by Rhys Bowen
“This is a pleasant surprise, my lady,” she said in her cultured voice. “Do come inside. And this must be your dear uncle.”
“That’s right. This is Mr. Angus MacTavish Hume. Uncle Angus, we’re going to have a short visit at this nice place.”
“Hospital?” He said the word in a stage whisper.
I laughed, gaily. “No, it’s not a hospital. It’s like a hotel. You’ll see.”
The woman in white ushered us in to a black-and-white-tiled entrance hall and offered us a seat on a leather sofa. “If you’d be good enough to wait here, I’ll let Matron know that you have arrived.”
Her heels tapped away on the tiled floor. As soon as she turned the corner I leaped up. “Keep guard for me,” I whispered and I started to try the doors on either side of the hall. The first was a closet; the second opened into an office. There were filing cabinets against the walls but I didn’t think I’d have time to go through them, not knowing what I was looking for. I didn’t for one minute think there would be a file labeled Duke of Clarence. Top secret. If he was here, it would be under an assumed name.
But on the desk was a large visitors book, open at today’s date. No visitors so far today. I turned back to the day before, and the one before that. Not many people came to visit their loony relatives, I noted. Then I saw a name I recognized: V. Padgett. And under the patient’s name: Maisie McPhee.
“Someone’s comin’,” Granddad hissed through the door. I sprinted back to the sofa, just as a hatchet-faced older woman in a blue uniform appeared. “I understand you have brought your uncle to see over our institution, my lady,” she said in disapproving tones. “This is highly irregular. We like to do things by appointment here.”
“I understand, but it seemed so opportune that we were passing when I had Uncle with me in the car. Naturally he has to be comfortable with any arrangements made for him.” I glanced at him and he gave his best imitation of an inane smile. I helped him to his feet.
“How exactly did you hear about us?” she asked.
I gave her a rather patronizing smile. “We are almost neighbors,” I said. “I’ve lived here since I was born. One knows what happens on estates that border our own.”
“I see.” Did I detect a slight hardening of her expression? “Our fees are not paltry,” she said, “but of course that should be of no concern to someone like yourself.”
“My uncle is not without his own funds,” I said, taking his hand in mine. “But we have to make sure this place is right for him.”
Granddad grinned inanely, as instructed.
“He has certain definite requirements,” I went on. “He likes morning sunlight, you see, and a good view, and plenty of lawns for strolling, and some good conversation with his fellow guests. So I wonder if we could be shown around and see some rooms?”
“We didn’t know you were coming.” She sounded slightly flustered. “We’re not prepared . . .”
“Oh, come now”—I was now giving a good imitation of my austere great-grandmother, Queen Victoria—“if your place is so substandard that it has to be prepared to be seen by an outside visitor, then it’s hardly a suitable spot for my great-uncle.”
“My lady, we adhere to the highest standards,” she said frostily. “It’s just that I don’t know which rooms are available for viewing. Some of our residents are easily startled by outsiders. Some can even be violent and I wouldn’t like you to witness anything unpleasant.”
“I think it is important that I see the place as it really is, don’t you? If I’m to trust you with my dear uncle, I have to know what I’m doing.”
“I see.” A ghost of a smile touched her lips but not her eyes. “Well, I suppose I can give you some idea of what we have to offer. As it happens we do have a couple of vacancies at present. If you’d please follow me.”
As she walked ahead I grabbed Granddad. “See if you can find a Maisie McPhee,” I whispered. He shot me an inquiring look.
Matron looked back. “Come along. This way,” she said briskly. She led us down a long, well-lit hallway. The doors on either side had small windows in them and nameplates on them. I tried to glance in each.
“So do you have many men of my uncle’s age?” I asked. “He is a very sociable chap. He’d like to be able to play chess and talk to other old codgers.”
She gave me a warning look, glancing back at Granddad, who was deliberately trailing. “Most of our residents are no longer able to play chess and chat. Are you sure your relative wouldn’t be happier in a residential facility for the elderly?”
“But he wanders,” I whispered. “He tries to escape all the time. The staff found him standing by the road, trying to hitchhike, wearing only his combinations.”
“Ah. I see.” She turned into a light, open area with armchairs and low tables. There was a piano in the corner and a radio on a side table. “Our more—uh, sociable residents usually meet in the common room.”
A few of the chairs were occupied. One old man was wearing what looked like a nightcap and had a tumbler of what seemed to be whiskey on the table beside him. He looked up as we came in.
“Lunchtime yet?” he asked.
“You’ve just had lunch, Mr. Soames. It was grilled plaice, remember?”
A hollow-eyed woman looked up. “I want lunch too,” she said. “They try to starve us here, you know. No food for weeks.”
“Rubbish, Lady Wharton. You do tell awful stories.” Matron attempted a laugh.
“Could we have a tour of the kitchen and dining room?” I asked. “Uncle is very particular about his food.”
“Our food is of the highest quality, my lady,” Matron said, “and the kitchen staff will just be washing up after luncheon, but I can show you the dining room.” She led us through the common room and into a pleasant room set with small tables. It had windows on either side, opening onto a view of the hills, and the ceiling was half timbered.
“You see. Pleasant views. Just what your uncle ordered,” she said with a smile to him.
“So how many other elderly men do you have in residence at the moment?” I asked.
Did I detect a slight hesitation? “Let me see. Colonel Far quar, Mr. Soames . . . I believe there are ten of them. And we have fifteen ladies in residence. Ladies always seem to live longer than men for some reason, don’t they?” Another attempt at a smile.
“And if I could just peek at the kitchen,” I said. “Is it through here?” I went through the doorway without waiting for permission. Startled kitchen staff looked up as I came in. It was all perfectly all right—spotless, in fact—and the smells were not unpleasant. In fact if I really had a senile uncle, it would not have been a bad place for him.
“My lady, I really don’t think—” Matron actually grabbed my arm. “We shouldn’t disturb them now. Carry on, everyone.”
She almost dragged me out of the kitchen, then looked around. “Where has your uncle gone?”
Granddad had done a bolt. Good for him!
“Oh no,” I said. “You see what I mean? He’s always trying to run away. He can’t have gone far.”
Matron was already running, her heels tapping on the bare floor. “James, Frederick, there’s an old man loose in the building,” she called and two young men set off in pursuit.
“Don’t let him get out. We’ll never find him in all that shrubbery,” I called after them. One changed course and ran for the front door. I followed the other one up the stairs. We ran along one hallway, then out to the side of the E. I slowed and tried to read nameplates on the doors, and to glance inside each room. Then I heard shouts and sounds of a scuffle. I sprinted around the corner, to see two young men in white coats wrestling Granddad into submission. They appeared to be using what I deemed to be considerable force.
“Let go of him!” I shouted.
Matron appeared, breathing hard, behind us. “He’s not one of ours yet, Sims,” she called. The young men dropped Granddad’s arms. He stood there giving a good imitation of being terri
fied. I went up to him. “You are naughty, Uncle,” I said, taking his hand. “You promised not to run away, remember? Come along.”
Matron caught up with us, breathing heavily. “That was silly, Mr. Hume,” she said. “You don’t need to run away. You are among friends. You’ll be well taken care of here.” She drew me to one side. “I see that he is a handful,” she whispered. “If you’d like to leave him with us now, perhaps?”
“No, I think he’d like to go home and have a chance to say good-bye to his staff and set his affairs in order first,” I said hastily, drawing him closer to me. “And we haven’t yet had a chance to see a vacant room?”
“Oh yes. We were interrupted, weren’t we? I believe the one in Sunshine wing is the closest, and you said it was important for your uncle to receive morning sunlight. James, would you run ahead and make sure the room is ready to receive visitors?”
The young man ran ahead while we walked slowly back to the spine of the E and then along its length to the other wing. As we walked along this wing I spotted the nameplate M. McPhee. I tried to peer in through the window but all I could see was a lump in a bed.
“Ah, here we are,” Matron said, and opened the door to an empty room. It was spartan, to say the least. “We encourage our guests to bring their own furniture. It makes the transition from home easier for them.”
“Very nice,” I said. “Quite suitable, in fact. I think he’ll resist the idea at first, but he’d be quite happy here.” I turned to smile at him again. Matron was standing behind him this time, blocking any chance of escape. “I will talk this over with my brother, the duke, and we will contact you as soon as possible with our decision.”
“We look forward to your uncle joining us, my lady,” she said with a groveling smile now.
As we came back along the hall I appeared to notice the nameplate for the first time. “Good heavens. That wouldn’t be Maisie McPhee, would it?” I asked.
“Yes. Did you know her?”
“If it’s the same one, she used to work for us years ago, when I was a small child,” I said.
“I don’t believe it could be the same person,” the matron said.
“I’d recognize her right away,” I said, “and perhaps she’d still remember me. She was very kind. Very nice.”
I had my hand on the doorknob, attempting to open the door.
“I don’t think she’d know you, my lady,” the matron said, hastily removing my hand from the door. “She doesn’t know anybody any longer.”
The noise outside her door had roused Maisie McPhee. She sat up in bed and stared anxiously. I was surprised to see a young-looking, unlined face, light blue eyes and hair that had once been red, but was now faded and streaked with white.
“It’s all right, dear,” Matron called through the closed door. “You’re quite safe here. Go back to sleep.”
“But she’s so young to be here,” I said. “What a shame.”
Matron nodded. “Advanced syphilis, I’m afraid,” she said in a low whisper. “Nothing can be done.” She took my arm and led us away.
Chapter 31
The road home from Braemar
August 21
I heaved a big sigh of relief as we drove out of those gates and turned onto the road again. Granddad beside me gave a similar sigh. “Blimey, ducks, what I do for you. I thought I’d had me chips then. I thought they were going to drag me away and lock me up on the spot. Talk about giving you the willies. That place certainly did.”
“Yes, it did, didn’t it? Although it was all very nice and clean and bright. You were brilliant, by the way. Absolutely perfect. Now I can see where Mummy got her acting ability from.”
“Go on.” He almost blushed. “I just had to stand there and look stupid.”
“But you ran away and gave us a chance to see more of the building. We’d probably never have gone upstairs if you hadn’t done that. And I’d never have seen Maisie McPhee.”
“Who’s she when she’s at home, anyway?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But Veronica Padgett goes to visit her regularly, and she doesn’t strike me as the philanthropic type who would visit an old servant.”
“What makes you think she’s an old servant? I thought they were all posh types in there.”
“Maisie McPhee is the sort of name servants around here would have,” I said. “But why would they pay to put an old servant in a place like Castle Craig?”
Then suddenly it hit me. “Unless—she’s Ronny’s real mother. Mrs. Padgett said Ronny was adopted. What if one of their servants got into trouble and they did the kind thing and adopted the baby?” After all, she had remarkably similar coloring to Ronny’s. But why would they have continued to support her all these years, and end up by keeping her at a very expensive institution—unless Major Padgett was the father, of course.
Everything started to fit into place. Major Padgett who had had what was described as a scandal or a breakdown and been shipped off to a cottage on the estate. What if it had come out that he had contracted syphilis, then fathered a child of a maid? Queen Victoria could stand no kind of immorality. Had she done the kind thing and kept him in her service but effectively banished him? And syphilis often led to insanity, didn’t it? Was Major Padgett really insane?
“You’re awfully quiet,” Granddad said.
“Just thinking things through and they are beginning to make sense,” I said. “I hope Sir Jeremy turns up soon. I suppose I’d better put everything in a letter and leave it for him at the Braemar inn if he doesn’t come by tonight.”
As we had been talking the clouds had come in, blotting out the mountains and covering the road ahead in wet mist. I gripped the steering wheel tightly as the road snaked down a series of hairpin bends.
“I’m starving,” I said after a while. “I missed lunch.”
“Don’t talk about food now, please,” Granddad said.
I glanced at him. He did look rather green. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you got sick in motorcars,” I said.
“I didn’t know until now, did I? I ain’t ridden in too many cars in my life, you know, and never on roads like this, and never with someone driving the way you drive.”
“I drive jolly well,” I said.
“I’m not disputing it, ducks, but you drive ruddy fast, and all these bends too.”
“Sorry.” I smiled and slowed to a crawl around the next bend. “Not too much further now, I promise. See. There’s a glimpse of the loch down below.”
We came around another bend and there was the loch, stretching black and gloomy before us. The clouds were darker now and it looked as if it might rain any second. As we approached the jetty, Granddad said, “ ’Ere, what’s going on over there?”
A small crowd had gathered and I saw that the blue speedboat was in the water again, in the process of being tied up at the dock. I pulled off the road and we got out, pushing our way through the crowd.
“What’s happening?” I asked. “Is everyone watching the speedboat?”
“No, my lady. Someone’s just seen the monster,” a young boy said. I recognized him as the son of one of our estate workers.
“Seen the monster? What rubbish. Who saw it?”
“Ellie Cameron,” he said, pointing to a slightly older girl, now standing gripping the arm of a friend.
“What’s this about a monster, Ellie?” I asked.
She dropped a hasty curtsy. “I saw it, I really did, my lady. I was watching yon boat and then these strange waves started and I thought it was just, you know, the wake and the wind to begin with, but then I saw this monstrous head come out above the wave, and I screamed.”
“A monstrous head?” I smiled. “I think you’ve a good imagination, Ellie.”
“Och no, your ladyship. I know what I saw. A great big whitish thing it was, in the middle of the lake.”
“Well, there’s nothing there now,” I said. “See, it’s quite calm.”
The boat crew were climbing onto the dock,
when suddenly someone shouted, “Look there! What’s that?”
Bubbles were rising from the black water. Then something broke the surface—something large and white. Someone screamed. Then someone else shouted, “It’s a body!”
The boat’s crew scrambled down into the boat again and were in the process of starting the engine when someone shouted, “Don’t worry. I’ll get it. Stay where you are.”
I knew that voice. It was Darcy, the last person I expected to see here. I spotted him just in time to watch him strip off his jacket and dive from the dock, swimming out to the body with masterful strokes. We watched as he grabbed hold of a leg and then towed it in to shore.
“Stand back, please,” he said, breathing heavily as he reached the shallows and stood up. “And somebody go and get the police.”
Several boys ran off while the rest of the crowd watched in fascinated silence to see what would happen next. It was a strange picture: Darcy standing in the shallows dripping wet, his shirt and trousers clinging to him like a second skin, looking so very much alive, while behind him, bobbing in the waves, was the bloated body of Godfrey Beverley, clad only in his undergarments.
At that moment Darcy spotted me. “Georgie.” I watched his eyes light up, much to my satisfaction. “Do you have a car here? Could you go home and telephone the police?”
“It’s all right, mister,” one of the boys said. “Freddie Mac-Lain is already off away on his bicycle to the public telephone box.”
“Do you want help with . . .” I couldn’t finish the sentence properly, staring with fascination at the bloated, bobbing thing in the water.
“Only in keeping everyone away,” he said. “I’m going to drag him up on dry land and then we’ll try not to disturb him until the police are here.”