Anne Perry - Seven Dials

Garrick gave a choking cry, and then his body arched and he flung his arms up, covering his face as if to defend himself. Pitt was caught by surprise and lost his balance, lurching backwards into Garvie. He could feel Narraway’s impatience smoldering in the air.

“Come on, Mr. Stephen!” Garvie said sharply. “We’ve got to get out of here. Quickly, sir!”

That seemed to have the desired effect. Whimpering with fear, Garrick rose unsteadily to his feet, lurching one way, then the other, but with Garvie and Pitt supporting him, he stumbled through the door, past Narraway and the attendant, and started off down the passage.

Pitt looked backwards once, to make sure Narraway was following them, and saw him write something on a card and give it to the attendant, then a moment later he heard his rapid footsteps behind him.

Half carrying, half dragging Garrick, who gave them only minimal assistance, Pitt and Garvie made their way back towards the entrance. More than once Pitt hesitated, uncertain whether the turn was left or right, and heard Narraway’s voice directing him with a peremptory hiss. Pitt’s ears were straining for every sound, and once when he heard a door close he whirled around and almost sent Garrick flying.

Narraway snarled at him, and increased his pace. Pitt grasped Garrick again, and they turned the last corner into the entrance hall. He saw two attendants standing there, and would have stopped instantly, but Garrick was oblivious to them and kept shambling on, and Garvie had no choice but to go with him or let him fall.

Pitt recovered his step and caught up with them.

The attendants jerked to attention. “Ey! Where you goin’, then?” one of them called out.

“Go on!” Narraway growled behind Pitt, then turned to face the men.

Pitt grasped Garrick more firmly and, holding him hard, half pushed him at a greater pace out of the door, down the steps, and smartly right towards the waiting hansom. Please heaven Narraway managed to extricate himself from the men and get away too, because Pitt had no idea where he was to take them.

They reached the cab and Garrick stopped abruptly, his body shaking, his hands out in front of him as if to ward off an attack. Garvie put his arms around him gently, but with considerable strength, and with Pitt’s assistance, they lifted him into the hansom. The driver sat facing forward, ignoring everything as though his life depended on seeing and hearing nothing.

Pitt swiveled around to see if Narraway was coming yet.

Inside the cab, Garrick began to thrash around, wailing and sobbing with terror.

Pitt swung up beside him to try to keep him from escaping, or in his delirium injuring Garvie. “It’s all right, sir!” he said urgently. “You’re quite safe. No one’s going to harm you.” He might as well have been speaking in a foreign language.

Garvie was losing control. He was white-faced in the gaslight, and there was panic and helplessness in his eyes. If Narraway did not come soon they were going to have to leave without him.

The seconds ticked by.

“Go around the hospital and back!” Pitt shouted at the driver. “Now!”

The hansom lurched forward, throwing all three of them against the back of the seat. For a few moments Garrick was too surprised to react. Please God, Narraway would be there when they reached the front again. Pitt’s mind raced as to where on earth he could take Garrick if he were not? The only place he was certain of any kind of help at all, and secrecy, was his own home. And what could he and Charlotte do with a madman in delirium? For that matter, how much better was Garvie?

Narraway had spoken of the local police station, but Pitt believed that was almost certainly a bluff. And either way, Pitt had no authority he could prove to them. The very most they might do would be return them all to Bedlam and extricate Narraway, which would put them in an even worse position than that in which they had begun, because now the authorities in Bedlam would be warned.

He would have to go home, and leave Narraway to his own devices.

They were at the front of the hospital again. The footpath was deserted. Pitt’s heart sank, and he could feel his stomach tighten and his whole body go cold.

“Keppel Street!” he shouted at the driver. “Slowly! Don’t hurry.” He felt the lurch and swing as they turned onto Brook Street, then almost immediately afterwards into Kennington Road, and back down towards the Westminster Bridge.

It was a nightmare journey. The mist had thickened and a slower speed was forced upon them. They held up no one by slackening to a walk. Stephen Garrick slumped forward, alternately weeping and groaning like a man on the way to his own death-and whatever hell he believed lay beyond. Garvie attempted now and then to comfort him, but it was a wasted effort, and the despair in his voice betrayed that he knew it.

Pitt tried desperately to think what on earth he would do if Narraway did not show up soon, and ever worse images crowded his mind as to what had happened to him. Had he been arrested for abducting an inmate? Or simply imprisoned in Bedlam as if he too were mad? Had they locked him in one of their padded rooms? Or administered some powerful sedative so he might not even be conscious to protest his sanity?

They were over the river and heading north and east. Part of Pitt wished they would hurry, so he would be home in the warmth and light of familiar surroundings, and at least Charlotte could help him. Another part wanted to spin out the journey as long as possible, to give Narraway a chance to catch up with them and take charge.

They were in a busy thoroughfare. There was plenty of other traffic, sounds of horns in the swirling mist, harness clinking, light from other coach lamps, movement reflected in bright gleams off brass.

Garrick sat up suddenly and screamed as if in terror for his life. Pitt’s flesh froze. In a moment he was paralyzed, then he lunged sideways and grasped Garrick’s arm and threw him back in the seat. The hansom swayed wildly and slithered around on the wet cobbles, then shot forward at increased speed. Pitt could hear the cabbie shouting as they careered along the street, but within twenty yards the ride was steadier, and within a hundred they were back to a normal trot.

Pitt tried to control his racing heart and keep hold of Garrick, who was now gibbering nonsensically, in spite of everything Garvie could say or do.

Then they pulled up and the cabbie told them loudly and with a voice trembling with fear that they were at Keppel Street and should get out immediately.

There was no alternative but to obey. With difficulty, and stiff from having sat for so long with locked muscles, Pitt alighted. He almost fell onto the pavement, and then reached to help Garrick.

Garrick stumbled after him, collapsed onto the stones, then, without any warning at all, managed to get up onto his feet and started to run, a loose, shambling gait, but covering the wet pavement with startling speed.

Garvie stared at him in silent, beaten desperation.

Pitt lurched after him, but Garrick was at the end of the block and starting across the roadway before he floundered for a moment, arms flailing, and for no reason Pitt could see, fell face forward onto the cobbles.

Pitt flung himself on top of him. Garrick whimpered like a wounded animal, but he had no strength or will to fight. Pitt hauled him up, more than a little roughly, and straightened himself, only to see a man a couple of yards away from him. He was about to try some desperate explanation when with drenching relief he recognized the neat, slender silhouette against the light-it was Narraway. For an instant Pitt was too choked with emotion to speak. He stood still, gulping air, his body shaking, his hands clinging onto Garrick-clammy with sweat.