“For disposing of unwanted material,” Gosling said tersely. “Amputated limbs … laboratory animals … small boys.”
“The whole complex belonged to the Anglo-Saxon church that originally occupied the site,” Dorcas went on with deliberate calm. “There was once a church on this site. A large and very famous one. Famous especially for its sanctuary. Close enough to London, where all the villains were, then as now, it was the place criminals fled to, to hang on the sanctuary knocker. The sheriff’s men couldn’t touch them. It’s said hundreds of villains found safety inside the walls. But of course they were trapped. The moment they put a nose outside, they were bagged.”
“Let’s hope the villains aren’t still hanging about,” Joe said.
“The knocker is. The lion’s head sanctuary knocker. It’s huge. It’s been passed down from building to building I expect. They’ve mounted it on the present front door. Not at all in keeping with the modern lines, and I’ll bet the architect had something to say! But the gesture’s in keeping with tradition, and that’s what people really want to see.”
Gosling, with ten minutes to go before their appointment, was driving slowly, allowing time to look at the buildings. Gleaming rosily in the westering sun, the white brick managed to look at once welcoming, pure, and spare. Large plate glass windows caught and reflected back a golden light, wide and innocent as smiling eyes. The low-lying building sat easily against the undulating landscape of the North Downs, its straight lines contrasting with but not challenging the natural beauty that sheltered it. Two wings came forwards, ushering the visitor to a well-defined front entrance. A service road continued on around the back, Joe guessed, to the usual offices and hard-standing for ambulances and other vehicles, out of sight and not spoiling the uncluttered impact of the main building.
As they watched, a group of nurses came out and began to walk down the drive. Rosy cheeked and neat in their navy uniforms and capes, they chattered and laughed and waved amiably at the passengers in the Morris. Gosling pulled over to one side to allow a delivery van to pass them. As it swished by they read in a florid cartouche painted on the side: Ernest Honeydew. Grocer. Purveyor of the cream of Sussex provender to the Gentry since 1813.
Joe laughed. “Is that what they fed you on, Dorcas? Cream of provender?”
“Yes! It was very good. The students ate the same food as the private patients. I’ve never had lamb chops and lobster like it.”
“Well, the Prince Albert it’s not!” Gosling said. “All grow your own on the home farm. And, as Langhorne isn’t here to oblige, I’ll have to say it myself:
There’s nothing ill can dwell in such a temple.
If the ill spirit have so fair a house
Good things will strive to dwell within it.
The Tempest, sir. Though I think Miranda was talking of a man she fancied rather than a building.”
“But the one often reflects the other, don’t you find?” Joe said. “There’s a man’s taste behind every brick laid, every window positioned. I wonder who we’re to meet at the centre of this perfection? A Caliban-a born devil, thing of darkness-or an Ariel, who does his spiriting gently?” Joe mused.
“Just park the car with its nose facing outwards, will you, George?” Dorcas said impatiently. “And, Joe, will you check my pistol for me? I think I loaded it right but-better safe, eh?”
She pushed her battered leather student’s satchel over to him.
“My God! There’s a gun loose in here! A heavy one. Dorcas, that’s insane! I don’t even carry one myself these days. And certainly not out of a holster. Where did you get it? Do you even have a license for it?”
“Oh, stop fussing! I was given this by someone who is concerned for my safety. Who rather disapproves of the dubious places I frequent. In a professional capacity, of course. I like having it, and I know how to use it. I’m a good shot. I put the catch on, didn’t I? I just get cold feet at the last moment-you know that uneasy feeling-did I turn the gas tap off? Did I remember to put the bullets in? Give it back!”
“Gosling? You? Do you have anything to declare? I like to know where the shots may be coming from, particularly when the troops firing them are standing behind me.”
“They don’t trust me with firearms yet. I only have my fists, sir.”
“Then keep them in your pocket. There, that’s safe,” Joe said, handing the satchel back with reluctance. “You may hang on to it-provided you promise me it stays in the bag, and the bag stays on your shoulder! I’d keep it myself if I had somewhere to stow it. I don’t want to go in bulging in unnatural places like a federal agent.”
“Very well. You know where it is. Just ask if you need to borrow it.”
“And, Gosling, leave that black briefcase of yours behind. We need our hands free. We don’t want to be taken for tax inspectors.”
Dorcas gave Joe a tender look. “Fusspots! Behaving like a pair of great crested grebes! Übersprungshandlung. That’s what you’re both demonstrating. Birds who can’t decide whether to attack or flee sometimes just go away and peck grass. You don’t want to get on and do the next thing so you find other trivial things to distract you. Gentlemen, if you’re ready?”
CHAPTER 24
Gosling darted out ahead. “Let me do the knocker, sir!” Joe hung back and watched him reach out a hand to pat the shining brass head of the lion that managed to return his wide grin despite the heavy ring in its mouth. “Well done, old son! Glad you were there over the years. And glad you’ve survived,” Gosling muttered with gruff affection, then he seized the ring and banged.
“You know-I think I’ve been wrong about that boy,” Joe admitted.
“You may excuse yourself for that. I’d guess Gosling has been wrong about himself,” Dorcas said mysteriously. “For many a year.” She stuck a head through the window and called out a bit of advice: “George, we usually use the electric bell.”
“No,” said Joe, “Let him ask for sanctuary in the time-honoured manner. I’m all in favour of taking out a bit of insurance-you never know.”
They were expected, at least. A stately dame in crisp uniform and a very fancy white starched and pleated head dress was waiting behind the door. She flung it wide and stood back to admit them.
“Melinda Mallinson. Matron. Do come in! I rather expected you’d be bang on time. A.C. Sandilands and Mr. Gosling. And-of course-our Miss Joliffe! How lovely to see you again, Dorcas. Not much time! Follow me, please.”
She turned and gave them a bracing smile. “Try to keep up now! Nuns and nurses-always on the trot!”
Joe hoped he’d be able to find his way back out of this maze of corridors unaided if it came to it, but he couldn’t be certain. As they scurried along he registered left and right turns, noted markers on walls and doors, using locating techniques taught him by an old jungle hand. This place with its myriad rooms, all with activities going on behind closed doors, made the hairs stand on the back of his neck as the trees of the Indian forests had done. Unknown territory. Hostile. Be wary!
A door was flung open as they passed, and a mother holding two children by the hand emerged, smiling and calling good-byes to the young doctor who held the door open for her. “Yes, Robin. Didn’t I say we could go home on the bus if you were good boys? Come along, Benjamin. It’s this way.”
Joe calmed himself.
“Here we are. You’re very punctual. Shall I send along a cup of tea? Would this be too early?”
“Thank you, no, Matron. We’re not expecting to linger.”
Matron leaned to them confidingly. “Thank you for saying that. Most understanding! I ought to tell you that the professor has an evening engagement up in London. He’s addressing the Royal Scientific Society, and he really must catch the four thirty train from Tunbridge.”