Part 16 (1/2)

*He won't like it,' I said.

*I think we've gone too far to turn back now,' said Rory. *If we're right we'll come back with proof he had a half-sister. He will have to be interested in that.'

*And if we're wrong?'

*We'll need to look for different situations,' said Rory grimly. *But I don't think we are wrong.'

*No, neither do I,' I said quietly. *I wish we were. If we're right then the chances are neither her death, nor Miss Wilton's, was natural.'

*The train leaves in two hours. I've arranged for a carriage to call in an hour. Can you be ready?'

*Of course,' I said. *Thank you, Rory. I can't imagine doing this without you.'

It is alarming how quickly one adapts to the modern era. I found the horse carriage that took us to the station extremely uncomfortable. As Rory paid off the driver my teeth chattered in my head as much from the b.u.mpy journey as from the cold. The drive through London had been full of mist and shadows. On another occasion I might have found it romantic in the picturesque sense, but this morning the world was full of menace. I constantly fancied we were being followed. Even Rory's patience was on the verge of breaking and he had given up rea.s.suring me. My dream of the night before dragged at my mind.

*Why is milk going from London to the country?' I asked suddenly.

*It's not,' said Rory. *This is the train going out to pick up the milk for London.'

*What time is it?'

*You don't want to know. There's one pa.s.senger carriage. I don't expect it will be that comfortable, but you should try and sleep.'

*I don't think that will be a problem,' I said yawning. *Maybe I'll be able to recapture that dream.'

Rory muttered something under his breath that I decided not to hear. We made our way onto the platform. This was not the first time I had travelled by train, but as we approached the great, steaming beast I felt my heart flutter. That such a huge engine could reach such great speeds with only the aid of fire and water reminded me of the power of the natural world. There was much about this new century that I loved, but man's desire to master the elements unnerved me. The train snorted steam as we approached our carriage. I could not suppress a fantasy that it was somehow aware. Rory handed me up the steps past the enormous iron wheels that would propel us forward across what during my father's youth would have been unimaginable distances to cross in a day and we would traverse in a few short hours. I snuggled down into my seat, under a blanket Rory had provided, closed my eyes and, with what I felt was more than a little cowardice, banished my surroundings from my thoughts. There was an enormous hiss, the carriage jolted and we were on our way.

Beatrice Wilton was still shouting at me in my dreams when we reached our journey's end. Rory had to shake me awake I was so tired.

*You should see a doctor,' he said. *I think you're still having effects from your concussion.'

*I'd be fine if Beatrice would shut up,' I snapped.

*I think I should find us transport,' said Rory looking up and down the emptying platform. *It's only a couple of miles, so I was going to suggest we walked, but you don't look at all well.'

The train station was small with only two platforms, but it was respectable with a high gla.s.s-panelled ceiling. There was a first-cla.s.s ladies' waiting room and the green benches were freshly painted. *How large is the town? Could we not find a trolleybus or something?'

*Let's look,' said Rory.

We walked out of the station. I cannot easily explain the sense of freedom I felt standing there. I had no luggage. I was miles from my family. I was distant from my employer. All I had was Rory's companions.h.i.+p and a sense of being on an adventure. I would not have minded if I had had to walk five miles.

Fortunately, I did not have to test this resolve. The train station opened out into a busy town centre complete with trolleybus stands. It was most efficiently set up to convey the steam train pa.s.sengers quickly into the heart of the town. *I did not realise Stapleford was so near to this metropolis,' I said as we boarded our trolleybus.

*Did you think the Staplefords would build themselves a new property in the middle of nowhere? The house is less than 50 years old.'

*I suppose not. It's just that when you're there, there seems to be nothing around but fields.'

*That's the idea,' said Rory.

The trolleybus moved off with comforting smoothness and took us towards the hospital district. In a short while we were walking up the drive of the hospital. It was a large grey building with small windows and gabled ends. Inside the corridors gleamed and the wooden doors that led from ward to ward shone with polish. The place smelled of carbolic soap and other more pungent chemicals. We had hardly entered the building before a woman in a starched uniform bore down on us.

*Visiting hours are not for another 75 minutes,' she said in a commanding voice.

*I'm sorry,' said Rory. *We've travelled from London to see a patient. It's an urgent matter.'

*I don't care where you are from, hospital rules apply.'

*Excuse me, matron,' I said, *but I believe the patient we are visiting may be under different rules. Her name is Mrs Wilson.'

*Are you with the police?'

*Not exactly,' I said, *but we are helping with enquiries.'

*Hmm,' said the matron. *It will be up to the police sergeant. Follow me, please.'

She set off at a smart pace, her shoes clacking loudly on the polished floor. Rory and I followed her down a series of corridors until we reached a door with a very bored-looking police officer sitting on a chair outside.

*Visitors for Mrs Wilson,' said the matron tersely. Then she turned on her heel and left us with the startled sergeant.

*I'm Euphemia St John and this is Rory McLeod, we work at Stapleford Hall. We've come down from London to see Mrs Wilson. It's very important.'

The sergeant began to shake his head. *She's not said a word. Not even to identify her attacker.'

*Has she lost the power of speech?' I asked.

*Doctors don't reckon so,' said the sergeant. *But she's silent as the grave.'

*Ask her if she wants to see us,' urged Rory. *Tell her we know about Sophy.'

*This could make all the difference,' I said.

*And if she does want to see us,' said Rory, *you could away and get yourself a cup of coffee. You look like you've been here all night.'

*And when you come back we could have broken your case. The inspector would be pleased, wouldn't he?'

The sergeant looked from one of us to the other. *I must be mad. Wait here.' The policeman disappeared into the room.

*That was clever,' I said.

Rory smiled wryly. The sergeant returned quickly. *She'll see you. She went right pale when I mentioned this Sophy. You'll have to make a full report after you've seen her. And not too long or that ruddy matron will have my guts for garters.'

Mrs Wilson's room was one of those strange hospital chambers that are smallish and square, but with very high ceilings. The walls were painted a colour lost somewhere between a dull grey and green. The simple ironwork bed seemed very small in the centre of the room. Mrs Wilson lay among the sheets, her face almost as pale as the bleached cotton. She had always been thin, but her arms now clearly showed the outline of the bones that lay beneath. Purple bruises flowered on her forearms and a thick yellow bandage was wrapped around her head. Her dark eyes sparked with hostility. Her lips were faint lines and when she spoke her voice was low and rough.

*What do you want?'