The Secret of Kolney Hatch

by Stefani Milan

  He let the curtain drift back into its former position, and taking a seat on his sofa, focused his eyes on the black mantel of his fireplace. Only two weeks had passed since his escape, and Paul could not help but remember all of the horrible things that happened at that facility. They were only memories now, but the horrid events from his time at Kolney Hatch played through his mind day and night. He had the most dreadful nightmares about Doctor Reid, Heathcliff, the girl, even Ransford, and the screams of the women burning in the ward tortured his mind and kept him up at night. He often woke drenched in sweat, forgetting he was home, and thinking his escape had just been a dream.

  Oscar had visited him everyday and tended to his wounds. Richard and Claire visited also—they brought him food and kept him company. Even Petunia Pennyworth had checked in on Paul and made sure he was well. Paul had told the London police everything he saw and heard at Kolney Hatch: the fraudulent payments, the entrance to the tunnels, and the location of the dead bodies. He even gave them his detailed journal, and they were currently investigating.

  Some nights, Paul would do anything to stay awake. He would read books, stare at the wall for hours, or go for walks in the middle of the cold night. Sleep deprived, Paul walked around in a daze, and any time he did fall asleep, he knew the nightmares would rise from deep within his mind and consume him.

  Now, on this day, Paul stood up from his sofa and made his way over to a mirror against the maroon wall of his drawing room. He placed his hands on the oak table under the mirror and hunched his body; his head hung low as he stared down at the table. When he looked up and into the mirror, he examined himself. Just a few weeks before, he had looked like a savage. His hair was long and haggard, and he had grown a fairly long beard.

  Now, his light brown hair was neatly trimmed and his beard shaven. His clothes were neatly pressed; he wore charcoal colored trousers, a white dress shirt, and a matching charcoal colored vest.

  On the surface, besides the dark circles from his lack of sleep and his still healing bruises, Paul appeared pristine and well, but he knew underneath that appearance was a deeply tumultuous mind. He heaved a sigh.

  “Good morning, Eda,” Paul said in a gentle tone as he shuffled into the kitchen.

  “How did you sleep last night, Paul?” Eda asked softly, as she fixed Paul some breakfast. Eda was very kind and patient with Paul during this traumatic time, and he was especially grateful for her company.

  “Same as the last two weeks.”

  “In time,” Eda replied with a halfhearted smile. “In time.”

  Paul nodded.

  “You can’t stay locked up in this house forever, Paul,” Eda said, setting a plate of eggs in front of him. “You’ve been through an awful ordeal, but you’re still surrounded by the people that love you.”

  “I know.”

  “I got you something for Christmas,” she said.

  “Eda, you didn’t have to get me anything,” he said.

  “Oh, but I did Paul, you’re my family.”

  She made her way over to a kitchen cupboard and pulled out a brown paper wrapped package.

  Paul opened it slowly, offering Eda a smile. Inside was a fresh, new brown leather notebook.

  “Thank you, Eda,” Paul said, a slight tear in his eyes. “Thank you.”

  “Paul, you must take Oscar’s offer to work with him at Maudsley, at least for now. You’re safe there, with Oscar.”

  “Oh, I don’t know Eda. I don’t think I’m up to it just yet.”

  “How about the Loxley Masquerade Ball? You’ll go there? You’ve never missed it.”

  Paul did not say anything. He did not want to go anywhere.

  “Christmas only comes once a year,” Eda continued. “You can’t just miss it because you aren’t feeling up to it.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Paul said. “And what will you do?”

  “I’m going to visit Amicus’s daughter. She’s all alone out there in Hemsby. Told her I’d go visit her.”

  “Bring her back with you,” Paul said. “We have the extra room. She could stay as long as she likes.”

  “But Paul, you’re in such a fragile condition. It’ll be too much.”

  “Eda, you’re my only family, and so she’s my family. Plus, she’s an orphan like me. Perhaps I could teach her a thing or two.”

  forty five

  A RETURN VISIT

  The grandfather clock chimed eleven in the morning. Richard and Claire had come to visit. Paul still did not feel well, so Claire brought him food—a casserole. She sat in the leather chair across from Paul while Richard sat on the sofa. Paul had a headache, and his stomach throbbed in pain. Oscar came in the morning to dress the wound. It was healing but still tender. He told Claire and Richard a little about the horrors of Kolney Hatch, but left out the girl in the tunnels.

  “So let me get this straight. Right before you left for Whitemoor, you reconnected with a friend from your childhood, Amy Rose.”

  “Yes. She warned me about Kolney Hatch in her letters. She told me to stay away from it and what the townspeople thought about the asylum, but I didn’t listen to her at first. I wish I had.”

  “This Amy, where is she now?” Claire asked curiously.

  “I wrote for her to visit,” Paul answered.

  He wrote a letter to Amy as soon as he got home, telling her he was safe and that now that he was away from Whitemoor, she should come and visit him.

  “You did?”

  “Yes, well, I think that’s a great idea,” Richard said. “We could all get together. Dinner at our house. Claire will cook up a nice warm meal, won’t you dear?”

  Claire seemed taken aback by the suggestion, but then complied.

  “Of course,” she said.

  “So tell me more about what happened at that asylum,” Richard said.

  “I don’t really want to talk about it,” Paul said as he sank further into the leather chair in his drawing room.

  “Alright, fine.” Richard changed the subject. “I see you’ve finally moved that painting from the stairwell to the fireplace mantel.”

  “Yes. I have, and I plan to make many more changes around here as well.”

  Paul had decided to start his life fresh. He had bought all new clothing, rearranged much of his furniture, and donated some old linens, tableware and books.

  “I must meet Petunia,” Claire said frowning at the clock. She stood up and kissed Richard on the cheek and then hugged Paul. “I’m so happy you’re home.”

  When Claire left, Paul and Richard sat in silence for a long time.

  “It’s over, right?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  Richard still sat looking down toward the glass of brandy in his hand.

  “The...thing...that happened between you and Claire. It’s over, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Paul looked at Richard whose dark eyes pierced his own now.

  “Come on, Paul,” Richard said, standing up and pacing with impatience. “I’m not that thick. I see the way she looks at you. Something happened between you two.”

  Paul stayed reticent. He did not want to betray Claire, but somehow Richard knew something had happened.

  “I don’t want to know the details of how you seduced my wife, Paul. I just want to know that it’s finished.”

  Paul hesitated before he answered.

  “It’s over,” Paul said quietly.

  “I’m not angry, you know,” Richard said still pacing. “I’m not. Well, I am, I’m furious with you actually, but I have no right to be. Suppose I deserve this anyway. I took her from you, and you paid me back royally for that.”

  “I’m sorry, Richard,” Paul said calmly. “I never meant...”

  “Don’t tell her I know, Paul.” Paul noted Richard’s menacing tone in his voice. “Let her think she has a secret. It’ll keep her on her toes. A woman with a secret is always worried about being found out. She’ll work harder t
o please me.”

  Richard continued to pace the floor, and then sat for a few seconds before standing again. Paul noticed Richard’s pretentious attitude toward Claire. He thought Richard would have been much angrier with him. The fact that he wasn’t could only mean one thing.

  “Who was she, Richard?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Paul sat upward in his chair.

  “Now you assume I’m the thick one. The Richard I know would never just forgive someone for something like that, especially me.”

  Richard hesitated for a moment before speaking.

  “Just some woman. Loxley got me involved with her, and I got caught up in it.”

  “Is it over?” Paul asked.

  Paul was angry with Richard, but he had no right to be.

  “Of course,” Richard said curtly.

  “Are you going to tell Claire?”

  “No, and I pray you don’t either. Like I said, let her have her secrets, and let me have mine.”

  forty six

  THE UNIDENTIFIED WOMAN

  Petunia did not want to slip on the ice.

  A slight snow fell from the gray skies. The bitter wind blew against her cheeks as she hurried down Peddler Street toward her home. She made a promise to honor her son by feeding the sparrows in the park every day at noon with Claire, and not even ice or snow would deter her from her mission.

  At four in the afternoon—after all, it was Saturday—Mrs. Wendell and Beatrice arrived for their usual get together in Petunia’s drawing room. Petunia had set out the three tea cups, the pot of tea, the tea cakes, and the fruit buns as usual.

  “The Loxley Masquerade? What a dreadful idea,” Mrs. Wendell said, taking a seat in her usual chair.

  “Oh, I wish to have been invited to a ball. Just once,” Beatrice pouted as she poured the tea into the three cups.

  “Phillip insists I go, otherwise, I can promise I would not’ve. As much as I like the Loxley affairs, I can’t bear another moment with them and their lot.”

  Petunia took a bite of her fruit bun.

  “They’re scoundrels, Petunia. I told you that a hundred times over,” Mrs. Wendell said.

  “I hear Paul Watson’s returned,” Beatrice said taking a sip of her tea.

  “With some rather unusual wounds,” Mrs. Wendell sneered as she put a tea cake on her small china plate.

  “Oh, yes, well, as he escaped from the burning building, he said he cut himself on something sharp and fell multiple times attempting to escape,” Petunia said.

  After all, that was how Paul had explained his stomach wound and facial bruises, though Petunia did not believe that was all that happened. Paul appeared different to Petunia somehow, as if he lost his innocence. He seemed a hardened man, older and wiser, and that made Petunia wonder what he had actually experienced at that asylum.

  “Oh, I did overhear something interesting,” Beatrice announced.

  “What is it now, Beatrice?” Mrs. Wendell said, fixing the top button on her black dress.

  “Well, I overheard…”

  “Let me guess, Constable Wyatt?” Petunia asked.

  “Exactly!” Beatrice said, “How did you know?”

  “Oh dear,” Mrs. Wendell said flashing Petunia a scornful look. “I don’t like you spying, Beatrice. You’re going to get caught.”

  “But Auntie, you say that every time, but I have not been caught yet.”

  “Well, what did you hear?” Mrs. Wendell asked.

  “Well...two weeks ago, I was just taking a walk, honest. I wasn’t following him or snooping. Well, I was but, I...”

  “Beatrice...” Mrs. Wendell warned.

  “Constable Wyatt was walking alone, just left the headquarters, when suddenly one of the policemen came to his side, saying the constable received a message all the way from Scotland. ‘What is this about?’ he says to the policeman. ‘You better come back inside, sir,’ he says, ‘They found a woman wandering in the snow, they think it may be the missing girl, Agatha.’”

  Both Mrs. Wendell and Petunia gasped.

  “Well, was it her?” Petunia asked. “Did she say what happened?”

  “I didn’t hear anything else. But I did hear something about another one of Lord Dellington’s affairs.”

  Petunia stayed lost in thought as Beatrice rambled on to Mrs. Wendell about Lord Dellington. She wondered if the wandering woman in the snow was Agatha. If it was, would she tell the police about Thomas Reid, the man with whom Roger had Phillip exchange the money? If Agatha was alive and would expose her kidnapper, and Louisa’s death was in fact connected to Agatha’s kidnapping, then Petunia knew a great revelation would come to the people of London very soon.

  forty seven

  A LOXLEY MASQUERADE BALL

  The sleek, black mask covered Paul’s eyes, nose, and some of his face. The swirled design seemed to make it fancy enough. He wore it every year and did not see a reason to buy a new one.

  It was Christmas Eve, and though Paul was not fully healed, as per tradition, he attended John Loxley’s annual Masquerade Christmas Ball at his mansion. A butler greeted Paul at the front door and took his hat and coat, which were wet from a gentle snow that began just as Paul arrived.

  The party had already started. He could hear the sounds of the orchestra: the violins, the cellos, the oboes, the saxophones, and the baby grand piano. The laughter and chatter of the masked guests echoed from the grand ballroom into the grand hall.

  He took a deep breath as he prepared to walk into the throng of masqueraders, many of whom were his close friends he had not seen since he arrived home.

  He walked straight through the grand hallway, toward the large archway of the grand ballroom. The Loxleys only used this room for their masquerade ball. John had told Paul once that any other event held in the room would spoil the masquerade’s memory, and he could not have that.

  Inside the golden-colored ballroom were tall archways and mirrors that made the room appear much bigger than it actually was. Three crystal chandeliers dangled from the ceiling. The largest one was in the middle, while the two smaller ones hung at the front and back of the room. Tables, dressed in white and covered with hors d'oeuvres, surrounded the dance floor, which was already filled with about a hundred or so guests all dressed in their masquerade attire.

  Paul had chosen a traditional black suit with a white shirt that buttoned to his neck and a black bowtie. His taupe on black vest produced a gold hue. Some men were dressed more theatrically with white wigs and hideous long-nosed, colorful masks. Their laughs were equally as theatrical, and Paul envied their carefree attitudes. The women were dressed more elegantly, long and shorter sequined dresses and glittery colorful masks, which they held to their eyes by the masks’ dainty poles. Some women wore feather headbands with jewels on the side of their finger-waved bobbed hair.

  Paul watched one of the women in a beautiful red long dress tip her head gently back as she laughed, her champagne glass tipping slightly back also.

  Though the conversations seemed casual, an air of mystery encompassed the room. Paul had no idea which of these people he knew.

  In the back corner was the bar, which was always fully stocked with a variety of liquor and drink—champagnes, wines, gins, whiskeys, the list was endless with the Loxleys. Guests could have anything they desired.

  As he observed the joyful guests, Paul glimpsed a bobbed-haired blonde in a sleek golden gown and mask. His heart pounded fast. Was that Rosalind? No. It couldn’t be, could it? In a split second, he lost sight of the woman in the throng of people.

  Paul recognized Constable Wyatt standing at one of the buffet tables. A servant placed a pastry onto one of his plates. Though the constable had a mask, his egg-shaped head was unmistakable. Paul knew that the constable was personally invited to the party by John Loxley.

  Not only was he a long-standing friend of the Loxley family, but John had paid the constable a few pounds on more than one occasion to keep Jo
hn’s cousin Arthur out of the cell. John had told Paul that in confidence one evening when he had felt dishonorable about the arrangement, but it was what his father had done and his father before him.

  Paul gently touched his stab wound—perhaps he should have stayed home, he thought.

  “Paul Watson, you may be wearing a mask, but I know it’s you,” a voice said, and Paul turned to see John Loxley’s blue eyes peering at him from behind his dark-green mask; only the bottom of his large smile could be seen.

  “John, good to see you mate,” Paul said. John gave Paul a friendly pat on the shoulder.

  John took off his mask for a moment, a look of concern in his eyes.

  “We’re all so glad you’re okay, Paul, honest.”

  “Thank you.”

  Everyone had heard about the fire, but no one knew about Paul’s other discoveries at the asylum except for the police and what he told Claire, Richard, and Oscar. He planned to keep it that way.

  “Come on, you need a drink,” John said, ushering Paul toward the bar.

  “As long as it’s not whiskey. Can’t stand the taste anymore,” Paul said coolly.

  “No problem, Watson, I’ll fix you something better,” John said. Three men appeared by John’s side.

  “I think I know you,” the man in a black mask similar to Paul’s said. Paul knew it was Richard immediately. “Yes, you do look familiar.”

  “I’m sorry; who are you?” Paul joked.

  “Paul,” another voice said. It was Edgar Loxley. “My brother told me what happened to you. I’m so very sorry that you had to experience something so awful.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But he’s here now, and that’s all that matters.”

  “Bet you could find yourself a nice lass here,” Richard interjected.

  “’Course he can,” another voice said. Paul recognized it as Roger Loxley’s voice. His mask accentuated his sunken dark eyes and bucked teeth.

  “Paul needs a drink. I’m going to get him one.”

  John walked away, but the others stayed.

  “What’s it been, an entire year since I’ve last seen you, Paul?” Edgar asked from behind his golden mask.