Part 8 (2/2)

*Oh, darling, one does not announce these things! They just happen. Besides if you've read that book, you'll know all about it. Every word is true.'

*I don't read novels,' said Bertram. *Nor do I move in political circles. My family has nothing to do with international affairs.'

My breakfast lay before me, congealing. I was fascinated. I could not tell if Bertram was fascinated or repelled. But then Beatrice said something that made it clear, at least to me, that she knew nothing at all.

*One hears so much working in the newspaper industry.'

*Of course,' said Bertram. *When is our appointment with Mr Freud?'

*Oh, darling, we're not seeing Freud. We're going to see a very nice, new asylum where no one is too mad. And I am going to write an entirely suitable piece on how we help those less fortunately minded than ourselves.'

Some time later I was waiting with Bertram on the hotel steps while Beatrice put on her hat. As we had been standing there some 20 minutes I could only conclude it was a most complicated hat. *Might be interesting,' said Bertram suddenly. *I mean, if she's right about how only the insane act outside the law. We might be able to talk to an alienist chappie about how to actually spot insanity.'

I sighed. *I think people commit crimes for the most ordinary reasons,' I said. *Love, envy, greed, hunger, the desire for power or even anger at perceived injustice.'

Bertram nodded. *I know. But it's a nice idea that one could simply tell, isn't it? That whole business with Pa ...'

*Ssss.h.!.+' I hissed. Beatrice had appeared at the top of the stairs.

*There you are, Euphemia. Didn't you hear me saying I was going to put on my hat? You really have no idea of your duties.'

Bertram took her arm and guided her into the waiting carriage. *She is pretending to be your companion, not your maid,' he said.

*But I thought that was how she joined your household a as Richenda's maid?' Bea lowered her voice. *That she came from a background none of you speak about.'

I felt myself flush with rage and embarra.s.sment. I kept my head enough to know that defending myself would only open up questions I had no intention of answering and contented myself with imagining how very hard I could kick Beatrice in this confined carriage if she pushed me much further.

*No,' said Bertram shortly.

*No?' asked Beatrice again.

*No,' said Bertram with a heavy finality.

*Oh, I'm so relieved,' said Beatrice with smile. *When I heard she was your housekeeper ...'

Bertram made a snorting noise. Beatrice patted him on the arm. *I'm not like the females with whom you are normally acquainted,' said Beatrice. *I'm a journalist. I ask the questions others dare not.'

*It seems to me that being an acquaintance of yours might be a risky business,' said Bertram.

*Indeed,' said Beatrice. *My acquaintances tremble, but my friends have nothing to fear.'

My mind boggled with the games this woman was playing. She had hinted that Mrs Wilson's love child might have been locked up in an asylum. Was she now suggesting that courts.h.i.+p would prevent her from revealing any unpleasant truths about the Staplefords? I only knew she had picked the wrong man for strategies. Bertram clearly had no idea what she was talking about.

The carriage clattered to a halt and we all climbed out. Bertram checked his pocket.w.a.tch. *Are we on time?' he asked.

*Oh, darling, you didn't think I'd let them know we were coming, do you?'

And with that she swept up the path towards a large white house. Bertram and I were left staring after her in horror.

Chapter Six.

Inside the Asylum

*Isn't she splendid?'

It was then I realised that I had been mistaken on two accounts. Firstly, the look on Bertram's face was one of positive astonishment rather than horror and I had, for some time now, been making too much of coincidence. I had, as others had often chastised me for in the past, allowed my personal feelings and prejudices to influence my judgement.

None of Beatrice Wilton's comments had anything to do with Mrs Wilson and the seance. Her designs were far more earthly. She was planning ahead to the commitment of Richard Stapleford so Bertram's status as head of the family would be a.s.sured. Even the desire to be a journalist a something I could grudgingly admire a was liable merely to be a subst.i.tute for entertainment until she found herself a husband. I suspected she was an heiress in her own right, but as my mother would have put it she smelled of ”print” and ”the shop”. The mystery of Mrs Wilson's attack remained, but Beatrice Wilton's behaviour was all too easily explained. The Stapleford t.i.tle might be new, and in my opinion of no great importance, but to Beatrice Wilton being able to add the word ”Lady” before her name was the height of her ambition. Hence her ridiculous nom-de-plume: Lady Grey.

*I don't believe you need me here, sir,' I said to Bertram. *I can offer no possible insights in how an asylum works or should work.'

*You underestimate yourself, Euphemia. Before you arrived at breakfast Beatrice informed me she had suspicions about this place.'

*Suspicions?' I asked.

*She felt she could not say more without prejudicing me, but keen observation is key!'

*Are you coming?' called Miss Wilton. She had the door open, and while she didn't exactly have her foot wedged over the lintel the gentleman in front of her appeared large and intent on filling the frame.

Mr Bertram hurried over to help. It very quickly became clear that tours of the asylum were not available. Not even for a price. This time even Mr Bertram blushed at Miss Wilton's vulgarity. However, by dint of throwing around the nebulous power of the press we were finally conducted into a Dr Frank's office and told he would see us shortly. By this point I was in a blush of mortification from my toes to the crown of my head.

As the door closed behind our dour escort Miss Wilton settled herself in a chair and took off her gloves. *I feel that went rather well.'

Mr Bertram muttered something incoherent and I walked over to study a print on the wall.

*Oh come, Bertram. This isn't a social call. The press have the right to be forceful to gain information that is in the public interest. We are the eyes and ears of the empire.'

*Yes, but, Miss Wilton a Beatrice a they are trying to accommodate us.'

*All signs of a well, at present I can say no more a but all signs would have been hidden.'

*Of course. Of course. Although if the staff are generally of the size of our escort then I doubt there will be anything that can be done about seeing beyond the limits they set.'

*I can ask questions, Bertram. Do not underrate the power of enquiry.'

*But can you be a.s.sured of the veracity of their answers?' I said without thinking.

*I will know,' said Miss Wilton grandly. *And then I will be able to take matters further. You couldn't possibly understand.'

As there was nothing I could say in response without lowering myself to her standards I turned my attention back to the print. It was an aerial view of sorts that a.s.sumed the vantage point of above the property and yet able to see through the walls and roof. The grounds of the asylum were extensive. To my astonishment it appeared to resemble more of a country house than any hospital I had imagined. Littered among the grounds were various buildings containing long rows of accommodations for men and women as well as central buildings where it seemed from the whimsical drawings some sort of extended family life took place. The grounds were scattered with pretty outbuildings and sports fields.

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