John Harwood - The Asylum

“And what’s that to me?”

“It is yours,” I said, “if you will help me escape.”

She smiled derisively. The little eyes bored into mine.

“And what’s to stop me taking it right now?”

“Nothing,” I said breathlessly, willing my voice not to shake. “But then I would tell Dr. Straker, and if you were caught, you would be sent to prison.”

The eyes flickered over the brooch.

“Or I could give it to Dr. Straker,” she said, “and ’e might give me a nice reward.”

“He might,” I said, “but not two hundred pounds.”

“You just said it was worth one hundred.”

“Yes, if you were to sell it. But to me it is worth all the money I have in the world, which is two hundred pounds, in trust with my solicitor. As soon as I am safely home in London, I will buy it back from you for two hundred pounds.”

“’Ow do I know it’s not paste?”

I had not thought of this, and I racked my brain for an answer, keeping my eyes fixed on hers as if she were a huge, savage dog, bracing itself to spring. Meaty breath wafted over me, prompting a spasm of nausea.

“You don’t,” I said at last. “But do you think I would have risked bringing it here, of all places, if I could have borne to part with it?”

She was silent again; I could see the eyes calculating.

“And supposing—just supposing, mind—I was to ’elp you escape, I should lose my place.”

“Not necessarily,” I replied. “You could say that I hid behind the door, dodged around you when you came in with the tray, and locked you in.”

She nodded very slightly. There was a hint of complicity in her glance.

“What are your wages here?” I asked.

“Thirty pound and my keep.”

“Two hundred pounds is nearly seven years’ wages.”

“Maybe, but why should I trust you? S’posing you do get back to London, why wouldn’t you tell the police I stole your brooch?”

“Because I have given you my word, and . . . because the police might bring me back here, before I can prove that—I am who I say I am.”

There was another calculating silence.

“And what if you get caught before you get out of ’ere? You’ll say I stole it, and then where am I?”

I had not anticipated this, either.

“If I am caught escaping, you will still be locked in here, and—if you will not trust me—you can put the brooch back before they find you.”

“Then I get nothing, ’cept a bad mark on my character.”

I thought desperately, but no answer occurred to me. I felt in my pocket with my other hand and held out the two sovereigns.

“Here,” I said as the gold caught the light, “they are yours to keep if you will only help me, whether I am caught or not.”

The glittering coins seemed to fascinate her even more than the rubies. Her little eyes fastened on them, then on the brooch, then on me, back and forth, back and forth, for a small eternity before she reached out and took first the coins, and then the jewel box.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll do it.”

The floor swayed beneath my feet; I realised I had stopped breathing, and took a long breath, just in time to save myself from fainting.

“When?” I gasped.

“First thing in the morning. I’ll tell you what to do when I bring your supper.”

“But Dr. Straker is coming to see me in the morning—”

“Not till after breakfast. You’ll ’ave two hours’ start of ’im.”

“But he will wire to London; the police will be waiting for me.”

“I can’t ’elp that, can I? An’ I’m not spending the night locked in ’ere.”

“Then . . . if you want your two hundred pounds, you will have to find me another cloak to put over mine; otherwise I will certainly be caught. Anything—it does not matter how old.”

“Then I’d be ’ad for stealin’ a cloak as well. Now do you want to chance it, or not?”

“Yes,” I said, “I will chance it.”

At dawn the next morning, I was sitting on the side of the bed, shivering in my cloak and bonnet. During the worst and longest night of my life, I had vomited up everything I had eaten the day before, and I could see nothing ahead of me but an eternity of such nights. When the lock rasped and snapped, I did not even believe it would be Hodges until the door opened.

“You look like death warmed up,” she remarked, setting down the tray, “and not much of the warmth about it, neither.”

“No,” I said, “but if I should manage to escape, how shall I let you know?”

“Write to Margaret Hodges at the Railway Arms in Liskeard, to be left till called for. They’ll see I get it.”

“Thank you. Now tell me again what to do.”

“Left out the door, turn right halfway along. Unlock that door—the big key in the middle there—and leave the keys in it; you won’t need them after that. Go to the end of the passage, turn right, and keep going till you come to a landing. Go down four flights and you’re on the ground floor. There’ll be a long corridor on your left, a shorter one straight ahead. Go straight ahead—it’s the voluntary patients, so walk like you belong—and the door’s at the end on your right. It won’t be locked; the time’s gone seven. Turn right, follow the gravel path, and keep going in the same direction till you come to the gate. Anyone stops you—well, you’ll ’ave to think for yourself. Through the gate and Liskeard’s four mile to your right, but you might get a lift with a carter if you’re lucky.”

We had been through this the evening before, but it seemed impossible; I would never remember. I arranged my bonnet to hide as much of my face as possible.

“Thank you,” I said again.

“Good luck, then. Least I got me tea.”

She sat down on the bed, which creaked dangerously, took the lid off the teapot, and began to stir the leaves. When I glanced back as I drew the door shut, she did not even look up. I took out the keys and set off down the empty corridor with my footsteps echoing around me.

The next door opened inward, revealing another dark, panelled corridor, with a dim oblong of light at the far end. Hodges had said to leave the keys here, but if someone tried the door and found it unlocked, the pursuit would begin at once. I locked the door behind me, flinching at the noise, and set off with the keys still clutched in my hand, hidden beneath my cloak.

Now my footsteps sounded as loud as gunshots, no matter how carefully I walked. There were doors on both sides of me; I dared not look at them but fixed my eyes on the floorboards ahead of me. I had got perhaps two-thirds of the way along when a female figure appeared, silhouetted against the light, and began to walk briskly toward me. I kept walking, trying to keep my pace steady and my gaze low while holding myself as upright as I could.

“Morning?” said a puzzled, questioning voice as we passed each other.

“Good morning,” I murmured without raising my head.

Her footsteps slowed and stopped. I fought the impulse to run as the end of the passage approached. Five paces to go—was it left, or right? Left, left—no, right. Still no sound from behind me. I turned right, into a wider corridor, and saw another woman, in a white uniform, approaching, and beyond her, a staircase. Again I strove to keep my pace steady and my gaze low, like someone lost in thought.

There was no greeting this time, but again the footsteps faltered and stopped behind me. My heart was pounding so violently that I could not tell whether they resumed or not. I reached the head of the stairs—the treads, to my relief, were carpeted—and began to descend, sliding one hand down the banister for support with the keys still clasped in the other.

I glanced over my shoulder when I reached the half-landing. No one was following, but as I came to the floor below, I heard several sets of footsteps approaching from my right. I quickened my pace and went on down.