The Insanity of Murder (16 page)

Beamish rowed in his shirtsleeves. Eva sat next to him, trailing the fingers of one slender hand through the water. Florence had stretched out across the bottom of the rowing boat, head cradled in Lady Mary’s lap, feet propped on the opposite seat. The bright sun turned the insides of her eyelids red. Her ghastly uniform bonnet lay sloshing around on the bottom of the boat. Unencumbered by the usual parasol, she lay still, willing the sun’s healing powers to seep some colour into her lifeless skin. For once in her life she would not worry about freckles.

The birds sang as the oars dipped into the placid lake with barely a splash. Florence opened her eyes. They were only a few feet away from the bank. Above her head a breeze, too weak to sway the willow’s branches, contented itself with the gentle tickling of leaves. A sweet muddy smell from the lake wafted in the air around them; bees hummed from flowering shrubs. Patterns of light and shadow danced across the boyish features of Beamish’s face. Perspiration shone in the dip of his throat; golden hairs, gleaming in the sun, stood out against his tanned arms.

‘You look hot. Would you like me to take over?’ Florence offered.

‘No, you are to rest — doctor’s orders,’ he said.

Only now that she was experiencing such utter relaxation did it dawn on Florence how exhausted she’d been. She had been in the home no more than twenty-four hours and already felt like a new woman. The only thing that spoiled the present tranquillity was the occasional cross look that Eva shot at Beamish. When next alone, she would ask her newfound friend what the problem was between them.

‘Can you row a bit faster, dear?’ Mary asked Beamish.

Florence made eye contact with Eva and they both laughed.

‘Try and be patient, Mary,’ Eva said. ‘Sit back, relax and enjoy the excursion.’

Beamish locked the oars and passed the back of a hand across his perspiring brow. ‘Let’s just drift for a while.’

The water lapped gently against the sides of the boat. A fish jumped. Across the lake’s surface, dragonflies dipped and dived with quick, luminous movements. A school of minnows darted under the boat.

Mary managed to keep still for all of a minute. ‘Should we ring the bell for luncheon now, dear?’

Eva smiled. ‘I think Mary’s hungry.’

‘All right then.’ Beamish manoeuvred the boat to a small jetty, tied it to a post and helped Lady Mary out. Florence, following Eva’s lead, refused his offer of help.

They unpacked the picnic — pork pies, Scotch eggs, fruit, and bottles of Bell’s Mineral Water — on a grassy patch under the shade of a willow.

When they had finished eating, Florence stretched out on the tartan picnic rug and closed her eyes again, her mind drifting to Cynthia Hislop. It was hard to imagine that she had been subject to hideous cruelty and experimental operations in this tranquil place. Dody and Pike must have got it wrong.

Eva muttered about mosquitos. Florence heard the slap of a palm on skin.

Mary began to sigh, restless again. ‘I’d like to see if the bluebells in the wood are still out, Mr Beamish.’

‘I think they’d be dead by now, Lady Mary,’ he said.

Florence opened an eye and saw Eva helping Mary to her feet.

‘Please take me there, Mr Beamish. I would like to see for myself. It is not often we get the opportunity to come to this part of the country,’ Lady Mary said.

Beamish sighed, stood up, and dusted himself down. ‘All right.’ He crooked his arm out to Lady Mary. ‘M’Lady?’

‘Charmed, I’m sure,’ she said, taking it.

Beamish frowned as he regarded the remaining women. ‘Are you two going to behave yourselves? Don’t think I can’t see you from where we’re going — the edge of the wood is only about a hundred yards away.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Beamish,’ Eva snapped.

‘Very well, prove you can be trusted. We’ll be five minutes.’

Florence and Eva watched the pair depart, walking along a rough path parallel to the lake’s shoreline.

‘Gaoler’s gone at last,’ Eva whispered. ‘It’s so hard to get any time alone in this place. If one wasn’t insane when one was admitted, one is sure to be when one was released.’

‘So far, I’ve found everything here to be very pleasant,’ Florence said.

‘Yes, well, you were a voluntary admission, weren’t you?’

‘I’m here for the rest cure.’

Florence had not yet learned the details of her new friend’s committal and began to wonder about it. As far as she could tell, there was nothing ‘insane’ about Eva at all.

Her pensive expression must have betrayed her thoughts.

‘Mine is not a pleasant story, my dear,’ Eva said, looking at Florence through saddened eyes.

‘I don’t wish to upset you. Please, don’t tell me if you don’t want to.’

Eva paused as if summoning some kind of inner courage. After a moment, she nodded her head and said, ‘I think I should, for both our sakes. There should be no secrets between friends.’

Florence gave her an encouraging smile.

‘I was in love once, with a man my father considered unsuitable,’ Eva began, tracing her finger through the grass at the edge of the blanket. ‘He held a junior position in the foreign office, but was never expected to amount to much — didn’t have the right connections, you see. On the other hand my breeding was impeccable. My mother was a Spanish aristocrat and Father was in politics, a member of Cabinet for a while and knighted for it too.’ Eva smiled. ’That was probably before you were even born, Florence.

‘Anyway, I fell pregnant to my young man and all hell broke loose, as you can imagine. He was disgraced and, after a bit of string-pulling by Father, sent off to the colonies. I was forced to give up the baby. I don’t even know if it was a boy or a girl.’ Eva dashed a tear from her eye. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t tell my story very often.’

Florence covered Eva’s hand with her own, gave it a squeeze. ‘That’s enough, I don’t need to hear any more.’

‘Yes, you do, and I must go on, it’s about time someone knew the whole truth.’ Eva smiled bravely. ‘Of course, all the family considered me unclean and didn’t know what to do with me; I was ruined for marriage, you see. Then I caught the eye of Bevan Blackman, quite a catch, I was told, and destined for political greatness provided he had the correct backing — meaning my father, the fixer. And what a way for Father to have his troublesome daughter taken off his hands? It was of benefit to both parties.’

‘So you were traded, like a primitive woman for cattle,’ Florence said through clenched jaw. She’d heard this kind of story too often.

‘No difference at all — you can see why I joined the suffragettes. I had to keep my membership a secret of course, Bevan would have hit the roof. You’d have thought he would have looked after his prized possession though, wouldn’t you? Well, no chance of that. The beatings started almost immediately after our marriage. I took them with gritted teeth for what seemed like an age, until there came a point when I knew I had to fight back or die. One night I sensed I was destined for a beating – it almost always happened after he’d dined at his club, too much brandy, I suppose — and I prepared for it by leaving a poker in the fire to get red-hot. When he advanced towards me, hands out, ready to grab my neck, I slashed him across the cheek and burnt him quite badly. It stopped him, but I paid a terrible price. Bevan and Father declared I was a danger to society and had me committed. The prosecution wanted me sent to Broadmoor, but I ended up here instead, thank goodness. Father died a few years ago and Bevan got everything. I don’t have a penny to my name.’

‘How terrible,’ Florence exclaimed, horrified. But look, I know people who can help. In fact, don’t tell anyone, but Elysium is being investigated as we speak. If you know of anything untoward about the place, please tell me now. For example, what is it about Mr Beamish that gets you so upset —’

A shadow blocked the sun. Florence felt a cold patch on her back.

Eva stiffened on the rug. ‘Shhhh …’

Florence swivelled around and gasped.

‘Please disregard whatever Eva’s been telling you, Miss McCleland. The lady lives in fantasyland,’ Beamish said sternly, Mary’s arm still tucked through his. In her other hand Mary held a bunch of yellow leaved bluebells, long past their prime.

Eva dropped her face into her hands and began to sob. Florence patted her on the back and gave Beamish a glare, which he ignored.

‘Take these, dear,’ Mary said, handing Eva the flowers. ‘They’ll cheer you up.’

‘They’re lovely, thank you. Please hold them for me while I help clear up.’ Eva put on a brave face, smiled at Mary and wiped away her tears. All but Mary helped with packing away the picnic paraphernalia. After that they boarded the boat again.

They were only twenty yards away from the shore when a buzzing sound above their heads caught their attention.

Beamish locked the oars and pointed to the sky. ‘I say, look at that beauty — a red Tiger Moth!’

The bi-plane flew so low over the lake they could make out the shape of the pilot’s head in his flying helmet.

‘Now that’s what I’d like to do one day,’ Florence said, craning her neck. ‘Imagine the freedom. I can see why Mary is so fixated upon flying. Flying is so symbolic of everything we women have been striving for. ’

‘Yes, I can imagine you doing that,’ Eva laughed, having recovered her spirits. ‘Maybe Mary could be your co-pilot!’

The boat rocked with the women’s mirth. The pilot continued to show off. After some spectacular dragonfly-like dips and dives, he dropped low and skimmed the top of the lake, his white teeth flashing.

This was too much for Mary. The old lady jumped to her feet, waving and shrieking. ‘Down here, down here — pick me up and take me with you!’

The frantic rocking of the boat knocked the picnic basket off its position on the bench. Left-over food spilled into the bilge; a bottle of mineral water popped its lid and rolled around the bottom of the boat.

‘For goodness sake, Lady Mary, please keep still,’ Beamish said as he began to salvage the debris. Out of reflex, Florence bent from her seat to assist him, shoving the bottles back into the basket.

A sudden splash caused them to raise their heads in alarm.

‘Mary!’ Eva screamed.

Beamish lunged to Mary’s side of the boat. The boat pitched as he grabbed for her hand. As he began hauling her aboard, the small boat tilted dangerously to its side. Beamish seemed to be managing on his own and Florence knew enough about small boats to keep her seat. But Eva must have been ignorant of the fact and darted over to assist. The small boat could not keep its equilibrium and over it tipped.

‘Oh no!’

Eva’s cry was the last thing Florence heard before she was hurled into the chill waters of the lake.

Algae-green bubbles engulfed her as she sank. Her skirt ballooned in front of her face. Cold seized at her stomach and lungs. She could not tell if she was up or down. Luckily she still had enough clarity of thought to know that she must shed some clothes. She toed off her shoes and unbuckled her belt. Once her legs were free from her skirt and petticoat, she shot upwards, kicking out with her feet, coughing and spluttering as her face broke the surface. Treading water, she looked this way and that until she spotted the boat belly up, floating like a dead fish. She struck out towards it. Eva was already there, clinging to the clinker-built hull, hair plastering her face. Beamish was dog-paddling around, circling the spray of strewn bluebells floating on the surface of the water.

‘Mary was over there, just a second ago,’ Eva cried in panic, pointing to where Beamish paddled. ‘She sank in front of my eyes!’

‘I can’t see any sign of her,’ Beamish called back.

Florence desperately looked around until she spied Mary’s bonnet bobbing on the surface, some distance away from the boat. ‘Not there, Beamish,’ she cried, ‘over here!’ she panted as she swam over to the bonnet.

They were only about fifteen yards from shore, the water wasn’t too deep but it was still over their heads. Peering down through the water, she caught sight of a flowing clump of grey hair looking like it belonged to some strange waterweed anchored to the bottom of the lake.

‘Help me, Beamish, Eva,’ Florence cried.

‘I can’t swim,’ was Eva’s anguished reply.

Beamish struck out to join Florence.

Florence would not, could not, let Mary drown. Without waiting for Beamish she ducked beneath the surface and found herself staring at Mary’s face, wrinkled eyes screwed shut, hair and clothing streaming upwards, bubbles rising from her nostrils. The old lady’s legs kicked feebly, unable to find any propulsion. Florence grabbed Mary around her waist and pulled. Towards the surface she laboured, rising enough for Mary to take one gulp of air. Then Mary’s weight became too much and pulled her back down to the lakebed. Florence dipped below the surface again, but her lungs, not sufficiently replenished, burned about to burst and she was unable to cope. She had to get air. To the surface she arose once more, her vision blurred by water and tears.

‘I had her, but she slipped from my grasp,’ she said to Beamish now treading water at her side. ‘She’s so heavy.’

‘That’ll be the bloody iron corset. Come on, the two of us might still manage.’

The corset, of course, Mary’s iron-corset! No wonder the poor woman was so immovable, and positioned in the water in such an unnatural way.

They both took mighty gulps of air and dived.

With one of them on each side of Mary, they managed to heave her to the surface and pull her to shallow water until they were standing on the lake’s soft bottom, mud squelching between their toes. Florence laid her hand on Mary’s sagging head and tipped her face towards the sky. She could not tell if the old lady was breathing or not. Her legs had ceased kicking and trailed behind her in the water like limp ribbons. Somehow they managed to heave her up the muddy bank and onto the shore. They lay her on her front. Florence undid the back of Mary’s dress, her numbed fingers scrabbling to undo the clasps of the dreadful corset.

There wasn’t a second to waste.

She ripped the damn thing off and flung it into the rhododendrons where it landed with a clank. Eva was calling them from the upturned boat on the lake, asking about Mary.