The Asylum (12 page)

It was still broad daylight, but I assumed it must be late in the afternoon.

“What is the time?” I asked hopelessly.

“One o’clock. Now you sit up and ’ave your tea, and then you can ’ave a nice sleep.”

Rather than have her touch me, I sat up as instructed; she arranged the invalid tray across my knees, and departed.

Even the sight of food turned my stomach; I reached instead for the glass of cloudy liquid standing beside the teacup. Eight hours of blessed oblivion . . . and then? I paused with the glass halfway to my lips. Through the fog of anguish and horror, a single thought loomed:
Once they move you, you will never escape.

And if I did not eat, I would be too weak to escape. I set down the glass and began chewing the bread in small, nauseating mouthfuls, washing it down with sips of tea, and trying to concentrate what remained of my mind. Why this had happened to me was beyond my comprehension; all that mattered was to escape (though that was surely impossible) within the next two days, find my way to Gresham’s Yard (but how? I had no money), and confront the woman (though I did not believe she existed) who had stolen my life away.

The tale of Lucia Ardent was more than bizarre; it was grotesquely improbable. No; Dr. Straker had invented the story for his own purposes—purposes I dared not begin to imagine—which made it even more imperative that I should escape.

But he knew about the writing case and brooch.

I could not remember whether I had mentioned the writing case to him, but I felt sure I had not described the brooch in any detail, either to him or to Bella.

But I had described it to Frederic.

Which meant—that I must not allow myself to think about what it meant.

Escape. I could empty the sleeping draught into the chamber pot, and pretend to be asleep—or drowsy—when Hodges returned for the tray. That ought to give me several uninterrupted hours. And I had better do that at once, before she came back and caught me.

Half a minute later I was back in bed, forcing down the last of the bread and listening for footsteps.

Escape. I already knew that the grille protecting the window felt very solid, but if I could find some sort of instrument, perhaps I could loosen it.

Or there was the door. You could pick a lock with a bent hatpin, or so I had read, but I had never tried it, and beyond this lock would be another, and another . . .

When Hodges brought the tray in, she had left the door open and the key in the lock; I was sure of it.

If I hid behind the door, and padded the bed with rolled-up clothes to make it look as if I were asleep, perhaps I could slip past her, slam the door, turn the key and run. But the door opened flat against the side wall; she would feel that I was behind it. And even if she came right up to the bed without seeing me, there would be very little room to squeeze past her. No; she would certainly catch me.

Could I hit her over the head with something and knock her unconscious? I might be able to break a leg off the upright chair, but would that be heavy enough? How hard would I have to hit her? And what if I killed her by mistake?

Heavy footsteps approached. I leant back against the pillows, turned my head toward the door, and half closed my eyes. The lock turned—a hard, effortful grating sound; the door swung against the wall as Hodges entered, and there was the bunch of keys, swinging from the lock.

“Well, that’s better, isn’t it? You ’ave a nice long sleep now. I’ll look in later, and this evening I’ll bring you some supper and another drop o’ chloral.”

I did my best to look drowsy and vacant as she turned away, stepping out into the passage to set down the tray before she closed the door. Dodging past her looked even more impossible than I had imagined. And from the sound of the lock, it would take far more than a hatpin to open it, even if I knew the trick.

Which left the window. As soon as her footsteps had died away, I went over and examined the grille, which seemed to be set into the stonework itself. I could not move it in the slightest, no matter how hard I tugged. Perhaps if I picked up the chair and ran at the grille, I might be able to dislodge it; most likely I would break the chair, and be punished accordingly.

The jug and basin on the washstand were made of enamel, too light to do any damage. I turned to the closet. The empty valise stood to one side, on end, with the hatbox on top of it.

I had glanced into the hatbox on that first afternoon. This time I took out the bonnet—a pale blue one, trimmed in cream—but found not a single hatpin. I was about to replace it when I noticed a pocket in the lining near the bottom of the hatbox. A small, squarish shape was pressing against the silk.

With suddenly trembling fingers I drew from the pocket a familiar red plush box. I pressed the catch, and there was my dragonfly brooch, unharmed.

And there was something else in the pocket—something that clinked softly as I touched it: a small drawstring purse in brown velvet, with five gold sovereigns inside.

I do not know how long I crouched, staring blankly at my brooch and clutching the purse as if it might take wing and fly away, before it occurred to me that my writing case might be here, too. But there was nothing else in the hatbox. I dragged out the valise and felt all around the lining, but again I found nothing except traces of lint.

I let out a great sob of frustration and self-reproach. If only, if
only
I had thought to look sooner, instead of now, when it was too late.

“Let her return my writing case and brooch”
. . . If Dr. Straker found out, he would take it from me.

I slipped the purse into the pocket of my travelling-dress, put away the valise and hatbox, and got back into bed for warmth, still holding my brooch in its open box. The rubies glowed like drops of blood.

The gold pin, though sharp, was barely two inches long. Hodges would swat it away with one meaty hand and lift me off my feet with the other.

I pictured those small, knowing, covetous eyes leering down at me, and a plan began to form.

The worst that can happen, I thought, is that she turns out to be honest, and hands the brooch straight to Dr. Straker.

I sat motionless for a very long time, thinking it out. Then I got up again and put on my travelling-dress, feeling that I would have a better chance with Hodges if I faced her fully dressed. I laid the travelling-cloak and bonnet at the foot of the bed, took two of the five sovereigns out of the purse, and left them loose in the pocket of my cloak. After that there was nothing to do but pace about the room to keep warm, and pray that Hodges would look in on me before darkness fell.

At last I heard a distant thud, and then the approaching footsteps. I moved over to the window and stood with my back to it, facing the door as the observation slide opened. I heard a sharp intake of breath and a rattle of keys; the door crashed against the wall and Hodges strode into the room.

“What’s this then? Why aren’t you asleep in bed?”

My heart was pounding so violently that I could scarcely speak.

“Because—because I have something to show you.”

“And what might that be?” she asked suspiciously, moving closer.

“This.” I took the jewel box from my pocket, pressed the catch, and held it out for her to see, angling the box so that the rubies caught the light. Her little eyes flickered between the brooch and my face.

“It is the most precious thing I have in the world,” I said. “My mother left it to me; it is worth a hundred pounds.”

“And what’s that to me?”

“It is yours,” I said, “if you will help me escape.”

She smiled derisively. The little eyes bored into mine.

“And what’s to stop me taking it right now?”

“Nothing,” I said breathlessly, willing my voice not to shake. “But then I would tell Dr. Straker, and if you were caught, you would be sent to prison.”

The eyes flickered over the brooch.

“Or I could give it to Dr. Straker,” she said, “and ’e might give me a nice reward.”

“He might,” I said, “but not two hundred pounds.”

“You just said it was worth one hundred.”

“Yes, if
you
were to sell it. But to me it is worth all the money I have in the world, which is two hundred pounds, in trust with my solicitor. As soon as I am safely home in London, I will buy it back from you for two hundred pounds.”

“’Ow do I know it’s not paste?”

I had not thought of this, and I racked my brain for an answer, keeping my eyes fixed on hers as if she were a huge, savage dog, bracing itself to spring. Meaty breath wafted over me, prompting a spasm of nausea.

“You don’t,” I said at last. “But do you think I would have risked bringing it here, of all places, if I could have borne to part with it?”

She was silent again; I could see the eyes calculating.

“And supposing—just supposing, mind—I was to ’elp you escape, I should lose my place.”

“Not necessarily,” I replied. “You could say that I hid behind the door, dodged around you when you came in with the tray, and locked you in.”

She nodded very slightly. There was a hint of complicity in her glance.

“What are your wages here?” I asked.

“Thirty pound and my keep.”

“Two hundred pounds is nearly seven years’ wages.”

“Maybe, but why should I trust you? S’posing you do get back to London, why wouldn’t you tell the police I stole your brooch?”

“Because I have given you my word, and . . . because the police might bring me back here, before I can prove that—I am who I say I am.”

There was another calculating silence.

“And what if you get caught before you get out of ’ere? You’ll say I stole it, and then where am I?”

I had not anticipated this, either.

“If I am caught escaping, you will still be locked in here, and—if you will not trust me—you can put the brooch back before they find you.”

“Then I get nothing, ’cept a bad mark on my character.”

I thought desperately, but no answer occurred to me. I felt in my pocket with my other hand and held out the two sovereigns.

“Here,” I said as the gold caught the light, “they are yours to keep if you will only help me, whether I am caught or not.”

The glittering coins seemed to fascinate her even more than the rubies. Her little eyes fastened on them, then on the brooch, then on me, back and forth, back and forth, for a small eternity before she reached out and took first the coins, and then the jewel box.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll do it.”

The floor swayed beneath my feet; I realised I had stopped breathing, and took a long breath, just in time to save myself from fainting.

“When?” I gasped.

“First thing in the morning. I’ll tell you what to do when I bring your supper.”

“But Dr. Straker is coming to see me in the morning—”

“Not till after breakfast. You’ll ’ave two hours’ start of ’im.”

“But he will wire to London; the police will be waiting for me.”

“I can’t ’elp that, can I? An’ I’m not spending the night locked in ’ere.”

“Then . . . if you want your two hundred pounds, you will have to find me another cloak to put over mine; otherwise I will certainly be caught. Anything—it does not matter how old.”

“Then I’d be ’ad for stealin’ a cloak as well. Now do you want to chance it, or not?”

“Yes,” I said, “I will chance it.”

At dawn the next morning, I was sitting on the side of the bed, shivering in my cloak and bonnet. During the worst and longest night of my life, I had vomited up everything I had eaten the day before, and I could see nothing ahead of me but an eternity of such nights. When the lock rasped and snapped, I did not even believe it would be Hodges until the door opened.

“You look like death warmed up,” she remarked, setting down the tray, “and not much of the warmth about it, neither.”

“No,” I said, “but if I should manage to escape, how shall I let you know?”

“Write to Margaret Hodges at the Railway Arms in Liskeard, to be left till called for. They’ll see I get it.”

“Thank you. Now tell me again what to do.”

“Left out the door, turn right halfway along. Unlock that door—the big key in the middle there—and leave the keys in it; you won’t need them after that. Go to the end of the passage, turn right, and keep going till you come to a landing. Go down four flights and you’re on the ground floor. There’ll be a long corridor on your left, a shorter one straight ahead. Go straight ahead—it’s the voluntary patients, so walk like you belong—and the door’s at the end on your right. It won’t be locked; the time’s gone seven. Turn right, follow the gravel path, and keep going in the same direction till you come to the gate. Anyone stops you—well, you’ll ’ave to think for yourself. Through the gate and Liskeard’s four mile to your right, but you might get a lift with a carter if you’re lucky.”

We had been through this the evening before, but it seemed impossible; I would never remember. I arranged my bonnet to hide as much of my face as possible.

“Thank you,” I said again.

“Good luck, then. Least I got me tea.”

She sat down on the bed, which creaked dangerously, took the lid off the teapot, and began to stir the leaves. When I glanced back as I drew the door shut, she did not even look up. I took out the keys and set off down the empty corridor with my footsteps echoing around me.

The next door opened inward, revealing another dark, panelled corridor, with a dim oblong of light at the far end. Hodges had said to leave the keys here, but if someone tried the door and found it unlocked, the pursuit would begin at once. I locked the door behind me, flinching at the noise, and set off with the keys still clutched in my hand, hidden beneath my cloak.

Now my footsteps sounded as loud as gunshots, no matter how carefully I walked. There were doors on both sides of me; I dared not look at them but fixed my eyes on the floorboards ahead of me. I had got perhaps two-thirds of the way along when a female figure appeared, silhouetted against the light, and began to walk briskly toward me. I kept walking, trying to keep my pace steady and my gaze low while holding myself as upright as I could.