They waited with growing unease as time ticked past. After half an hour, Hulda went to pound on the door with her fist.
‘Hey!’ she yelled. ‘Where are you? Have you forgotten about us?’
There was no reply, and Lonsdale glanced at his pocket watch. Unless they left in five minutes, they would miss the train that Orange promised they would be on. He told Hulda, who hammered on the door even more furiously, yelling until she was hoarse. After another hour, Lonsdale did the same.
‘Maybe Orange has sent for Wells,’ said Hulda worriedly, after Lonsdale, too, had given up. ‘He didn’t seem overly concerned that the police have made no progress with recapturing Maclean – and, to be frank, he didn’t seem too bothered about a would-be regicide escaping from his care either. Maybe he’s in on it.’
‘In on what?’ asked Lonsdale.
Hulda threw up her hands in exasperation. ‘Whatever’s happening! The murders, Maclean’s escape and his association with some of the victims, the terrible thing that the Watchers aim to do on Christmas Eve.’
‘Which we won’t be able to stop unless we get out of here,’ said Lonsdale, kicking at the walls in the hope that one would be flimsy. But they were all solid stone, there was no window, and the only door was the one that was firmly shut.
They were silent again, waiting. Lonsdale tried not to look at his watch too often, but when the hour hand moved to six o’clock, he knew he and Hulda were in serious trouble. Would someone come in the night to kill them with a panga, and would corrupt police officers then arrange for a verdict of natural causes?
‘Pity you lost your gun,’ he muttered.
By eight o’clock, he was hungry and thirsty, although Hulda berated him for thinking about victuals at such a time. She battered the door again, but no one came.
‘It’s completely silent in here,’ said Lonsdale, looking up from where he was trying to scrape the mortar from around a brick with the dinosaur claw, which was all he had that remotely resembled a weapon. He knew that, even if he succeeded in prising it out, it was unlikely to help, but he felt he had to do something. ‘It was quite noisy when we were with Ashe. I could hear other people – inmates and wardens.’
‘I think we might be in one of the secure interview units,’ said Hulda unsteadily. ‘I read about them yesterday. They’re for when the police have to question really dangerous “residents”, and don’t want them grabbing anything that might be used to do harm.’
She dozed while Lonsdale plied his claw. He made some progress, but not enough, and then the lights flickered out. It was so dark that he could not see his hand in front of his face. Hulda woke in alarm, and Lonsdale reached for her hand.
‘It must be ten o’clock,’ he whispered. ‘That’s when prisons usually turn off the gaslights. At least now we can get some sleep.’
‘And use the bucket,’ said Hulda primly, ‘which neither of us could do with the other looking on.’
‘I wouldn’t have looked, Friederichs,’ said Lonsdale, suddenly wondering what Anne would think if she could see him now. They were supposed to discuss their future the following evening, and he sincerely hoped he would be able to do it. His stomach growled.
‘Perhaps they mean to starve us to death,’ remarked Hulda.
‘They can’t,’ said Lonsdale, more firmly than he felt. ‘Stead knows we’re here, and Peters is expecting us to report back to him. When we fail to appear, they’ll come looking for us.’
‘Will they?’ asked Hulda. ‘They might just assume we’re following some lead on our own. We’ve done it before.’
That was true, and Lonsdale had no answer.
Lonsdale did not imagine he would sleep that night, so was disoriented when the lights blazed on the following morning, blinding him with brightness. Before he could do more than try to open his eyes, the door opened, and a tray shot across the floor. He thought he glimpsed Norris there, but the door closed again before he could be sure. He looked at his watch.
‘Eight o’clock,’ he told Hulda, who looked remarkably pretty for a woman who had just spent the night curled up on a hard stone floor. ‘Is that breakfast?’
On the tray was a bowl of watery oatmeal, two boiled eggs and a jug of water. It did not take long to demolish them, after which Hulda climbed to her feet, and began to hammer on the door again, telling Lonsdale that guards changed, and one might have come to work who did not think it was acceptable to incarcerate members of the press for no good reason. She kept it up for an hour, then sat on one of the chairs, scowling her frustration.
‘Something will happen today,’ she said. ‘They can’t keep us here indefinitely.’
But the hours slipped away as relentlessly as they had the previous day. Lonsdale scraped at the brick with the claw until he noticed Hulda sitting with her hands over her ears to block out the sound. At three in the afternoon, the door opened, and another tray was kicked in. Lonsdale launched himself forward, claw at the ready, but the guard had slammed the door shut long before he could reach it.
‘Stew,’ mused Hulda, although most of it had slopped out when the tray had been sent spinning across the floor. ‘And a tiny glass of what may be tea. It smells like drains.’
It was barely enough for one, and while Lonsdale could have forgone the food, he was very thirsty. He paced back and forth as seven o’clock loomed. What would Anne think when he failed to appear? That he considered a future with her less important than his work? And how could he appease her with a spectacular Christmas gift when he could not get out to buy one? Worse yet, the atrocity planned for Christmas Eve – just two days hence – would swing into action, and he and Hulda would not be in a position to stop it.
Seven o’clock came and went. He tried to discuss the case with Hulda, but they ended up going over the same details and reaching the same conclusions – that although they knew the Garraway and its Watchers lay at the heart of everything, neither had any idea why someone should want to murder seven – or more – decent men in so cruel and vicious a manner.
‘Maclean,’ said Hulda eventually. ‘He’s the key. He’s why we’re locked in here, helpless. I know he came across as weak and imbecilic at his trial, but what if that was an act? What if he’s actually a very cunning killer? He started by attempting to assassinate the Queen, so he clearly has a high opinion of his abilities.’
‘You could be right,’ said Lonsdale. ‘And the false Voules couldn’t have got him out of here on his own. Perhaps Maclean is slyly persuasive, in the way some criminals can be, and convinced gullible guards to help him.’
‘Gullible guards!’ spat Hulda. ‘The whole asylum helped him, from that oh-so-concerned Orange to the sly Chaplain Ashe, who went scurrying to his corrupt master when he saw we were beginning to understand the truth. It makes sense now. We should’ve listened to Stead – he was worried about Maclean from the start. And why hasn’t he rescued us? And where’s Peters? He asked us to report to him – surely he missed us?’
Lonsdale had no answer.
The lights flickered out at ten o’clock, so he and Hulda lay side by side on the floor, both wondering what the next day would bring. Lonsdale’s stomach was pure acid, partly from hunger and thirst, but mostly from tension.
He felt Hulda shivering – it was cold on the floor. He shifted, so she could snuggle against him, his arm around her shoulders and her head on his chest. It was not much warmer, but both gained comfort from the closeness of the other. They slept fitfully.
When the lights flared on at eight o’clock the following morning, Lonsdale staggered to his feet and stood next to the door, clutching his claw. Hulda understood at once what he aimed to do. She removed her coat and rolled it up so, at a glance, it would appear as if he was lying next to her.
Two hours passed before they heard a sound. Lonsdale braced himself. The door opened. He grabbed it and hauled with all his might. A man stumbled inwards with a cry of alarm, and Lonsdale slashed at him with the claw, which was sharp from being honed on
the mortar the previous day. The man screeched in pain as the edge gashed his face. Other guards raced to his aid, and Lonsdale was battered back. Then the wounded man was hauled out, Lonsdale shoved backwards, and the door slammed shut.
‘They didn’t leave us anything to drink,’ said Hulda in a small voice.
It was afternoon before anything else happened, by which time Lonsdale and Hulda were so parched they could think of nothing but cool, clear water. There was a soft scratch as a key turned in the lock and the door opened. It swung open to reveal Chaplain Ashe.
‘Come with me,’ he ordered.
THIRTEEN
It was an effort for Lonsdale to stand, and he realized how much the spat with the guards and two days of meagre rations had sapped his strength. He supposed he would have to use words rather than muscle to convince the chaplain to let them go. Hulda had other ideas.
‘You won’t get away with this,’ she snarled, although her voice had lost its usual vigour. ‘People know where we are and questions will be asked.’
‘Hush!’ hissed Ashe, glancing behind him in alarm. ‘It wasn’t me who put you in here. I’m trying to help you escape, so stop bellowing or we’ll all be in trouble.’
Hulda’s face was full of suspicion, while Lonsdale’s mind reeled, wondering what trick was in the making.
‘Why would you—’ he began.
‘Questions later,’ snapped Ashe. ‘Now come with me before he realizes what’s happening.’
‘Who realizes?’ demanded Hulda, not moving. ‘Orange?’
‘Please just come with me! We can talk all you like later.’
Lonsdale took Hulda’s hand and followed Ashe out, thinking anything was better than being driven mad with thirst. There was a jug of water on a table in the corridor, and he and Hulda gulped from it while Ashe locked the door behind them. The chaplain’s hands shook so badly that the operation took far longer than it should have done.
‘Now follow me and pray we have more friends than enemies,’ whispered Ashe, and set off along the hallway at a rapid clip. There was a door at the end, and there was another pause while he fumbled with his keys.
‘You can talk while you unlock the door,’ said Hulda. ‘Tell us what’s happening.’
‘Paddy O’Brien betrayed his fellows.’ Sweat beaded on Ashe’s forehead as the third key he tried failed to work. ‘He thought he was dying and wanted me to absolve him from his sins. I’m not Roman Catholic, but he was too frightened to care. There was a lot of blood, you see, and his nose was all but severed.’
‘The guard I tried to overpower?’ asked Lonsdale, struggling to understand the disjointed explanation.
The key turned at last and Ashe bundled them through the door, after which there was another delay while he relocked it.
‘I have to secure them all,’ he said, seeing their exasperated expressions. ‘If we leave one open, the alarm will be raised and we’ll be caught for certain. We take security seriously here, particularly since Maclean’s escape.’
‘The wounded guard,’ prompted Lonsdale tersely, itching to snatch the keys and do it himself, given that dexterity was evidently not one of Ashe’s virtues. ‘Will he die?’
‘No, although you’ve destroyed his looks. But when he thought his immortal soul was in danger, he wanted to confess. He told me that Norris had you imprisoned here, and is under orders from a man who sounds very much like the false Voules. But no more talking. The next part will be the hardest.’
He opened the door to a larger room that was filled with chairs and tables. Various personal items lying around suggested it was where the hospital staff changed and took their breaks. Ashe ushered them quickly to the far end, where Lonsdale was handed a clerical hat and collar. For Hulda, there was a white scarf, which Ashe arranged to look vaguely like a religious wimple.
‘Disguises,’ he said, licking dry lips. ‘Not very original, but it was all I could manage on the spur of the moment. It might help if you try to look a bit reverent.’
The last remark was aimed at Hulda, who was scowling her mistrust. Then they were off again, Ashe visibly frightened, which Lonsdale thought was a lot more likely to get them caught than Hulda’s unconvincing impression of a nun.
‘Oh, God help us!’ the chaplain gulped, as they rounded a corner and saw several guards walking towards them. ‘Norris’s men! We’re done for!’
‘Keep walking!’ ordered Lonsdale in a taut whisper. ‘Smile. Bid them good day.’
Ashe could not have looked more terrified if he had tried, but the men barely spared him a glance. Lonsdale murmured a greeting as they passed, and most muttered back. He saw dried blood on the hands of one, and supposed their minds were on what had happened to O’Brien. They were a rough lot, and he dreaded to imagine what would happen if he and Hulda were caught.
They reached the next door, and Lonsdale braced himself for another agonizing delay, but it swung open in front of them. He stopped abruptly, wondering whether to charge forward or head back the way they had come.
‘Come on, Chaplain,’ whispered the guard on the other side. ‘Let’s get you out.’
He turned and hurried towards the next door, which he had open in a trice. Another guard was waiting to close it behind them, and when they passed a gaggle of warders in the corridor beyond, every one of them gave Ashe a conspiratorial nod or a smile. The first guard turned back the way he had come, but there was another waiting to see them through the next section, and then they were outside, in air that was fresh, clean and cold.
‘Now, Father,’ said the last guard urgently. ‘There’s a cart waiting down the road. Just walk nice and casual – you don’t know who might be watching.’
‘Bless you,’ muttered Ashe, weak with relief. ‘Bless you all!’
He led the way at a brisk pace, Lonsdale’s hand on his shoulder to prevent him from breaking into a run and giving them away. They rounded a corner, and there was the horse and trap. A driver was on it, cloaked against the rain, hat pulled low. He turned as they approached, and Lonsdale stopped in alarm.
It was Medical Superintendent Orange, a hard, cold gleam in his eye.
Lonsdale took several steps backwards, stomach lurching. He considered running, but that would mean abandoning Hulda, and he could not leave her to fend for herself. And yet, if he stayed, they were doomed for certain – they would be returned to their cell and then no one would ever know what had happened to them, as at least two dozen guards could swear they had left the premises.
‘Get in,’ ordered Orange, taking up the reins. ‘We can make the next train if we hurry.’
‘The last time you said that, we were locked up for two days,’ said Hulda accusingly.
‘What Norris did had nothing to do with me,’ averred Orange. ‘And nothing to do with most of my staff either – just a few rotten apples who’ll be incarcerated themselves when I get back. Now climb in, before you miss the train.’
‘How did you know to be here?’ asked Lonsdale suspiciously, not moving.
‘One of the guards told me,’ replied Orange, and gave a brief smile. ‘My chaplain arranged for you to escape from the asylum, but that’s as far as his plan went. Obviously, you need to be spirited a lot farther away than this lane in order to be safe.’
‘Oh,’ said Ashe sheepishly. ‘I was going to let them walk to the station.’
‘Then Norris would have recaptured them for certain,’ said Orange. ‘They need to be on the next train – and you and I must make sure he doesn’t follow. Now, get in – all of you.’
Lonsdale scrambled aboard and held out his hand to Hulda, who took it warily. Ashe jumped in behind her, and Orange snapped the reins. The trap took off at a tremendous lick, forcing his passengers to cling on for dear life.
‘How long have you known Norris?’ shouted Lonsdale as they hurtled along.
‘Years,’ Orange replied. ‘He’s tipped to be my successor, but there’s plenty of life in me yet, and I fear he’s tired of waiting. I imagine
his discontent reached the wrong ears, and he was offered a chance to speed matters along – Maclean’s escape was nearly the end of me.’
‘You think he was involved in that?’
Orange nodded. ‘I do now. I guessed at the time that one of my senior officers helped to spirit Maclean out, although Norris was never a suspect. Then I found out what he’d done to you.’
‘It makes sense now,’ put in Ashe. ‘His sly, whispered conferences with certain guards, his altering of rotas to put his favourites in specific areas, his murmurs that the asylum staff had grown complacent under the current regime …’
‘But more significantly, his “accidental” leaving of a novice warden on duty the day that Maclean vanished,’ said Orange. ‘Then you came here asking questions and he panicked.’
‘He locked you in a room we never use,’ elaborated Ashe, ‘although I can’t imagine how he thought that would help him in the long term, given that keeping you there was a risk in itself.’
‘I know exactly what he intended,’ said Orange grimly. ‘He goes off-duty this evening and will be gone until Tuesday – he has a young family, so I offered to cover the Christmas period in order to let him be with them. He’ll have told his paymasters about you and arranged for them to come and kill you at a time when he wouldn’t be on site to take the blame.’
‘So if the police ever did trace two mysteriously missing reporters to our asylum,’ surmised Ashe, ‘he could say it happened on your watch.’
‘Precisely.’
‘Who are these paymasters?’ asked Hulda. ‘Maclean, whom we believe to be a cunning and ruthless murderer, not the poor, confused lunatic we saw at his trial?’
‘I treated Maclean myself,’ said Orange, flicking the reins to encourage the pony to trot even faster. ‘If he is feigning his insanity, he’s a damned genius, because I have thirty years’ experience of lunacy, and he seemed genuinely ill to me.’
‘But it’s possible?’ pressed Hulda.
Orange nodded reluctantly. ‘Although Norris never went near him, so I don’t see how one could have recruited the other. Perhaps the answer lies with “Voules”, and the fact that the police brazenly ignored him being an imposter.’
Watchers of the Dead Page 25