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Chapter Eighteen
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Belle Vue Chapter Nineteen
CHAPTER NINETEENFriday, 13 February Gary nudged Alex, who was still half-asleep on the sofa. “Get up, mate. You look like a shagged-out sloth.”Persistent fingers dug into Alex’s shoulders. He let out an irritated mumble. “I wish.”He opened his eyes, groaned, and closed them again. The last thing he wanted was the pale gurning face of Gary breathing on him at such close proximity. “Piss off. I’m awake now.”Gary, dressed in a tracksuit, opened his mouth and tipped back his head in a full yawn.“Just got up myself. Overslept. Again.” He grimaced at the leaden sky beyond the window. “No wonder. Still dark out and it’s gone eleven. I hate this weather.”“Me too.” Alex sat up. He lowered his bare feet to the carpet.“Fancy a bevie?” Gary asked as he padded toward the kitchen.Clatters and bangs sounded from the other room. Soon the smell of coffee filtered through to the lounge.“Looks like Paul’s up and gone. Fancy not waking us.”Alex shrugged, thankful for small mercies. H
Belle Vue Chapter Twenty
CHAPTER TWENTYTuesday, 17 August, 1869 After Mary’s visit and the letter of refusal from Doctor Fishburn she’d received this morning, Ellen felt increasingly despondent. Not just about the failure of their escape plan, but because of an ominous worsening in their treatment. Attendants, who she had never worried about, now seemed to target her. She first noticed it a few days ago at comb out.Fifty or so women, two attendants, and four combs. There were no mirrors for the patients in the asylum. They were not allowed any hairpins or combs, and the rules prescribed one style for all, a single plait, covered by a headscarf. Ellen had sat on the bench waiting her turn, thankful she had no sores on her head like some who’d scream as the comb raked over the scabs. Her own hair was still matted and damp from the previous night, but nothing prepared her for the rough jerking and pulling through her tangled locks. She bit her lip and endured the pain. Back in their room, she had asked Harr
Belle Vue Chapter Twenty-One
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONEMonday, 23 February Home alone, Alex switched on his laptop and congratulated himself on getting his dissertation framework and a chapter on the background of asylums handed in to Hamish on time. The Prof had been pleased with his speedy progress and, after a quick scan of the text, with the quality as well. They’d spent a useful half hour discussing the next stages of his work, the timing to submit his Masters’ application then caught up with the details of his meeting with Jez Trent. Hamish had observed Alex seemed a bit tense and warned him not to overdo it.“Easy to get too engrossed in your subject to the detriment of all else,” he’d said, reverting to lecturer mode.If only Hamish knew how difficult he found it to keep focused. All he could think about was Claire and dismissed any notion he was getting obsessed with the whole asylum business. Until last night. He’d returned to the flat and briefly mentioned Belle Vue to Gary and Paul. Admittedly, they were
Belle Vue Chapter Twenty-Two
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWOFriday, 20 August, 1869 Harriet stayed in the infirmary for three days. Rose, in the next bed, was discharged after two. During that time, Harriet asked anyone who would listen if they had seen Ellen. The answer was always ‘no’. She hadn’t seen a doctor or the Matron at all, but when Mrs. Trotter came in to her ward on the third morning, Harriet begged her to check Ellen wasn’t in the mortuary.When the Assistant Matron returned saying the only death in the past day had been an old soldier who’d fallen down the stairs and broken his neck, she was at first relieved.“That weasel Lynton Brown brought him in.” Mrs. Trotter’s round face shone with indignation. “Do you know, he wheeled Titus Sproat in on a barrow and tipped him out on the floor like a sack of potatoes? When I told Brown to have more respect for the dead, he said, ‘He’s beyond any pain now, ain’t he, Miss Fusspot,’ snickering in that foul way he has. The nerve of the man.”Harriet swallowed. “You don
Belle Vue Chapter Twenty-Three
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREESaturday, 7 March Alex drove through the gates of Belle Vue for his showdown with Claire. Though sure he had made the right decision, a part of him still hoped for a rational explanation. One that would turn back time to before it all turned sour.He also hoped she wouldn’t cry and shout. All he wanted was the truth. He didn’t want to hear her protest her innocence, tell him lies—though they wouldn’t be lies if the doctor had made a mistake. The papers were full of such cases. Maybe she’d had another test done and waited for the results. Maybe. Maybe not.And, though angry and hurt, he still loved her.He parked his car then sat motionless, hands still clutching the steering wheel. He listened as one of his favorite songs played on the radio. Delaying tactics. Anything to avoid setting off a chain of events that might be difficult—impossible—to stop.He leaned back against the headrest ignoring the temptation to start the car and drive away.The sound of a
Belle Vue Chapter Twenty-Four
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOURSaturday, 21 August, 1869When Harriet woke the next morning, her mouth was parched and her tongue still slightly swollen. But with her first priority clear in her mind, she was ready for the new day. Breakfast passed without incident. She sat silently through the meal and once again played through the events of the day of the cake delivery. Her memory was a jumble. All she could remember was the confusion around them when she and Ellen had staggered out of their room. That, and the fact that before she was taken to the infirmary by Mrs. Craven, Bill Callahan had been there.Should she report Ellen’s disappearance to Mrs. Fishburn? The Matron would first ask what she had done to find Ellen, so she would wait until she had exhausted all other possibilities.Excused from straw plaiting until Monday, she decided to speak to Mrs. Trotter again. Ask her if she had seen Bill Callahan or heard any information that might connect to Ellen’s whereabouts. Harriet made her
Belle Vue Chapter Twenty-Five
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVEMonday, 23 March Alex shuffled out of Hamish’s office and checked his watch. Eleven fifty-five. Paul was meeting him here at twelve. He scratched at the stubble on his chin and sat down on the hard plastic chair.He distracted himself by contemplating the woman at the cluttered desk opposite him. Hamish’s new secretary. Zena Theodorou. A female version of Paul without the bald patch. His mind flicked to Paul hugging Claire before the Greek Food and Wine party, while he’d stood back and found fault with her hair and face. His stomach churned. Christ, he’d been a smug shit. And now it was too late to—“Hi, Alex. Sorry I’m late.”The clock above Zena’s head read 12:03. Alex stood so he was level with Paul’s eyes and the concern in them.“You okay?” Paul asked. “I heard you moving around early this morning but by the time I was up, you’d gone.”“I’m still not sleeping much.”“Let’s go somewhere quiet, get a drink and some lunch.” Paul glanced at Zena. She gave
Belle Vue Chapter Twenty-Six
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIXSunday, 22 August, 1869 Having completed a morning constitutional of unparalleled boredom, Nottidge stepped into the main foyer with Sheridan Lush. Almost immediately a red-eyed barefooted figure rushed toward them, arms outstretched.Lush raised his whistle to alert the attendants when she called out, “No! Please don’t do that. I must speak with you. It’s very important. Please.” The last word came out as a pitiful sob. Lush’s hand paused in front of his mouth.Nottidge eyed the girl’s thin shift, unkempt hair, and tears with irritation. Could no one keep these lunatics in check? He would get Callahan to sort out the culprits. He looked again at the girl—quite attractive and prone to a bit of drama—so then maybe he wouldn’t. Here was an unexpected chance to amuse himself: and perhaps trifle with the sanctimonious Lush.“What’s your problem?” Nottidge asked.“Ellen’s dead, oh God, Ellen’s dead,” she cried. “Poor Ellen, poor Ellen, all our plans.”Nottidge hel
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Belle Vue Epilogue
EPILOGUEThe woman joined the queue serviced by a male immigration official. She’d already caught his eye as she sauntered across the concourse. Lucky break for her. The man had ‘dupe’ written all over him.After a tiresome wait, she was next in line. While he dealt with the elderly couple at his window, she reached into her bag and rummaged around: purse, brush, mobile phone, solicitor’s letter confirming she’d inherited, amongst other things, Moira’s apartment at Belle Vue and the two other properties it had been necessary to acquire for the plan to work. Her fingers kept moving until they felt smooth calfskin. She pulled out the passport holder and held it ready in her hand.The old-timers shuffled off to the next staging post and the man turned toward her. As his gaze met hers, she licked her lips ... slowly. She moved forward, pleased to note he wore an expression like all his Christmases had come at once. Perspiration ran down his face. With this air conditioning?
Belle Vue Chapter Thirty-Seven
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVENMonday, 18 May Alex collected a torch, pen knife, and a box of matches to take with him to Belle Vue. Thoughts of Claire, and how she’d faced her death alone, darkened his mood. As did his uncertainty about giving Miss Bradigan’s words any credence.His journey to the chapel was uneventful. A few nods in the car park to a couple of residents he knew by sight, but no one he needed to speak to. The brightness of the afternoon sun lingered though it was past four. As he opened the heavy oak door, the gloom of the interior pushed its way out to the porch. He stepped inside, registering the drop in temperature. The chill made the hairs on his arms stand to attention. He moved farther into the chapel. Surrounded by silence, he stood alone at the back of the pews. His awareness of this solitude stretched his nerves further.Alex took out the scrap of paper on which he’d jotted Miss Bradigan’s instructions and scanned his notes. He walked along the central aisle, turn
Belle Vue Chapter Thirty-Six
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIXMonday, 13 December, 1869 Adelaide pulled her cape tightly round her shoulders and began the short walk from her residence to the main asylum building. The darkness and fog made it almost impossible to see. The gas lantern she carried was of little use. Like a blind woman, she edged forward relying on habit to find her way. If anything, her nerves rather than lack of sight slowed her progress. Every few feet she would stop to check nothing was following her. As she shuffled forward again, Adelaide turned her head one way then the other for the same reason.Mary Grady’s letter had chilled her to the bone. It arrived the day after she’d overheard Nottidge and Callahan talking. That night she’d gone to bed worrying so much Samuel had commented on her distraction. He’d complained she had barely said a word to him all evening and hadn’t given him so much as a goodnight kiss. Let him sulk, she thought. She had curled into a tight ball at the edge of the bed and thought
Belle Vue Chapter Thirty-Five
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVESunday, 17 May After a full day of revision and numerous rounds of beer in the Union bar, Alex and Paul sat at a corner table in the Bengal Tiger restaurant, waiting for their order to arrive. A contented hum from the many diners mingled with the low, but distinctive tones of the background sitar music. Two waiters drew up with a laden trolley and began placing numerous dishes in front of them.“I’ve got to say this, Alex,” Paul said. “When you started seeing Marianne, it was like I was pushed out of the picture.”Uh oh, this didn’t sound good, Alex thought, wondering what had triggered this topic. Conscious the delivery rate had slowed somewhat, Alex used eyebrow semaphore to signal Paul to hold until the waiters had finished. His mate, however, seemed oblivious of the additional audience and continued.“I’m friends with lots of girls, but to get a special spark is rare for me. You can sleep with someone, but you know something’s missing, and it’s that spar
Belle Vue Chapter Thirty-Four
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOURMonday, 29 November, 1869Johnson Nottidge felt good this morning. Having slept soundly last night, he woke refreshed at nine, with an all-too-rare sense of anticipation of what the day might bring. He leaned back against the leather of his wingback chair, closed his eyes, and contemplated some of the activities he had planned for the evening. It was arrivals day, too, so he was keen to learn if the latest delivery threw up any interesting specimens. Cocooned in his luxurious office, away from the cacophony of madness, the crackling of the fire was the only accompaniment to his contemplation.Little in this world bothered him: losing at cards, Fortnum’s running out of his favorite port, being present when Samuel Fishburn moaned about another Asylum Board inspection, even his father threatening to disown him. These were mere pin-pricks of irritation, but nothing that might interrupt his lifelong pursuit of satiating his every whim. When the local newspapers report
Belle Vue Chapter Thirty-Three
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREESunday, 10 May Alex stood in the kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil. His mobile rang, breaking his scrutiny of the St. Alban’s skyline at night through the distortion of a rain-spattered window. He slid the phone from the pocket of his sweatpants and checked the number before answering. No name listed.“Hello?”“Is that Alex Palmer?”“Speaking.”“Hi, Alex. It’s Debra Edwards.”The kettle switched itself off, but he ignored it.“Thanks for returning my call. Is Marianne with you?” he asked.“No. Why?”“I haven’t heard from her for over a week. When did you last speak to her?”“Must be two or three weeks ago. She was still in a strop because I didn’t want to come and see the apartment. And given her moods these days, Alex, I hate to say this, but she’s probably avoiding you. Had you thought of that?”He laughed. “It did cross my mind, but I’ve emailed her, left phone and text messages asking her to let me know she’s okay.” Alex paused and swallowed.
Belle Vue Chapter Thirty-Two
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWOMonday, 15 November, 1869The weather was dank and overcast. A suitable morning for a hanging.Johnson Nottidge stood next to the Governor of St. Alban’s Gaol as the man took out his fob watch and looked at it for the third time in as many minutes. Frederick Butt held it out for him to see and tutted. The man’s nerves were obviously getting the better of him. 7:45 a.m. Still, a quarter hour to go. Nottidge’s excitement rose. The thrill of watching Mary Grady die would be an experience hard to equal.The gibbet dominated the small prison yard. They stared at it, Nottidge with fascination while Butt wrinkled his nose with distaste. There being another hanging at Maidstone that day, William Calcraft, the General Executioner of Great Britain, was unavailable, but one of his assistants had stepped in. By all accounts, Ernest Ruggles was efficient at his job. So far, Nottidge had to agree, the man, in addition to his fee, had negotiated with Butt to keep the clothes an
Belle Vue Chapter Thirty-One
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONESaturday, 2 May The morning after his celebration with Marianne, Alex left her sleeping as he crept out of the apartment. Before they’d finally dozed off, Marianne had mentioned meeting him in the Union bar at about one. Nothing had been confirmed. He needed to take a pile of books back to the library first, then he’d contact her and decide how to play the ‘take a breather’ conversation.Jeff Reichenberg was in the hall. To judge from the dampness of his hair and sports gear, he’d just finished a strenuous workout. After a few words of greeting, Alex made his way down the stairs to the main foyer. The man had given him a strange look. It made him feel awkward as though he was somehow letting Claire down by being seen leaving Marianne’s. Last night had been as wild as ever. After that first shock and her reaction, it could have all gone horribly wrong, but she’d taken the champagne from him and clad in that outfit, led him willingly to the bedroom. She then did th
Belle Vue Chapter Thirty
CHAPTER THIRTYTuesday, 19 October, 1869“Madhouse Murder trial starts today!”“Read All About It.”“Murderess Faces Judge and Jury.”The whey-faced paper sellers ran to and fro doing a brisk trade.Johnson Nottidge stepped down from his carriage into the bustling Hertford Street as the downpour started. The coachman hurried forward and held an umbrella over him. Using the end of his walking stick, Nottidge prodded a ragamuffin out of his path and made his way into the courthouse. Behind him others followed suit, seeking shelter and, even better, a few hours’ entertainment in the warm. He removed his doeskin gloves and looked around the main courtroom. The public gallery and reporters’ box were already fit to burst—standing room only—and now the jumble of rainproof trappings, discarded willy-nilly, added to the chaotic atmosphere. In the enclosed surroundings, the air was pungent with the mix of sodden clothes and unwashed bodies.He breathed in deeply and relished his anticipat
