Chapter Four #4
Crudge shook his head. ‘There was another girl with you that night, I believe.’
‘Joanna.’ Dread and realisation tumbled through her. ‘Joanna Bowen.’
‘When Joanna heard that Missy had died she became quite hysterical, apparently. She told the matron all about the midsummer ritual, and that Christopher was responsible for Missy’s injury. Constable Pryce was called at once. I’m so sorry, Theo. Forgive me for bringing you such terrible news.’
‘But they can’t believe that? They can’t think he meant to hurt her? Everybody knows there’s no more harm in Kit than in a . . . a . . . puppy!’
‘I fear that both the matron and Constable Pryce do believe her. Other girls at the home heard them sneaking back in that night, you see, yet nobody heard any kind of disturbance on the stairs.’
‘But to blame Kit on that one girl’s say-so? They mustn’t! Oh, Uncle! You have to help me – what should I do?’
But Crudge had no answers, only arms to hold her until, at length, she fell asleep.
‘Black magic. Drunkenness. Midnight assignations. Shameless flirtation.’
Diana paced in front of the fireplace with her eyes fixed on the floor.
The tendons of her neck were standing out as though invisible hands were wringing it.
Theo was feeling something similar – a choking sensation that wouldn’t let up.
It wasn’t black magic. I wasn’t drunk. It wasn’t flirtation, it’s love.
The effort of speaking was far too great.
‘Theodora? Have you nothing to say?’
Her mother looked exhausted – her lips were dry and pallid.
‘A daughter of this house, behaving like the worst kind of . . . delinquent. Half of the guests are leaving! And who can blame them? A murder? On our very doorstep – and my own daughter involved!’ She raised a hand to her forehead. ‘The papers will print it all. We are quite ruined.’
Theo had no words of comfort or defence to offer.
‘So, you will remain silent,’ Diana said.
‘Very well, then. Perhaps it is not the worst way to proceed. You must make your testimony to the police, but that will be the end of it. You will not speak another word about this. I shall deny your involvement to any person who has the temerity to mention it, and God help you . . .’ She glared at her daughter.
‘God help you if you ever contradict me.’
Diana let the words hang.
‘Do you hear me, Theo? Our only hope is for this to pass, and for our association with it to be forgotten.’
Theo heard her, but couldn’t respond. She was overwhelmed just then by the thought of how frightened Kit must be, locked up in gaol without his family.
She saw again the chunk of stone sailing through the air.
It was blind ill luck that Missy had been struck; Kit would never have wanted to cause her harm.
Somehow, the police – and everybody – must be made to see that.
Theo’s head felt numb, and her heart tripped whenever she thought about it, whenever she remembered.
At the end of the week she walked back to the hospital.
Heavy legs, heavy steps; the journey took her two hours.
She was light-headed by the time she arrived, and half stumbled into Dr Anscombe’s arms.
He deposited her in a small room out of the way. White walls and a dark-red floor, acrid with the smells of carbolic and vinegar. A desk held neat stacks of paperwork; there were metal filing cabinets, and a safe in the wall.
The doctor’s concern was clear. Gently, he lifted each of her drooping eyelids in turn.
‘You are stricken, poor girl. Have there been other fainting fits?’
‘Not since you first told me,’ Theo said. ‘But I wish I would faint, and wake to find it all a bad dream.’
He held her wrist with two fingers and counted against his watch.
‘The events have put a terrible strain upon you. You must rest, and allow your mind to quieten.’
‘I . . . I don’t see how it ever can.’
He gave her a questioning look.
‘It’s all my fault, you see,’ she said. ‘I brought us together at the castle that night.’
The doctor nodded. ‘Yes. I have heard that the tale about a fall on the stairs was a lie.’
Theo flushed guiltily.
‘It was a shock to hear that a young boy had been arrested.’
‘Kit would never hurt a fly! It’s all so awful, Dr Anscombe!’
‘But he did throw a stone at her?’
‘Not on purpose! Please, you must understand – Kit’s . . . different. He’s still like a child, on the inside.’
‘You mean, he’s an imbecile?’
‘Not that, exactly. But he never meant to hurt Missy. I saw what happened!’
‘Well, if you tell all this to the police, I’m sure the boy will be let off.’
‘But Constable Pryce hates . . .’
The doctor waited, but she didn’t have the heart to go on.
‘I’m so dreadfully sorry that I couldn’t save your friend, Miss Hallewell,’ he said.
‘I did everything I could, but . . . the brain is not like any other part of the body. Damage might occur to some part of the liver, or lung, and yet the rest be restored to sufficient function for the patient to continue in good health. But when damage occurs to the brain the outcome is always unpredictable, and usually far more grave. I . . . I wish I could have done better. Alas, I am not infallible.’
Tears blurred Theo’s vision. ‘But you are not to blame,’ she said. ‘I . . . I came to ask . . . may I please have a snip of Missy’s hair? For a keepsake.’
Dr Anscombe crossed to the window and stared out for a moment. Then he said: ‘I’m terribly sorry, but that won’t be possible. Melissa is already with the undertaker.’
‘Oh.’ Theo wiped her wet face with her hands. ‘But . . . if I went there and asked them, surely they would—’
‘A mortuary is no place for a young girl.’ He turned. ‘I will go on your behalf, and make the request.’
‘Thank you, Dr Anscombe,’ Theo whispered.
She didn’t want to see Missy. Not now. She remembered all too dreadfully having her photograph taken with Amy’s empty shell. But she needed something of Missy; something to keep hold of, because otherwise she would vanish altogether, and that was unimaginable.
The doctor came and handed her his handkerchief.
‘What a sorry thing it all is,’ he murmured. ‘What a dreadfully sorry thing.’
He took her home in a cab.
Later on, Theo eavesdropped on the servants.
It was how she usually found things out.
Peterson said that they would most likely move Kit from the police station in Shaftesbury to the gaol in Dorchester to await trial.
The poor mite, Cook muttered. Theo didn’t understand how it all worked – the different courts, the different judges.
But she had read about Dorchester Prison: a maze of cold stone behind a grim edifice, populated with the poor, the brutal and the hopeless.
It was a hanging prison. The gallows had been built in plain view of the inmates, to dismay them into repentance and obedience.
There wasn’t much time, but Theo knew she had to prevent Kit being taken there. She had to find some way to halt this catastrophe.