A sudden clinking of keys alerted her that he had finished his horrible business, yet she couldn’t move from her position in the doorway. She watched him coming out, turning to lock the door behind him, and suddenly Angela began to scream.
Rosie had never heard a scream like that one. Her blood curdled at the savagery in it, and involuntarily she moved closer.
‘Don’t look so worried,’ Saunders said in a hearty voice as he walked towards her, hands out to ward her off. ‘She’s always the same if you go in there unexpectedly without food in your hands. I tried to get her window open but she started pummelling me. Had a nice kip? You were well away when I looked in earlier.’
Rosie had to turn away. Her face would have told him she’d seen everything. She couldn’t wipe out the look of contempt which she knew was in her eyes, or the angry red flush on her cheeks.
She vomited later in the lavatory. Angela was still screaming and she’d set off some of the others and Rosie knew now what Bedlam must have been like. How could she stay here after seeing that?
‘Bad day?’ Linda asked over tea. Everyone else had gone, and apart from Pat Clack in the kitchen they were alone.
Rosie could only nod. She couldn’t eat anything, it all seemed to stick in her throat. She needed to tell someone, anyone, but yet she knew there was no one she could trust.
‘Come out with me tonight, that’ll cheer you up,’ Linda said with a grin. ‘We could get the tube into the West End and wander about eyeing up the blokes.’
Rosie appreciated Linda trying to cheer her and defying the order not to speak to her. It was kinder still to offer her a night out, but she didn’t think she ever wanted to look at another man in her entire life. They were all despicable, her father, brothers and now Saunders. For all she knew Thomas might have some secret perversion. She thought she might come to hate all men.
Chapter Eleven
Thomas ushered Miss Pemberton up the stairs and into his living-room before saying anything more than the usual pleasantries. Mr Bryant was about to close the shop, but he was an inquisitive man and Thomas didn’t want his employer quizzing him about who she was, or listening to their conversation.
A week had passed since Rosie came to Thomas with her shocking story and although he and Miss Pemberton had spoken twice on the telephone in that time, she hadn’t given him any warning that she was coming up to London today. He was even more taken aback by her rather fetching appearance. When they had met at Easter she had looked the embodiment of a social worker, middle-aged, a touch masculine in a tweed suit and stout shoes. But today she looked ten years younger in a very feminine lilac short-sleeved summer dress, dainty shoes and a pretty straw hat.
‘If I may be so bold, you look stunning, Miss Pemberton,’ Thomas said once he’d closed his living-room door. ‘And I’m very grateful to you for coming all this way.’
‘If you’re bold enough to say I look stunning, you are quite bold enough to call me Violet,’ she said with a smile. She liked Thomas Farley. Although she had only met him in person once before and the rest of their acquaintance was through telephone conversations and letters, she found him rather alluring. This quality had come across without seeing him, via the interesting and intelligent statements in his letters and the rich, deep tone of his voice. It grew stronger still when she saw his warm brown eyes, and the way his full lips curved into a half smile while she was talking to him, as if he was secretly amused by her. She very much liked the lines on his face because they told tales of hardship, adventure and experience and also confirmed why he had this wealth of compassion and sensitivity. He was amusing too; somehow he’d managed to hang on to that irreverent, sharp humour that East Enders were renowned for. In truth he was more of a real man with just one leg than most able-bodied ones. And if she’d been fifteen years younger she’d have been tempted to make a play for him.
‘I don’t know why you should be grateful I called. It is I who am indebted to you, Thomas, for helping Rosie in her hour of need. Besides, I like to think we are friends,’ Violet added.
Thomas grinned at her forthright statement. It evoked good memories of other equally plain-speaking Queen Alexandra’s nurses he’d known. He owed his life and sanity to such determined women. He was touched she considered him a friend.
‘Do sit down,’ he said, removing a shirt from one of his two chairs. ‘Had I known you were calling I would have tidied myself and this place up a bit. Would you like some tea? Or something stronger?’
‘Tea would be lovely,’ she said as she sat down and removed her hat.
Thomas felt a little foolish offering her alcohol at five in the afternoon. He had come a long way from his slum-child roots but he still felt he had a great deal more to learn about etiquette. ‘Rosie has compiled us quite a dossier,’ he said quickly to cover his embarrassment. ‘She called last night with yesterday’s report. But she won’t be coming again this evening as she’s got a date.’
He half expected Violet to look disapproving, but instead she smiled with real warmth and her soft grey eyes twinkled. ‘Well, that is good news. I’ve been so worried about her. Who is this young man?’
‘Gareth Jones. He’s an engine driver. She met him on Coronation day – apparently Donald got lost and Gareth helped her find him. I’m very glad she has someone to take her mind off this awful business, the strain is beginning to tell on her. But let me give you her notes to read while I make the tea.’
As Thomas made the tea in his tiny galley kitchen at the back of the house, his mind was on Rosie yet again. In fact when he came to think about it, she’d hardly been out of his mind for the entire week. He hated the thought of her in Carrington Hall, especially since he’d read her report about Saunders. Again and again he’d been tempted to call a taxi and go over there to get her out. He kept wondering why he felt this way about her; it wasn’t rational or normal to feel so attached to a girl who was no relation, especially one so young and with such a background. In dark moments he wondered if he needed to see a shrink.
‘Don’t be so stupid,’ he said aloud, his voice drowned by the sound of the kettle whistle. ‘There’s nothing wrong with you that couldn’t be put right by a few pints in friendly company. You spend too much time alone, that’s all.’
Violet was just finishing the last page of Rosie’s report as Thomas came back in with the tea tray. ‘Rosie would make an excellent reporter,’ she said looking up at him. ‘She writes so clearly and concisely, one wouldn’t expect that really from a girl of her background.’
‘She’d make a good detective too,’ Thomas grinned. ‘The way she managed to find out that Aylwood had been injecting patients with insulin to keep them in a coma, without it being written up by Dr Freed. And then that bit about how she waited in the bathroom watching out for Saunders impressed me. Did you notice she timed his visit exactly: arrived at 9.20; left at 9.52. Fancy him having the nerve to come back during the evenings via the fire escape to carry out more evil deeds!’
Violet blushed. She was mortified to think she’d sent Rosie to Carrington Hall without checking it out first, and felt terribly guilty because she’d dismissed the girl’s complaints and suspicions at Easter. She should have taken them more seriously, Rosie wasn’t one to be hysterical or exaggerate. Now the poor girl was being robbed of the last of her girlish innocence by Saunders. She felt totally responsible.
‘I find it inconceivable that the Matron could leave that floor without someone on duty at night,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘She should be horse-whipped. One of those patients could have a seizure, a fire could break out, anything.’
Thomas agreed wholeheartedly but pointed out that such a callous disregard for the patients’ well-being might make it far easier for them to make all their other allegations stick. ‘Mr Cook, Donald’s father, called in there without any prior warning on Saturday afternoon,’ he went on. ‘He rang me later to report on what happened. As usual at that time, Matron was out and he spoke to Mrs Trow, who was very reluctant to let him see his son without Matron’s permission. Whilst in her office he managed to get a quick look at a staff rota. According to that, Staff Nurse Wilkinson is on night duty with a chargehand by the name of Giles. Rosie tells me she has never heard of or seen anyone with either of those names.’
‘You mean Matron is pocketing the wages of two nonexistent employees?’ Violet’s eyes nearly popped out of her head with shock.
‘Well, it looks that way,’ Thomas nodded. ‘And Rosie is convinced that most of the staff taken on by Matron are probably in her debt in some way. It would be very interesting to check out their records. I can bet we’ll find some rattling skeletons.’
‘One of the reasons I came up so quickly was because yesterday I contacted an old colleague of mine, Molly Ramsden,’ Violet said. ‘Molly was the first Matron at Carrington Hall: I recommended her to Lionel when he was setting up the home. Regretfully she had to leave to care for her sick mother in 1940, and Freda Barnes, who was a staff nurse then, took over as Matron. Molly told me that she went back to visit in 1942, and was surprised to find all the original staff had left. She asked for one or two addresses from Barnes, but she was given the brush-off, and when she asked to see some of the old patients, Barnes virtually showed her the door.’
‘Really?’ Thomas exclaimed, sitting down to pour the tea.
‘Suspicious, I thought,’ Violet sniffed. ‘I understand that Molly never liked Barnes, and it could be that this incident was merely a case of professional jealousy. But now with what we’ve learned from Rosie it looks very much as if Barnes was covering up something even then.’
‘Does your friend have any contact with any old employees?’ Thomas asked, handing her a cup of tea and offering the sugar.
‘Only one, Lucy Whitwell, who was employed as cook, again right from the opening of Carrington Hall.’ Violet refused the sugar and sipped her tea. ‘Whitwell wrote to Molly in 1943, appealing to her to give her a reference as she’d been sacked by Barnes, supposedly for stealing provisions. In the long and bitter letter she claimed that if any provisions had gone missing Barnes was almost certainly responsible, as she held the store room keys. Molly was inclined to take Whitwell’s part, as in her time at the home she had found the woman an excellent cook and a very honest woman. So she provided a reference and Whitwell was taken on at a nursing home in Bexhill. She is still there; in fact, they exchange Christmas cards each year. Molly believes she would be very glad to give evidence about her experiences with Barnes should the need arise.’
Thomas thought for a moment as he drank his tea.
‘Have you had any further thoughts on why Brace-Coombes allows Barnes to have so much freedom in running his home?’ he said at length. ‘Or why the doctor there hasn’t made any complaints?’
‘I’ve done some checking on him. It seems Dr Freed is well over sixty-five and semi-retired. He has been the Carrington House doctor for some six or seven years and calls a couple of mornings a week. As he has spent his entire working life in mental asylums, he’s probably too hardened to notice anything more dramatic than an epidemic or a spate of sudden deaths.’ Violet pursed her lips. ‘But to be fair to the man, it’s quite easy for day staff to have everything shipshape when a doctor always calls at the same time. The patients are hardly capable of making coherent complaints, and if the staff don’t bring anything to his notice there wouldn’t be any reason for him to be alarmed.’
‘And Brace-Coombes?’
Violet shrugged. ‘He is only a businessman, not a doctor. I’m sure Rosie has told you he founded the asylum to keep his wife there, and the place was a credit to him. I know that he was devastated when Ayleen died and felt it had to be kept open in her memory. But he found it painful to visit afterwards. I dare say that Barnes found it very easy to bamboozle poor old Lionel into giving her complete authority. It seems she has a talent for manipulating people.’
‘That doesn’t excuse him.’
Violet’s eyes were sad. ‘No, it doesn’t.’
Along with finding Thomas rather attractive, Violet found him somewhat intriguing. If she hadn’t known what his background was, she would have placed him as a grammar-school boy from a lower-middle-class home. Certainly not from an east London slum. But being something of a snoop – she had to be as a social worker – she had made it her business to find out a good bit more about him. A first-class soldier, well liked by his peers and respected by his senior officers. Before the loss of his leg he had been a keen sportsman and was earmarked for promotion. She thought it sad he had ended up as a watch repairer. He deserved better.
‘Tell me, Thomas,’ she said. ‘Before all this cropped up, did you ever doubt a doctor’s or a nurse’s opinion?’
‘Well, no,’ Thomas half smiled. ‘Because they are trained and I’m not.’
‘Quite,’ she said crisply. ‘In fact, for all you know your leg may never have needed to come off. But you wouldn’t have argued with the surgeon’s decision would you? We all put our faith in professionals at some time, be it doctors, lawyers, priests or dentists, believing them to be honourable. But in fact I’ve seen surgeons operate that I wouldn’t trust to carve a joint of meat. I know nurses who’ve been drunk on duty and lawyers who chose to defend their client badly because one of their chums was acting for the prosecution.’
Thomas looked alarmed. ‘Well, who can we trust then?’
‘A great many people,’ she smiled. ‘Fortunately the rotten apples are in the minority. I was only making a point about Lionel, because that poor devil is the one who is likely to take the real flak once all this is exposed. We may be able to make certain Barnes never nurses again, with luck she might end up on criminal charges. Dr Freed might get a reprimand, but Lionel is very likely to have his name dragged through the mire.’
‘He won’t if he instigates the inquiries.’
‘And I believe he will, once I’ve talked to him,’ she said. ‘I’m staying tonight with an old friend in Highgate. Tomorrow I’m driving out to his home for lunch. I got Rosie into this terrible situation and the sooner I can rescue her from it, the happier I’ll feel.’