Dr Collins turned around and beamed at me. “Miss Hawthorne, please do come in. Today I am going to try something that will revolutionise the care of patients in this hospital.” I looked at the machine with trepidation. “Oh, do not be alarmed,” said Dr Collins. “You will come to no harm. Trust me.” He nodded at the male member of staff and the man brought forward a chair on wheels to which were attached thick leather straps. I had seen other patients wheeled around in such a contraption but they were the ones who could not be trusted to walk anywhere without lashing out or trying to make a bid for freedom.
I think I would have fled there and then but Nurse Cooper was standing in the doorway, her arms crossed over her bosom, her mouth pulled into a tight, thin line.
“Please be seated,” said Dr Collins, indicating the chair.
When I hesitated to sit down, Nurse Cooper came forward, muttering under her breath. “Can’t you do nowt for yerself?” She pushed me into the chair and before I could do anything, she and the strong man fastened the leather straps around my wrists, binding me to the chair. They pulled the straps tight so that when I tried to free my arms the edge of the leather cut into my skin. Then they did the same to my ankles, strapping them tightly to the base of the chair.
“What are you doing?” I cried at them. “I don’t deserve this! I have never been violent.”
“It is purely a precautionary measure for your own safety,” said Dr Collins. “It is not a punishment.” I narrowed my eyes at him.
The man returned to his position at the side of the cabinet, by the handle, and Nurse Cooper stepped back, looking as if she were about to enjoy an entertainment at the fairground. Dr Collins went to a small table beside the cabinet and picked up two long, thin metal rods with rounded ends which were attached to the cabinet by a system of wires. My palms became sweaty and my throat felt dry.
“Please begin,” said Dr Collins to the man. The man began to crank the handle on the side of the cabinet, slowly at first but quickly gaining in momentum. As he turned the handle, the wheel inside the cabinet started to rotate and then, to my horror, what I can only describe as bolts of lightning flew between the metal spheres that protruded from the front of the cabinet. There was something mesmerising but also utterly terrifying at the streaks of blue light that sparked and crackled before my eyes. Dr Collins approached me then, holding the two long rods, one in each hand. I struggled in vain against the leather straps that were binding me to the chair. I tried to turn my head away from him but the rigid back of the chair gave me no space to manoeuvre.
Dr Collins stood right in front of me now. I could smell his hair oil and the scent of snuff on his fingers. I tried to look him in the eye, to plead for mercy, but his eyes were focused on the top of my head and he seemed to me like a man possessed. He brought the rods either side of my head. I heard a crackling sound close to my ears and felt my hair rising off my head.
And then, I don’t know what happened. It was as if lightning was pulsating through my body. A force shook me so violently that I thought I would die. My body went rigid as if struck by rigor mortis. It was no longer under my own control but felt as if it were the plaything of some cruel god who wished to torture me. I screamed but I do not know if any sound came out, so loud was the buzzing in my head, as if a thousand angry wasps had entered my brain.
Then the buzzing stopped and the silence was deafening. I slumped in the chair and my head flopped forward onto my chest. I was breathing heavily, gasping for air. I heard Dr Collins say, “Ten seconds today. We’ll try a longer session tomorrow.” I was too stunned to reply.
Nurse Cooper undid the straps and heaved me to my feet. As she led me back to the dormitory she said, “Ooh, you should’ve seen yer face. Looked like you was gonna explode!”
~~~
By the time Rose climbed into bed that evening she felt physically exhausted. She’d spent the afternoon helping her mother clean and tidy the house ready for the first estate agent who was due to call round in the morning. Andrea had been checking house prices on the Internet and knew what would be a reasonable asking price for a property in the heart of Scarborough’s old town, even if it was in need of a bit of modernisation. It would be weird having people looking around her grandmother’s house, especially since Rose had started to think of it as home. Despite the physical tiredness, she wasn’t quite ready to go to sleep just yet so she reached for the pile of Mary’s letters on her bedside table and found the next one.
Fisherman’s Cottage,
Scarborough,
2pm, 31st August, 1899
Dear Ma,
News at last! I was down by the harbour waiting for Walter’s boat to come in when a woman approached me. I suspected from her fancy clothes that she was an actress or something from the theatre and at first I was suspicious of her. But she said she’d been looking for me and was I Miss Alice Hawthorne’s maid?
When I said I was, she introduced herself as Kitty Simpson, star of the Scarborough music hall, and asked if she could speak to me, in private. Well, as there was no sign of Walter’s boat coming in, I agreed to walk with her along the prom and she told me the most incredible story. She’d been sitting in St Mary’s church on the very day that Alice and I had swapped places, and she’d actually seen Alice but Alice hadn’t seen her. Then she said a man had arrived and I expected her to describe Jackson, but from her detailed description of a ruddy complexion, gingery hair and sideburns, I knew at once it was Henry Blackwood. She saw him drag Alice from the church by force! Those were her very words.
That horrible man! If I ever get my hands on him, I’ll kill him myself. Anyway, I asked Kitty if she knew where he’d taken Alice and she said she overheard him mutter something about “Highcliff” but she didn’t know any more than that.
I hurried back to the cottage and asked Ellie if she knew where Highcliff was and she turned pale and said, yes, it was the lunatic asylum just outside of town. Can you believe it? That scoundrel has locked dear Alice up in the madhouse! Tomorrow I will go there and see if I can find her. Wish me luck!
Love to all,
Mary.
~~~
Fisherman’s Cottage,
Scarborough,
5pm, 1st September, 1899
Dear Ma,
Oh, what a dreadful place. I went to the asylum and I asked to speak to the doctor in charge. It’s a huge building, all fancy turrets and whatnot but with bars on the windows! Inside it felt more like a prison than a hospital. Nurse Cooper, who had a mighty high opinion of herself, said the doctor was too busy to see me and would I care to come back tomorrow. I said I would not care to come back tomorrow since I was here now and said I would wait for him. I swear she was wondering whether to lock me up or throw me out, but I stood my ground and in the end she stomped off to find Dr Collins. When he eventually turned up I told him I was a friend of Miss Alice Hawthorne (well, I thought that would sound better than just saying I was her maid) and asked if I could see her. At first he was reluctant to let me near her but then I took a risk and told him that Mr Blackwood had sent me to check on her and that put the wind up him. The good doctor (if that is what he is) is scared of Henry Blackwood, that much was clear.
He asked Nurse Cooper to take me to Alice. She was quite huffy about it, complaining all the way there that it wasn’t her job to show visitors around, but I ignored her. I know her sort, all they want is attention and it’s best not to give them any. She took me to a large room that smelled of cabbage. Men and women were seated around the edge of the room, all of them sunk in the gloom of boredom. One woman was hammering the keys on a piano and another kept shouting at her to shut up.
Alice was sitting in a corner of the room, on her own, reading a book. Dear me, I hardly recognised her. Her hair was unbrushed and she had on the most dreadful blue gown, the same as all the women were wearing. She’s a shadow of her former self, like one of Dr Pepper’s Ghosts I thought when I looked at her - all thin and pale like she’s not properly there
. Nurse Cooper shouted at her that she had a visitor and to put the book down. At first she was so surprised that I don’t think she knew me. But then recognition dawned in her beautiful face and her eyes lit up and I knew that the old Alice was still in there. Thankfully Nurse Cooper went over to the piano to sort out a row that had broken out between the incompetent pianist and the shouting patient. I took the opportunity to lean close to Alice and whisper to her that now I knew where she was, I would find a way to get her out of there. I know she understood me. Then Nurse Cooper returned and told me it was time to leave.
I will talk the problem over with my new friends, Ellie and Walter, and, of course, Mr Hartright, and we will find a way to rescue her.
Love to all,
Mary.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Have you considered renting this out as a holiday cottage?”
“Are you saying it won’t sell?” Andrea bristled at the suggestion, causing the agent to falter. Rose watched the exchange not without some amusement. The agent, the first of three that Andrea had booked to value the house in Tollergate, was a gangly young man who looked flustered in his shirt, tie and shiny suit. He was obviously the most junior member of Hardings & Shipman, a fact which spoke volumes about how keen they were to get a poky Victorian mid-terrace house on their books.
“Well, no, I wouldn’t say that,” blustered the agent who had introduced himself as Paul and offered them both a sweaty palm to shake. “But it’s a slightly tricky market right now.”
“If you could just evaluate the property and give us a price,” said Andrea, “that would be helpful.”
“Sorry, yes, of course.”
Rose stepped out of the way as Paul crossed to the other side of the tiny sitting room. With an electronic gadget he measured the distance from one side of the room to the other and tapped the results into his iPad. He measured the whole of the ground floor and then moved over to the stairs, banging his head on the low ceiling as he started to climb. Ten minutes later Andrea was showing Paul out the door, a look of relief on her face that he’d gone.
“It’s a shame we have to sell this house,” said Rose. “It reminds me of Gran.”
“I know what you mean,” said her mother. “But we can’t look after it when we’re down in London.”
“What about his idea of renting it out as a holiday cottage?” Now Rose thought about it, it didn’t seem like such a bad idea. For one thing, it meant they’d be able to come back whenever they felt like it. She could continue to see Dan.
Andrea sighed. “I don’t know. It’s all too much to think about right now.” She made her way to the stairs. “I’ve been clearing out Gran’s linen cupboards. Could you take some stuff to the charity shop for me?”
“Sure,” said Rose. “Where is it?”
“Hang on. I’ll get it for you.”
Andrea came back downstairs with a pile of neatly ironed sheets and a soft blue blanket. Her grandmother had never taken to duvets, preferring to make beds up the old-fashioned way. She told Rose once that working as a chamber maid in the Grand Hotel she’d learnt to make beds quickly and easily. It wasn’t hard once you got the hang of it.
“Can you manage all that?” asked Andrea. “I’ll get a bag for you.”
Rose walked up the hill to the charity shop, holding the bag in her arms and inhaling the scent of lavender. Her grandmother always put bars of lavender soap into drawers and cupboards to keep clothes and bedding smelling fresh. The charity shop was sandwiched between a Chinese takeaway and an ironmongers. She handed over the pile of sheets to a nice old lady who thanked her for her kind donation, but she kept the blanket in the bag. On the way to the shop she had decided to take the blanket to Zoe at the asylum. She didn’t see the point in giving everything to the charity shop when there was someone who could benefit directly from a gift. It was the sort of thing her grandmother would have done.
When she reached the asylum, Rose peered through the fence. Lucky was digging in a patch of ground a little way off from the house. His front paws were working furiously, throwing lumps of black earth into the air whilst his tail wagged from side-to-side. Someone is having fun, thought Rose. This time she was actually pleased to see the dog because it meant Zoe must be around. She let herself into the grounds of the asylum through the gap in the fence.
“Hi Zoe!” she called. “It’s only me, Rose.” She hoped Zoe would hear her and come out. She didn’t want to have to go back inside the building. It gave her the creeps.
At the sound of her voice Lucky came bounding over, wagging his tail.
“Hi Lucky,” she patted him on the head. “Where’s Zoe?” The dog cocked his head as if he understood, which of course he couldn’t possibly, and started trotting towards the house. When Rose didn’t follow him he turned round, barked once and continued towards the building. Did the dog want her to follow him?
Lucky trotted round to the back of the house, past the window she and Dan had climbed through and on to a small door. If we’d known about this door we needn’t have climbed in through the window. The door stood ajar, just enough for the dog to slide its agile body through. Rose opened the door wider and followed.
Lucky was already halfway down a long, dark corridor and Rose hurried to catch up as her eyes adjusted to the gloom. She didn’t want to lose sight of him. It was comforting to have company in a place like this, even if it was the four-legged kind.
They were in a part of the building that she and Dan hadn’t explored. They passed a room that looked like an industrial kitchen and another that must have been used for laundry because it had racks hanging from the ceiling.
They turned a corner and came to the back of the main staircase. Now Rose recognised where she was: the long corridor with the vaulted ceiling where it was all too easy to imagine the ghosts of patients and nurses roaming at night. She didn’t know how Zoe could stand to live here, all by herself. Rose followed the dog up the stairs, two at a time, calling Zoe’s name as she went. Noise helped to dispel the eerie quiet of the place.
Zoe met her at the top of the stairs. “Hello,” she said, bemused. “I wasn’t expecting you to come back.”
“I brought you this.” Rose held the blanket out to her. “I thought you might like it.”
Zoe hesitated and Rose realised that Zoe might think she’d bought it, the blanket was in such good condition. “It was my grandmother’s,” she explained. “Mum asked me to take it to the charity shop but I thought you could use it instead. I can still take it to the charity shop if you don’t want it, I don’t mind either way.”
“Thank you.” Zoe smiled and took the blanket, holding it up to her face. “It smells nice. Do you want to come in?”
Rose followed Zoe to the room she and Dan had seen on their first visit, the one with the mattress and gas stove. Lucky curled up at the foot of Zoe’s makeshift bed, chewing a mangy old rubber toy. I should have brought some dog biscuits, thought Rose.
“Look what Rose has brought us.” Zoe bent down and showed Lucky the blanket. “Now we’ll be nice and warm.”
Rose walked over to one of the box-sash windows which was pushed up to let some air in. The room was at the front of the house and had a good view of the grounds and the lane. She could also see the hole, near an overgrown rose bush, where Lucky had been digging.
“What are you going to do when the winter comes?” asked Rose.
Zoe shrugged. “Dunno. Hopefully Mum’ll be sorted by then and we can find a place together.”
Rose almost blurted out that her grandmother’s house was going up for sale and would make a really nice home for two people, but then bit her tongue. Tollergate might be cheap compared to London prices, but it was unlikely that Zoe and her mother would be able to afford the asking price, whatever that turned out to be. When Zoe talked about finding a place she probably meant a council flat.
Lucky jumped to his feet, ears pricked, head cocked to one side. A low growl emanated from the back of his throat.
“He’s heard something,” said Zoe. She tossed the blanket onto the mattress and pressed herself against the wall so she could look out of the window without being seen. “Get back from the glass.”
As Rose darted away from the window she glimpsed a black Jaguar car bumping down the lane, throwing up a cloud of dust behind it.
“Damn!” said Zoe. “We’ve got visitors.”
“Do you know who it is?”
Zoe shook her head.
Rose took up a position similar to Zoe’s at the adjacent window so she could watch what was happening. The car disappeared around the side of the house and then reappeared at the front. It must have driven through the gap in the fence. It came to a halt in front of the house, parking at an angle, and Rose saw the number plate: MAX1. The hairs on her arms stood on end. Then the driver’s door and the passenger door opened and two men climbed out. Shit! It was the men she and Dan had followed at the fair, the thin one with the spider tattoo on his neck and the short, stocky one built like a bulldog. The men with the guns. The men who had shot the mad dog. She’d hoped never to see them again. What the hell were they doing here?
The men walked round to the back of the car, opened the boot and pulled out two large boxes.
“Where does this stuff go?” asked the short one. His Geordie accent carried loud and clear in the still air.
“In the basement,” said the guy with the tattoo.
The men disappeared from view as they walked round to the side of the house. They must be going in the door I just used, thought Rose.
Zoe knelt down and put her arms around the dog who was looking anxiously towards the door as if awaiting his instructions to chase after the men. “We have to be very, very quiet,” she whispered. The dog lay down, putting his head on his front paws, his ears twitching incessantly.
Scarborough Fair (Scarborough Fair series Book 1) Page 18