“I came here almost every week, because Mr. Gersbach didn’t want Anna coming to the village. He was strange about rules—a little frightening, actually. He never came to see us when I visited, and neither did Mrs. Gersbach. She was always ill with something or other. Mikael was older—he’d come and spend time with us sometimes. He was sweet and kind, and I liked him. But mostly it was Anna and me. We’d go walking, or ride our bicycles, or read books to each other, or on rainy days we’d just sit in her room and talk—she had the nursery to herself; Mikael had a room on the second floor, where the men stay now. At first she liked to talk because it helped with her English, but after a while her English was just fine and we talked anyway. We talked about dresses and hairstyles and getting married. Girl things, you know.”
I didn’t, but I nodded anyway. Jack had stretched his legs out and was leaning back in the grass, listening.
“Then the war came,” said Maisey. “Anna barely noticed it. The Swiss were neutral, but the Gersbachs spoke French, and Mr. Gersbach saw himself as an English lord. He said the Germans were butchers, and that if he had been young enough, he’d go fight them himself. As for me, I waited until I was of age, and I told my parents I wanted to be a nurse.”
“So you really are a nurse?” I broke in.
“Yes, of course.” Maisey looked puzzled.
I felt myself going red. “It’s just—the book.”
“Oh, that. I knew they would only be shell-shock cases at Portis House, not casualty cases. I didn’t want my skills to get rusty, that’s all. Of course I’m a nurse. You can’t pretend that sort of thing—that would be mad.”
I said nothing, but I thought I saw Jack smile.
“I left for London in the spring of 1916,” Maisey went on, “to train. Anna and I wrote each other nearly every day at first; I was horribly lonely in London, and of course she was at Portis House with no companionship at all. We told each other everything. She wrote that Mikael had joined the army and was being sent off to Belgium, that he hadn’t wanted to go, but their father had told him he had no choice. He said his son would do credit to his adopted country and family name. There seemed to be some sort of awful scene over it, though Anna didn’t really explain. She was even lonelier after Mikael left. She seemed depressed. She said it was awful here. I asked her if there was anything else wrong, besides her worrying over Mikael, but she said no. She wrote me less and less often, but still she wrote. And then she stopped.”
“Stopped?” I said.
Maisey bit her lip again, her eyes worried. “Just stopped. Suddenly there was nothing. After all those letters, after years of confidences. Nothing.”
“So they moved,” said Jack.
“Moved?” said Maisey. “Mr. Gersbach built this place. This was his English estate, he called it. They’d lived here for only ten years. She would have told me something big like that. And she knew where to find me. Why didn’t she still write me?” She shook her head. “I wrote her letter after letter, but she never answered. That’s when I knew.”
“Knew what?” I said.
“That something had happened to her. If Anna could have written me, if she was physically capable of it, she would have. The fact had to be that she couldn’t write me.”
Jack pushed himself back up into a sitting position, drawing up his knees again. “All right. I’ll admit that’s strange. What do you think happened?”
“I don’t know.” Now Maisey’s voice conveyed real anguish. “Her last letters hadn’t concerned me overmuch at first, but when I reread them, they’re so horribly downcast and gloomy, as if something was wrong. Papa wrote me that the Gersbachs had left, but I heard that no one had seen the trucks move out.” She stopped, went on. “He said they were opening a hospital here. I was working in London by then—the war was over. I took a few days’ leave and came back to see for myself. There it was, clear as day: a hospital moved into Portis House. I couldn’t believe it. Everyone thought it curious, but the Gersbachs had been standoffish, even snobs. They kept to themselves; they never made friends. Half the town thought they must be German. No one much cared what had happened to them. Except me. Anna was my friend, my true friend. Something had happened to her. Something horrible.”
Maisey was close to tears. I remembered the face in the locket. That must have been Anna, a keepsake given to her friend. I wondered what it felt like to have a friend like that, a girl who was like a sister. It must be wonderful. And what would I do if I had such a friend and she disappeared? The answer was obvious. “So you applied for a job at Portis House,” I said, “to find her.”
Maisey nodded. “Matron took me on. I resigned my position in London, and Papa sent for my things. I told Papa the war was over, the men were coming home, and someone had to help the shell-shocked ones.”
“He didn’t want you looking into Anna’s disappearance,” Jack said.
“No. We fought over it. He said it was over, the Gersbachs had left somehow, Anna had forgotten about me, and that was all. She was just a girl, and girls forget. He thinks girls forget their best friends.” I’d never had a friend like Anna, but even I knew that was wrong. “So I pretended I’d let it go for a while, and then I told him I wanted to work at Portis House. He never suspected. He was just happy I wanted to work somewhere close to home.”
I leaned forward on the bench. “Maisey, have you heard anything about ghosts at Portis House? Anything at all?”
Her eyes widened. “Never,” she said. “Not until I started working there. I had spent many nights at Portis House, you understand. It wasn’t haunted. We never even joked about it. But after I came back . . .” She looked down at her lap, where she twisted her gloved hands together. “The staff talks, you know,” she said. “And the house had changed. They’d closed off the west wing. Mr. Gersbach’s library was an isolation cell. The gardens were overgrown. The entire house is—it’s rotting in some weird way. It was never like that before. It was a new house. There was never as much as a scratch in the paint when I stayed there. Now the plaster is falling from the ceiling in the west wing. And the feeling is different. As if there’s something wrong. I asked about the Gersbachs—I tried to be subtle—but no one knew anything. And then Matron put me on night shift . . .”
“What did you see?” I asked.
“There were sounds in the lav,” Maisey answered. “There was something awful about it; I didn’t even want to go in. I started thinking about Anna, wondering how she would feel if she saw her home like this, if she were here to see it being used as a madhouse, falling apart, a place of so much misery and suffering. And I started imagining that Anna really still was there, in the house somewhere, watching me.”
She stopped and dashed at the tears that had started in her eyes, then continued. “It started to feel real, as if she was trying to tell me something. I thought if she was haunting the place, it meant something terrible had happened to her, something unthinkable, and now she couldn’t rest. Then Mr. Childress had that awful nightmare, he started screaming, and—” She pressed her hand to her mouth again. “I know he didn’t mean it, but it was so terrifying. And on top of everything else I was thinking, I didn’t know what to do. So I lost my nerve. I packed a bag and got on my bicycle and went home.”
I leaned back on my bench, my shoulders sagging. She hadn’t actually seen the ghosts, then. “That was two weeks ago,” I said.
“Yes.” She sighed. “I’ve recovered now, and I’ve had time to think about it. I realize my imagination got away from me, and I’m no further along than when I started. But when you wrote me, I thought . . .”
“You thought Kitty could continue the investigation,” Jack said.
Maisey blinked. She seemed surprised he’d spoken, but then I realized she’d noticed the use of my first name. “I don’t know. I just know that nothing has been answered, and now I’ve gone, and perhaps—perhaps if you heard anything, if you f
ound any answers, you could tell me. Perhaps they got sick? All of them?” She looked at me with pathetic hope in her eyes. “It could have happened. But then, who buried them? If Anna is dead, I want to pay my respects to her grave.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I heard that Mr. Gersbach dismissed all the servants.”
“What?” Maisey shook her head. “I didn’t know that. Would he have done that if the family was ill?”
“He told the servants they were moving.”
“Then why didn’t Anna tell me?” She looked helpless. “When I came home I heard that Mikael died in the war, that he was shot in some horrible way. Sweet, kind Mikael. Then I heard another rumor that he came home after all. I don’t know which one is true. Anna never wrote to me about it. If Mikael had died, it would have devastated her.”
“I promise, if I find out anything, I’ll let you know.”
“If we find out anything,” Jack said. He was still sitting in the grass, listening, looking at me.
“Jack,” I said, “it’s too risky. You said it yourself.”
“And you talked me out of it, remember?” He turned to Maisey, who sat tongue-tied. “Nurse Ravell, if I gave you some letters, would you take them to the village and post them for me?”
I opened my mouth to protest, but Maisey said, “Yes, sir.”
“And if the replies were sent to you, could you keep them hidden and bring them here to me somehow?”
“No,” I said.
Jack turned to me. “Mikael Gersbach,” he said. “If there’s a record, no matter how secret, I can find it.” His blue eyes sparked. “England’s fallen hero is owed a few favors.”
“I could bring the replies here,” said Maisey. “To this spot. I could come early in the morning and leave them tucked under this bench here, where no one will see them.”
Jack stood, brushed the grass from his clothes. “I’ll check the spot on my morning run. I’ll put my letters out tomorrow morning. If you bring me a reply, wait two days and come again in case I have another.”
She sat up straight, her tears drying. “Yes, sir.”
“I hope it isn’t too much trouble, on that bicycle of yours.” He turned to me with half a grin on his face. He knew exactly what I’d been thinking.
“This is a terrible idea,” I protested.
“That’s too bad, because it’s yours.” He looked down at me, the sun changing the shade of his dark hair, the wind tousling it against his temples. “Besides, it’s no worse than what you’re planning.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” How did he know everything?
“Yes, you do. And if you’re going to do it, you’ll need my help. Don’t try it without me. And now,” he said with perfect solemnity, “exercise is over. Paulus said there’d be fresh pears at tea this afternoon, and I want to know if he was lying. Nurse Ravell—” He nodded good day to her stunned expression, and jogged back off through the trees.
“He seems . . . rather well,” Maisey said. “I don’t think he was like that when I was here.”
“Oh, God,” I replied. I’d just given a mental patient access to a bicycle, an accomplice, and private mail. Just because a man has lost his sanity does not mean he is incapable of subterfuge. In fact, they have no moral qualms at all. “What have I done?” I said to her. “I’ve enlisted a madman to help me. Now what should I do?”
“I think you should let him help.”
I stood and walked the way Jack had taken, peering through the trees. As he approached the house, Paulus Vries appeared, and another orderly, and another; they’d been looking for him, then. They fanned out in a tense semicircle around him. Jack paused, and then he spoke. One of the orderlies answered. Jack spoke again, and one orderly laughed, and then another. The tension vanished and the four of them walked back to the terrace. Just like that.
I’d enlisted him, but it didn’t mean I could control him. Matron couldn’t control him; neither could the doctors. Jack Yates followed only the rules he chose to follow, and only when it suited him.
And now he was working for me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“Sleeves,” said Matron.
Martha, Nina, Boney, and I stood before her in a line. As one we held out our arms, clothed in the long sleeves we’d fastened on that morning, rows of starchy whiteness hanging parallel in the air.
Matron walked from one end of our short line to the other. Her brow was tensed, her gaze malevolent, a look that meant she was seeking something to criticize. It was another inspection, but this one was not in honor of the doctors.
We’d been hard at work since six that morning—even Nina, who had been given permission to finish night shift at two o’clock and get four hours’ rest. We had scrubbed, polished, straightened, hauled linens, dusted, aired every man’s room and changed his bed linens—all nineteen of them. My legs were shaking with exhaustion, but it didn’t seem quite as bad as when I’d first started. Perhaps I was getting stronger.
“This is an important day,” Matron announced to us, Henry V rallying his battle-worn troops. “This is visitors’ day. The day in which members of the outside world come to the inner confines of Portis House. The day in which we make an impression.”
Behind her, something clanged in the kitchen and someone cursed.
“I cannot express to you,” Matron continued, ignoring the sound, “the importance of our conduct today. There will be no breaks. No socializing. Any breach of the rules absolutely will not be tolerated.” I thought perhaps her gimlet gaze rested on me as she said this. “Sloppiness is inexcusable. Rudeness is inexcusable. You will speak to our visitors only when spoken to, and only in polite tones. The patients who do not have visitors may be unhappy and may misbehave. It is your duty to see that any such displays are kept from sight and sound of our visitors. If this is not followed, Mr. Deighton will hear of it. Do I make myself clear?”
We stood silent. I swallowed past a lump in my throat.
“You are experienced nurses,” Matron said. This time she did not look at me. “Be aware. Be vigilant. These men are our patients, but they are also insane. The insane can be crafty and mischievous, especially on days like these. The orderlies are also on extra guard. You know what to look for. Be sure you recognize it.”
“Yes, Matron,” said Boney.
“Very well. This is the list.” Matron took a piece of paper from her pocket, unfolded it, and read to us the list of men who were to have visitors that day. “Mr. Hodgkins. Mr. Derby. Mr. West. Mr. Creeton.” She folded the paper and put it away again.
“Thank goodness it’s Creeton this time,” Martha said to me in a low voice as we walked down the corridor after dismissal. “He’s always the worst to make trouble on visiting days.”
“I don’t quite understand Creeton,” I ventured. Creeton was, without exception, the patient I avoided as much as possible. “He doesn’t seem quite insane to me. Just angry.”
“You haven’t seen how angry he can be,” said Nina. “I heard that at the casualty clearing station they had him in, he shot at one of the doctors with a gun he stole from the Germans.”
“He what?”
“He missed,” Martha put in. “But he had a gun he’d taken from a dead soldier, and he shot it sure enough. I heard it from another nurse I know. She said he had a breakdown after his squadron was attacked with liquid fire.”
I’d heard of liquid fire, petrol sprayed through hoses and lit. It didn’t bear thinking about. “And his family hasn’t visited him in all this time?”
Nina shrugged. “Most of the families don’t. They’re too ashamed. Except for Mr. Derby—his fiancée comes every time.”
Derby was the patient who slept on the floor of his room, as if he were in a trench. If he had a fiancée, she was in for a bit of a surprise on their wedding night. “I hope they have a competent laundres
s,” I said, and I half meant it, but Martha stifled a giggle, and even Nina looked away quickly, as if to hide a smile.
Breakfast had finished, and the men waited in the common room. The French doors had been thrown open and a warm breeze came in, wafting on kind rays of sunshine and making the air fragrant. “The motorcars are coming,” Martha whispered to me, and she and Nina went to the great entry hall at the front of the house to greet the visitors as I stood duty over the men.
“We should be allowed suits,” Creeton complained loudly from his place on one of the sofas. He seemed to be speaking to no one, or to the room at large. “A suit for just one damned day. I have to see my own father while I’m wearing pajamas.”
He was keyed up, his face tight, and the other men didn’t look much better. I was in charge of a powder keg, and I looked for the familiar form of Paulus, leaning on the wall outside the door in his usual position. He gave me a nod.
A hand touched my arm, and I looked down to see Tom Hodgkins looking up at me from his place in a chair. “Is someone coming today?” he asked me.
“Yes,” I said. His name had been on the list. “Your family.”
Confusion crossed his face, and then his expression resolved itself. “I’d like to see my mum,” he said. “I think I’ve been away.”
I had no idea whether his mother was coming, so I simply said, “Perhaps you will.” This pleased him, and I looked around again. There was one face I did not see.
“Good morning,” said a voice behind me.
I turned my shoulders just enough to glimpse Jack standing a few feet away, holding a five-week-old newspaper as if it utterly engrossed him. He leaned one shoulder against the wall, hooked one foot behind the other, and did not look at me.
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