Peter Lovesey - Mad Hatter

Five minutes later they were seated in an almost deserted tap-room.

‘You know who that was, don’t you?’ said Bridget.

‘Miss Floyd-Whittingham, you mean? A friend of Dr. Prothero’s I believe.’

‘Friend! You’ve got a fine sense of humour, sir.’

They sipped at their drinks, watching each other.

‘How did the doctor meet this young woman?’ asked Moscrop.

‘I couldn’t tell you. He’s a ladies’ man, as you must have seen for yourself. It’s obvious to everyone but his wife. I’ve had to remind him of his position once or twice myself, I might say. I think it must have been last year he was introduced to her, at one of them musical evenings. We come to Brighton each year, you know. He’s always been one for going out and about, and the mistress thinks nothing of it. She believes everything he tells her. Has she told you about the patients he’s supposed to be visiting every afternoon? Patients! I ask you!’

‘Such an unlikely woman to be deceived,’ observed Moscrop, almost to himself. ‘Who would credit it? One has only to hear her speak-that sparkling conversation. An emancipated woman in every syllable she utters.’

Bridget smirked. ‘That shows how much you know about the fair sex. It ain’t the quiet ones that lose their husbands, Mr. Moscrop, it’s Mrs. Prothero and her kind, bubbling over so passionate they don’t notice their men creeping out the back door. Or won’t admit to it.’

‘You know what is going on between the doctor and this person, then?’

‘Everyone does-except my mistress. I don’t think she’d see it if they was sitting on her own sofa holding hands, poor woman. You’ve taken a fancy to her, haven’t you?’

‘Never mind,’ said Moscrop. There were limits to plain speaking.

Bridget was not so easily deflected. ‘I’ve seen you with the glasses to your eyes, Mr. Moscrop, and I’ve watched you on the beach and outside the hotel when the mistress hasn’t known you were there. I take you for a man that goes to a great deal of trouble to get what he wants. I saw you talking to the bathing-machine woman the other day when I was in the water with Guy. Oh, don’t concern yourself. It don’t bother me what you’ve seen or what she told you. I wouldn’t be the first of my sort to give a little tuition to the gentry-not that Guy needs much. Takes after his father, I can tell you, and that’s why I’ve no fears from that quarter. But you’re different, aren’t you? You wouldn’t make a pass at me if I invited you. Single-minded, that’s you.’

Was this meant for provocation, or was the girl trying to make a point? Either way, the conversation had taken a personal turn he was determined to correct.

‘If you know that Mrs. Prothero is being deceived by her husband, why don’t you tell her?’

‘I’ve got my character to consider,’ said Bridget, her voice pitched high in protest. ‘I can’t afford to cross the doctor. I’d never obtain another position if he gave me a bad character. That’s what I was coming to, anyway. What’s to be gained if she does find out about him? Nothing. It’ll send her mad or break her heart. She’s so blind to his doings that he don’t even bother to brush the red hairs off his jacket collar.’

‘But if her husband is unfaithful-‘ ‘You think the knowledge of it might throw her into another’s arms? Don’t believe it, sir. Oh, I know you’ve watched her by the hour. You’re a patient man, I don’t deny it, and you deserve something for your persistence. I’ve followed each stage of it, the binocular-work, the day you brought back Jason, the meeting at the toy-shop and yesterday I watched from the window as she took some of her sleeping-draught to you at the croquet-lawn. Do you expect to find there’s arsenic in it, Mr. Moscrop? Do you think he’s killing her? Of course he ain’t! He’s perfectly content with things the way they are.’

‘I had no such thought. I was simply doing a lady a good turn.’ Really, Bridget was altogether too uppish. A chit of a servant-wench addressing him like this! He should have walked out at once. If the subject of their conversation were not so riveting he would certainly have done so.

‘Take my word for it,’ she continued. ‘She’s the same with everyone-generous, warm-hearted and open in her speech. It don’t mean a thing, Mr. Moscrop. There’s only one man for her and that’s my master, with all his faults. If you tell her about them she won’t thank you for it. Take as many walks as you like with her, try all your charms on her-who am I to say you haven’t no chance at all? But one thing I do ask of you-and this is why I had to find you this morning-don’t tell her the truth about her husband, sir. God knows what will happen if you do.’

He was glad he chose to walk along the front that evening in preference to the route through the town. The sound of the waves on the shingle was infinitely clearer by night. It synchronised with some small pulse in his brain, calming his mood and stabilizing his thoughts, like the tick of the grandfather clock downstairs when he was alone at night as a child. He could begin to feel in control again. He was so unused to being involved in people’s lives, least of all in the secrets of man and wife. Oh, he had seen infidelities enough through his glasses-anyone with sharp observation and a good memory for faces could pick out three or four in a fortnight by the sea-but he had always remained quite detached from the parties involved. In the present case he had deliberately eschewed the glasses, and-he admitted it-surrendered his objectivity. Complications were inevitable in the circumstances. Now it was necessary to resolve them in as calm and business-like a manner as possible. He had started this and he would see it through.

Ahead, a shaft of moonlight bisected the sea, to form a continuous line with the lantern-reflections under the Chain Pier. The chill of autumn had kept all but a handful of stalwarts off the front. Most were soldiers in town on a pass, a girl on one arm, swagger-stick under the other, pork-pie hat rakishly askew, spurs jingling long after they passed.

Near the aquarium he fancied he could hear voices coming from the beach. The glow of gas-lamps on the promenade made it difficult to see much below, and in the usual way he would not have tried to distinguish who was down there. By all accounts the nocturnal activities on the pebbles were not intended to be overseen. Nor did they usually involve much conversation. But he was sure, as he came nearer, that several men were down there tonight, engaging in animated talk. And hammering. There were no boats so far along for them to be working on. He drew level with the clock-tower and approached the promenade-railing, shading his eyes with both hands.

There must have been a dozen men in a working-party sinking stakes into the shingle near the water’s edge. Farther along, he made out a line of uprights jutting starkly against the glinting luminosity of the water. Some were twice as tall as the men and had cross-pieces fixed with diagonal struts. If this had not been Brighton-and in the season-he would have sworn that he was looking at a row of gibbets. He shivered, pulled up his overcoat collar and moved away towards the Marine Parade at a tidy step, without accounting for what he had seen.

The Albemarle was situated in a favoured position overlooking the Chain Pier, its crenellated facade and porticoed entrance proclaiming it one of the more exclusive hotels in a fashionable terrace. The crimson velvet curtains at the dining-room windows were only half-drawn, so that passersby were treated to glimpses of waiters dancing attendance with silver coffee-pots. Moscrop paced the pavement opposite, like a sentry. Cabs were beginning to line the kerbs in anticipation of trade; this evening most would be making for the Dome. The ball in the regiment’s honour was certain to be one of the principal events of the season.