Chapter 19 Savi
Savi
It seemed like only yesterday she was approaching these stone walls, and yet so much had changed.
The last time she’d stared at that black gate guarding the entrance to the sanatorium, it had felt like she was alone in the world. She’d been determined to gain entry, only to fall at the first—admittedly colossal—hurdle.
The twenty-five-foot stone walls seemed only to get taller as the cab drew closer, urging her on to either joy or despair—and only the Matrikas knew which.
The rising sun had been in their eyes constantly since they’d left Kings Cross, but the stone cut it off in one fell swoop, casting them into sudden darkness.
Alex’s hand squeezed hers, lending her his strength in her time of need. After being on her own for so long, it was something she would never take for granted. “In one way or another, this will be over by the day’s end, love.”
The absurdity of his statement almost made her laugh. “Will it?”
“The unknown will be over,” he murmured, too low for the cab driver to hear. “You’ll be able to move forward without this hanging over your head, without it forever lingering at the back of your mind.”
“Thank you for being here with me.” Savi leant into him as the motor came to a stop beneath the shadow of the towering walls.
He stretched his arm around her, kissing her temple. “Always.”
“Who shall I say is calling?” the cab driver said, throwing a glance over his shoulder.
Alex’s voice was threaded with steel. “Lord Lakenheath.”
Throwing the door closed behind him, the driver blocked any chance of her hoping to eavesdrop on his conversation with the guard she knew lurked behind the gate.
Savi’s breath stilled as the driver raised the heavy knocker before rapping it against the door.
She leant to the side, hoping to catch a glimpse of the little slot through which she’d spoken to a guard last time, but once again the driver denied her, the back of his head blocking her view.
“They’ll let us in,” Alex promised her.
The guard apparently agreed, because at that very moment the gate moved. A river of morning light flowed through the open gate, finally set free from its confinement.
Her heartbeat drummed in her ears as the driver casually dropped back into his seat, ignorant of how momentous it was for her to finally be permitted entrance.
Savi knew her bottom lip would be a bloodied wreck by midday, but she couldn’t stop biting, especially as the car moved forward.
There it was, the elegant manor house she’d caught nothing but a glimpse of last time, stretching across the manicured landscape around it.
Ivy climbed around the huge Gothic windows, through which she could see signs of movement.
“You own this?” she asked, unsurprised to find her voice was a strangled rasp.
Alex nodded. “It belonged to the family of my great-grandmother. She was an only child, so it entered into the Lakenheath estate when she married. So if you want to get technical, we own this now.”
She glanced behind her, catching sight of the guard closing the gate, securing it with a heavy wooden crossbar. Her composure wavered at the sight. If her theory was correct, then this might have been Ma’s only glimpse of the outside world—for five years.
It didn’t matter that the house was objectively beautiful, or that the driveway was lined with hedges bursting with colour. A gilded prison was a prison nonetheless.
Savi exhaled as the car pulled to a stop outside the sanatorium’s front door, feeling curiously…
calm after hours of worrying. The emotions were still there; she could feel the gnawing in her gut, the pounding of the blood in her ears, but it was almost as though her mind had granted her a reprieve, however brief.
The driver made as though to open the car door for her, but Savi was already on her feet. She held out her hand to offer Alex assistance, which he took—but only to bestow a kiss upon her knuckles.
“I’m quite sure this is supposed to be the other way around,” he remarked, nodding his thanks at the driver.
She shrugged, an almost dreamlike quality lightening her voice. “I was never much one for tradition.” She went to open the front door, only to discover it was locked.
She knocked. Loudly.
“I’m not sure how long we’ll be,” Alex told the taxi driver.
“Not a problem,” the man’s gruff voice came, sharpened by his South London dialect. “I’ll keep an eye on the time.”
A faint click reverberated through the door.
It swung open a moment later to reveal a man perhaps a decade Savi’s senior, wearing a smart shirt and tie beneath a white coat.
The scents of fresh tea and frying bacon were unmistakeable as they hung in the air.
“Lord Lakenheath.” The man blinked in surprise at Alex.
“What a splendid surprise to see you again so soon.”
“Good morning, Dr Mullins.” He smiled, hovering a comforting hand at Savi’s waist.
Mullins stepped back and waved them inside. “Do come in.”
“I’d like to introduce you to my wife, Lady Lakenheath.”
Savi nodded, immediately suspicious of any doctor who worked here, the place in which Ma might be detained.
Mullins smiled, despite her rudeness. “An honour, Lady Lakenheath.”
The sanatorium’s interior was as grand as its exterior.
Watercolours hung on the walls in grand frames, but none were by artists she recognised.
Though, she realised, looking closer at the subjects, several bore a striking resemblance to the gardens they had just passed through.
Vivid flowerbeds, carefully trimmed hedges, and climbing ivy.
The foyer itself was grand, with marble flooring stretching outwards in tones of grey and pale blue. A staircase of mahogany clung to the exterior wall like its ivy counterpart, climbing up to an open gallery.
“Is Dr Franklin available?” Alex asked.
“He’s just finishing a talking therapy session with a patient, but I would be happy to assist with anything you’d need.”
Savi spoke up, plastering on a sickly-sweet smile and hoping that Alex’s damnable title would do the rest. “Dr Franklin has put aside some papers for His Lordship in his office. We’re a little bit early.”
“Forgive me, I wasn’t aware.” Mullins’ tone was apologetic as he clasped his hands together. “Please follow me.”
With her smile disappearing the moment Mullins turned around, Savi kept a close eye out as he led them down one of the corridors, looking through any doors that were open.
She had half a look into the busy kitchens, noticing the air briefly becoming several degrees warmer before Mullins led them on.
Mullins turned left as the corridor ended, leading them deeper inside. Where the fuck are the patients?
As the thought snarled in her mind, though, she found some. The air warmed once more, but instead of the ear-splitting clanging of the kitchens, Savi found a sight that she recognised.
Beneath the glass roof of an idyllic orangery sat a small group of patients, all seats congregating around a central object—a vase overflowing with grapes.
Each patient painted their own watercolour of the vase on easels, their brushstrokes light as they contemplated where the next should go.
All were dressed in identical white clothing, a blouse and skirt for the women and a shirt and trousers for the men.
Savi scanned each patient as they passed, but not one of them bore a resemblance to her mother. The orangery’s pleasant late summer warmth dissipated as they left it behind, disappearing into the maze of corridors.
Finally, Mullins brought them to a stop, rapping his knuckles on the door. A golden placard affixed to the dark wood declared it to be Franklin’s office.
When there was no answer, Mullins gingerly opened the door to check it was indeed empty before stepping back, gesturing to an unexpectedly cramped office.
A large mullioned window provided a view out onto the grounds, the lower third partially covered by a dense bush.
The view of the wall behind Franklin’s desk was obstructed by a bookcase overflowing with books in every colour and size imaginable.
Filing cabinets were stacked side-by-side on the corridor wall, their dark wood matching that of the desk.
A sizeable golden bell was located next to the filing cabinets; it was perfectly spherical, with a small button at its apex.
The only available floor space was currently occupied with two visitors’ chairs facing the desk, although their view was partially impeded by a polished typewriter.
“Please make yourself comfortable. May I offer you a drink?”
Alex shook his head at the same time as she did. “We’re fine, thank you, Dr Mullins.”
“Very well. Dr Franklin shan’t be long. I’ll let him know you’re waiting.”
She went to take a seat as Mullins closed the door, but the sharp click of the latch was the starting gun for her to jump into movement.
“You take the drawers on the left,” Alex whispered, reaching their equivalents on the right, almost knocking over a cast-iron paperweight, a wide base stretching upwards before ending in a solid football. Its shape, strangely, reminded her of a glass of wine.
Savi was surprised to find the drawers unlocked, but her doubts remained—the hours they’d been travelling by train had been filled with little other than talk of what to do when they reached here.
“I still don’t think we’re going to find anything.
He’s not going to have a signed confession in here. ”
“No,” Alex conceded, flipping through a foolscap folder. “But the floor plans would be an excellent place to start.” He leant a hand on the chair at the desk’s helm, Franklin’s white coat draped over its back.