Erhalten Sie Zugang zu diesem und mehr als 300000 Büchern ab EUR 5,99 monatlich.
- Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
- Kategorie: Krimi
- Sprache: Englisch
London, 1883. The brutal murder of Rose Parmiter seems, at first glance, to be a random and senseless act. Rose was the beloved cook at Evergreen House, a place of refuge for women and children, a place from which they can start their lives afresh. Proprietor Rebecca Harris is profoundly shocked by the death of her dear friend and alarmed at the mysterious events which begin to unfold shortly afterwards. Could the past be casting a shadow on the present? The malign legacy of the Everley family who called Evergreen home, cannot be ignored. After two further deaths it becomes clear there is an evil presence infecting their sanctuary, and Rebecca must draw out the poison of the past so the Evergreen residents can finally make peace with the darkness in their lives.
Sie lesen das E-Book in den Legimi-Apps auf:
Seitenzahl: 460
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025
Das E-Book (TTS) können Sie hören im Abo „Legimi Premium” in Legimi-Apps auf:
Ähnliche
3
THE SURGEON’S HOUSE
Jody Cooksley4
5
For Matt
6
Contents
1
St Michael’s Mortuary, Putney Burial Ground, 1883
It wasn’t my first corpse. Something George appeared to forget. He disappeared with the magistrate to identify the body, asking me to wait outside as though I were delicate. Shielding me after everything we’d suffered. It was not his place to choose. Rose may have been our cook, but she was my friend and the closest I’d had to a mother figure in many years, perhaps ever. If I didn’t see her, I’d never believe it was true. Poor Rose spent her life helping others, dishing out love and wisdom with her generous plates. Who could possibly wish her harm?
Banished to the corridor, I heard the urgent voices of men discussing things they believed a woman shouldn’t hear. Why must I stay outside? I shifted uncomfortably on the waiting room bench; damp stone smudged with lichen and rust-stained in odd patches, as though bodies were examined there, too. Cold seeped through my cotton skirts and I stood, paced impatiently, my heels striking against the flagstones. Before they showed me her belongings, I’d prayed for a case of mistaken identity; another woman murdered on her way home. Such violence was common, after all. But they’d found her silver locket, the only item of jewellery she ever wore, chased on both sides with a pretty pattern of ivy leaves hanging from curled tendrils and engraved with her own initials – RCP8for Rose Caroline Parmiter. Distinctive. Unmistakably hers. And she would never have relinquished it without a fight. If the thief was disturbed, forced to flee the scene, then someone must have seen something. These were thoughts I should be sharing with the magistrate. George didn’t know her half so well, and he was always so deferential to authority that he would never think to ask.
Small, high windows lined the corridor, barred with stripes of lead to stop the ghouls that risked their souls for the chance of a ring or a gold tooth – whatever the morticians hadn’t already removed. Through dirty panes, half covered with branches of yew, I saw the light fading, evening drawing in. What could be taking them so long? Pacing closer to the door, I knelt awkwardly to peer through the hole. A heavy key blocked my view. They’d locked themselves in. What did they imagine would frighten me? I pressed my ear to the rough wood.
‘My first time back,’ said George. ‘Doesn’t get any prettier.’
As a boatman, George used to clear the river of all its strange flotsam, delivering to the mortuary regularly. I’d almost forgotten. No wonder he took charge so swiftly.
‘There are similarities. The rock to the back of the head.’ The voice waited for a moment. ‘Could be a surgeon’s orders again? Something fresh for demonstrations? You know they don’t always wait for the formalities.’
A pause before George replied. ‘Those bodies came from the water. We just … We didn’t really examine them.’
A chill ran through me like a spectral sword. The doctor was always straight there to collect the cadavers for lecture demonstrations when his hired thugs had been busy along the river. Were they talking about him? I thought his ghost had left our lives a long time ago.
‘It’s a common weapon,’ George added, his voice firm. He 9didn’t want to recall that man any more than I did.
The magistrate sighed loudly. ‘And you can’t think of anyone who would have wanted her out of the way?’
‘Rose? Heavens no. Everyone loved Rose. I never heard her say an unkind word to anyone.’
‘Outside of your household then? Did she have family on bad terms?’ The magistrate coughed. ‘A gentleman caller, perhaps?’
‘No-one we knew of. Though she had plenty of friends in the Half Moon.’
‘We’ll question everyone who was there last night.’
‘Whoever killed her must have watched her leave.’
‘Unless he already knew her habits,’ added the magistrate. ‘He could have waited outside.’
Rose only drank once a week, on her night off. Always said she went to the tavern to ‘forget the wickedness in the world’, and who could blame her? It was a wonder she didn’t drink daily.
‘Her pocket’s been slit. There was no money on her.’
‘She’d probably spent it.’
Why would a thief target a woman like Rose? A plain domestic servant, long past her prime. Even if he hadn’t intended to kill her, who would waste time for the chance of a shilling when there were better marks to be had? I conjured a mental image of her, dressed in the blue gown and red-patterned shawl she always wore on her night off. Bonnet ribbons loose – she never bothered to tie them properly – and large green umbrella over one arm. Key chain hanging from the loop she’d made in her skirt. That huge set of irons fit every room in Evergreen House and they never left her pocket. Had the police found them, too? I certainly hoped so. It wouldn’t do for those to get into the wrong hands.
‘May I show you something?’ asked the magistrate. A rasping noise, like rough cotton being pulled back. ‘The rock may have 10brought her down, but it seems that her assailant wanted to make sure she didn’t survive.’
‘Saints preserve us!’ George spoke in a low whispered voice. ‘Whoever you’re looking for is going to have some marks on him.’
Good for her. Rose was a large woman and fit for her age. Even after a few gins she would have put up a fight.
‘The police think it likely to have been a smaller man, someone with weak upper body strength using the element of surprise with the blow from behind before he cut her throat.’
Oh, poor Rose! To survive all we’d been through, only to meet such a terrible end.
A scraping sound, like furniture moving, before the key rattled in the lock. I jumped back, began to pace again and whirled round to face them as soon as they opened the door. George looked shocked, as though he’d forgotten I was there.
‘Rebecca, you needn’t have waited.’
As if I would leave without knowing the truth. ‘Is it her? Our Rose?’
‘It is.’ George put an arm around my shoulder. Exhausted from the day, I burst into tears, leaning against him as my knees gave way. It felt good to be held, to breathe his comforting scent of rosemary and earth. Perhaps, if we tried, something good may come of this nightmare. We had loved one another deeply once, and we would need each other now.
By the time we left the mortuary, it was early evening and purple clouds gathered, spreading like a bruise across the sky. We walked home in silence, unable to speak, watching costers starting their rounds. People bought twists of paper filled with nuts and sugared apple and then went about their business – finished work, arrived at clubs, joined families. They would return home and eat together, 11enjoying the company of their loved ones while we walked around the hole in our happiness. Evergreen would not be the same without Rose and I dreaded the sight of the kitchens.
We took the back stairs, treading lightly as thieves, unwilling to risk questions. How would we find the words to tell the rest of the household? They’d be hungry soon, looking for Rose and finding a cold stove, an empty chair. Along with the ten unmarried mothers that lived with us were almost as many of their children. Rose was special to every one of them. It would be difficult enough to share the news without them asking questions first.
In the upstairs drawing room, George slumped in his chair fully dressed, boots on, his face drawn. I pulled the curtains across the window and removed my cloak before taking a low seat beside him.
‘Was Rose … was it bad?’ I took his hand in mine and, as he pressed it to his face, I felt the tracks of tears he would deny shedding. ‘George,’ I said softly. ‘I heard them asking questions … about the old doctor.’
He raised his head to look at me, eyes dark with fear. ‘Dr Everley is dead,’ he said. ‘They both are.’
My sister, Maddie, had been married to Lucius Everley – a match my parents forced in a bid to repair our name when I brought shame on our family. A doctor every bit as bad as his father, hanged for unimaginable crimes committed in the Everleys’ clinics, and in their private home for fallen women. Poor Maddie was so cruelly treated by her husband and his evil sister, Grace, that she wanted nothing to do with their legacy, handing over the running of Evergreen to George and I when she escaped. We’d done our utmost to make it a peaceful place for women and girls failed by society and abused in the very house that was supposed to help them. But now Rose was dead, brutally murdered, and I 12felt a creeping suspicion that the family was somehow involved.
‘It feels as though they’re back,’ I said.
‘How can they be? I watched him hang myself, and she’ll never be released. Nor should she after …’ George cradled his head in his hands. ‘It feels like yesterday.’
‘You must try not to think of it.’ He should never have spoken the name aloud. What curses might such carelessness invoke?
‘It’s not something you forget.’
George was always so strong for me, for Maddie. But it was he who’d dug the garden to get proof for the court, he who’d found the bones of those poor children. He did it for us, to make sure Lucius and Grace didn’t get away with it. And he’d stayed silent all this time. We should speak of it; he should speak of it. Memories lodged like splinters in his mind, and they would hurt him slowly. He needed to grieve, for the souls of those babies and the thoughts of the ones we would never have. It would free his mind of dark thoughts. Threlfall himself was fond of the talking therapy and he was always explaining it to anyone who’d listen.
‘Perhaps you could talk to Dr Threlfall?’ The man was vain and shallow, and his botched testimony in court had almost resulted in Maddie’s wrongful conviction. I didn’t like him any more than George did. But he was permitted by law to work from the clinic in our basement and, since his presence seemed to please the Charity Board, there was little we could do about it. He might as well be put to use in helping us.
‘I’d rather go completely mad than spend a minute in the company of that arrogant dandy.’
I knew better than to argue. I’d have to find a way of putting them together that seemed accidental.
‘Stay here and rest. It must have been hard for you today. I’ll tell the girls myself.’ I could do that much for George. And for 13Rose. She was never anything but strong. No doubt she was badly treated by the Everleys too, but she’d remained the whole time they were proprietors of their house for delinquents, and she stayed when George and I took over, helping us return it to a sanctuary. ‘We can talk about how we manage in the morning.’
George, pale as bone, didn’t protest when I laid a blanket across his lap. ‘Spare them the details,’ he said, catching hold of my hand.
Could I? Such news travelled fast on the street and even now I might be too late. Better they hear it first-hand than through gossip from strangers. I closed the door gently behind me. Though my heart ached to help him, George would have to wait.
2
Evergreen House, Putney Heath
Sounds of early evening rose and hung in the air. Happy chatter as the women finished their work producing willow baskets or wallpaper in the drawing rooms we’d turned into studios. Our aim was to help everyone we could and for years we’d succeeded. They spent mornings with their children, walking in the parks or playing, and afternoons working while the little ones took their lessons with one of the visiting tutors. Those women who couldn’t read or write took lessons too. It was a happy place. We had achieved that much. But in the process George and I had changed. And we had left it too long to mention. At first it seemed easy to look forward. There was much to do – our wedding, redecorating the house, teaching the women, gaining their trust. We had to convince the Board inspectors that we were worthy, because we couldn’t pay to bribe them like the Everleys did. And all the while we hoped for a family of our own. We expected one. In a house full of infants our lack of children hung between us like a hex, and our conversation tiptoed around it. In unspoken ways we threw blame for the children we wanted so badly, and with each year that passed we lost faith in ourselves.
Shaking the dinner bell, I walked to the kitchen where the air was cold, the stove unlit, the smell of baking faded. No longer a 15cosy sanctuary, just a room with a red-tiled floor, a huge picture window and walls of shelves filled with jars of preserves and pickles. The sight of the handwriting on the labels brought tears to my eyes and I blinked them back. I must be strong for all of us. Sending the children to wash, I placed the bell on the refectory table. Sensing trouble, the women leant on the backs of chairs, throwing anxious looks at one another, waiting for a signal. In many ways I was a mother to them all, and some days that was enough. If I thought that George felt it too, it would always be enough.
I took a deep breath. ‘I’m very, very sorry to have to tell you that Rose passed away yesterday.’
Shocked silence broken by Sophia’s anguished sobs, followed by cries of disbelief. ‘She was fit as a flea yesterday!’ ‘I spoke to her as she left!’ ‘She was never unwell.’
‘What happened?’ Amy’s voice carried clearly. One of our longest-staying residents, she was respected by the others, who often looked to her for guidance. Noise in the room abated as they waited for my response.
‘She was …’ There was no easy way to explain – I’d have to shock first and console after. ‘The magistrate believes she was murdered. Her body was found on Briar Walk, at the edge of the park, where she must have been attacked on her way home. She’d been robbed.’
Little point in mentioning the keys. It wouldn’t help matters if we all feared intruders and, besides, Rose may have left them at home. I’d need to search her rooms. Should I ask the police before doing so? Possibly there would be evidence that a trained eye could spot, some clue about her life outside the house that could lead us to the perpetrator. When the women were calmer, I could ask them too, but not yet. Almost everyone had begun to cry. Most of them had been cruelly treated by their own families and Rose, 16with her broad shoulders and big heart, may well have given them their first kindness.
‘Who would want to hurt Rose?’ Felicia’s eyes were bright, and she held her fists in tight balls, as though she planned to seek revenge. If anyone could, it would be her. Five foot nothing of muscle and Irish grit.
‘Nobody who knew her. I am so, so sorry and you know I will feel her loss just as keenly as all of you. But you mustn’t worry. The streets are dangerous at night, and she had been robbed. There can be no-one who deliberately wished her harm.’ Felicia gave me a sharp look. She didn’t trust my words. ‘The children will need to be fed. Amy, could you light the stove? Yesterday’s bread will bear heating and I can make soup.’ Turning my face away, I bit my lip hard. I couldn’t face the thought of finding another cook, and the kitchens would not organise themselves.
After soothing the women, feeding the children, and settling them to bed with stories, I was exhausted, and disappointed to find George already asleep. I’d hoped to sit with him into the night as we used to. A glass of brandy would be welcome for my nerves, but we’d sworn to run a temperate house and there was nothing of the kind to hand. Too restless to settle, I picked up the parcel of Rose’s things that still lay in the middle of the table and untied the string. Her patterned shawl, torn on one side in a way that wouldn’t bear mending. Two hairpins with jet bead ends, a halfpenny coin and her battered felt bonnet, ribbons loose as always, bent out of shape by something heavy inside. I was surprised by the weight of the locket, which I’d only ever seen around Rose’s neck. Close up it was lovely. A beautifully worked pendant with a thick-linked chain, much admired by the women, perhaps coveted by some. It wouldn’t be unusual for light fingers to pocket another’s treasure. 17But murder? Our girls were tough – Felicia, in particular, enjoyed a brawl before she came to us – but they would never harm someone deliberately and especially not their beloved Rose.
Only one woman I knew was capable of slitting someone’s throat, and she was safely locked away. Grace Atherton, sister of Lucius. A clever actress, beautiful enough to charm the court and, with Threlfall’s help, slippery enough to evade the noose. Cruel and unfeeling when she ran Evergreen, treating us like property with little choice but to obey or face worse on the street. I was always convinced it was her hands that hurt the babies. She showed no remorse at the hearing, no emotion for her brother or the servants that hanged with him. Sometimes I wondered what her life was like: if she managed to charm the wardens too, or if she led a brutal existence of cold baths and thin food, restrained by the wrists for her own safety. I hoped so. She’d done far worse to others.
Pressing the locket to my cheek, I thought of all the ways that Rose had saved me, pushing me to be stronger, helping me to live with grief, absolving me from the guilt I felt over my part in our history. ‘We all have to love deep and fall hard. It’s the reason we’re here on earth. That’s how things are.’ Could I find the words to heal us now?
‘I’ll never forget you,’ I whispered into the cold silver. Much as I’d have liked to keep it as a constant reminder, it wouldn’t be right. Rose had worn the locket every day I’d known her, and she should be buried with it. I would take it back to the mortuary, for whoever performed her last offices after the autopsy, but first I should look inside in case there was anything that held a clue to her death. As I prized it open, I found a folded piece of paper, a cutting from a newspaper article about the death of an army captain. Above the print was a linocut of a young man in military 18dress. For the first time I realised Rose had another life before Evergreen. All of us so wrapped up in our own troubles that no-one ever thought to ask. Her brother? A tragic love? Had she been seduced like the others and been one of the first when old Everley set up this house? It would explain her endless patience, the reason she stayed for so long. It would explain her wisdom over joy and pain. Now we’d never know. In the silence of the night, George sleeping in the chair beside me, I let my tears fall unchecked.
Dawn came slowly, pale and subdued, as though the sun itself was in mourning. A necklace of dewdrops draped the web across the kitchen window, quivering in the breeze, the movement fooling its spider. She scuttled back and forth, empty-handed, returning to the edge. Clever thing to weave such a home. Her body, fat with young, pulsed as she hunted and worked, her back lined with three broken white stripes. I should be working too, lighting the stove and readying the kitchen for breakfast, preparing the words that would tell the children that their Rose would not be back. But it was early, my heart was heavy, and I opened the door to the garden, hoping for a moment of peace.
A chill mist rose from the lawn. Long-tailed tits perched on branches of hornbeam, little pink bellies puffing out as they sang. Below, in the bare border, blackbirds tapped their beaks to the earth, drawing worms. Only corvids gathered when the Everleys were in charge; crows and jackdaws waiting for Grace to feed them scraps of meat. She especially loved ravens, like the pair on her family crest. Slick, black thieves that came for scraps and foraged nests until no others were left. It had taken a while for the small birds to return, and I still found joy in their song. I would buy some seeds from the grocer and scatter them across the grass. Spring was late, the food of winter scarce, and the birds would 19need nourishment as they began to nest. Pulling the shawl tightly around my shoulders, I misted the air with my breath. George and I no longer spoke of nesting, though it was all we planned once. He wanted three, four, seven children he would say, and we’d list their names, two each for boys or girls because both were wanted. All were wanted. But every month I hugged my flat stomach and silently understood that I’d failed.
The door banged suddenly, making me start, and I turned to see Amy, holding her daughter’s hand.
‘I didn’t mean to startle you, Rebecca. Neither of us could sleep. I thought I’d bring her outside for some air.’
‘We had the same thought.’ I smiled. Sensible Amy was one of my favourites, and I was glad to see her. I patted my lap and little Evie clambered up, kicking against my leg with her boots. She nestled against me, twisting a strand of my hair in her hot hand, and I felt a surge of love and longing.
‘Cold out.’ Amy clasped her hands together and breathed warm air onto them. ‘Are you thinking about Rose?’
‘We’re all thinking of her.’
‘See Rose?’ Evie struggled to get down, as though she could run into the kitchen and be seized in a floury embrace, given milk and shortbread while she sat on the table.
‘Not now. Later.’ Amy’s eyes met mine. ‘Go and see if there are eggs to collect.’ She handed the little girl a basket and Evie ran to the coop on stiff, chubby legs, ribbons sliding down her hair. ‘What will we say to them?’
‘What can we say? Children must meet death at some point. We’ll explain after breakfast.’ Amy threw me a look of alarm. ‘Not the whole truth. There’s no need for detail. But they must understand she is not coming back.’ There were funeral plans to make, people to inform. Perhaps Amy would help with that. She 20was a practical girl, not given to flighty behaviour and gossip like some of the others.
‘What if they hear something? People talk. There’ll be rumours.’
She was right. But if we told the older children then, sooner or later, they would take great delight in terrifying the younger ones with the gruesome story. There were enough ghosts at Evergreen already. ‘We will cross that bridge when we come to it,’ I said firmly.
We watched the birds peck and fuss. Streaks of pale sunlight threaded the grey sky and striped the boxwood leaves.
‘It’s nice out here.’ Amy leant against my shoulder.
‘It is,’ I agreed. The garden was tranquil, the place I was drawn to whenever I needed peace. George and I had worked as hard to change the grounds as we had to brighten the rooms inside. We’d cleared the filthy pond and set waterlilies, planted bearded irises to bring the damsels and butterflies in summer. Replaced the huge stone greyhounds with troughs of scented hyacinth and jasmine. A labour of love for the women who stayed and a sign we were safe for those to come. A sanctuary.
Evie ran back and thrust her basket at us, almost spilling the contents.
‘Clever girl!’ said Amy. ‘Look how many you found.’
Five pale, speckled eggs rolled together, perfect ovals. After so much brooding effort the poor creatures must wonder why their nests were always empty.
‘Should be a few more,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you go back together and see if you can find them? They don’t always leave them in the nesting boxes, and we could all do with a good breakfast today.’
Watching them skip to the end of the garden, hand in hand, I felt a surge of pride for what George and I had achieved. We kept babies with their mothers, where they should be, not starved and 21beaten for their burden of sin in homes for deserted children. I’d heard tales of those places – some of our women were raised there themselves – and if we saved even one child from such a life, it should make us happy. It was selfish to wish for our own family when we could do so much for others.
I tipped the dregs of my tea onto the grass and a robin hopped over to inspect them. Tea leaves clumped into the outline of a bird, black with a puffed chest and large beak, wings folded and crossed behind it. Instinctively I looked up to where the Everley crest was carved into the stone above the doorway – two long, crossed swords below the pair of ravens. George had tried to remove it, but it was deeply set in the cornerstone, the foundation of the wall, as though the entire house was built upon it. Inscribed underneath was their family motto – spectemur agendo, ‘let us be judged for our actions’. Our actions bore judging. We’d worked so hard to rid our lives of the stain of murder, to build a happy home for those in need; now we must fight to do so again.
3
All Saints Asylum, Hanwell
Hair slips down my shoulders and onto the floor, where it’s gathered in bunches by a slipshod girl. Hands red and chapped from scrubbing, knees and elbows sticking out from her patched cotton dress. She eyes me nervously as she darts back and forth, expecting a kick in the ribs or a pinch where the bruise won’t show. I won’t hurt the little mouse. If I move now, the warden’s scissors will slip.
Mr Varley cut well, close to the scalp, leaving long enough strands to be dressed. Cold air settles in the places now uncovered, my ears and neck exposed. I resist the temptation to touch my head. After ten years in here, I still have my vanity; still miss the feel of eyes upon me as I enter a room. So much power in beauty, the admiration and the jealousy. A knowledge I should be passing to my daughter. Eloise would be old enough now to use her looks to her advantage, and I would have enjoyed teaching her the many ways to raise or ruin men.
Once it’s washed, my hair will fetch an excellent price from the wigmakers. A rare colour. What my dear brother, Lucius, called ‘burnished’ as he wound it round my bare throat. My weak fool of a husband used to brush it with a hundred strokes every night, before he disappeared for good. Such pretty hair. Would 23my daughter’s be the same? I push a strand of it aside with my toe, turning it to catch the light, and the mouse withdraws her hand. I bare my teeth.
Edward Threlfall, with his covetous eye for beauty, adored my hair. Pity nothing could match his self-love. His passion for me has not lasted, yet the more he withdraws, the more I desire his attention because, though he is weak, he is handsome and clever. An expert in his field. His efforts brought about a second trial, for me alone, and between us we were brilliant, both born to charm. We convinced the court that I was no accomplice but an unwitting bystander; that the knowledge of my brother’s wickedness, especially the murder of my husband, had unhinged my mind. ‘She is an innocent, ill served by life and family. A good mother. Imagine the effect on her children if she is murdered in the name of the law for crimes which were, in fact, committed by her brother.’ Oh, Edward was gullible. And I was grateful. After the trial, after he released me from the noose and condemned me to a madhouse, he could not wait to apologise. ‘It was all I could do. And it is better than death.’ Perhaps. But my thoughts are dark in my solitude, and his visits are scarce.
‘Lay it flat. We’ll need to douse it before it goes anywhere. Probably crawling with lice.’ Varley takes a bottle from his pocket as he bids the girl to smooth the strands of my hair across the floor.
A throaty growl escapes me, and he throws a sharp look. ‘If you can’t behave, I’m happy to fetch the binding chair.’
I scowl at his bursting buttons and plump soft hands, thinking of the knife hidden under my mattress, smuggled by Threlfall in the early days when he still carried out my wishes. It would be easy. Varley is slow, fattened on the food the staff save for themselves, gorging while we starve. Tempting to stick my knife into that fleshy neck, but a waste of opportunity and likely to get me restrained. 24I’ve seen what they do to the violent, and I don’t wish to become acquainted with leather straits and French chairs.
‘Perhaps you should let us wash more often.’
‘A bowl of hot water a week should be enough to keep clean.’ Varley throws prussic acid across the hair and a strong smell of bitter almond rises from the floor. ‘You don’t help yourselves. You should be thanking me for getting rid of these.’
A lie. My hair is clean. They’ve been dying to get to it and only now do they dare. Threlfall’s patronage went some way to protect me once. But he’s been absent for a long time judging by the marks on my wall, little lines in the bare plaster like rat scratchings. Soft and damp enough to use my fingernails to mark the passing of every night.
Gathering up the poisoned hair, the mouse flinches as it burns her skin, and Varley begins to shave my head in long, rough strokes. Without Threlfall I am just another inmate. Shut away from the world, called a lunatic, forbidden to own the property I worked so hard to defend. This place has benefitted from the sale of my house, the rest kept in trust for my children, adults now – Eloise with her new life overseas, denied the difference I could have made to her beauty. Perhaps she is like me after all. Daniel and Edmond remain in their nursing home; I am made to write to them twice a year, receiving terse replies on their progress and health. As though I care.
‘I would like a bowl of water now,’ I say, as Varley wipes the razor on his apron and closes the blade. I try to keep my voice pleasant, though I would rather draw the blade across his throat. ‘Please. The hair itches my skin.’
‘You’ll have to wait until tomorrow, like everyone else. Probably scabies. I’ll send matron in to have a look at you.’ Varley douses my scalp with pale brown liquid from another bottle. Sharp-sour, 25like vinegar, it burns as it gathers in the nicks and cuts left by his blade. A chemical odour that is strong enough to draw tears. By the time Varley and his little mouse leave, I can barely breathe.
Surprisingly soft bristle greets my inquisitive fingers. Will it grow back differently? Does it change me? If I was permitted a looking glass, I would know. Asylum rules forbid them. Mirrors drive lunatics to frenzies, pecking and scratching at their reflections like caged birds. But I have everything else I need. Threlfall made the room as comfortable as he could with its cotton mattress, its lack of buckles and restraints. He brought pillows and cushions, my own gowns and slippers, because he needed my permission to fund his work. My share in Evergreen House is loaned to him until such time as my children need it, a covenant to carry on Father’s research. He is no match for Father’s intellect, but then neither was my brother. Lucius was always too weak for medicine. A certain cruelty is what science requires. Does Edward have it? He is certainly vain, and selfish vanity can render us cruel. Whether it will be enough to serve the legacy remains to be seen. I need his visits to resume.
The sound of heavy footsteps echoes in the corridor. For a brief moment, I imagine Varley has brought the water I requested. Then the key clicks as they lock my room for the night, caging me like an animal. My head and neck feel itchy raw. My need for vengeance burns.
4
Evergreen House
George didn’t rise for breakfast, and I left him sleeping, wishing he looked so peaceful awake. Long eyelashes shadowing his cheeks, mouth curled at the edges as though love greeted him in dreams. It was the way he looked at me once. How he looked the very first day I met him, in The Cut, on my way to meet a gentleman. Not the worst kind – Lord Phoenix threw lavish parties and spoilt his ‘good sports’. Even so I walked slowly, enjoying the solitude of the street, wending my way through the back alleys by the river. The Thames was ripe that day, shrouding the lanes with a thick, greenish mist that clung to clothes and flattened curls. My hat, newly trimmed in ostrich, drooped its fine feathers in the damp, and I stopped to remove it, so absorbed in inspecting the damage that I didn’t notice the figure until he was in front of me. An apparition from the mist. I rammed the hat back onto my head as though he’d caught me naked and he burst out laughing, the best-looking man I’d ever seen.
‘I’m sure I’m pleased to give you such amusement,’ I said haughtily, trying to push past. ‘If you’ve quite finished.’
‘Forgive me.’ He spread his hands, took a step back. ‘I’m sorry I startled you. Can’t see your own limbs in this fog.’
His particular limbs were nicely muscled; firm arms with 27the defined dip and curve of a boxer or one who worked with his strength. A docker, perhaps, though his waistcoat and cap suggested he was a boatman, a type I’d been warned not to trust.
‘You seemed so cross about your hat,’ he said, ‘I couldn’t help but laugh. You look better without it.’
His smile reached his eyes, which twinkled with mischief, and when he held out his arm I took it as though I never had the choice to do anything else. By the time we reached my party we were laughing together, leaning into each other. It wasn’t until after he left that I realised he’d changed direction for me. I was late for Lord Phoenix that night, which wouldn’t have mattered had Grace not already been there, a storm cloud on her beautiful face. The next time I met George I bore the marks of her rings across my cheekbone, and he began his campaign to set me free.
Trying not to wake him, I moved quietly as I dressed, choosing a dark-grey gown for respect and adding a green wrap because Rose loved colour. I brushed and pinned my hair, added green ribbons and then swiftly removed them. Sometimes I forgot I was no longer a girl. Best not to be thought frivolous at such a time.
The kitchen was still dark and cold, though I heard others stirring. Children springing awake with the impatience of the young, mothers shushing and soothing for another five minutes in bed. The stove was temperamental, taking several matches before it lit, and I couldn’t find the oats. I set a pan of water to boil, counted the eggs that Amy had left on the table. One each for the children. What was left of the bread was hardening, and I doused the tough crust with drops of water, placed it on a tray in the bottom oven. I’d gathered a posy of snowdrops with some twigs of red-flowering quince, and I arranged them in a glass, set them on the table in the middle of the crockery. It was important to order things nicely, showing we would manage. They’d all look 28to George and me for guidance, and we mustn’t fail them.
At last, I found the oats, protected from mice on a high pantry shelf, and shook them from the tin, stirring in water mixed with milk for the women’s porridge. It would be necessary to write some instructions, share the tasks until we could find a new cook. Though I felt guilty for even thinking of replacing Rose, we had a busy house to run and without routine things would easily slide. Had I thanked her enough while she lived? We would never have got the house running without her help. I hoped she knew how much we loved her. Blinking back tears, I watched the children rush in, jostling and scraping chairs to sit by their favourites. Albie almost upset the vase and I leant over to right it, the white and red flowers a sudden image of blood on snow.
‘Good morning, Mrs Harris.’
‘I made these.’ Evie pointed to the eggs that sat in their blue striped cups.
‘No, you didn’t,’ scoffed Albie, ‘chickens made them.’
‘She means she collected them for me, didn’t you, dear?’ I planted a kiss on the top of Evie’s head and Albie scowled. ‘You were very helpful this morning.’
‘I want to get the eggs tomorrow.’ Albie scuffed his feet against the chair leg.
‘Thank you. I will hold you to that,’ I replied.
‘You’ll never get up in time,’ said Sophia, his mother. She yawned, covering her mouth half-heartedly, and sat down heavily.
‘I will,’ said Albie, ‘I’ll get up before the sun rises and I’ll find a hundred eggs.’
‘You won’t find eggs in the dark. Poor chickens probably won’t have laid them by then.’ Sophia reached over and took a piece of bread from Albie’s plate.
I hovered by the table, burning with bad news. They should eat 29first. Some of them might spoil their appetites with tears and then breakfast would be wasted. Where to start?
‘Where’s Rose?’ said Albie suddenly, looking around the kitchen with a suspicious expression. ‘Why are you cooking?’
‘Well, there’s something I need to …’ I began, before Sophia interrupted, her mouth half full of the tough bread.
‘She’s dead. Killed. They found her in the park yesterday.’
‘Sophia!’ Amy began to shush and comfort the children who had set to wailing. Some of them had not understood and carried on cramming eggs and bread into their mouths as if nothing had happened.
‘May I speak with you outside?’ I struggled to control myself. Sophia was one of our youngest mothers, barely a child herself when she had Albie, but I wouldn’t tolerate such insensitive behaviour. Silly girl dreamt of being an actress, and she was fond of drama of all kinds. Probably dying to spread the news as far as she possibly could.
Sophia rose reluctantly, taking another finger of bread, and met me in the hallway.
‘You’ve upset the children. That is not how I wanted them to hear.’
She gave a sulky shrug. Despite her constant misbehaviour, she disliked reproach. A long silk scarf hung from her neck, and she twisted and flicked at the ends of it.
‘I want you to promise that you will not breathe a word outside this house. Rose was a friend to all of us. She doesn’t deserve her fate to be a subject for tavern gossip.’
‘You can’t stop people talking about it.’
‘I can ask you not to talk about it.’ I almost mentioned the keys to frighten her, but that was something I must keep quiet. I couldn’t risk her sharing it with the other women. ‘May I remind 30you that you are here as a guest. You and Albie are fed and clothed in return for a small amount of work and the utmost loyalty to our community. It will do none of us good if you spread rumours about Rose. Am I understood?’
Sophia sucked in her top lip like a child and gave a barely perceptible nod. I disliked such threats and reminders; our women had already been poorly treated and should not be made to feel permanently grateful, as they would in some charitable institutions. But she tested my patience too often, and now I would have to deal with the children as well as the kitchens. My visit to Rose to return her locket would have to wait.
‘Perhaps you can take the children into the garden to find something for the door wreaths? It will give them something to do.’
‘But I’ve to learn my lines,’ she protested. ‘There’s only an hour or so left this morning and the troupe is holding auditions next week. I need to be ready.’
‘What troupe?’
‘The actors! They’re at the mission hall looking for new stars of the stage.’
Really, she was impossible. Who did she think would look after Albie? I drew myself up to full height and spoke in my sternest voice. ‘I’m disappointed that you don’t seem to share our burden of mourning, and I will hear no more of this today. Go and cut some thin ends from the blacking curtains in the paint room, for hanging the wreaths. I will take the children to gather leaves in the garden. You may not care, but we are watched here. There are plenty of people willing to criticise us for bohemian ways. And those people are more than capable of closing our doors.’ Inspectors from the Charity Board were always looking for signs that we were less than respectable. Mr Lavell, newly risen to chief 31inspector, seemed to visit with increasing regularity since his promotion, always with an excuse – a new law, some irregularity to check. Sometimes he visited to interview new girls. Sometimes he simply claimed to be passing, though there were few other institutions under his jurisdiction anywhere nearby. I would have to find a cook before his next visit or he would make it his business to keep checking.
‘I would never call this place bohemian.’ Threlfall’s kid boots fell softly on the rugs, and he startled us both, though Sophia recovered quickly enough to bat her eyelashes at him, rearranging her scarf and patting the plaits of her hair.
‘I’m sure you would know more about that than us.’ Sometimes I forgot that he held keys to the kitchens, coming and going as he pleased. He occupied the basement rooms that once housed old Dr Everley’s clinic, seeing patients from the separate side entrance after we walled up the door and passage that linked it to the house. Still, he was often to be found on the ground floor, looking for treats from Rose or talking someone into taking part in his endless research into women’s health. Much good he did my sister. Maddie couldn’t bear the sight of him after he took her husband’s side and then spoke for Grace. It was all I could do to tolerate him, as I knew I must.
‘I lead a blameless life, Mrs Harris.’ He lifted my hand with a flourish and planted a kiss that pressed slightly too long. Sophia giggled, and he turned to seize her hand too.
‘True gentleman,’ she said coquettishly. ‘I’ll wager you enjoy the theatre, Dr Threlfall?’ She threw me a sly, sideways look.
‘Of course. If a man tires of entertainment, then he must be tired of life itself. Why do you ask?’
‘Dr Threlfall doesn’t wish to be bothered with your nonsense, Sophia. Run along and do as you were asked.’ I stared until she 32moved, reluctantly, to fetch the scissors. I was not convinced she wouldn’t find some excuse to bother him again. His vanity was dangerous, his looks and manners easily turned heads. He was just a student when he spoke in court, a budding young alienist. But he was powerful now, a sought-after psychologist, his reputation enhanced by his performance at the Assizes.
‘I’m afraid you will find us in some disarray. We have been struck with terrible news.’
‘I have heard. I came to offer my condolences. Rose was a wonderful cook, and a wonderful woman. I was very fond of her.’ He pulled a solemn face, drawing his chin down to the layers of lace at his neck. Under his raven-black jacket was a waistcoat of red, scarred with neat black lines of stitching. His breeches and stockings were black sateen and the overall effect was of theatrical mourning, a handsome actor pretending bereavement.
‘Thank you for your concern. News certainly travels fast.’ How did he know? I had hoped for time to collect myself before the rumours began. ‘May I ask how you were informed?’
‘My work takes me often to the constabulary. Many criminals would feign to be listed mad these days. How are you faring?’
How could he complain about that? He had practically started the trend and there was one woman, at least, who should be brought to trial for her crimes without the cloak of insanity.
‘As well as can be expected.’
‘If you’ll permit a doctor’s licence, you do not look well.’ Threlfall placed a hand on my shoulder and warmth from his elegant fingers spread through the fabric of my dress. The diamonds in his ring caught the light and I noticed a new, large cabochon ruby; his business must flourish. ‘Your beautiful bloom is quite faded. If I can be of any assistance, you know where you may find me.’33
Such easy flattery. ‘I’m simply tired. There is much to do.’ I should remind him that George was my steadfast, but I couldn’t say so in honesty at that moment in time and Threlfall would notice. He would find me out, because worming himself into people’s minds was what he did best. ‘The women are much affected, and the children of course. I’m sure they’ll be grateful for your offers of assistance.’
‘Sophia is a strong girl. She will be a great comfort to you.’
‘Indeed.’ Had she already fallen for his charms? She was so very young, the thought was troubling.
‘I’ll pause my work for a while, as a sign of respect to the house. You won’t want patients trooping through my clinic. But I will call on you, as a friend.’
‘I have little time for calls.’ Wriggling my shoulder away from the press of his hand, I gestured to take my leave. ‘And I must see to the children.’
Threlfall raised a manicured finger to his chin and stood in a gesture of deep thought. ‘It’s my belief that you work too hard, Mrs Harris. It is not good for women – for anyone, but women especially. Do take care of your health.’
5
Evergreen House
Despite my best efforts, the kitchens ran poorly with little routine. Some of the women were willing to help but few displayed culinary talent. Unsurprisingly, since they were the ones left behind. The Everleys’ housekeeper had been instructed to train the ‘good’ ones, teaching them domestic skills before they were sent into service as maids and cooks. Others, like me, considered too pretty, slipshod, or talkative for such roles, were trained for the streets by Grace.
‘Rose taught me,’ said Tizzy. ‘When the Everleys chose me for service. She showed me how to wash clothes, and scrub steps. I already knew how to cook, because I worked in a tavern, but she showed me how to manage in a kitchen.’
Dear Tizzy could manage anything. The Everleys’ former housemaid. She’d been sent from Evergreen by Grace to Lucius’ household when his hideous small museum frightened his existing maid away. Tizzy was made of far sterner stuff. Grace, expecting loyalty, couldn’t imagine what she was capable of, or she would never have introduced her. Harriet Tisman, always known as Tizzy, had immediately struck up a friendship with Maddie that soon turned to love, and was fearless in standing up to the Everleys and helping my sister escape. She faced beatings, restraint, a 35courtroom and a madhouse before their case finally won and she was freed. Without her, Maddie might still be living in solitude and terror. Instead they lived together in a commune of artists, visiting Evergreen to teach the women crafts.
‘Didn’t Rose help some of the others?’ asked Maddie.
I shook my head. ‘None that are left.’ Grace always said I was one of the lucky ones, selected for a life of ‘pleasure’ to earn my keep. Nausea rose at the memory.
‘Then I have even more cause to be grateful to her,’ said Maddie, taking Tizzy’s hand. ‘Without Rose you would never have come to work for Lucius, and we would never have met.’
Embarrassed at such a show of affection, I turned away and began to busy myself with the willow strands and painting equipment, smoothing the brushes and ordering them by size.
‘She didn’t teach the others,’ I said. ‘And neither did we. We thought they were better off learning crafts. Taking pride in what they make.’ Our baskets sold well at the markets, and we were gaining such a reputation for fine painted wallpaper that it was hard to keep up with demand. None of that helped when baking was needed. We were all quite miserable with soggy pies and loaves that wouldn’t rise. Yet I still couldn’t face advertising for a replacement cook. It would feel too real, too final.
‘Don’t set those out today.’ Maddie stayed my hand. ‘We thought the painters might like to go outside this afternoon. It’s a fine day and I have some designs I’d like to practise. It will do them good to walk to the park and paint the leaves as they look in nature.’
It would. And the morning’s cold fog had warmed to a beautiful fresh day. Clean air would take their minds off grieving for a while and Maddie, who knew Rose the least well of any of us, would be a cheerful companion. An empty house would also 36give me the chance to look for Rose’s keys.
‘Thank you. Let me see the design.’ My sister was a skilful artist, able to render flowers and plants as beautifully as they grew in life. Expert, too, at simplifying nature’s patterns for the women to copy and print.
Maddie drew a sketchbook from her carpetbag and handed it to Tizzy, who opened it and proudly turned it to face me. Full-length sketches of women in Greek dress caught my breath, reminding me of photographs I’d rather forget. Grace setting up her camera in the garden, by the stone dogs, posing us for gentlemen’s collections. We wore diaphanous shifts with no undergarments, the material clinging and stretching across our bare skin. My cheeks burnt at the memory. Another secret that I kept from George because there was something so shameful about standing still while it happened, allowing the images to be taken and shared.
‘They are certainly striking.’ Surely, Maddie didn’t intend for these to be copied?
‘Not those! Hardly a subject for wallpaper.’ Maddie laughed, tried to retrieve the book, but I held it and began to turn the pages. The sketches were beautiful, rendered in languid, sensual lines. On closer inspection, her women didn’t look the slightest bit passive. They wore fierce expressions, eyes burning with power intense enough to ignite a room.
‘Amazing, aren’t they?’ Tizzy beamed as proudly as though she’d wielded the wax and charcoal herself. ‘Maddie’s been painting them too. Classical figures and depictions of wronged women.’
I raised an eyebrow, enquiring, and my sister shuffled awkwardly.
‘I can’t just draw flowers for wallpaper. I’ve been trying to take commissions for portraits, but nobody seems to want a female artist.’ She tilted her chin; a gesture of defiance learnt from Tizzy. 37
