occult world of ancient Egypt. Well, neither of us really believed in that stuff, but we were both members of the Mystical Order of Wepwawet. Yes, I know how it sounds. We just looked on it as a bit of fun. Dressing up in cloaks and taking part in strange rituals. All a bit of a joke, really, and we’d recently talked about leaving the group. But Vincent himself… It’s only since I’ve been in here that I’ve realised he was an unspeakable, arrogant bully. It was the sort of relationship I should have grown out of at prep school. He was an utter bastard, in fact, but for a while I found being with him the height of excitement and I just went along with whatever he suggested. No doubt he tried to get past your father, and he would have assumed he could do that with ease. He must have found to his cost that it wasn’t the case.’
‘Yes. Gunther was the man my father shot. And what about this girl, Sally? She must be about eighteen. Long, black hair.’
‘I’m afraid you’re right, Miss. She did kill your father.’
Polly bit her lip. ‘What happened, Theodore?’
‘Vincent always took the lead, and sure enough he charged up the staircase first, with me some way behind. Near the top, I hear
d a shout from an elderly voice. It must have been your father, Miss. Then a brief silence, and a gunshot. After that I heard a woman’s voice, shrieking like a wild cat. When I got to the top of the stairs, I saw Vincent lying on the floor, and this girl wrestling with your father. He had a revolver, but she’d got a good grip of his arm, and she was pulling something out of her shawl. There was a glint of light and I realised it was a knife. Next thing she was slashing at him. She must have cut him badly. He winced and dropped the gun. I shouted at her to leave him. We needed to get away, and there didn’t seem to be any more danger from him. But she wouldn’t stop cutting and stabbing him.’
Levitt’s voice trailed off. He’d seen Polly’s face dissolve into sobs. She let her hand drop away from him. Gedge wrapped a consoling arm around her.
‘I’m alright.’ Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Please continue, Mr Levitt.’
‘Finally, your father collapsed on the floor, Miss. I managed to pull her off and we ran out into the building site outside. Only just in time, as it turns out. As we got to the boundary fence, where there was a gap in the wire, I saw a group of policemen running in the opposite direction.
‘It didn’t dawn on me then, what a horrific act she’d just committed. I just wanted to get away, and she seemed so much more worldly than me. So I stuck with her. After getting through the fence, she ushered me through a broken down door into an abandoned house only a hundred yards away from where it had all happened. We waited there for hours, sitting on the floor in the dusty remnants of a living room. She told me a bit about herself, how she came over from Ireland as a youngster and worked in all sorts of dives. I told her about Vincent and about the cult.’
Gedge spoke up. ‘Anything else, Theodore?’
‘We talked a little about what we would do now, assuming we escaped from that grotty building. I said I would look anew at my life. I had in mind giving up the opium and actually doing something purposeful. Joining a profession, perhaps. Just a pipe dream, as it turns out.’