Seeing them hesitate, he added, “Look, if I were some sort of a Bluebeard keeping wailing children behind locked doors, you could hunt around this building till kingdom come, and you wouldn’t come across a child I wanted to hide. It’s enormous. Bigger than Buckingham Palace and with twice as many rooms. Hidey holes everywhere, a farm with outbuildings, a stable block, a working well, a dovecote-stocked. Even a folly or two. Some of it I haven’t set foot in myself.” He paused and fixed Joe with a challenging glare that had an edge of dark humour. “We even have our own cemetery! Hundreds of bodies in it. No one’s ever counted. Going back to Saxon times, I shouldn’t wonder. Prince Albert’s was an abbey centuries ago. Most country hospitals and asylums were. Some graves have marker stones, most are just grassy mounds covering a thousand secrets. But feel free to move about. I’ll detail an escort for you. Francis and his merry men will take you wherever you ask to go.”
“Thank you, Dr. Chadwick, for your offer and for your understanding, but I think we’ll be on our way.”
Murmuring her thanks as they made for the door, Dorcas asked, “Francis Crabbe?”
“He’ll be waiting at the door to show you out. Francis is the leader of the watch teams. Everyone has a job or a duty to do. That is his. He has great authority with his fellow patients. An intelligent man with considerable powers of leadership. He makes an excellent deputy.”
“I’d noticed. What I didn’t observe is any sign of … mental disturbance. I was wondering why he was here with you.”
The doctor smiled. “He’s been here for nearly twenty years and will die here, Miss Joliffe. As you observe, he’s as sane as I am. The other patients know that. Though the judge in his case begged to differ. Francis Crabbe was a young beater on a grouse shoot in Norfolk just as the war was looming. Of the anti-war faction, his hot young blood urged him to make a protest. Many pacifists were marching with banners or chaining themselves to railings in Parliament Square in outcry against the unnecessary slaughter the high and mighty were about to thrust us into. Our Francis decided on a more flamboyant gesture. He grabbed a shotgun and drew a bead on one of the shooting party guests. His target was his Majesty, King George. Missed, as you will have noted. Nevertheless, His Honour Justice Bentwood’s judgement on the would-be regicide was milder than most had expected and many had hoped for. ‘Man’s mad!’ he declared. ‘Can’t hang a maniac.’ So they sent him to us.”
He opened the door. “Ah, Francis! Our guests are in your hands.”
The doctor came loping down the corridor after them, catching them as they reached the front door. “Sandilands, you ought to have this. May be all nonsense but, well, child at risk, as you say. One would like to help.” His words came fast, his tone was dismissive. “I mentioned an establishment I have close dealings with, a hospital at-I would say ‘the cutting edge,’ but you would despise me for a punster-of modern treatment in the realms of paediatrics. From surgery to psychiatry. It occurs to me that, in your confessedly garbled account of the morning’s events, the child you seek may have fetched up-entirely innocently and in his best interests-at this place. It’s further off your route, but its reputation is wide. The director is … not a friend, but a colleague. Very highly regarded in the profession. If you want to pursue the matter with him-and I would recommend it as a course of action-I would ask you, out of professional sensibilities, not to mention my name.”
He handed Joe a card. “I’ve scribbled his personal telephone number on the back.”
“I shall take your advice, doctor. Thank you very much.” Joe slipped the card away in his pocket. “And allow me to hand you something in return. The answer to six across? ‘Ancient killer at home at last to a pair of idiots.’ Eight letters. Try ‘assassin.’ ”
The doctor shook with laughter. “Idiots in plain view but where, Sandilands, is the home in question? Let me know if you find it!”
CHAPTER 19
The waiter at The Bells handed around menus and Joe and Dorcas looked at them, unseeing, preoccupied.
“All the same, Joe, finishing off a man’s crossword like that-it’s just not done!”
“Oh? I rather think he invited us to help.”
“He was just making polite noises. Burbling a bit.”
“Dorcas, I don’t think Dr. Chadwick ever burbled anything inconsequential in his life. Every word was weighed. Intriguing man. I do wonder why he spends his afternoons dressed like a rat-catcher, though. Quite put me off my stride.”
“Perhaps he’d been catching rats,” Dorcas said huffily. “Something you don’t seem too keen on yourself. Why didn’t you go on, Joe, to the next hospital? Goodness knows where that child may be by now.”
“State of the road, darkness, late hour-”
“Oh, you can stop. You won’t say it, so I’ll do it for you-the child’s dead already and was before we started out on our wild goose chase.”
“Either that or he’s recovered and back with his family. We’ll know in the morning, but there’s nothing else we can do tonight. Except try to enjoy our supper. Now can we concentrate on the menu?”
“What are you going to have? Not a wide choice at The Bells, I see, in spite of its efforts to turn itself into some sort of a fashionable roadhouse to attract the fast motoring set.”
“Yes, it’s not exactly the cobwebbed old barn I’d expected-full of yokels in smocks lifting tankards of foaming ale. Much more entertaining! Glad you packed your blue silk.”
She looked about her with curiosity and Joe smiled to see the old Dorcas appear briefly. “I’ve never stayed in a roadhouse before,” she confided.
“Glad to hear it! Dens of iniquity. I should be shot for bringing you here.”
He noted with approval the dinner dress she’d changed into. It was well cut and discreet. Not one of those backless creations all the women seemed to wear these days. A chap never quite knew where to put his hands anymore when he encountered nothing but flesh down to a partner’s waist, and he said as much to his companion.
Dorcas looked around the gathering of dinner dancers. “The lady crossing the floor,” she murmured. “Do look, Joe! She’s found an entirely new part of her anatomy to put on show.”
“Good Lord! It’s to be hoped her partner’s wearing gloves. Otherwise I may have to step in and arrest them for public indecency.”
He looked quickly back at Dorcas and found himself admiring the single strand of pearls, the mascaraed lashes that didn’t need the attention, the mouth rouged in red lipstick. Freshly bathed, she smelled of a blend of Pears soap and perfume. He felt suddenly unworthy of the effort the girl had made.
“How’s your room?” he enquired politely.
“It’ll do.” Dorcas leaned to him and confided, “It’s got a name on the door. Do they all have one? Mine’s the ‘Diane de Poitiers.’ Mistress to Henry the Second of France. And right next door there’s ‘Nell Gwyn.’ Mistress to Charles the Second of England.”
“Heavens! I wonder if they exchange notes over the garden fence.” Joe looked anxiously around at the other diners. “Be sure to keep your door locked.”
“I will, Grandma.”
“Some pretty raffish types in tonight, I’d say. Someone might choose to interpret that nonsense as an invitation to come aboard. And I think I can see what’s attracting them to this watering hole. Did you see they’re having a dance tomorrow night in the new wing-dance floor sprung, polished, and ready for takeoff to the strains of Santini and his Syncopating Swingers?”