Виктория Холт - The Captive

It was true that the need to prove Simon innocent had taken second place to my anxiety about Lucas lately, but I had gone too far in my search to slacken now. The need to prove Simon’s innocence was as strong as ever.

I knew the name of the house and the name of the district. I would hail a cab and ask to be taken to Bayswater. Cabdrivers were very knowledgeable about London. They had to be. It was essential to their jobs.

It was early afternoon. My father was at work in his study. Aunt Maud was taking a nap. I came out of the house and hailed a cab.

The cabdriver looked a little dismayed when I told him I wanted to go to Malton House in Bayswater.

“Malton House? Where’s that?”

“In Bayswater.”

“That all the address you’ve got?”

I told him it was.

“Well, we’ll get to Bayswater. That’s easy enough. Here … wait a minute, I know of a Malton Square.”

“I think it would very likely be there.”

“All right then, Miss. We’ll go and see.”

When we arrived at Malton Square he slowed down and studied the houses as we went along.

We saw a woman with a shopping-bag. She was walking briskly along.

The cabdriver slowed up and touched his hat with his whip.

“Excuse me, lady. You know Malton House round here?”

“Why, yes,” she said.

“The one on the corner.”

“Thank ‘ee, M’am.”

The cab stopped before a house.

I said: “Will you wait for me? I shall not be long.”

“I’ll just wait round the corner, into the next street,” he said.

“Can’t very well stay here right on the corner.”

“That will suit me beautifully.”

And it did, for it occurred to me that he might think it odd that I had made the journey just to look at the place.

The house lay back from the road. Steps led to the door, and among the few rather dingy bushes in the front garden there was a board on which was printed “Malton House. Maternity Nursing Home.” And in the corner, “Mrs. B. A. Campden’ with several letters after her name, the significance of which I was unsure of.

I stood staring at the board for some moments and as I did so a woman came up to me. I recognized her at once as the one whom the cabdriver had asked about the house.

“Can I help you?” she asked pleasantly.

“Oh … erno, thank you,” I said.

“I am Mrs. Campden,” she said.

“I saw you alight from the cab.”

This was becoming awkward. She must know that I had meant to come here as the cabby had asked her the way. How could I tell her that I just wanted to look at the place?

She said: “Why don’t you come in? It’s easier to talk inside.”

“I … er … I only wanted …”

She smiled at me.

“I understand.” Her eyes swept over me. I found myself following her up the steps. The door was open and we stepped into a hall in which was a reception area.

“Come along in,” she said.

I began to protest.

“I only …” How could I tell her that I wanted to see what sort of place this was? She seemed to have drawn her. own conclusions about me.

“Really I shouldn’t waste your time …” I began.

She took my arm and drew me into a room.

“Now, let’s be comfortable,” she said. She pushed me into a chair.

“You mustn’t be embarrassed. So many girls are. I understand that.

We’re here to help. “

I felt I -was getting deeper and deeper into a ridiculous situation, from which I must extricate myself as quickly as

possible. What could I say? How to explain? She knew that I had purposely come to the place. It was most unfortunate that the cabdriver should have spoken to her. I tried to think of some reason why I should be here.

“I have to ask a few questions, of course,” she was saying, while I was desperately racking my brains for some plausible excuse for being here.

“Now don’t be nervous. I’m used to this sort of thing. We’ll put everything right. Have you any idea when conception took place?”

I was horrified now. I wanted to get out of this place as quickly as I could.

“You’re making a mistake,” I said.

“I… I just came to enquire about a friend of mine.”

“A friend? What friend?”

“I believe she came here. It was some time ago … I have lost touch with her and I wondered if you could help me. She was Mrs. Blanchard”

“Mrs. Blanchard?” She stared at me blankly.

I thought she would surely remember. Anyone would remember Mirabel.

Her unusual beauty would make that inevitable.

A sudden thought came to me. On the spur of the moment I said: “Or perhaps she came as Mrs. Parry …”

As soon as I had spoken, I wondered what I was thinking of. It was just that the thought had flashed into my mind that her visit here would be of a secret nature and she might not have used the name of Blanchard. There had always been a faint suspicion in my mind that she was in fact the wife of the sailor whose grave Kate visited . that she was in truth at that time Mrs. Parry.

I was losing my head. I just wanted to get away.

I said: “I thought if you could give me her address.”

“I must tell you right away that we never divulge the addresses of our patients.”

“Well, I thought you might not. Thank you very much. I’m sorry to have taken up your time.”

“What is your name?”

“Oh, that’s not important. I was just passing and I thought…”

Just passing! In a cab which brought me here specially! I was making a mess of. this

“You are not the Press, are you?” she asked rather threateningly.

“No … no, no, I assure you. I was just thinking about my friend and wondering whether you could help me find her. I am so sorry to have bothered you. I shouldn’t have come in if …”

“If I hadn’t come along just at that moment. Are you sure you are not in need of our services?”

“I’m quite sure. If you’ll excuse me. I’m so sorry to have troubled you … Goodbye, and thank you.”

I made for the door while she watched me through narrowed eyes.

I was trembling. There was something about the woman, about the place, which made me very apprehensive.

It was with great relief that I came out into the street. What a disaster! How was I to know I should encounter the proprietress! What bad luck that she should have come along at that precise moment. And I had been quite unprepared. I was hopeless in the role I had set for myself. Because I had managed rather well as a governess, I fancied myself as a detective. I felt humiliated and shaken; and my desire was to get away as quickly as possible.

It was a lesson to me. My methods of investigation were both crude and amateur.

I ran round the corner to where the cab was waiting.

“That was quick,” said the cabdriver.

“Oh yes.”

“Everything all right?”

“Oh, yes … yes.”

I knew he was thinking: A girl in trouble going to one of those places. Maternity Home, yes-but not averse to helping a girl in trouble.

I sat back, thinking of it all, going over every excruciating minute.

Why had I mentioned Mrs. Parry! It had just come into my head that she might have gone there under that name. How foolish of me! One thing I did know, and that was that Mirabel must have been pregnant when she went there and not so when she came out. What could it mean? Whose child was it? Cosmo’s? She was going to marry Cosmo at that time. Or Tristan’s?

Was this an important piece of evidence?

It seemed to me that the chain of events was becoming more complicated and I was no nearer to the solution.

When I reached our house I was still shaken from the encounter.

The next day I went to see Lucas. When I knocked at his door it was opened by him. He stood standing there.